Printempis 72nd, 1015 A.D.

The market square in Monterayne's capital city positively swarmed with activity one late spring morning as scores of vendors strove to fill their purses and an even larger number of buyers sought to empty theirs. Pigeons nibbled on crumbs dropped along the dirt walkway, their cooing drowned out by the mingled conversations of townsmen walking above them, as well as the tones of a quartet of musicians on the north side of the market square. Meanwhile, the birds remained blissfully unaware of their less fortunate brethren on the east side whose flesh currently browned over an open fire. The savory smoke radiating out from the cookout pleased the noses of any men and women walking by.

Prince Dustin Rickland leaned against a stone wall on the outskirts of the square, his keen green eyes piercing through the crowd in search of wrongdoing. Many had said Monterayne's youthful prince carried the bearing of a warrior in every respect, with his sharp, handsome features and dark brown hair contrasting his pale skin, not to mention the muscular physique he worked so hard for. All he lacked was a distinguished beard to immediately command respect in addition to the intimidation exuded by his cutting gaze.

Dustin was accompanied by his constant companion, Jude Holt. Jude held no particular title, but he looked the part of a lord. His clothes fit his body perfectly, not a wrinkle in sight, and not a single smear to obscure the gleam of his uniform's various golden ornaments. His face was as well-defined as Dustin's, but without so many sharp angles. With his fair hair and compassionate blue eyes, he certainly exuded the energy of a very different spirit from that of his companion, like the salt to his pepper.

"I tell you, Jude, we shall catch this thief yet." Dustin blurted out, breaking the comfortable silence between the two youths as they watched the goings-on of the square, "I am sure of it."

"You're always sure of yourself, Dustin." Jude remarked, "Did you really see him steal those apples, or did you just fail to notice him paying?"

Dustin glanced back sharply, dark eyebrows furrowing slightly upon beholding Jude's slight smirk. "I saw it with my own two eyes. I swear on the crests of the mountain ring, I saw him steal them."

"If you insist...I suppose I'll purge my memory of the times you've been wrong before now."

"This is different. I saw this, Jude."

"And we're here to do what exactly?" Jude laughed.

"Catch him in the act! He comes at the same time every day; we have but a minute or two to wait."

"You mean to tell me this man steals from the same vendor every day, and nobody ever sees him but you?"

"Yes!" Dustin huffed at his friend. "Why would I lie to you of all people? You see right through me."

"I don't think you're lying. I just think you're wrong."

"Why—all the years we've spent together, and you think so lowly of me?"

Jude shot his signature grin Dustin's way, showing only his top row of teeth and throwing his hands up in exasperation. "You really want to know what I think?"

Dustin nodded eagerly, eyes darting aside to see if the thief had entered the square yet, which he hadn't. "Absolutely."

"I think you're simply eager to get a taste of action. In a way, you want this man to be a thief, so you can run over and catch him."

"No...that's ridiculous."

"In what do I err? You love adventure, and you love excitement, so you seek it out."

"Even if that's true, I know what I saw." Dustin insisted, reaching down to adjust the scabbard for his arming sword on his hip. "Are you still with me in this?"

"Of course! If you're right, we'll catch a wrongdoer, and if you're wrong, the truth will come out soon enough."

This pleased Dustin, so with a brief smile and a nod of approval, he returned his attention to the market before them. Sure enough, he spotted the man he'd been waiting for, a balding man with a round face and no facial hair besides a bush of a mustache that covered his upper lip. After announcing the thief's arrival to Jude, he set himself to watching intently. The thief ambled across the market square, stiffly turning his neck every now and then to eye the pretty women in the crowd. All the while, he crept ever closer to the fruit stand he'd stolen from a total of five times over the past five days.

The vendor at the fruit stand wore an eyepatch on his left eye, and Dustin's suspicion was that the thief had opted to target the old man and take advantage of his larger than average blind spot for that reason. His only problem was he hadn't accounted for Monterayne's vigilant prince, always keen to look out for the welfare and prosperity of his people.

A sneaking voice in Dustin's head told him it was only a few apples, that he shouldn't blow such a small matter out of proportion, but he shoved those thoughts aside and continued to watch. Justice would be served, he resolved as he adjusted his scabbard again.

"That's the one?" Jude asked, pointing at the man with a wrinkled forehead.

"Indeed. He will not evade me this time."

"What's your plan, exactly?"

"Once he steals the apples, we'll run after him. When we catch him, we'll interrogate him."

Jude nodded and ran a hand over his clean-shaven face. "Let's hope he doesn't get away."

"Come to think of it...you should have brought your bow in case he gets too far ahead of us."

"Dustin...are we trying to catch the man, or kill him?" Jude asked through laughter, "An arrow in the back just over a few apples?"

"I was only jesting!" Dustin exclaimed in frustration, "But one look at his physique, and you know he wouldn't be able to evade us for long without tiring."

"Yet you said he did yesterday."

"Well, I tripped, and by the time I rose, he had slipped into the crowd. But I have never seen you trip, Jude."

Jude's lips parted. "I suppose you haven't. And I'll see to it you never do."

Dustin glanced back at the thief just as he swiped four apples into his little basket and started waddling off. With a sharp breath of air, Dustin charged into the square, Jude not far behind. His heart pounded in his ears and head throbbed as he wove around confused market-goers and began gaining on the thief.

However, when the thief cast a glance back and saw two young men running after him, his eyes widened, and he exploded into an impressive run for his size. His movements were stiff and rigid, but he began to escape Dustin and Jude despite appearing to put even less energy into his flight.

The fleeing thief snatched a cart full of bags of grain, and as he ran past, he flung it into his pursuers' path. Dustin's eyes widened as he stumbled to a stop to avoid being hit, but Jude managed to dodge around the cart and continue running without losing any momentum. Dustin shook his fist at the thief and sprinted onward again.

The thief and Jude cleared the edge of the market square and disappeared around the corner of a building. Dustin stumbled again just by tripping over his own feet, but he recovered once more and hurried after them.

Once Dustin cleared the corner, Jude stumbled backward into him, catching the young prince off guard. He peeked around Jude to see the thief now wielded a knife and waved it at his pursuers threateningly. Dustin's blood boiled even more, and he unsheathed his one-handed arming sword in a smooth move.

"You'd better run along, lads! Don't make me cut ya!" the man spat, literally.

"Give back what you stole, and maybe I'll consider it." Dustin asserted in a voice he hoped sounded brave and authoritative. He brandished his own lengthier blade a bit to strengthen his point.

"I won't be givin' nothin' back, laddie. I bought these with my own money!"

"Then why are you running?"

"Well, 'cause you's chasin' me!"

Jude stepped cautiously between Dustin and the thief, presenting his palms placatingly to both. "Maybe we should just ask the vendor, and if he backs up your story, you can be on your way."

"Or you fellows can just scram! How about that?"

Dustin shook his head. "What he said makes sense. Come with me."

"I'm not goin' with anybody! I'm goin' home!"

With a huff, Dustin stepped closer to take the basket from the man's hand, but he swiped at him with his knife. Dustin's eyes widened, and he retracted his hand to present his sword to the man. He swung a blow to disarm him, but the thief simply moved his knife out of the way so Dustin struck at open air.

"Give him the basket, and nobody gets hurt!" Jude pleaded.

"Get out of my face, boy; nobody asked your opinion."

"Hey," Dustin snapped, "you don't talk to my friend like that!"

"Don't talk to me at all, son."

Enraged at the lack of respect, Dustin lunged at the thief, going for a blow on his forearm. The thief blocked with his knife and grabbed Dustin's wrist to prevent him from attacking again. Adrenaline coursed through Dustin's veins, so he used the extra strength to yank his arm loose and attack again. His amateurish technique predictably missed.

Dustin's eyes widened when the thief lunged forward to stab. He dodged the attack, but only by a very narrow margin. Jude reached to disarm the thief, but was forced to jump back by another stab attempt aimed at him. Dustin stepped forward to swipe once more.

Then, Dustin heard running footsteps, and the thief widened his eyes at something over the prince's shoulder. Dustin gasped at a flying blade coming at him from the thief's hand as he turned to flee. The knife ripped through his sleeve and tore a line along his right arm, causing Dustin to hiss and clutch his arm. His arming sword clattered on the stony ground when he dropped it.

He glanced up long enough to see a knight with a blue sash on his shoulder had come charging in, and he managed to tackle the thief to apprehend him. Jude, meanwhile, rushed to Dustin's aid, laying one hand on his shoulder in comfort and using the other to part the cloth of his tattered sleeve to eye the wound. It wasn't deep, but it stung, and it was a long cut. Jude pursed his lips and helped Dustin to his feet.

As Jude led Dustin away from the scene, he cast one last glance at the thief, who was now being questioned as the knight forced him to lay on the ground with his arms and legs spread out in a ridiculous position that prevented him from grabbing any potential hidden weapons. Monterayne's vigilant prince had taken his first bite out of the kingdom's adversaries, and he already had a battle wound to show for it.

****

Paulo Feliz brushed a lock of his long black hair out of his face as he feasted his eyes on the distinguished sword he held. Sporting a well-maintained blade and a versatile golden handle allowing both one-handed and two-handed combat, the weapon had once belonged to his father, a renowned military officer and hero to the people of the Innutukian Empire. Andre Feliz had been a man who achieved greatness despite terrible adversity and the betrayal of his countrymen, only for all that to vanish in a tragic death when Paulo had yet been an infant.

To add further dishonor to Andre's name, the Kingdom of Monterayne had attempted to keep his legendary weapon in their royal vault, a treacherous situation Andre's pupil Tanuk had remedied. He retrieved the sword and brought it back to Innutuk for Paulo's use when he grew old enough.

And here Paulo stood, his father's weapon in hand and Tanuk's teachings in mind. In fact, besides the clothes on his body and the sword he held, everything around Paulo belonged to Lord Tanuk. He lived on Tanuk's manor, after all, so the fields were his, the residences were his, as were the cattle, and even the scores of Alcontean slaves who worked the grounds under threat of lashings from the cruel taskmaster Tanuk also owned.

However, Tanuk didn't own Paulo. Rather, Paulo regarded him as a father. As for his mother, he had no recollection of her, but Tanuk assured him she had been a fine woman who had died from the grief of losing Andre when Paulo had been very young.

The sun had grown rather intense on Paulo's tan skin, so after rolling his sore shoulders, he headed for the shade of a sturdy oak tree on the east side of the manor house. As he walked, his mind churned over the same operation he'd been mulling over for as long as he could remember—bringing about the death of King Manfred Rickland of Monterayne, the one who had mercilessly slain his father all those years ago.

A simple poisoning would suffice, he supposed, so long as he could manage an infiltration of Monterayne's royal courts. However, if King Manfred had a taste-tester in his service, none of the ordinary poisons would work. Parasites, however, would act slower, and therefore would be unlikely to be detected before the king ingested them.

Of course, infiltration required not only persuasive skills, but the ability to pull off a Monteraynian accent to not immediately be recognized as a foreigner. The problem there was that Paulo had only ever heard Innutukian and Alcontean accents all his life, and surely no Monteraynian would venture into the Innutukian Empire in order to tutor him.

Furthermore, poisoning of any sort—though effective—would be quite impersonal. Even if the operation would then carry greater risk of getting caught, Paulo realized he would much rather King Manfred see the face of the man who ran him through. He would die knowing his treachery against the Feliz family had not gone unpunished. Best of all, Paulo would get to see the agony on the king's face as he bled out, much as had undoubtably happened with his own father years ago. Justice would have her way with Monterayne's king.

Paulo glanced up at a footfall not many paces off. He peeked around the tree to see Lord Tanuk had returned from his errand in the Innutukian capital. Namely, he had departed to come to an agreement with the newly coronated emperor on how to handle the restless province of Forbache.

As Tanuk slowly approached, Paulo eyed him up and down. Tanuk's hair was a rusty brown which leaned more toward red or brown depending on the lighting. He let it grow out to just above his shoulders, and together with the ring of well-kept facial hair around his poised lips, the reddish locks framed his narrow face elegantly.

The burgundy cloak hanging over his shoulders fit his lengthy body well, and the Kemarian sword at his hip further adorned his appearance. The weapon was one of many in Tanuk's collection, many of which had been stolen from fallen Monteraynian knights. Paulo recognized his current sword to be one once belonging to a Sir Tao, a knight of his father's generation who had been famed for learning to fight with two swords at once. Tanuk had dashed Tao's other sword to pieces some years ago and melted it down to create a long, thick-bladed dagger of his own.

"Greetings, teacher." Paulo mumbled with a stiff nod, "I hope your discussion with the emperor bore fruit."

Tanuk locked eyes with Paulo and gave him a self-indulgent smile that may as well have been his signature. "It bore much fruit. Our new measures, when implemented, will spell the end of the Forbachean rebellion."

"Am I privy to any of this information, or do you have need to conceal the particulars?"

"The Emperor has granted me permission to keep you at my side as I carry out my business there, so I am at liberty to keep you informed. The first action we will take is that I must depose the Overseer of the Forbachean province. He has proven that he will not do what's required to bring his province into line. His compassion for his countrymen stays his hand, and so he hasn't pursued the rebels to the fullest extent."

Paulo crossed his arms. "You were suspicious of that man from the very beginning, were you not?"

"I was. To oversee an Innutukian province, one needs a firm spirit and a clear head, neither of which did I see in him. Instead, he has a womanly heart and soft eyes."

"Such men compromise the Empire's strength."

"On that, we are quite agreed." Tanuk said, "So, after deposing the Overseer, I will be granted emergency power to fill his station in the interest of crushing Forbache's rebel forces. I have been authorized to use any measures I deem necessary."

"This should prove...informative."

Tanuk chuckled. "Face it, Paulo, this will prove entertaining as well."

"Indeed. The might of the Empire shall show itself yet again."

"I love to hear it, my pupil! Truly, you have inherited the spirit of your father."

Paulo smiled. "I couldn't ask for a higher compliment."

**** 

A/N: Well, there you have it folks, we've met the sons of three great men of this series. Dustin, son of our man Manfred, Jude, son of the legendary Tom Holt, and Paulo, son of Andre. I guess it'll be interesting to see how they pave their own paths, and whether they come to resemble or contrast the men who proceeded them, not to mention their mothers as well. 😉 

Alright, so coming off that chapter, what was your favorite part? Some sentence that felt good to read, a character who you find yourself quickly clicking with, whatever...I'd love to hear about it in the comments! And votes are always appreciated as well; they help boost the book so more eyes can see it. 😁 

As far as a schedule for updates, I'm gonna continue Tuesdays if I can. Weekly updates if I can maintain that, but I just don't write as fast as I used to, so if I have a hang-up and miss a week, please be patient with me. Anyways, the plan is mornings, usually somewhere from 6am-8am, PST. The plan. 😂

That said, I hope you have an amazing day or night, whatever it is as you're reading this. God bless, and I hope you come back for the ride ahead of us! ❤️