Conclusion

The cry of a hawk.

"..."

"Sir."

"..."

"What is your command?"

Static.

"Were there any alterations to our plans?"

No answer.

"Then proceed with the next phase."

=

The snow was gone.

The ground was cold and lifeless, only recently cleared of its burden. Buds fussed and refused to peak their heads out yet. To compensate for the absence of color and life, groomed flowers, freshly plucked, were set onto the plain markers.

Bellavarn bowed his head, forehead pressing into the dirt.

"I've failed you. I couldn't keep them safe."

Four graves now. Equally mundane. He wished to carve statues, but that is not what they would have wanted. Being buried next to their parents...

"I've made them join you early. Because of me, they died. On my order. My naivety."

Raising his head, he faced the names carved in stone. There were too many lilies.

"The killer will be found if it is the last thing I do. I swear it on my name."

Rising, the wind ushered him to look away.

Toward his new destiny.

=

Anger.

"Are you going to keep beating around the bush? Tell me what happened, or I'll throttle you till you spill it!"

Placating hands.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. Fine. Fine. I'll tell ya."

Setting down a beer mug, the gossip told the story.

"My cousin is friends with one of the palace servants, and he saw what happened after the bang. Here's it is as he tells it..."

=

The dust cleared. Vision returned. Sound swept in, ringing.

Bellavarn coughed and choked.

"Monster."

Raiden held him by the throat in a death grip. Klein's pupils were unfocused, and blood was trickling out of his ears. Blind and deaf, he caught Bellavarn, holding him aloft.

As the crowd was in turmoil still, they were frozen there like a grand statue until Raiden healed his own eyes and ears. Circulating mana, speeding up the healing process. Magical regeneration.

Like a monster.

The scene Raiden returned to was Bellavarn grinning; the only thing preventing laughter was the meaty fist tightened around his neck.

Looking around, Raiden noticed the onlookers, His two companions unconscious. Kerv too. Henry was refraining from aggravating his injuries, but his menacing glare drilled holes into Raiden's back.

"How scary."

The words indicated it was anything but. Returning to Bellavarn, he spoke with unnatural calm.

"I guess your plan failed."

Raiden could feel the chuckle rise through Bellvarn's windpipe.

"Did it? Did it, though?"

A wheeze.

"Check your broach."

He did. Setting down Bellavarn, who crumpled, clutching his throat. Coughing. Barely able to stand.

Raiden gestured.

"Yours is off too."

Again with the smiling.

"But whose winked out first? Do you know? Who could tell with everyone being blinded? I suppose there would only be one feasible result. One that no one wants."

The King stretched out a hand to quiet the noisy spectators.

A declaration with each word emphasized.

"The duel is over."

Dramatic pause.

"The result is a tie."

=

An intoxicated listener slammed their mug down.

"How'd you know what they're sayin'? You weren't there!"

"I told ya. My cousin's friend was there!"

"You ain't yer cousin. Stop spouting nonsense. There's no way Duke Raiden, the war hero, would lose to some... child. Spinners? What the hell are those? Where'd he get all those spell papers at the last minute... How'd he hide 'em? And a baton? Somehow, little Bellavarn fended off a legendary sword, with a stick!"

"I'm tellin' you as I heard it. Don't believe me if you aren't gonna."

"Pssh."

The inebriated fellow shoved his chair back, leaving the conversation as beer spilled all over.

"Hey, you have to pay for that!"

The drunk responded with unintelligible words and a hand wave, moving for the door. Not bothering to stay to hear the end of the story.

Bursting out of the tavern door, he stumbled and lost his cup. It rolled across the dirt and out into the street. Crushed by a heavy hoof. The drunk registered the incredibly tall stallion, but not the rider. He did recognize the figure riding in tandem on an even larger horse.

Duke Raiden.

Eyes wide, he watched them lead a procession down the street. Countless civilians flooded the streets to watch and cheer the soldiers—a military parade already in full swing. The drunk didn't fully understand what was occurring, so he tapped a nearby wench.

She punched him in the face, spinning him around. Disoriented, he walked back into the tavern, hearing the tail end of the conversation.

"... he didn't win anything. The king ordered him to conquer the badlands in three months, all while working under Duke Raiden. It's an absurd timeline, and we can probably expect..."

The drunk's head was spinning, blacking out, he fell on the floor, hearing only a few more words.

"...He did save his father, though."

Darkness.

=

Bellavarn rode next to Raiden on a dark horse. Eyes set to the South.