Vallrien

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With a weakening rage, Abbas continued in battle against the two remaining knights who advanced against him. He gave a sharp cut toward the knight's chest, but it was sidestepped and he faced the blunt of his enemies sword instead. It slashed through the front of his flimsy button-up shirt and skimmed the left side of his abdomen, thus was not deep enough to slow him down. Abbas took a step back, just in time to avoid the other's attack. The fight, two against one, was quite tedious, but the King was not ready to surrender yet. Angrily, he charged at the knight on his left and slammed into him, running his sword through a weak spot in the man's armor just above his armpit. He obviously hit something important, as a bright red spray came leaking out when he removed his sword. The other attempted to counter, but Abbas turned around and sent his sword up and straight through the left side of the knight's chest.

Abbas straightened up to get a breath, but an arrow sped by his head, nearly catching his ear. Quickly looking up, he found the unfriendly green archer staring slyly back at him. He raised his sword, kicking the other he was saving for Tyrothane off to the side. By the sound of battle coming from behind him, the King could tell that his body guard was doing just fine on his own. Fyi, who quickly unsheathed the sword at his hip, raised his metallic weapon as if challenging the King to come and stop him. It was like a battle of cowardice.

The dark-headed King charged first, their swords meeting with a resounding clang as the two stood mere inches away from one another. "How long do you think you can avoid death, King?" the rebellious knight spat, stepping back so quickly that Abbas was almost knocked off of his balance.

Fyi charged once more, but his blade was met by one that did not belong to the King. Tyrothane protectively stood in front of the King, who was quite thankful for the rest.

"You know, I didn't honestly expect you to show up so soon, Ty," the enemy cockily purred. Abbas glared at the boy from his ready position behind Tyrothane. He had never seen someone so keen to chat during a battle. Pity really, I did like you. With that, the two lunged at one another in fierce battle. Tyrothane and Fyi both looked quite skilled, despite their injuries. Abbas was unsure of how he could help, so he stayed back, prepared for whatever might happen. But, honestly, it didn't seem like Fyi was going to win. Tyrothane even ran his sword through the man's shoulder.

But, Abbas felt the room grow suddenly cold, and something in the corner of his vision stirred. From the back of the room, a figure he had failed to notice earlier emerged. The King kicked himself for failing to think of Fyi having a fail-safe plan. The figure, whoever it was, emerged at a slow pace, reaching their servant and placing a bony hand on his shoulder. '

The newest intruder was a woman- one with dark, eerie features that resembled the darkness that haunted Abbas's dreams ever so often. Trying to stifle a shudder, Abbas raise his sword, ready to attack. But, his knight beat him to the job, swinging his sword hard at the unarmed female. With a small, simple flick of her wrist, she caused the sword to stop midair and soon, with a small touch, she paralyzed the body guard.

Abbas plowed toward the woman, his weapon raised near his right shoulder, his left out in front of him as if to shield him. In his mad dash, he didn't notice how she waved her free hand in his direction, her eyes never wavering from their contact with Tyrothane's. He slammed into an invisible wall, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact and his face soon following. His nose, which had already been trickling blood, was now throbbing in pain. In his sudden incident, he almost didn't notice the sorceress staring directly at him.

"How many knights have you gone through now, Lord Abbas? Lost track have we? Well that's alright. Doesn't matter who you put in our way, we'll eliminate all of them. Why don't you just surrender yourself to your destined death?" she cruelly hissed. Her smooth lips parted into a sinister smile- one that made the ruler of the land's blood boil. "After all, You wouldn't want another death on your hands, would you?"

Just as the enchantresses's fingers began to caress his body guard's face, Abbas threw himself into the magical barrier with a howl that was drowned out by the boy's own scream. The King stumbled backward, landing on his rear from the blunt force of his impact against the wall. He felt his face grow red as the witch encircled Fyi into what looked like a large embrace, darkness swallowing them as a whole, carrying them away to a place unknown. With them, the barricade separating Abbas from them vanished and the King rushed to the injured knight on the floor, his face alight with concern.

"Tyrothane...?" the man wheezed, attempting to help the boy up, only to loose his own balance, crashing down near his guard. What the mage had said struck the King at heart. For all Abbas knew, Tyrothane could be dying and it would be all his fault. If one more person was to put their own life on the line for him, maybe it was time to surrender. It was what a good King would do- what his father would have done.

Suddenly, the loud crash of metal and wood made Abbas jump into an alert position on his knees, drawing his sword and ignoring the sore ache of his limbs. Although he was prepared to fight, facing him was not an enemy. It was the nauseated looking cook, obviously revolted at the sight of corpses and blood in his kitchen. "S-Sire?" he asked, blinking as if to make the unrealistic scene go away.

On the contrary, Abbas felt relief flood him as if his worry was a broken dam. "He... We need a medic," he rasped, the cook nodding profusely.

"Right, Sire. Okay," he said, kicking the clutter of pots and pans to the side. He moved toward the injured pair quite uncomfortably, heaving Tyrothane up first and then grabbing Abbas's arm, before he could protest, and yanking him up also. The King contained a wail of pain, as the cook had successfully jostled the shoulder that had collided with the witch's force field.

The cook led the two, tired and limping, out of the kitchen and down the hall like children. Abbas tried to maintain his whole weight, but his leg protested every time he did so, thus he found himself leaning against his stocky friend more than he wished to. The man obviously didn't seem to mind, as he was most likely used to lifting flower sacks, pans, and other kitchen utensils.

With every step, the King felt more like giving up the ghost. His mind wandered back to the constant murder attempts. Would the kingdom be safer without him at the throne? He let out a shaky exhale. It wasn't the time to be thinking negatively. He just had to focus on getting to the medic. Where was the medic anyway? he pondered, as every second seemed to grow longer and longer.

The King looked down at his leg, finding the bandage wet with blood. He then peered over at his guard, who had proven his bravery today if never before. He wondered if the boy was okay, or if he was going to be. The King foggily tried to continue his thoughts, but black spots danced across his vision, which was quickly losing color. He slumped over, leaving the cook to catch him, but was no longer conscious to witness anything else. Instead, he was gliding into darkness once more, only this time it was welcome.

---

"Tyrothane...?" The breathy word barely reached through the haze that had clouded his mind. His breathing was loud and short in his own ears, almost drowning out his own King's voice. After a moment he gave a slight groan and his body shifted. All he could manage was a short nod to acknowledge that Abbas had called out to him. However, he wasn't sure if the man had noticed or not. Then he heard another voice, it sounded familiar but still his body went tense as he tried to get himself to move to protect the King. Damn it... what the hell did that mage do? he thought angrily to himself. Everything was burning and too heavy to move.

"Right, Sire. Okay," Tyrothane heard the voice say as it came closer. Hands gripped his arms as he was hauled upwards, all the while his thoughts were rampant. Don't just trust anyone, Sire! he would have said it aloud, but with the state he was in, speaking was difficult. After a little while he finally gained some control over his body and his gaze slid opened to see that he was being hauled down the hallway of the palace in the tight grip of the large cook. On the man's other side was Abbas who hung off of the poor cook like an extra limb.

A soft cough filled Ty's throat as he felt his throat drying out with the effort of trying to speak. His gaze watched Abbas very carefully as they were led down the hallway. He wasn't entirely sure where they were going, but he hoped it would be to the medic. As time passed by slowly, he could feel his shoulders, then arms down to his fingers. Last to regain any feeling were his legs and he could slightly stumble along with the cook helping to keep his balance. It was about that time that Abbas lost consciousness completely. They stopped, the cook releasing the young knight to catch the King before he hit the floor. Ty's heart jumped to his throat.

"Sire!" he croaked out, his voice breaking. He winced, coughing to try to clear it to sound normal once again. For a second time he inwardly cursed the damned mage that had attacked him. Whatever she'd done it was deadly, not to mention very dangerous should she have decided to stay and finish them off. There would have been nothing he could have done to save the King then, or himself for that matter.

The cook shook his head slightly with a sigh before pulling the man tighter into his grip, "Almost there," the cook muttered. Tyrothane looked down the hall and noted the corridor they were in was indeed the one that led to the healers. Using the wall as a brace, he followed after his King and the large head cook into the room. There were several women and a few men mingling around there tending to a few small injuries from everyday work. As they walked in there was an audible gasp of shock from most of the healers as they took in the state of their King and his body guard.

"Over there," one woman said ushering over quickly and pointing to an empty bed where the cook could lay Abbas down upon. Once he'd done that, Tyrothane nodded to the man and he left to resume his own duties which would probably include getting a few soldiers to help clean the destroyed kitchen. Ty leaned against the wall, watching his King's face with a frown. He still wasn't sure if Abbas had believed Fyi's little trick and he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to approach the man on the subject either once he was awake.

"You, sit down over there," another female voice snapped at him. He turned to look at the woman and did as he was told, remembering that he was injured too though not as badly as his King. He was afraid that the knife wound in his leg had cut something rather important. He hoped that the healers would heal him quickly. He allowed the woman to start tending to his small cuts and bruises all the while his gaze locked on the body of the King. Tyrothane's thoughts whirled around what he was going to say to the man once he woke up.

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Abbas's consciousness first recognized a bitter, awful taste in his mouth. For some odd reason, the taste reminded him of under-cooked meat, something he had once gotten the displeasure of sampling. It was numbness that registered next, the unclear voices of people around him following soon after.

"How he gets himself into these situations, I'll never know," he heard a female voice say, a male grunting in return. The feeling of disrespect inspired him to force himself to awaken, just to spite those speaking of him. His eyes hardly cracking open, he flung himself into an upright position.

"Sorry, must have dozed off in the hall," said the King drowsily, a number of hands, warm and soft, gently bringing him back down. Abbas opened his eyes as wide as possible, the room quite blurry to begin with, but slowly revealing itself to be the medical wing. Beside him stood two medics, one going to work on his leg. He tried to resist the urge to squirm uncomfortably as the medic began exploring his stab wound.

The King was quickly alarmed, scanning the room for Tyrothane. He began to panic when he didn't see him, but his heart rested finding him in sitting just a few feet away, a nurse tending to his injuries. "I'm fine, really," Abbas tried to explain, wanting to get up and alert guards about the traitors and the witch. The idea of a coup d'etat sent a shiver up his spine.

The medic beside him handed him a bottle, a clear, potent liquid sloshing inside. Abbas turned to her, looking at her uneasily, the smell of alcohol quite a familiar scent to his Highness. He knew what was going to happen, and he wasn't so happy about it.

"We're going to try and get a lot of things done rather quickly, so you may wish to drink for the pain, Sire," she explained. Abbas, for once, obeyed without protest, although he wasn't much of a lightweight and he doubted the alcohol would do much for him.

The medics quickly began to work, the man at the end of his bed pouring an almost identical bottle of alcohol onto his wound. The King was startled by the sudden burst of pain, and he almost choked on his drink. He let out a moan, turning his head away from the medical work and accidentally locking eyes with Tyrothane.

He was unsure of what to say, as thank you didn't seem to suffice. Although the Captain hadn't caught Abbas off guard, he was still unprepared to fight. His guard had entered at the right moment to save him. And, with that being thought, he felt a twinge of guilt. How had Fyi and the Captain meant to dispose of Tyrothane?

The blame of everything that had happened could fall back onto Abbas, and he was well aware of that. What the witch had said lingered on his mind. How long would he run? How many men would fall in his place? He felt weak, thinking thoughts like that. Why did he care so much for these people? His insides twisted with guilt (and sickness, which was a given), so he looked away from his guard and took another drink of his liquor.

His injury was soon sewn up, so he clambered off the cot, ignoring the protests of the medics. It was painful for him to stand, but he did so anyway, feeling like if he didn't get up he never would. "Wondrous. Thank you, doctors," he said, trying to be polite, but as that was difficult for him, he spoke quite mockingly.

"Now, I'm afraid I must jump to the subject of high treason. Or, maybe, petty treason. I'm not sure which, I'm slightly intoxicated," he rambled, much to the amusement and dislike of the medical staff. "The soldier, Fyi, is to be killed on sight, as he is working with a magical associate."

"You really are drunk," replied a male medic, speaking with a thick cockney accent.

The King raised an eyebrow at the man, who immediately closed his mouth and shrunk back behind those surrounding him. "Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted, I was just about to speak of what to do with him," said Abbas, pointing a finger at Tyrothane.

"Any order of death upon this knight I uttered earlier was an act, in attempt to throw off the enemy." With a frown, he added, "It didn't work.

"But," he continued, "with much regret, I will not allow him to serve me any longer unless he is checked out, as he was hit with a blow of strong sorcery." He imagined his guard would protest, but it didn't matter much to him.

Weakly, he leaned against the door frame, the smell of uncooked meat hitting him once more. He imaged it was the blood of other dead soldiers upon his clothes, but that wasn't a very pleasant thought to dwell on.

He had lots of things to do, but he decided upon plopping back down on the cot and hoping someone brought him more to drink.

---

"How he gets himself into these situations, I'll never know," one of the nurses said as she worked to cut open the pant leg that covered the deep knife wound. One of the other healers next to her nodded in response. Tyrothane glowered at both of them. He would have said something, but decided against it. If anything it wasn't Abbas' fault, it was his for not being more careful.

"Sorry, must have dozed off in the hall," Abbas' voice suddenly filled the room as the monarch lurched forward. Tyrothane's frame jerked as he automatically wanted to move to the man's side and push him back down. He was worried that the man would strain himself too much, as usual. However, the medics were already ahead of him on that thought process and had already put the King back down on the bed.

Abbas' gaze searched the room frantically until he caught sight of the young guard. Ty wasn't sure how to feel as he locked eyes with the man. His jaw tightened, eyes a bit wider than normal as he watched the medics tend to the man. He felt guilt rushing through him. He should have seen the plan far before it had happened... Fyi... he thought sourly to himself, lips pulled into a tight frown.

The King tried to reassure the people surrounding him that he was just fine in vain. Obviously he was not okay, hell he was bleeding profusely onto the cot. Ty's fingers intertwined and clenched together as the nurse working on his cut and the arrow head lodged in his shoulder shook her head at Abbas' announcement. He felt his shirt loosened by the girl as she pulled the strings and tugged at it to get him to remove it. Tyrothane obliged as the people across from him started getting ready to pulled the knife wound together.

The woman handed the King a bottle of alcohol just as the male medic prepared to pour some onto the wound. When that happened even Ty cringed, wincing on behalf of his Kings pain even though he wasn't the one going through it. Once again he felt guilty. He ground his teeth together as the woman finally managed to pull out the arrow head in his shoulder, though he barely felt that. She took a needle and thread and started sewing up the wound and then put a gauze there, instructing him to hold it while she tended to the cut along his shoulder blade.

A second time, he met the gaze of his King. The stony expression was hard to read and Tyrothane wondered what it was that Abbas was thinking about, well besides the pain of his wound that is. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he wanted to know. How angry was Abbas going to be regarding the planned framing of Ty's betrayal? He sighed a bit. He was sure to find out soon enough.

"Wondrous. Thank you, doctors," Abbas said as he brushed them aside and stood up.

Tyrothane would have gotten up and protested the King's rash behavior but the woman tending to him sternly gripped his shoulder to keep him seated while she finished wrapping up his wounds. The tight white bandage was spread all across his chest and shoulder making it hard to move his arm properly.

"Now, I'm afraid I must jump to the subject of high treason. Or, maybe, petty treason. I'm not sure which, I'm slightly intoxicated. The soldier, Fyi, is to be killed on sight, as he is working with a magical associate."

Ty lifted an eyebrow as Abbas droned on, his voice only slightly slurred. Still, the man was surprisingly sharp considering the affects of the alcohol he'd taken. At the mention of Fyi being killed on sight, Ty's eyes darkened, eyebrows coming down a bit as he felt a rush of anger through his veins. He would be the one to do that, definitely.

"Anyway, before I was rudely interrupted, I was just about to speak of what to do with him," the King continued after glowering at one of the medics who had spoken rudely. Tyrothane's heart clenched tightly as he watched the man. He straightened as the woman took a step away from him, having finished her work. For a single moment he thought that he was about to face the worst, probably death by beheading or hanging. He swallowed dryly, though he wouldn't resist if it came to that.

"Any order of death upon this knight I uttered earlier was an act, in attempt to throw off the enemy. It didn't work. But, with much regret, I will not allow him to serve me any longer unless he is checked out, as he was hit with a blow of strong sorcery."

It was a single fleeting second that he felt relief flood through him. The orders to kill him on sight had been an act. He silently praised his King for his quick action and thoughts. Immediately afterwards he felt guilty yet again for thinking that the man could so easily be fooled by the likes of Fyi and the Captain. However, shortly following that feeling, he was bombarded by disbelief and shock. Tyrothane quickly stood up, his dark gaze wide as he watched Abbas.

"Sire!" he cried in protest, "I'm alright! Please, let me continue to serve you!"

His heart pounded rapidly in his chest as he begged to continue his service with the man. All of his hard work, how could he trust anyone else to protect the King as he had? He bit his tongue... but in all honesty he hadn't done a great job of it so far. The woman standing next to him folded her arms.

"Well, you're in luck sire. I'm skillful in magic. All kinds actually, except for healing wounds, unfortunately, but I can do just about anything else," she piped up. Her gaze looked up to Ty who was shocked at her speaking out so freely. Immediately he was put on edge and turned to face her, taking a step back and his gaze sweeping the room for a weapon, not that it would do much should she choose to use magic against him.

She rolled her eyes, "Idiot. There's a difference between a sorceress and witch. I'm a witch, you dolt. Sit down, I'll check you out."

Ty, unsure of what or even how to respond to her, slowly resumed his place on the cot. His gaze shot over to Abbas. The woman placed her hand over his chest as she spoke again, "I'm Nameia, by the way. Now hold still, you won't feel anything I promise," she said, introducing herself. Nameia closed her eyes as she started to do whatever it was she was doing. Tyrothane watched her carefully, his entire body tense. He really didn't like any kind of magic and it was clearly displayed on his face how much he disliked this as well.

She pulled away soon after, a frown on her lips. Turning to King Abbas she shook her head a bit, "It's a curse. A fairly powerful one. I can remove it, but it'll take some time. I doubt it'll hinder his ability to serve you, but I can keep him here if you'd like. Besides' I'll need to cast more magic on him to discern exactly what type of curse was put on him. I wouldn't be too worried though, he seems fine enough. I doubt it would do anything unless the caster was nearby."

Nameia put her hands on her hips while she waited for Abbas' response. Tyrothane watched the man steadily, hoping that he wouldn't have to be confined to the medical ward.

---

---

It was only seconds after the King sat down that his guard protested, something he had foreseen. The shock in the boy’s voice at the thought of being decommissioned was what had startled him most. After facing death so many times in this line of duty, it was a wonder he hadn't already quit. That he desired to continue service was a very remarkable thing. Tyrothane Keltier was strange indeed.

"Sire! I'm alright! Please, let me continue to serve you!" the knight exclaimed.

When his protest rang out, Abbas turned to face him, an eyebrow lifted in curiosity. He opened his mouth to explain his concerns, that whatever magic planted inside Tyrothane could be used to turn his morals around and against the King, but was stopped by his medic.

"Well, you're in luck sire," said the woman. "I'm skillful in magic. All kinds actually, except for healing wounds, unfortunately, but I can do just about anything else."

This intrigued him more than Tyrothane's reaction had: she was a witch. Since when had witches been serving him in his own castle? He shrugged it off. Despite just having been attacked by a wicked enchantress, the use of magic in his home didn't bother his as much as it should have. If she was useful, why ignore that?

Abbas would have listened to her and Tyrothane's conversation, but the medics had taken him sitting down as an opportunity to examine him, much to his disliking. Although he told them to go away, no one seemed to listen to him, something he was not used to as King. And, even more disappointing, none of them brought liquor.

"Look at his shoulder!" cried one of the medics, pulling on his shirt to reveal a big, nasty bruise forming. He bitterly wrenched his arm away from the woman, sulkily rubbing it.

He pushed his way through the crowd of medics. "Do you not have other patients to attend to?" he hissed, sending them off to work. Now that he had enough space to feel comfortable, he approached Tyrothane and the witch.

Turning to Abbas, a frown upon her face, she explained Tyrothane's condition. "It's a curse," she said. "A fairly powerful one. I can remove it, but it'll take some time." The King disliked hearing that. With so many attempts upon his life, Abbas didn't know how long he could go without his guard. He had kept himself alive well enough with other twits, but if it had just been him today, he disliked what he knew to be the outcome.

"I doubt it'll hinder his ability to serve you, but I can keep him here if you'd like. Besides' I'll need to cast more magic on him to discern exactly what type of curse was put on him. I wouldn't be too worried though, he seems fine enough. I doubt it would do anything unless the caster was nearby."

Abbas stood silently for a moment, almost forgetting there was an important question at hand. "Ah, yes," he mumbled, nodding. "I suppose I will allow Tyrothane choose for himself, as this choice concerns him most." And he didn't need to stay much longer, as he figured he could most likely guess what the boy's answer would be.

He limped out of the room, feeling slightly drained. He looked down at himself, caked with blood. It wasn't a very glamorous sight, and he contemplated finding someone to draw him a bath. The warm water sounded quite nice, as the hall of the castle was quite cold. And this cold made Abbas feel slightly uneasy.

It was then that someone placed a hand upon his wounded shoulder. He let out a cry of pain and shock, as he was still unnerved from the fight he had experienced earlier. Leaping around, he found a stout figure standing behind him. It was the cook, whose innocent face was full of horror at the act of frightening and hurting his king.

"S-sorry, Sire!" he stammered. "I didn't mean to hurt ya, honest!"

The King opened his mouth to reply, but before the words could fall out, the cook gathered him in a warm embrace. He would have usually fought any sign of friendliness or care with vigor, but the King was so emotionally worn, he endured the cook’s apology, patting the slightly shorter man on the head for good measure.

"Now, um," he said, pulling away from the awkward affectionate hug, "was there something you wished to tell me?" The cook nodded, regaining his composure.

He nodded down the hall, in the direction of the kitchen. "The Captain's dead."

Abbas felt frustration rise and his face grow hot. "Of course he's dead!" he snapped. "I watched Tyrothane rid us of him just moments ago!" Had the cook really taken the time to deliver him such a pointless message?

"No, Sire, I don' believe ya understand," said the cook, his face growing slightly grave. "You watched yer knight stab 'em. But, even a stab through the heart is somethin' that can be helped. He just died now. But, not before saying somethin'." Abbas nodded with a rapid change of heart, now finding the news quite brilliant.

"We don't know what it means," continued the cook. "It ain't a word that I've ever come across. 'Tributum' he said."

Why the Captain would say anything, Abbas didn't know. Maybe he wanted medical help. Tributum sounded an awful lot like tribute, and maybe he thought if he changed sides last minute that they would keep him alive. They obviously hadn't, as he was now dead, a bittersweet thought to the King.

So, Abbas thanked the cook for alerting him of this, and turned around, wondering if his guard knew anything about the strange word. It could have been some knight code. Or, it could have been some sort of trap. Either way, Abbas figured it would be something exciting.

---

"Ah, yes, I suppose I will allow Tyrothane choose for himself, as this choice concerns him most." Abbas said, finally coming to a conclusion.

"Thank you, Sire," he breathed.

The young knight straightened feeling elated at the fact that his King had relented. Obviously the man knew what Ty would choose. A sigh of relief filled him and the barest of smiles brushed across his lips as he relaxed, head falling forward a bit with his eyes closing. Taking a breath he looked up and noted that the man was already heading towards the doors of the clinic. He quickly reached behind himself and grabbed his shirt. Tugging it over his head, he stood up, adjusting the soft leather and retying to fit his frame again.

"Hey," Nameia called, grabbing his arm to stop him from leaving so quickly, "Just remember you're cursed, don't forget that. You're to come back in here every few hours when you can spare it so I can get more information on what's ailing you. In the meantime I'll be working on a spell to rid you of what the caster put on you. Just keep in mind that you could be in danger, or you could be dangerous to Lord Abbas. Got it?"

Ty looked down at her, pausing in his hasty attempt to dress and follow after his King. He swallowed dryly as she spoke to him. Yes, he would have to be extra careful when it came to serving Abbas. The last thing he wanted was to become the one that attacked the man. He felt a sour taste in his mouth and winced slightly.

"Yes, thank you," he said, nodding his head to acknowledge what Nameia had told him and turned to leave the room.

Behind him he could hear the woman's voice as she huffed, "Yeah, you better be careful. I wouldn't carry any weapons if I were you!" She called as he left.

Tyrothane shook his head, what a ridiculous request he thought with a frown. How would he protect the man if he had no weapons? The young knight sighed. His first order of business was to accompany Abbas to where ever the man decided to go, make sure he was safe and then commission some knights to find his gauntlet while he picked up some new weapons from the armory.

He left the medical ward and caught sight of Abbas speaking to the cook someways down the hall. He quickened his pace and soon found his normal place at the tall man's right side. He'd missed most of the conversation but when he had gotten close enough, he heard something rather disturbing.

"No, Sire, I don' believe ya understand. You watched yer knight stab 'em. But, even a stab through the heart is somethin' that can be helped. He just died now. But, not before saying somethin'. We don't know what it means. It ain't a word that I've ever come across. 'Tributum' he said." the cook was saying.

Ty listened with an eyebrow raised up. So, he hadn't killed the Captain in that single strike. Of course, Tyrothane wasn't all too surprised about it seeing as the burly man had always been rather resilient to just about anything. The young body guard wouldn't expect anything less of the man who'd taught him all about swordsmanship when he'd first joined the knights. There was a bitter taste in his mouth again at the thought that the man had been planning to kill Lord Abbas. Ty's fingers curled into fists as he stood there for a moment, waiting for them to finish conversing. How blind he was...

Abbas gave a curt nod to the man when the cook was done and turned on his heel. Tyrothane followed him his brows furrowed as he was deep in thought with what he'd heard from the heavy set cook. Tributum... what is that... why does it sound so... he looked up to Abbas as they strode down the hall, "Sire, Tributum. Have you read it in any of the submitted papers that the council sends to you? It sounds more like a principle or rule. You know you should be reading those, the council is full of rats," he said with a bit of a frown as he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Abbas.

---

---

"Sire, Tributum. Have you read it in any of the submitted papers that the council sends to you?" asked Tyrothane, who had quickly taken up his post at Abbas's side. All hope of it being some knight code quickly fleeted from Abbas's thoughts, as the guard didn't seem to understand it either. "You know you should be reading those, the council is full of rats."

Abbas sighed. "I have hardly been paying attention to any written documents I've signed," he admitted, inwardly cursing himself for this. During the time he had fully trusted the Captain, how many things had he let slip by? He figured none of them had been too important, as he hadn't knowingly faced their repercussions.

But, he put this pessimistic thought out of his mind. Tributum... What on earth was it?

And it was in this thought that a plan unraveled in the mind of the King. It was a foolish plan, of course, but it was the best he could think of. "Tyrothane, I must collect my cloak," he announced, striding down the hall toward his chamber, his newly gained limp only hindering him slightly.

It took Abbas only a few moments to arrive to his room, the wooden door still slightly scarred from where a fight had occurred only a month ago. Not bothering to sentimentally dwell on past events, he threw the door open, barging in. Searching through the messy ruins of what may have once been an orderly bedroom, he grabbed his blue cloak, throwing it on. Unwilling to waste more time waiting for Tyrothane himself to change, he threw his guard a red jacket that he fished from a pile of clothes.

"My father had a linguist in the castle when I was a boy, and I trust him to decipher the word more than I do any in my council," Abbas explained. "Thus, we're going to take a walk." He didn't bother asking if his guard wished to go along, as he knew the boy would most likely go with him if he wanted to or not.

So, he made his way through the winding castle halls until he reached the front doors, guarded by muscular soldiers who immediatly questioned what he was doing. Not feeling like being questioned, Abbas just pushed past them into the sunlight, pulling up his hood to hide his face. He scanned his surroundings, as he wasn't out and about much.

He stood in a stone courtyard, still inside the castle walls. Ignoring the protests of those who had seen him before he had hidden himself, the King proceeded on, trusting his guard was keeping up. Quietly, he slipped through the gates, tapping the soldiers on the shoulder opposite of him so he could easily sneak past.

The village was like Abbas had last seen it, bustling with trade and work. A pen of pigs squealed happily as he and his guard walked by, their black eyes making him slightly uncomfortable. Just down the street was a tootless old man, covered in inky tattoos that he made dance by moving in certian ways. Vallrien certianly had some strange characters.

"This linguist," the monarch began to explain to Tyrothane as they walked, "may seem a bit strange. My father fired him long ago, but he owes my family for saving him once. As he is indebuted to me, I know he is safe, but you are free marketing ground. Don't speak to him nor touch any of the objects in his shop."

And, just as he finished speaking, Abbas suddenly whipped around on his heel, turning sharply left into an alley. The alley stretched back quite far and then bending beyond sight. It would have been easy to waltz back into whatever was hidden at the end of the pathway, but two large roadblocks stood in the way. They were men who stood easily as tall as Abbas, if not taller, and most certianly more hulkish in stature.

What was most unnerving about the scene was that Abbas approached them simply. He leaned into one of the men and murmered a simple word into his ear. After speaking, the two men parted to let him through, but stepped back together, blocking his guards path.

"Look at this one, eh?" asked one of the men, giving Tyrothane a sort of shove.

Abbas cleared his throat, speaking calmly but sternly. "He's with me," he told the guards, who parted to let the knight through, obviously disapointed that they were unable to clobber either of them. The monarch waited until his guard resumed his post at his side before he continued walking. "We should be there soon," he whispered, more to himself than to Tyrothane.

Which, he was right about, for just as they turned the corner, they stumbled upon a grand strew of shops and merchants. It looked like a gypsy marketplace, full of booths and carts. To their right was a motel and tavern, although by the ruckus of shouts inside, didn't seem very inviting. The farther the two went, the less crowded it seemed to get, until finally Abbas stopped in an almost completely vacant area. In front of his lay a two story, thin building, with a broken sign swinging from the front that read:
A potent smell was emitting from the shop, and two creepy harlequin dolls were strung up beside the door, which was barely cracked open. Abbas stepped behind Tyrothane and gestured to the door. "Knights first."

---

"I have hardly been paying attention to any written documents I've signed," Abbas answered the knights question.

Tyrothane frowned as he followed after his King. Of course Abbas hadn't looked at any of the documents he ever signed. Not that the youth could really blame the man, after all who would seriously want to read every little thing that passed through the council and needed a signature? Tyrothane sighed a bit as he strode beside the man, noting that they were heading to Abbas' chambers. His hopes of putting his King into his room and retrieving his weaponry were dashed with the tall man's next words.

"Tyrothane, I must collect my cloak."

Looking up sharply, Tyrothane lifted an eyebrow. What was this man thinking of doing now, "Sire..." he started, protesting the idea that hadn't even been sprung upon him just yet. Even so, it seemed that his voice hadn't reached the man as Abbas moved into his room rather quickly. Ty stayed outside of the King's chamber, preferring the cleaner hall to the disaster beyond the door. Every time he looked into that room he had the maddening impulse to just clean everything.

A red coat came flying at him a few seconds after and Ty caught it deftly, asking his question as Abbas strode past him into the hall, "Where are we going?" he called, his voice admitting defeat to his King's wish to be up and about despite the injury.

"My father had a linguist in the castle when I was a boy, and I trust him to decipher the word more than I do any in my council. Thus, we're going to take a walk."

Tyrothane fell silent as he followed after the man, taking his usual place at Abbas' right side. A linguist, was it? Intriguing. The idea of seeking a linguist's aid in such a matter was rather sharp and definitely spoke volumes of Abbas' cunning. If only the man would act more of a King all the time... Ty shook his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips. They past the guards at the front of the palace whom tried to stop the tall man, but failed miserably. Tyrothane shook his head at them, waving his hand to have them stay where they were instead of trying to follow after.

He slipped on the red coat, cringing slightly at the bright color. As they passed by the distracted guard at the gate, Tyrothane reached down and quickly snatched up the man's knife at his side. The weapon wouldn't be missed, at least not until the poor guard changed shifts with the others and put away his gear for the night. Turning the blade around, Ty shoved it up against his arm under the sleeve of his black uniform.

"This linguist may seem a bit strange. My father fired him long ago, but he owes my family for saving him once. As he is indebuted to me, I know he is safe, but you are free marketing ground. Don't speak to him nor touch any of the objects in his shop."

Fired? Tyrothane thought to himself. He was put on edge by that as he listened to Abbas finish what he was saying. He didn't like the implications at all. Abbas was going to put his trust in someone who had been fired from his duties... was he crazy? Instead of voicing his worries, Ty shook his head with a bit of a sigh and quickly turned to follow after his King who had ducked into an alleyway.

Not too much farther down and they were met with two very large men, both taller than Abbas himself and definitely dwarfing the smaller body guard. With a single look, it might have seemed that both men could have easily broken Tyrothane should they get their hands on him, but Ty wasn't the least intimidated by them. As Abbas passed through them by whispering to one, he made to follow but was quickly stopped as both of the burly guards stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"Look at this one, eh?" one said as he reached out and shoved Ty back.

The guard, quick on his feet, took two steps back from the hit to recover his balance very quickly and the knife dropped down into his hand from the hidden confines of his sleeve. However, before his body could even move into reaction and take out the two men standing in his way, Abbas called to them, his voice sharp. After being told that Tyrothane was with him, they stepped aside, clearly disgruntled by the fact that they'd lost their prey. Not that it would have ended well for them should it have gone any farther.

Ty slipped the knife back up into his sleeve, the weapon not even being noticed by them, and resumed his place next to Abbas. The area they entered was rather interesting. Ty had never seen anything like it before. The people were very different from the people of the city they'd just left. Vibrant colors draped almost everything, there was lots of dancing going on, lots of shouting from the sellers to try to get things sold, a random woman had grabbed his arm and attempted to drag him from Abbas' side at one point. His nerves were completely unsettled and he could almost feel his blood pressure rising. Why... he felt himself groaning inwardly. Of all places, why would it have to be the most crowded and therefore the most dangerous?

They soon came upon a place where there weren't that many people and Ty's nerves were starting to settle down. He noted the shop that they'd been heading towards and glanced upwards at the broken sign:

Asher Cassius's Shop of Rare Trinkets

An eyebrow arched as he dropped his gaze down to the rundown looking shop. He grimaced as his eyes settled on the creepy looking dolls on either side of the door. A strange smell was emanating from the place and Tyrothane resisted the urge to cover his nose and mouth. Glancing over to his King, he frowned even more as the man took a step and ended up behind his guard.

"Knights first."

Grinding his teeth, Tyrothane let the knife come free from it's confines and held it out in front of him. He hesitated only for a second before stealing himself and gently pushing the cracked door opened. He stepped into the gloom and almost retched right there for the fowl smell was even stronger inside. This time he couldn't help it and reached up to cover his nose and mouth with the sleeve of the coat. His eyes burned and he squinted as he gave a soft cough. It was almost like choking... he hated the feeling.

Moving into the shop, his gaze roamed around the tight isle that was stuffed full of random things. Jars filled with strange liquid were probably the cause of the smells. Dust and cobwebs lingered in the corners of just about every shelf. Strange dolls, things that may have once been children's toys, papers and random items were the majority of the contents that lined the shelves. Ty moved further in, towards a large desk at the back of the shop that was covered entirely with papers, some white and new most of them yellowed and telling of age.

He would have called out, but recalled that Abbas had said not to talk to the man. He rolled his eyes and gave a soft groan. The door behind them groaned as it closed and a voice called out in the darkness. Tyrothane froze, eyes narrowing not from the burning of the air, but in tense preparation. What was it that he'd just walked into... he wasn't sure until a very old man stepped out from a darker place -possibly the very back of the shop- and took his place at the desk.

"Who is it?" the man's voice was raspy, his old age very clear in his heavily wrinkled face and crooked hands, "What do ya want?"

Ty huffed softly, what a way to greet customers he thought bitterly but kept his silence and waited for Abbas to speak.

---

---

Upon entering, Abbas found the shop unusual and out of place compared to the colorful marketplace that was just outside. It smelled even worse inside than it did out, even masking the odor of blood that covered the King. Even stranger, it seemed that the store was vacant except for Tyrothane, who was examining a desk. Suddenly, an old man walked out of the darkest part of the store, finding his way to this desk.

"Who is it? What do ya want?" said the slightly familiar voice, seeming to address Tyrothane. Abbas cleared his throat, causing the man to turn in his direction.

"Mr. Cassius?" asked Abbas, raising an eyebrow. The old man narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the young King. He quickly blurted out "Do I know you?" to which Abbas replied that he did. Careful not to take to long, he explained how his father had known Asher Cassius. The linguist didn't reply, staring at a strange portrait of a fat lady that hung on the wall, as if deeply in thought.

Abbas looked at Tyrothane, as if warning him to stay a good distance. Meanwhile, he proceeded toward the linguist, a crunching sound filling the silence as he stepped on a broken jar. It was then he noticed just how dysfunctional the shop seemed, almost worse than his own room, if that was possible. Awkwardly, he tapped the old man's paper covered desk. "Sir?" he whispered.

The old man jumped, completely startled as if he had forgotten that the two of them were there. Confused, the linguist glanced at the two men before him. Turning his head specifically to the taller one, he spoke once more. "Ab?" he asked, using the pet name that Abbas had long forgotten. "Abbas Coren?"

The King nodded and the elderly linguist seemed to begin recalling distant memories of his time with the royal family. Abbas began to fear that he was drifting off once more, but before he could arouse the man, he leapt out of his seat toward Tyrothane.

"Who is it that you brought with you, Ab?" asked Cassius in a menacing tone, scratching his balding head as he got much too close to the knight. "Boy, you seem like someone who appreciates art. There must be something in here that interests you. It's all for a very affordable price."

The monarch raised his hand as if calling off a dog. "Calm yourself, Cassius. I did not come for you to toy with my knight."

The shop owner fretted, crossing his arms like a child. "You're no fun, Ab." Cackling softly, he made his way now toward the King. "So you came for a reason, huh? What may a humble old shop owner and ex-linguist do for the mighty King."

Pursing his lips, Abbas ran his fingers slowly along the edge of Asher Cassius's desk. "Tributum," he said. "Have you heard it before?" The shop owner glanced at the floor, mindlessly gnawing on his lip. His eyes seemed to continually flicker to Tyrothane, making Abbas feel quite uneasy.

Finally, Cassius looked up, smirking strangely. "Sure, I probably have heard it once or twice," he teased. "I'll be more than willing to tell you, Sire, for the right price. Tell me then, what's in it for me."

Obviously, the fact that he owed the royal family was not enough to persuade him. Abbas was unwilling to pick a fight, as he knew he'd be on the losing side, but he bitterly glared at the translator. Defeated, Abbas dug around on his cloak pockets, trying to find something that he could bid with. The only thing worthy of trade that he has was his golden bladed sword, opposed to lint, but he was not prepared to give that up.

He nodded to his knight, signaling him to search himself for scraps too, although he didn't assume Tyrothane had anything on him that he was willing to give up, nor that Asher Cassius would accept. He took a deep breath, deciding upon the stupidest plan he could think of, simply praying that it wouldn't go sour. Quickly, he cleared his throat.

"For the translation, I will allow you to resume work at the castle," he said. Asher lifted his head, seemingly interested by the deal. He licked his lower lip, as if tasting the victory itself. A silence then lingered in the air, the three of them just standing there, sucking in filthy air.

Suddenly, the silence was brutally pierced by Cassius's laugh. He grinned, baring his teeth like a wild animal. "I do not believe ya, Ab," hissed the man, spitting the accusation out like a dare on Abbas's honor. Would he uphold it, or let it shatter all for a knight? Abbas took in a deep breath, one that reeked of must and mildew. He didn't speak, but he returned Asher's smile, as if saying, "Just try me."

---

It was slightly odd at first as the old man seemed to not recognize Abbas at all, until finally the elder called out Abbas' name. It seemed that the man wasn't as gone as Tyrothane had first thought, at least until he'd turned his gaze over to the young knight. Ty's heart jumped to his throat as the old man literally leaped up out of his chair and came far to close to the boy than was comfortable. Tyrothane's instinct had him quick stepping backwards, but the isle's shelving was right behind him and so he ended up hitting the bookshelf rather hard. Thankfully nothing fell off of it.

"Who is it that you brought with you, Ab? Boy, you seem like someone who appreciates art. There must be something in here that interests you. It's all for a very affordable price."

His gaze was slightly wide as he stared down at the man who eyed him almost like he was some sort of prize. The look sent chills down Ty's spine and he quickly glanced over to his King. The man once again saved him by calling to Cassius, gaining his attention and taking it off of the young knight. It was for the better because Tyrothane had no clue as to how to respond to the strange request, nor did he really want to. Especially since Abbas had said not to speak to the man.

"Tributum, have you heard it before?" Abbas asked.

Ty waited silently, though he could feel the old man's scrutinizing gaze on him every so often. It was rather uncomfortable and he wished that Cassius would quite glancing his way.

"Sure, I probably have heard it once or twice. I'll be more than willing to tell you, Sire, for the right price. Tell me then, what's in it for me."

Tyrothane frowned deeply. Of course the man would want some compensation for his knowledge. He didn't like the implications though -once again- and had he had more time to properly prepare, the young knight would have grabbed some coin to bring along. At his King's request he looked for something on his person to give to the elder, but he fell short just as Abbas did. The only thing remotely of value between the two of them was the golden sword and that even Ty wouldn't allow Abbas to part with.

Finally Abbas suggested something that even had Ty coming forward with a start. His heart nearly stopped at the man's suggestion of reinstating the the old linguist to work back at the castle. The knight forgot that he'd been told to keep quiet as he took a sudden step forward, his voice coming out softly, "Sire!"

Silence followed after him, nothing seemed to move in the gloom of the room, all three of them stationary for quite a while. Then Cassius' voice shattered it as he laughed a cruel sounding laugh and leaned forward, baring his teeth at Abbas which put Tyrothane ill at ease, "I do not believe ya, Ab," the man hissed.

Ty moved closer to Abbas, standing right next to him as his gaze glowered at Cassius in a kind of warning. Abbas only smiled at the man without saying anything. All the while the young knight stood next to his king, his hand on the small knife ready for just about anything.