Richard and Grace joined the rest of Lancelot’s group outside the city. They were a motley crew, no more than two dozen in total. There were a dozen common soldiers, the four soldiers from the city watch, and two lesser knights, Sir Victor and Sir Harris. Richard had met dozens of lesser knights over the years, but neither of these two. Lesser knights were fairly good fighters, but Richard had yet to encounter one he couldn’t handle in a fight.


    As soon as they arrived the group set off. Horses had been obtained for the two of them. Lancelot led them at a fast pace along the road west. A cold wind blew past them as they rode. Richard knew snow would be upon the island of Camelot in a matter of weeks.


    Lancelot rode them hard with little stops. They passed few travellers on the road and no large settlements. Lancelot slowed down each time they saw people on the road ahead. Richard guessed that the knight was hoping to find more soldiers to take with him, but he had no luck.


    As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, Lancelot called the group to a halt. A mountain loomed on their left, and on their right an expansive forest grew. Richard presumed it had come time to rest for the night, but as he approached Lancelot from the rear of the group he saw he was mistaken.


    Immense boulders lay across the road ahead. They must have tumbled down from the mountain slopes. The blockage was over three men high at the lowest part, and Richard did not know how far it stretched back. The road was impassable.


    “What’s your plan, sir?” Sir Harris asked Lancelot.


    Lancelot did not answer him. Instead, he dismounted his horse and walked over to the landslide. The group waited anxiously as Lancelot stalked from place to place, crouching down and examining the ground and boulders constantly. After a few moments, he returned to his horse.


    “Well, sir? What do you think caused it?” Sir Victor asked.


    “I’m unsure,” Lancelot said. “But I have a feeling it is not a natural occurrence.”


    “Sabotage, sir?”


    “Indeed. But it cannot be proven.”


    “Why would anyone want to block this road?” Richard asked, trying to understand what the others were discussing. “You haven’t actually told us our purpose out here yet.”


    Lancelot looked at him. “We are chasing someone. That is all you need to know for now.” Lancelot turned back to Victor and Harris. “Regardless of the reason, our path is blocked. We will have to think of something else.”


    “We await your orders, sir,” Harris said.


    “Hmm. I know there is a road if you travel back a bit, that would take us around the mountain and eventually rejoin this path. But I fear that could be blocked as well.” Lancelot thought for a moment. “All right. I have a plan. Harris, you will take the soldiers and find that road. Circle around the mountain and back onto this path. Continue west. Find the assassin.”


    “What will you do, sir?”


    “Victor, the city watch, the mercenaries and myself shall continue on foot. We will go through the forest and return to this path. If we are lucky, we will find horses on the other side. I wish we could take our own with us, but I fear they would only slow us down in the forest. Once through the forest, we shall continue the mission. Good luck, Harris. Don’t wait for us on the other side.”


    “Yes sir. I will find the assassin.”


    Harris turned his horse and rode back the way they came. The soldiers followed him. Soon, Richard could no longer see them around the corner. The eight of them were left alone.


    They grabbed what they needed off the horses and Lancelot led the way into the forest. They followed a thin trail through the trees, barely wide enough to be seen. The undergrowth was thick on either side of the path, and many long roots stretched across. Richard was careful while walking, trying not to trip. The sun set as they walked, and there was little light from the moon through the canopy of branches overhead.


    Lancelot walked ahead of Richard. He moved at ease past the low branches and outcropping roots, seemingly undisturbed by the obstacles. His head swivelled back and forth as he walked, scanning the trees for anything that could be a threat. Richard noticed one hand hovered close to his sword’s hilt, ready to act whenever the need might arise.


    “Sir Lancelot?” Richard called out as they walked, more to pass the time than anything else. “Who are we searching for? You called him an assassin when talking to Sir Harris.”


    “Indeed I did,” Lancelot replied without glancing back. “Because that is all I know him as. Do you know Scriosana Castle?”


    “Yes, I do.” He and Grace had taken a job from Lord Sebastian of Scriosana Castle a few years back. Richard had rather liked the lord, if he remembered correctly. And the job itself had been simple enough.


    “Well, I was visiting Scriosana Castle. I went there with little escort, just Sir Harris and Sir Victor. I went to discuss with Lord Sebastian the problems which faced us; mainly, how undermanned we were. I wake up to a commotion in the middle of the night. Sebastian was dead. Murdered, by two assassins.


    “It was only pure luck that a soldier happened to pass nearby and spot them as they finished the job. We caught one, the other fled. After a little….prompting from me, we learned that the remaining assassin would flee west, where he would meet reinforcements. The prisoner died before he could tell us who sent him.


    “I set out immediately with my knights and a dozen soldiers. That was last night, and we have been chasing him since. The landslide back there may have been an inconvenience, but I think it is a sign that we are on the right track.”


    Richard ducked under a tree that had fallen across the path. “Why did they assassinate him?”


    “I do not know. I hope we can catch the other assassin and force it out of him. But we may already be too late. He could have hidden anywhere, or just switched direction. I have already ordered Sir Lawrence to gather troops and send out search parties. He is the knight who will take control of Scriosana now that Sebastian is dead. But I fear he can''t do much.”


    “Why not?”


    Lancelot laughed grimly. “You are a mercenary, are you not? Surely you know the state of affairs of the kingdom. We do not have the soldiers we need. I am sure you have noticed. In our army, in the city watch, we are spread thin. The coffers of the king are nearly empty. We cannot afford more people. That is why I am stuck relying on you two, because there is no one else I can reach.”


    Richard had noticed. Things in Camelot had been deteriorating for the last few years. After Arthur’s war, when he first came to rule the full island, the kingdom had flourished. The people were happy, money flowing throughout the land. But gradually, things deteriorated. Now, all the money seemed to be in the hands of big merchants and traders.


    “Does the king have any plans to fix things?” Richard asked.


    “I wish,” Lancelot said. “Arthur’s not the same as he once was. He only notices these problems when they affect our army, and he doesn’t know how to solve them. Neither do I, for that matter. It seems the only way to increase our riches is by war, but we cannot go to war without money. We are stuck in a vicious cycle.”


    “You mean, if Lorr invaded, Camelot would be lost?”


    Lancelot considered this for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. Because if Lorr invaded, the people would rally, and would forget about money, for a little while at least. They would know that if we won our riches would only increase. But if the war lasted too long, support would wane. We would lose, eventually.”


    Lancelot turned to the side, twisting back to connect with the road. Within a few minutes, they were out of the forest. The moon shone brightly above Richard’s head, illuminating the empty road.


    Lancelot led the way along the road, moving quicker now that they were out of the forest. Shortly, they came to a farmhouse, a few horses grazing out the back. Lancelot hammered on the door of the house, rousing the occupants. A man came out fearfully, gazing in awe at the knight’s armour. After some convincing, Lancelot persuaded the man to lend him four horses.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    “All right, Victor, mercenaries, mount up,” Lancelot ordered, swinging himself into the saddle of a horse. He turned to the four soldiers of the city watch. “We will go on ahead. You four will have to continue on foot. Get horses if you can. Don’t try to follow us. Turn north and search for any sign of the assassin. If you do not meet me or the assassin by midday tomorrow, return to your town.”


    With that, Lancelot spun his horse about and galloped down the road. Richard, Grace and Sir Victor followed him, leaving the city watch behind to continue their walk and the farmer to return to his bed.


    They continued to ride west at great speed, Lancelot not giving them a chance to rest. Many times, there were forks in the road. Each time, Lancelot would dismount and study the surrounding area for a few moments, before eventually deciding on the path they would take.


    At one turn, Lancelot found something on the side of the road. Richard could not make out what it was, but it seemed to give Lancelot some clear direction on where he was heading. After that, Lancelot no longer stopped at the turns.


    Finally, Richard saw the ocean ahead of them. It stretched to the horizon, the Borgone Isles’ dark outlines far in the distance. Lancelot brought his horse to a stop atop a grassy cliff. He dismounted quickly and strode to the edge of the cliff. He stared out.


    Richard dismounted and joined Lancelot. He scanned the horizon, searching for anything. After a few moments, he saw the sail of a ship reflecting the moonlight. It was sailing away from Camelot, heading towards the Borgone Isles.


    “As I expected,” Lancelot said, his eyes locked on the ship.


    “My lord, you don’t think that the assassin is on the ship, do you?” Sir Victor asked, coming up beside him.


    Lancelot did not look at him. “I do indeed, Victor.”


    “But sir, how do you know?”


    Lancelot handed the item from the side of the road to Victor. “How many other reasons can you think of for that? It was along the trail taken by the assassin and any accomplices he might have.”


    Victor handed the item over to Richard wordlessly. It was a small token, the design on it of a shattered arrow. Richard recognised it immediately. He had seen it a couple of times before. It was the sigil of Aggravain the Traitor, Lord of the Borgone Isles. He had once been a High Knight of the Round Table, but longed for more power. After a failed insurrection, Aggravain retreated to the Borgone Isles, which he then claimed as his own. Few travelled between the Borgone Isles and Camelot, and only the soldiers openly wore Aggravain’s sigil.


    “Will we wait for the others here, sir?” Victor asked as Richard handed the token over to Grace.


    “No. We follow them now,” Lancelot said, turning away from the cliff. “This token may be a trick, planted to throw us off course. But for now, we shall assume it is real, and Aggravain is behind the assassination. For what purpose, I do not know, but we will find out. Come, let’s find a boat.”


    “But sir, wouldn’t it be wise to wait until we have a bigger force?”


    “We do not know how long they will be. The other road could have been blocked. We cannot waste any time.”


    ***


    The boat cut through the choppy water, the waves lapping against the hull. It was small and old, battered from many journeys. The four of them barely fit into it, but it would do for their needs.


    Richard pulled hard at the oars. He could feel himself growing weary. He had not had a break since the tavern, and that felt like it was long in the past. His muscles were beginning to ache. A cold breeze blew across the surface of the ocean, only increasing Richard’s weariness. Richard could not see how far they had left to travel, only the island of Camelot fading away as they moved.


    “Hold up,” Lancelot ordered.


    Richard stopped pulling at the oars. He could barely make out Camelot now, only a dark shape on a darker night. He turned around carefully. Their momentum was still pushing them slowly across the ocean. The closest island in the Borgone Isles was very close now.


    “Where did they go?” Richard asked, unable to see the sail of the ship.


    “Into that cove.” Lancelot pointed at an indent along the coastline. “We will follow them, slowly. Stop at the entrance to the cove. We don’t want to be noticed. Let’s go.”


    Richard picked up the oars again, and under Lancelot’s direction they turned the boat and began moving towards the cove. The only sound was the swish of the oars entering and exiting the water. A cliff face loomed on Richard’s right as he approached the entrance to the cove.


    “Stop the boat,” Lancelot said softly.


    Richard heard Grace gasp as he brought the boat to a stop. He spun around to take in the cove. The moon had mostly disappeared behind a cloud, but he did not need it. Almost half a dozen ships were tied up in the cove, torches lighting each of the decks. On the beach beyond the ships, a camp had been set up. The armour of soldiers was reflected in the torchlight both on the shore and on the ships. There had to be hundreds of people there.


    “What is that traitor planning?” Lancelot mumbled to himself. He gazed through his spyglass, gazing up and down the coast. There was movement aboard one of the ships, and Lancelot turned to look at it. Richard could not make out what was happening, but he saw Lancelot grow still. He handed the spyglass wordlessly to Victor.


    Victor turned towards the ships. “He wouldn’t,” the knight breathed after a moment. Richard tried to make out what they were looking at, but he couldn’t see clearly from that distance. “That’s not possible,” Victor said, lowering the spyglass slowly.


    “Can I see?” Richard asked. Victor handed it over, his eyes still glued to the ships.


    Richard took the spyglass and trained it on one of the ships. It took a moment for Richard to grow accustomed to it. On the deck of the ship, there were many soldiers, all clad in armour. In the centre, three people were gathered. One was dressed all in black, down to black gloves and a black mask in her hand. Richard was almost certain that he was the assassin they were looking for.


    The other two wore elegant armour. Richard could only make out the head of one, the other hidden behind the first. The one he could see wore a cloak of blue, similar to Lancelot’s. His mailed hands rested on the ornate hilt of a sword at his hip. Richard knew the man to be Lord Aggravain, recognising him from the few times he had seen him before.


    As Richard was about to hand the spyglass back, the final man moved out to be seen clearly. Richard froze, the spyglass locked on him. A scar ran the length of the man’s pale face, passing through an empty eye socket. A cloak of deep purple hung from his shoulders. A pair of golden lightning bolts was emblazoned onto the front of his chestplate, representing the speed at which the man attacked. Richard knew the man by reputation alone, but the sight of him was enough to send shivers down his spine.


    General Cyclops of the Lorric Empire clasped the assassin’s shoulder, a grin splitting his scarred face. Cyclops was as vicious and cruel as they come, and thrived off of slaughtering his enemies, leaving nothing behind in his wake. He was the only one of Caedan’s Four Generals not from Caedan’s last life, and the oldest by far. Richard wasn’t sure how long he had been in Wardom, but it had to have been at least fifty years.


    Being over seventy years old, Cyclops was one of the oldest men in Wardom. The years did not seem to weigh so heavily on people here, but few lived long enough to learn that. War, plagues, famines, anything and everything caused early deaths for the people of Wardom. And no one lived past one hundred. It was stunning Cyclops had lasted as long as he had, and it almost certainly came down to his ruthlessness. The years seemed to only make him crueller.


    “That is Cyclops, is it not?” Lancelot asked. Richard nodded silently and handed the spyglass off to Grace. He did not know what to say. He had never faced Cyclops in battle, but there were few in this part of Wardom that had not heard tales of his victories.


    “What is he doing here?” Richard asked eventually.


    “It seems Aggravain has decided to make a move against Arthur, and thinks the Lorrics can help him,” Lancelot sighed. “He is not wrong. With Cyclops on his side, our chances are diminished even further. We must return at once and warn Arthur. It may not yet be too late to prepare.”


    Richard reclaimed his position at the oars and began with Victor to spin the little boat around. But as he did, he spotted something approaching the bay from the sea. Another ship was coming in.


    Lancelot cursed. “Faster!” he whispered urgently. But it was too late. The ship had spotted them, and was already turning to come closer. Richard pulled hard on the oars, focusing all his attention on getting away and ignoring the ship.


    They had little room to manoeuvre, boxed in between the ship and the cliffside. Soon they were right alongside the massive vessel.  An arrow crashed into the water narrowly missing him. Richard tried to row faster, adrenaline providing strength to his already weak body.


    Out of the corner of his eye, Richard saw a soldier leap over the rails of the ship. He landed in the water just beside the small boat, a hand reaching out to grasp onto Richard. Within an instant, Richard was pulled into the water after the soldier.


    The freezing water enveloped him. He instantly felt the cold through his clothes. The soldier that had caught him kicked up to the surface past him. Richard felt the soldier’s hands on his head, trying to force him down. Richard fought against it, thrashing out of the man’s grip. Eventually, his head broke above the surface of the water, quickly gulping down air.


    Richard twisted around as he felt the soldier try to latch onto him again. He managed to grab the man first, pushing him backwards and smashing his head off the boards of the huge ship that was still moving towards the bay. Before the soldier could recover from the blow, Richard forced him under. The soldier thrashed violently  but Richard used all of his remaining strength to keep him down. After what felt like hours, the thrashing subsided, and the soldier went still.


    Richard let go of the limp corpse and began swimming all out for the boat. It had gone beyond the enemy ship, and the distance between them was still growing. He swam hard, feeling himself going weak. Arrows landed around him, the dark night Richard’s ally in hindering their aim. Soon the momentum of the ship carried the archers out of range.


    Hands grabbed onto him as he reached the boat. Grace pulled him up. He coughed up all the water in his lungs, trying to take in air. Lancelot was at the oars, still rowing to put them further from the bay. After a few moments, Richard leaned back exhausted. Grace took up the other set of oars.


    Richard looked around and spotted Victor. He was sitting back against the edge of the boat, his eyes gazing into the distance. In the dark, Richard didn’t recognise the blood immediately. Victor’s hands were clasped around the shaft of an arrow protruding from his stomach. Richard sighed deeply. He leaned forward and closed the corpse’s unseeing eyes.