Crown

c h a p t e r 4

The air was freezing cold tonight.

Somewhere in the dark, an owl hooted.

Hoot hoot hoot!

The air was heavy with the smell of night blooms in the nearby fields. Black clouds hung across the night sky. The crescent moon lit the landscape with its dim shine. Stars dotted the sky with their tiny glow.

The King's Wall stood in their midst like a formidable object. As far as the eyes could see, till the horizon, it stretched like a never ending path.

In front of the King's Wall was the Barren Terra, the seemingly endless wasteland. It was famous for its rough, infertile soil, lack of water and the heat. But to Darius, it was much welcome line of defense.

A lone knight stood on top of the Wall and observed his soldiers hustling below. He had a bearskin coat wrapped around his broad shoulders. He had his hands en-gloved in the leather gauntlets of an archer. But he had disposed his bow and quiver for his sword. His great sword was encased inside his scabbard and hung from his waist. The end of his long, voluminous beard was curled up and secured with a leather strip.

He wasn't too stoic and the wrinkles around his eyes and the loose skin of his neck showed signs of old age. But his icy blue eyes were sharp and the surrounding air crackled with energy.

He noticed a shift from the corner of his right eye. Immediately, he spun to meet the new-comer as his hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

"Commander," the soldier bowed.

The knight relaxed his stance but left his hand on the hilt. These were hard times and one couldn't be too cautious. "Speak."

"Velor says it will take at least two months to increase the height of the entire King's Wall even if every single soul worked on it for twenty-four hours, every day."

The knight narrowed his eyes. Velor, the engineer of his King's Land, was a youthful fellow in his late twenties. "Every single soul?"

"That's what he said, Sir Commander," the soldier bowed again.

"Bring him up here. I would speak to him." The knight issued his order and turned his eyes towards the sky. Dawn was another two hours away.

After a few minutes, he heard the cracking sound of metal heels hitting the stones. "You might want to take lessons on walking silently, Velor," the knight said without looking at him.

"Sir Isaho, the Knight Commander of the great King Darius' army," Velor used the knight's full title and bowed his head. "You have summoned me?"

This time, Sir Isaho turned to face him. "Yes." He observed the shaggy, unkempt hair and dirty clothes of the youth with mild distaste. Personal hygiene had always been important to him.

"Tell me about the Wall. You say it would take two months at least?"

"If we work twenty-four hours each day," Velor replied.

"And make every single one work?"

"Yes, Sir," Velor said.

"Did you also count the Royal family in your every single soul?" The knight asked with a slight glint in his eyes.

Velor blinked at him with confusion. Then he stood up a little straighter as the realization dawned on him and furiously shook his head. "No, no. Sir Isaho, I would never!"

The knight almost rolled his eyes. He knew Velor did not mean it but he just couldn't help it. He tapped the hilt of his sword with his finger. "You have two months, Velor. I want the Walls fortified. Get started."

Velor's eyes fell on his sword. He swallowed. "But Commander, it is impossible to -"

"Maybe I need to convince you to work in some other way?" Sir Isaho quietly asked and wrapped his fingers around his hilt. "Two months, Velor. I want the work done."

Velor's jaws ticked. He rubbed his fingers together. He looked like he desperately wanted to say something. Sir Isaho patiently waited to see if he would work on his impulse or his instinct.

Finally, he stopped rubbing his fingers. His jaws set firmly with determination. "As you command, Commander."

The Commander gave him a brisk nod of approval. Inside, he smiled. He had a feeling that the young lad could go a long way.

He knew it was unfair of him. No one could extend the Wall in just two months. But the foe was formidable, and the Commander was afraid, without the proper motivation, it would accomplish no work in the little time they had in their hands.

Sir Isaho stared into the dark horizon, growing increasingly uneasy.

When will the Conqueror strike?

And why has he targeted them in the first place?

Darius was a small Land compared to many. The Land of South was larger than Darius and produced more wealth. Yet the Conqueror had focused on Darius.

Was it just a mindless need to conquer everything or was there something more in this?

Sir Isaho was startled out of his thoughts when he heard a crash followed by the sound of hooves hitting the dirt. His heart skipped a beat. He immediately proceeded to climb down. He met a soldier, halfway down to the base of the Wall.

"What is happening?" he demanded.

Has the Conqueror already made his move? They aren't prepared!

"I don't know, Commander," the guard said. "We just heard a crash and some of us rode out to see what it is."

"Without my permission?" Sir Isaho roared. "How dare they? "

He looked at one guard who was cowering in the corner. "You!" the knight growled. "Get my horse right now!"

"Yes, Sir. As you command, Sir," the guard stammered and ran outside. Sir Isaho made the remaining descent and followed the soldier outside.

His horse, a brown stallion — for only a King could ride a black one — waited for him by the time he reached the stables. The soldier handed him the rein and stepped aside with a small bow.

The knight mounted his horse with the agility of a thirty-year-old and kicked him into a gallop. It wasn't hard to guess which way they had gone. They had trampled grass and bushes on their way and had left behind a carnage in their haste, which made it easier for the knight to follow.

He did not have to ride too far. He found his soldiers clustered together and stopped his horse. He dismounted and strode towards them, fuming with anger at their lack of precaution.

"In the name of the King, what were you thinking?" he yelled. The soldiers jumped and turned around in unison.

"Sir Commander," one of them squealed. Then he cleared his throat and repeated, "Sir Commander."

The Commander raised his hand and spoke with a gruff, "Already heard it."

"We came to investigate the noise," another voice piped in.

"Oh! I had no idea!" he sneered. "Move aside, you nutter brains. What have you found?"

The soldiers jumped aside in the blink of an eye. They knew they had messed up by coming out in the open without taking his permission. No one wanted to jeopardize his position anymore.

Sir Isaho didn't know what he was expecting. To be honest, he was too focused on the idiocy of his soldiers to think about the crash.

But he would have never expected seeing what he saw.

A man, in his late twenties or early thirties, lay on the ground, eyes closed and unmoving.

But that was not what caught his attention.

The man had at least five barbed arrows protruding from his chest and stomach.

Yet, he was still breathing.