CHAPTER 78: JOURNEY TO THE WEST [1]

Just a few moments after Aeron had spoken with Ronan and Yvarra, he gathered himself and prepared for the journey ahead. He packed all he needed: his sword, a leather flask, a small pouch of coins, and, most importantly, a map that led to the west beyond their kingdom. Ronan had made sure a fast, healthy horse was ready for him. Aeron did not go to visit Draco, knowing well how the dragon would react to his leaving. It would not be good, and it would only make the farewell harder.

By the time he was ready, Ronan and Yvarra were in his hut, helping him with the final touches. Together, they stepped outside, where his mother stood waiting.

"I’ve packed all you need, especially food," his mother said in a soft voice.

Aeron smiled and tried to lighten the mood. "You don’t have to make the horse too heavy, Mom," he joked.

He walked forward, patted the horse gently, then mounted. Looking back at them, he said, "I will be safe, so don’t worry."

"Remember, Aeron," Yvarra said, "three days."

"Three days," Aeron repeated, giving her a small nod. Then, with a final look at the three of them, he turned the horse and rode away.

The road was long, and Aeron’s thoughts were heavy. He left behind his village of Varnmoor and had first intended to head straight west. But the truth was, he knew nothing of the war’s situation or where the fighting had reached. To wander blindly would be reckless.

The capital, however, was a place he was more familiar with. He knew the roads that led there, and more importantly, news always spread first in the capital. If he wanted answers, that was the place to go.

Along the road, he noticed changes he had not seen before. Villages seemed more crowded, and more people were traveling away from the capital than towards it. Beggars sat along the paths in greater numbers than usual, their eyes hollow with hunger and fear. Patrol guards passed by more often than he remembered, a sign that the rate of crime had gotten high. The kingdom felt... unsettled, as if there was trouble in every part of it.

By evening, Aeron was tired, and his horse needed rest too; he stopped at a village that was not far from the capital. He found an inn, left his horse in the stable, and went inside for a meal.

The inn was dim but lively, filled with travelers, workers, and soldiers, whose noises filled the place. Aeron sat at a corner table, eating. At the table behind him, three men were already very drunk, so they were talking as they wanted.

"Drink to the full," one man said with a laugh, raising his mug, "for you don’t know when you’ll die."

The second snorted. "What if the wine kills you before the enemy does?"

"Better the wine than the bony creatures!" the first man replied, his laughter sounding bitter.

The third man leaned forward, trying to calm the others. "Enough of this. When there’s life, there’s hope. At least have faith in our armies."

The first man slammed his cup down. "Faith? Faith in what? Armies that fell within hours? Even when we joined forces with Aerthwyn, we still couldn’t hold the line. Not a chance!"

The second man nodded grimly. "And I heard why. Our armies were not prepared. The palace is in chaos. There’s fighting between the royal house and the Lord Chancellor."

At this, the first man lowered his voice, though not enough to keep Aeron from hearing. "The Lord Chancellor is nowhere to be found. They say he tried to poison the Queen. A wicked man. Always has been. Responsible for half the evils in this kingdom."

"And who gave him that much power?" the second man scoffed. "The King himself. He let the Chancellor’s corruption spread, and now he’s paying the price. That’s why he stayed back in the palace, and left his daughter, his inexperienced daughter, to lead our soldiers."

The first man spat on the floor. "A mistake. A woman has no place leading men into battle."

The third chuckled. "Tell that to the men who followed her. Only fools and simps, I say." He laughed harshly, and the others joined in.

"The funniest part," the first man said, "is that she didn’t even make it out. The young princess was killed in battle."

The second man shook his head. "Killed? I don’t think so. What I heard is worse. They say she was taken by the bone army itself."

At that, all three fell quiet for a moment. One of them muttered, "Taken by the bones... may the gods help her soul."

The third man leaned closer to his companions, lowered his voice, and said. "Well, what I heard is different. I heard she wasn’t killed or taken by bones at all. I heard she was captured by nomads, taken as a bargaining tool. They plan to use her to negotiate with the king, so he will let them enter Ivarion and settle here with their people. But the king would be a fool to allow such bloodsuckers into our land."

The second man smirked, shaking his head. "And yet... I’ve also heard that King Tharyn loves his daughter so dearly that he would go to any lengths to see her safe. If that means letting the nomads enter, then he just might do it. And if he does, that will be the end of us. Mark my words, it will be written in history that King Tharyn Elyndor brought about the fall of Ivarion with his own weakness."

At those words, Aeron pushed away his plate. His appetite was gone. He no longer cared to hear the drunken speculations of the men behind him as it made him uneasy. He quietly left the hall and went to the small room he had paid for. He lay down, exhausted, even at that, sleep did not come easily.

The next morning, Aeron rose early, saddled his horse, and continued on his way. By midday, the walls of the capital came into view. But when he entered, he found the city restless. People made noises in the streets, moving in and out. One who entered would know that something was wrong.

Aeron knew it was because the war was coming closer by the day. Aeron went around asking questions. He asked merchants, beggars, even guards, hoping to learn where the battle was being fought and where the armies would gather next. But no two answers matched.

Some said the armies had already reached their borders. Others claimed they had fallen back to the west. A few swore there was no army left at all. Confusion clouded everything.

Frustrated, Aeron knew only one place could give him the truth, the palace itself. But entering the palace was impossible. If he showed his face there, the alarms would rise in an instant, and he might not get out alive.

So instead, he lingered at a distance, stood among the crowds, stared at the palace gates. He wondered and wondered how he could get inside. Could he sneak someone in? Could he bribe a servant? But this was the king’s palace, everybody was watched, and even a rat would be caught.

He was still lost in thought when the gates opened. Slowly, a procession began to move out. Aeron quickly turned his horse aside, went backwards into the shade of an alley, and watched carefully.

First came a group of guards, Then, behind them all was a figure he recognized immediately: Ser Devic, the king’s personal guard. With his men who followed in close formation. They were leaving the capital, and from the look of it, traveling somewhere important.

Aeron’s heart beat faster. If Ser Devic is leaving, then surely he rides to the armies. If I follow him, I’ll find the truth.

Aeron began to trail them quietly as he kept a safe distance. He kept moving on the side roads and watched every turn they took. At first, they went west, and Aeron felt certain they were going where he had guessed. But after a time, they began to shift south, southwest, to be precise. Aeron frowned. Why South? That’s not where the war is...

Still, he followed. He dared not lose them now.

Hours passed until they reached a narrow path between hills and dense trees. Aeron entered the same path, careful to stay behind, but when he came out on the other side, he froze.

The road ahead was empty. They were gone.

A chill ran through him. He looked left, right, and behind. Nothing. Not a sound, not a hoofprint. As he sat on his horse confused, trying to understand how an entire group of soldiers could vanish so quickly, he suddenly felt the cold press of a sword against his neck.

A voice spoke behind him.

"Who prays so dearly for his own death that he dares to spy on the king’s Phoenix Guard?"