Part V – The King's Shadow
Rain lashed against the high windows of Westernlight Keep, silver streaks breaking the torchlight into restless, quivering bands. The throne room was nearly dark. Only the fire in the hearth kept the walls from vanishing into shadow.
King Richard sat alone at the long table, a decanter of brandy untouched beside his hand. His crown lay next to it, turned on its side so that one of the ruby inlays caught the firelight and burned like an open wound. His eyes were red, not from drink, but from lack of sleep.
The bells had ceased. Now the only sound was the faint boom of the siege drums echoing through the stone.
He turned a sealed letter over in his fingers for the hundredth time — the wax stamped with the crest of Elvenhelm. The letter had arrived two nights before, carried by a courier who'd vanished soon after crossing the gate. The seal was unbroken. Richard had not yet dared to read it.
A knock at the door broke the silence.
"Enter," he said.
The door opened and Commander Delun stepped inside, armor dripping, helm tucked under one arm. Steam rose faintly from his cloak, as though the rain itself had recoiled from his heat. He bowed, stiffly, more out of discipline than reverence.
"Your Majesty. The walls hold. For now."
"For now," Richard echoed. His voice carried the flat calm of a man who had outlived fear. "How many did we lose in the outer villages?"
"Too many to count. The scouts say the goblins move under a single banner now — black flame on gray. They don't retreat. Not anymore."
Richard looked past him, to the window. The rain had softened to a drizzle, but smoke still drifted from the east. "A banner," he said quietly. "Someone taught them to think like men."
Delun's jaw tightened. "Not men, Majesty. Something worse."
–––
The door opened again. A servant ushered in two figures — Valen, shining even in exhaustion, and a woman in a dark gray cloak whose hood was drawn low.
Valen saluted. "The lower quarter is cleared, sire. The granaries sealed. The guild envoys request audience. They say their men will not fight without formal decree."
Richard's lip curled faintly. "Which guilds?"
"The Rasclaw and Lostgrace," Valen said. "Zerkion sent no word, though our scouts saw their banners moving north by the river."
"Zerkion doesn't send words," Delun muttered. "They send heads."
The cloaked woman stepped forward then, lowering her hood. Shandy — of the Lostgrace Guild. Her face was sharp and pale, like something cut from marble. Her eyes were clear gray, the kind that saw every weakness in a man before he spoke.
"Your Majesty," she said, bowing low. "We offer our service as always, but coin and command must be certain. Lionroar answers to you. Rasclaw answers to none. The balance must be kept."
Richard's gaze hardened. "You speak of balance on the night my city burns?"
Shandy's lips curved slightly. "Balance, or survival. Whichever you prefer to call it."
Delun's hand twitched near his sword hilt. Richard's silence was enough to stop him.
"Tell your masters," the King said finally, "that Westernlight does not buy loyalty. It expects it."
Shandy bowed again, that same unreadable half-smile still on her face. "Then may the gods keep your expectations alive till morning."
She turned and vanished through the door, the sound of her boots lost beneath the drumbeat of rain.
–––
When she was gone, Richard leaned back in his chair. "Assassins, thieves, smugglers — all pretending at diplomacy." He looked to Valen. "And the seer? She still lives?"
Valen nodded. "Barely. She woke once, shouting of the moon, then fell back into silence. The priests fear touching her."
"Good," Richard said. "Let her dream. Let her gods speak in riddles if they wish — I've had my fill of prophecy."
Delun met his eyes. "And yet her visions warned us before the goblins crossed the river."
Richard smiled thinly. "Then let her warn us again before the next kingdom falls."
The words hung in the air — sharp, cold, and heavy. For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then Valen shifted uneasily.
"Sire, if I may," he said softly, "the letter from Elvenhelm still sits unopened. Their council will not wait long."
Richard's hand moved to the letter, tracing the wax seal again. "No," he said. "They never do."
He broke the seal.
–––
The parchment inside was pale as bone, the ink glimmering faintly silver. The words were written in the flowing script of the elves — precise, almost too beautiful for war.
He read aloud, voice low:
{:–––––––––––––––:}
To King Richard of Westernlight. The winds change in the north. The dragon's blood stirs beneath the mountain. Seal your walls, guard your children. When the red moon rises, the first to bleed will be the west.
{:–––––––––––––––:}
Richard's hand tightened on the page until the parchment tore. "So they knew."
Delun frowned. "Knew what?"
"That this was coming." He looked up sharply. "The red moon. The seer spoke of it too, didn't she?"
Valen nodded once. "She said two lights in the dark. Scales on skin. They wake when the red moon rises."
Delun's brow furrowed. "Dragons?"
"Or something that wants to be," Richard said.
He stood, moving to the window. Outside, the rain had stopped. The clouds above Westernlight were beginning to thin — revealing a faint red glow where the moon should be white.
"Then it begins tonight," he whispered.
–––
The torch by the door flickered. For a moment, Richard thought it was the draft — until the flame bent inward, toward the room.
Delun turned first, hand going to his sword.
Something moved in the corner — a shadow peeling itself off the wall. The air chilled.
A whisper came, soft as silk. "Forgive me, Majesty."
Then the dagger flashed.
–––
Delun was the first to move, but too late. The blade found Richard's chest between ribs, sliding in with a sound like tearing cloth. The King gasped, eyes wide, crown clattering to the floor.
The assassin moved fast — a figure in gray, face half-hidden, already turning to strike again — but Valen's sword caught the second blow, sparks leaping where steel met steel. The clang filled the chamber.
The intruder's hood fell back for a heartbeat — revealing dark hair and eyes pale as frost. A mark glowed faintly at the assassin's throat, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Then, with impossible speed, the figure leapt backward, crashing through the tall window. Glass exploded outward, scattering into the night like stars.
Rain began again, hard and sudden.
Delun caught the King as he fell. Richard's blood spilled across the flagstones, red as the rising moon beyond the window.
"Find them," the Commander said through his teeth. "Find who sent them."
But Richard only stared upward, breath shuddering. His fingers tightened once around Delun's wrist.
"The shadow… was ours…" he whispered.
Then he was still.
–––
Outside, the bells began to toll again — not warning, not summoning. Mourning.
And in the temple, far below the keep, Chaste woke up screaming.