The King with Six Friends

Shattered Mirrors

Zar's heavy eyes glazed over a pile of letters from Kiera. He was alone in the tent aside from a silent sentry in the corner.

His generals had all been seated at the long table only minutes before, arguing and shouting their opinions of what he should do. From what they said, he couldn't tell if they were winning the war or losing it.

Holt, being his practical self, gave Zar numbers and statistics he didn't know how to process. Nothing had been accomplished from the meeting.

Zar had never truly appreciated silence before. It was peaceful.

Kiera's letter said that a strange man had broken into the palace just before she had left for the safe house. She said that the man had been scared off before he could do anything and she was unharmed. The way it was written was suspiciously vague, and Zar was sure something else had happened. He anxiously picked at a sliver in his chair. It scared him that Erik was able to get to Kiera, even at a distance.

In another letter, Kiera told him that he should do what he felt was right, even if everyone else was screaming at him to do otherwise. She also wanted to know if he was safe and eating enough. There was plenty for him to eat, the mess tent's cooks saw to that, but more often than not he avoided eating- not because he wanted more to go around, but because he didn't want to throw it all back up in the middle of the night.

He had never felt more worried or terrified in his life. He had a recurring dream where a monster was slaughtering everyone he knew, but he couldn't run fast enough to stop it.

He had to shove it down, though, and never let it come up. People relied on him to make the right choices. Thousands of lives were in his hands. If he chose wrong, their blood would stain his hands red.

"Your Majesty?" Holt's voice came from outside the tent flap.

"Enter," Zar ordered.

Holt walked in, removing his helmet. "I'm afraid I have some disturbing news, Your Grace."

Zar steepled his fingers and slowly inhaled. "Tell me."

Holt shifted his helmet to the other arm. "Viscount Erik is on the hill northeast of the defensive line."

"Erik?" Zar rose from the table. "Why is he here? What does he want?"

"He's refusing to speak to anyone other than you," said Holt.

Zar ground his knuckles into the wooden table. There could only be one reason why Erik was here: to kill him.

"Ready my horse."

"My Lord, the Viscount doesn't want to negotiate a surrender," Holt reasoned.

"I know." Zar checked his sword. It was completely clean- unused. "He's harassed our kingdom long enough. I'm going to end this, here and now. Prepare a team of men to follow me."

Holt solemnly inclined his head. "Yes, Your Grace."

Zar had to wait only a few minutes before a groom came around with his dark bay stallion. The name Eagle was engraved into the gilded horse armor. Zar stroked its muzzle meditatively.

There was only one way this confrontation would go; one of them was going to die.

Zar stuck his boot in the stirrup and swung himself onto the saddle. He flicked the reins and Eagle reared forward, galloping swiftly across the encampment grounds. Tents and fire circles blurred past. As Eagle streaked through the gate, he heard the thundering hooves of his cavalrymen galloping behind him.

Racing past the defensive line of pits and ditches, Zar spotted a figure on horseback at the top of a rocky hill. It had to be Erik. He turned Eagle up the hill and climbed up the gravel slope.