While it was true that King Marius lived in the largest and fanciest building in the city, he was a remarkably relaxed and approachable ruler. He could have easily ruled by fear and military strength. He was one of the better warrior kings out there, and practiced regularly with his Golden Guard. The Golden Guard in turn, was made of the best warriors and mages from across the country. To even be allowed to apply for training as a Golden Guard required several tests. Those that tried to pass the tests but did not succeed usually ended up becoming part of the city guard or as officers in the army. To say the least, the country of Vanihan was very well protected.

Being well protected did not stop other countries from trying to gain a foothold in Vanihan and tear it down from the inside. Spies and traitors abounded, but it had been a shock to everyone that one had made it through the Golden Guard's stringent standards. Sylvie Goldenbough was infamous, and it was well known that Firkin Oathson spent nearly every spare minute he had hunting her with the King's blessing.

Firkin was a short, sandy-haired man with soft blue eyes. He knew himself to be a consummate actor, able to slide into roles and stay there comfortably. Look at how well he'd integrated into the Golden Guard. To them, he was more a warrior than a mage. A solid fighter with a lack of imagination, but a good back-up. It was the perfect set up for his actions and activities. He smiled thinly in the privacy of his room. If only that Sylvie Goldenbough hadn't come along. His scarred left hand clenched in anger around a note.

Everything had gone wrong since that chit had finagled her way into the Golden Guard all those years ago. There was always something to her that made her the center of attention. The way she moved was spooky. No mage that talented should be that good of a warrior. Either that, or that good of warrior should not be an excellent mage. She seemed to have come out of the ether. She never gossiped with the others about anything personal. All anyone knew about her was her mage name and that she'd passed literally all of the Golden Guard's tests for both mages and warriors. Only Prince Alex had managed to do that before her in their generation, and he'd been trained in those kinds of tests nearly from birth.

That...that...woman had never trusted Firkin from the start. She was way too perceptive. He'd been stunned by the double blow of her talents when he'd met her, and had greeted her with a phrase common to Gamriel kingdom, his true alliance. She'd hesitated a bare moment before returning his greeting with the proper one, but he'd known that she suspected something was up with him.

He couldn't count the number of times he'd laughed over drinks with his fellow Guards and felt her gaze boring into him. He'd catch her crossing his path at odd moments, and sometimes wondered if she'd followed him. He was more careful in setting up things that would be to the benefit of Gamriel, some of which wouldn't bear fruit for years, if ever. Still, more and more of his schemes failed after she'd entered his life. He somehow knew Sylvie was at fault for the failures. She was too damn smart not to be. 

He tunneled his fingers through his hair in frustration. He liked the Golden Guard, he liked Vanihan, and he liked the rules of living here. If he could have had a choice, he would have made a home here, and never worried about there being other kingdoms. He didn't have a choice. He never would. The mage-king Jaralt of Gamriel had taken blood from him at his birth. He was tied to the throne of Gamriel by his very life force. He didn't dare let there be anybody find out what he was. He was very glad of his acting ability.

It had taken years before Sylvie let anything slip. The Golden Guard had been sent out against a rogue dragon. Dragons as a rule were civilized beings and lived and worked along side the rest of the world without a quibble. The Golden Guard's current captain was a dragon in fact. However, things happened. Dragons were people too, and they had their bad eggs.

Thus came the day that Firkin had finally gotten a clue about Sylvie Goldenbough. As happened when dragons lost reason and sense, the rogue had retreated to a cave. Unfortunately, he'd chosen the caves under Traitor's hill. The place was a honeycomb, and it was impossible to approach the caves without being seen. Plus, every dragon had natural magic. Added to a hide that was nearly impossible to cut, it made taking out rogues like this one a royal pain for the Golden Guard.

This kind of operation took a full contingent of the Guard surrounding the caves. They'd made their way through, lit with mage lights since subtlety was useless in this situation, until they'd confronted the poor mad creature in its nest. Its hoard, if it could be called that, was a saddening mix of branches, trash, gilt trinkets, glass baubles, and more of whatever had been shiny and left around. There were one or two items that the mages would have to make sure were returned to their owners.

The dragon stood on the debris, hissing at them. Its yellow scales were dull and chipped, one eye reddened and weeping from some previous injury. Worst of all, there was fresh blood smeared across its face and jaw, and there was a human arm sticking out from under one of its feet. Firkin felt a tinge of pity that it had gotten this bad. If the poor creature had been helped earlier...he sighed. Those kind of programs had just started in Gamriel. The idea of them hadn't even trickled over to Vanihan.

Since the death order had already been signed by the King, the Golden Guard started right in on its grisly work. They hit the rogue with a mixture of spells and weapons that might come out of the confrontation not too badly chipped. Of course that only maddened the poor thing even more. It let loose with its own magic, mage-blasting every single mage surrounding it. 

Beside him, Sylvie spat out a curse. Then she was moving forward as if she hadn't been blinded along with every single mage there.  Firkin hadn't been lobbying spells like she had, but he'd been knocked on his ass by that mage-blast. He could admit pure admiration as Sylvie darted in and took the only kill option left. Her twin swords buried themselves in the dragon's mouth and up through into its brain. It was only then she collapsed in front of the dragon.

Firkin realized his mouth was hanging open and he was still sitting on the ground. He shut his jaw with a click, got up and dusted himself off, and went to check on his fellow Guards. He saved Sylvie for last, not sure if he hoped she was dead or alive. When he turned her over, her breathing was shallow and her skin clammy. It was obvious she was in shock, and a look at her face showed why. In place of her eyes were two milky orbs with a starburst of scar tissue surrounding each orb.

Firkin was stunned. That crazy woman had taken the brunt of that mage-blast mostly on herself. It didn't make sense at first. Surely such action hadn't been necessary? Then he took a look around. In the mage lights, it hadn't been obvious, but the rogue had managed to situate itself in a keystone position in the cave. A chill went down his spine. If that mage-blast had been allowed to fully explode, all of the Golden Guard here would now be dead and buried under tons of rock.

He shook his head as he picked her up, noting that she was heavier than she looked. He snorted at himself. Of course she was heavier than she looked. The chit was a demon with the sword, and that kind of talent required muscle. He didn't even question his motives as he carried her out of the cavern to the waiting med-mage before sending the rest of the med mage and recovery team in.  A few more seconds might have meant her death, and somehow he couldn't allow that. 

He headed back to headquarters to submit his report after allowing the med mages make a cursory examination to make sure he was functional.  It took a relatively short period of time to write it out. He wrote out a purely factual report, as was his habit, but found himself wanting to put extras in like how gorgeous that move had been with the double swords. He dropped his pen on the desk and shoved his fingers through his hair. He had to remind himself that no matter how much he liked the Golden Guard and the people in it, he was bound to Gamriel, not Vanihan.

His mind replayed that scene in the cavern. The mage-blast, Sylvie's curse, and her beautifully timed sword move while being completely blind. The med mage would Restore Sylvie's vision, and she'd be back on the job in a couple of months, he knew. Still, the sheer guts, determination, and imagination that had combined to make that move successful had him awed.  He wasn't sure that he would voluntary do anything anywhere near similar if he was blind.

He huffed out a breath, turned in his report, and returned to his room. Sylvie's bravery didn't mean anything personally to him. He had a job to do, and Sylvie was impeding it. He had to make sure she didn't and couldn't change the end goal of Gamriel conquering Vanihan. To do that, he needed more information on her.

The mage-blast played in his mind again. He suddenly grinned. Sylvie had surprised him with her cussing. He'd thought she was too ladylike for some reason. The grin dropped when he realized that the curse word she'd used was not commonly said in the capital. In fact, he'd only heard the curse once before, from a city guardsman that had come from the far south of the country.

He stopped his pacing and grabbed his cloak. The guardsman would be off duty, open to drinks, and willing to talk. Firkin locked the door behind him, and made his way into the city. He shook his head as he passed the oblivious people on the streets, who had not even realized that a significant portion of the Golden Guard might have died that day. When King Gamriel came to power here, the people would know who their heroes and heroines were. Not the play-soldiers and such they had here now, but the real heroes and heroines.

He ignored the whisper in his brain that said he could do much to make Vanihan a proper city like Gamriel with his current level of influence. He knew that the lack of knowledge was Gamriel's way of making sure that Vanihan would be easy to conquer later on. This breakdown in communication was necessary. He took a breath and shoved his thoughts down. First he had to get rid of Sylvie Goldenbough. A cuss word from the far South wasn't much, but it was interesting.

Firkin came back to the present. It had taken him years to oust the chit from the Golden Guard, but he'd succeeded. He shouldn't even need to think about her ever again. He opened his left fist, his hand tingling and nearly bloodless.

If only Sylvie were here. The Black mage that was behind this whole mess would probably have been babbling apologies on his deathbed years ago. Firkin frowned. That was another mystery. Who had framed Sylvie? He'd used the momentum of the time to oust Sylvie from the Golden Guard, but the enemy still remained. For all that this country was supposed to go to King Gamriel, he admitted that he didn't want it to be a country of slaves and night ghosts.

He unwrinkled the note that had been in his fist. “If I'm wrong, and you're simply a spy, you'd better find out who actually is responsible for all the death. Five years of this is too much. I will return.” It was signed with a golden letter S made out of branches. Considering he'd received it right after the plague had been cured, the timing wasn't coincidental. But then, he'd suspected that the plague was mage-made in the first place.

He rubbed his chin. Much as it pained him to admit it, there had to be a different traitor in the Golden Guard or somewhere else equally high ranked. There had been some pretty vicious spells in the past five years that only someone with complete access to the King's estate could pull off. Those spells had died due to Sylvie's interventions, he was sure. 

He suddenly grinned, feeling more alive than he had in a long time.  She'd figured him out when no one else had the entire time he'd lived here.  It was amazing how refreshing that someone knew something of his true self. He felt his muscles tightening in anticipation.  It was time to hunt.