Blood Will

10

Not paying attention to the Generals’ soldiers, who had drawn their weapons, the trio left the tavern. At the entrance, a coach was indeed waiting for them — a gigantic monstrosity that screamed opulence, decorated with gold and amber, at least sixteen feet tall, and twice as long. It was being pulled by twelve pedigree horses.

“I have to say, that is impressive,” Nero admitted, offering his hand to Serra.

The couple went in first. After standing for a bit on the footboard, Hadjar waved to the patrons of the tavern and followed his friends inside. Rowena sat down on the velvet sofas soon after, accompanied by several soldiers.

The rest followed after the carriage as it trundled on, frightening the residents of the city.

They rode toward the gates leading to the central district. Rowena was telling them something about the laws of hospitality (in other words, she was hinting at the warriors’ barbaric nature), about the rules of decency in the Palace, how and to whom they were supposed to bow, and other such nonsense.

Hadjar didn’t listen to her. He chose to look out the window instead. At the marvelous, beautiful Palace, the entrance to which was guarded by two giant lions.

It had taken him almost sixteen years to come back.

He gripped the hilt of his sword.

The sight of the guards outside the central gates brought Hadjar out of his stupor. They were Imperial legionnaires dressed in emerald-green armor. Each one of the thousand or so warriors was at the Formation level at least. They gallantly helped the wives of nobles and aristocrats descend from their fancy coaches. Some of them patrolled while others carried the standards of Lidus and Darnassus.

It looked quite civilized and peaceful, but Hadjar felt uncomfortable, as if he were in enemy territory. Even the nobles, upon seeing the green armor, would avert their eyes and try to get back to their own guards as soon as possible. That wasn’t how the rulers of a free country behaved.

After waiting in line for about half an hour, they finally drove up to the main Palace stairs. Nero came down first and, after giving the imperial soldier who’d come up to help them a mocking glance, helped Serra, and then Rowena, who was surprised by his behavior, out of their carriage.

Hadjar was left alone in the coach. He looked at the Palace. The tall castle spires pierced the night sky like sharp daggers. The black clouds were illuminated by the golden light exuded by the exquisite stained glassed windows. The wide marble staircase that the Prince and Princess had once explored together was covered with a heavy red carpet. The guards stood in a line on each side of the staircase, holding halberds. Their green cloaks swayed slightly.

Enemies were standing near Hadjar’s house. Their presence forced the heart of the former General to beat harder, and his hand squeezed his blade tighter. The night’s chill brought back the memory of the smell of his mother’s blood, her tears, and the cold embrace she held him in as she died.

Hadjar feared that if he went in, he would immediately draw his sword.

“Well, I understand your feelings, my friend, but, please, leave your hole.”

The sight of the smiling Nero pulling his red collar over his face and pushing the iron pot/helmet down to his eyebrows brought Hadjar back to his senses. His friend, like always, was able to turn any situation into a joke. Serra grumbled, dissatisfied with her companions’ appearance.

“You’re right,” Hadjar nodded.

He adjusted the sheath behind his back and stepped outside. He walked forward boldly and the ghosts of the past didn’t haunt him anymore. This wasn’t the Palace where he‘d spent his cheerful and carefree childhood. No, not at all. It was another enemy fortress that he had to conquer. No more, no less.

Climbing the stairs, Hadjar didn’t pay any attention to the imperial guards. Sixteen years ago, they had seemed to him like Atlas holding the Heavens up. Now he could send hundreds of them to their ancestors with one swing of his sword.

It wasn’t yet time to spill blood. That time would come, but later. Hadjar had developed a very detailed plan and didn’t want to ruin it on the very first night.

However, this didn’t mean Hadjar would conceal his power. He let the energy circulate around him. To the onlookers, it felt as if a wild beast was climbing the stairs, ready to tear them apart at any moment. The guards simultaneously put their halberds forward and unsheathed their blades. Hadjar didn’t slow down, and not a single muscle twitched on his face. He calmly kept going until he reached the central Palace gates. They looked the same as ever — tall and covered with golden bas-reliefs depicting the great Kings of the past.

Hadjar looked at the lower right corner and barely restrained himself from letting out an angry roar: the face of his father, King Haver, had been broken and removed from the artwork. Instead of him, Primus, holding his huge broadsword, had been depicted there.

“Impressive.” Nero said, also looking at the bas-reliefs.

Hadjar was about to take a step forward when a pair of crossed halberds blocked his path. He heard the stomping of heavy boots and the imperial guards, ready for battle, surrounded Hadjar.

“What’s going on here?” Nero snapped, clutching the handle of his blade. He’d almost drawn his sword, but had been stopped by his friend’s calm gaze.

“Milady Rowena?” Hadjar turned to the official.

“It seems that you weren’t listening to me very well, honorable Hadjar Traves. I told you that entering the Palace with a weapon is prohibited.”

Hadjar looked at the nearby stained glass window. There, in the main throne room, the nobles were dancing. Women were wearing beautiful and rich dresses and the men — traditional clothes or tunics. However, one feature united all of them: they were carrying weapons. The scabbards and handles looked more like decorations, but they were still weapons.

“Don’t look over there, Hadjar,” Rowena shook her head. Surrounded by the Imperial soldiers, she felt quite comfortable. “These rules apply to...” she smiled arrogantly, “the commoners. Nobles and aristocrats are allowed to carry weapons.”

“But you yourself said that Hadjar is going to be granted the title of Baron!” Serra exclaimed. “Besides, the rank of General is considered equal to being a nobleman!”

“Alas,” Rowena shrugged. “Hadjar Traves, while still a citizen of Lidus, is no longer the General of the Moon Army. Moreover, the title hasn’t been granted to him yet. So, with all due respect, you are just a simple commoner.”