Late the next morning, Clay looked up at the sound of trumpets sounding outside in the town. He looked over at Oliva, who was raising an eyebrow at him. Clay sighed and pushed away the list of [Chants] that he'd been studying. His [Memory] hadn't advanced again yet, but he was making progress, he could feel it.

Nobody had caught sight of them reentering the manor, and many of the servants had taken the fact that they'd slept in a little as a sign of the strain that they had been under. Many of them seemed to think that they were barely any more capable than a normal [Commoner], which Clay was more than happy to ignore.

He'd also hoped that King John wouldn't turn their mission into some kind of massive statement, but apparently his expectations had been misplaced. He tucked away the parchment and stood. Olivia also stowed the notes she'd been taking, using a moment to arrange her scarf over the lower half of her face again.

They walked towards the front of the manor, trying not to stumble over the servants as they raced around, apparently making last-minute adjustments to things or cleaning already spotless furnishings. Clay didn't imagine that Eldsford had many royal visitors, or any at all, really. When they'd eaten breakfast that morning, all of the staff had seemed rather stressed. Even Reeve Edels had seemed tense.

Clay tried to feel a little amused at all the rushing around, but all he ended up feeling was a little concern over the fact that he'd be taking the actual King into danger. Even with the knowledge that the snakes weren't exactly the worst threat in the world, the fact that if even one of them got lucky he'd have a dead King on his hands made him begin to regret his gamble in the first place.

Despite that, he straightened his back and tried to look confident as he and Olivia joined the Reeve and his wife in the foyer of the manor, together with an honor guard made up of the most well-dressed soldiers. The trumpets blasted again outside, and Clay saw a small bit of sweat begin to bead the Reeve's forehead. Edels saw Clay glance at him and gave him a scowl. "Look what you've invited here, Sir Clay."

With a smile, Clay just shrugged, and the Reeve went back to watching the front door, as if it was the gateway to a Dungeon. A curious stillness settled over the foyer as the last of the preparations settled into place and the servants took their own positions.

The trumpets sounded again, and then once more, just outside. There was a pause, broken only by the murmur of voices on the other side of the moderately ornate doors. Then the doors creaked open as a pair of [Guards] bowed and pushed them aside to admit the royal party.

King John strode into the foyer, his fine clothing standing in sharp contrast to the humbler garments worn by the servants and even the Reeve himself. The rich red coat over the top of his silk shirt seemed to have been woven from fire itself, and the sword at his side seemed to be so delicate that Clay could have snapped it just by swinging it too hard. Clay had to school his features into neutrality rather than staring openly; it was still an effort to bow rather than snorting at the sight.

The others all bowed deeply, with Reeve Edels doing his best to balance the gesture on his cane and remaining leg. He spoke in a diffident tone, his voice infinitely more respectful than it had been to Clay. "Your Majesty, welcome to our humble home. We are grateful that you've seen fit to grace us with your presence."

With a simple pair of strides, King John crossed the distance and gestured for the Reeve to straighten up. "I only regret that it has taken me so long to reach you, Squire Edels. And this must be Dame Edels."

Larissa straightened up with a nervous smile. "I bid you welcome, Your Majesty."

"You have my thanks." King John turned to address the rest of the staff, his gaze sweeping over them in a brief, frank evaluation. "We have come to address the problem of the Lair nearby. Your hospitality is a credit to the Kingdom. Thank you all."

The servants bowed again while the Reeve stammered out his thanks. Clay, on the other hand, had straightened and examined the rest of the King's party.

There were [Guards], of course, but none that he recognized. He was fairly certain that the half-dozen [Nobles] in dark armor were the members of the Royal Guard that had accompanied the King into the Melee, but he'd never truly met with any of them or spoken. The Queen hadn't accompanied her husband to Eldsford, which made a certain kind of sense.

There was another addition that had surprised him, however. Sir Frensfeld, the adventurer and [Noble], who had met him in Pellsglade, was standing with the rest of the Royal Guard. He remained in the armor and weapons of the Guild, but he had obviously joined his cousin for the outing here. Whether Frensfeld was meant to be an agent of the King or of the Council, it was difficult to say, but at the very least he seemed friendly. Clay returned the careful nod before looking back at the King.

He found that King John's attention had finally landed on him. The King's eyes roved over Clay's armor and weapons, as if cataloging the unrepaired damage. Clay fought the urge to wince at the imperfections, but the [Chants] they had used simply weren't up to the level of David's handiwork. They'd need some adjustments just as soon as he could return to Pellsglade.

The King's eyes returned to his face, and King John nodded. "Sir Clay, Syr Olivia, I would ask for you to attend me for a moment. Squire Edels, do you have a room where we might speak?"

Edels nodded. "Absolutely, Your Majesty. Feel free to use any room in this house, but my personal study might be the best suited for—"

King John smiled, speaking firmly. "That will do well, Squire Edels. Again, you have my thanks." As the Reeve managed another shaky bow, and the King turned back to Clay. "Now then. Shall we?"

A few moments later, Clay and Olivia had followed the King into the Reeve's study. It was a small room, one obviously unused to hosting very many visitors. There was a small, finely made desk beside a tall window, and a row of well-stocked bookshelves along the opposite wall. A pair of chairs, just barely this side of shabby, was set in front of the desk, while a slightly finer one was placed behind it.

The King strode in as if it was just another room in his palace. He gestured for Clay and Olivia to stand in front of the desk and then looked back at his own Royal Guard. "Sir Frensfeld, Lord Metmore, please stay. The rest of you can take your leave and secure the manor."

As his Guard dispersed, the King fell into the Reeve's chair with a huff. One of the [Nobles] paused to close the thick wooden door, closing off the sounds outside. Frensfeld took up a position on one side of the door, while the other [Noble] stood on the other.

Clay couldn't help but examine the two men. They were both skilled, of course, and if he had to guess, Frensfeld was still the better of the two. His extra levels sat well on him; he wondered if the Guild had already taught him the Garden's Peace, or if they had delayed things thanks to Clay's antics. He stood with an easy comfort, his hand well away from his sword hilt, and a friendly look on his face.

The other man, Lord Metmore, was far less friendly. Dressed in the dark armor of the Royal Guard, his face was severe and spare, his dark eyes constantly assessing the room. His hand remained resting on the hilt of his own sword, and while he didn't seem to see Clay as a threat, he noticed Clay's attention immediately and returned the stare with a frank evaluation of his own.

"Well, Sir Clay, here we are." Clay looked back and found that King John was studying him from the chair, a slight smile on his lips. "I hope you don't mind that I've brought along some friends."

Clay huffed a little. "Of course not, Your Majesty."

King John nodded. "You already know Frensfeld, of course, but I don't believe you've met Lord Metmore. He's been in the Royal Guard for nearly my entire reign, and he is very, very good at his job. I'd advise you to take him seriously."

He glanced back at the Royal Guard, but Metmore appeared to have found something a bit more worthy of his attention. The [Noble] was staring at Olivia now, and his stance had grown a little more tense. Clay looked back at her, but she was simply standing there, just looking back at the man. "I will, Your Majesty. I hope the journey was pleasant."

The King snorted and shook his head. "It wasn't the worst thing I've experienced, but I won't lie, I'd not have done it if you hadn't backed me into a corner. This whole situation has been… inconvenient for me."

Clay returned the King's stare. "I'm sorry to hear that, Your Majesty."

"I'm sure you are." The King shook his head. Then he looked over at Olivia. "Syr Olivia, I presume. This is the first time I've had the pleasure to meet you."

Olivia nodded. "It is an honor, King John."

John's eyes narrowed slightly. "I would take that at face value, but from what I've heard, the Council considers you as much of a pain and a rebel as Sir Clay. If not more." He glanced at Metmore and blinked before returning his gaze to her. "You also appear to have made poor Metmore anxious. That is… concerning."

She didn't respond. Instead, she continued to study the King, her emerald eyes showing no sign of intimidation above her scarf. The King maintained his gaze for a few more moments before he laughed and looked at Clay. "No wonder you aren't intimidated by me, Sir Clay! How could you be, with her by your side?"

Clay relaxed just slightly. "She has been a steadfast companion, Your Majesty. I would not have accomplished anything without her help."

"So I've been told." King John glanced at Frensfeld, who nodded. The [Noble] had grown a little more openly concerned the longer the conversation had gone on, and Clay dimly realized that Frensfeld had been one of the people who had dragged her into the Tanglewood before she'd even reached her Choosing. As King John continued, his voice took on an overly casual tone. "I trust that there are no grudges or bad blood that we need to air?"

Olivia glanced at Frensfeld. Then she shook her head. "No. So long as Sir Clay and I are able to continue to drive back the evils that threaten our homes, there will be no problem."

The way she said the words seemed to leave plenty of room for unpleasantness, but the King simply nodded. "I see. That is good to hear." He turned back to Clay. "I've heard of your exploits, these past few weeks. You have certainly been busy, and with more than what the Guild had assigned. No wonder you were… reluctant to embrace this task alone."

Feeling a little grateful to dispel some of the tension, Clay nodded. "We have been… occupied." Then he shook his head. "All the same, we should be able to finish things here quickly."

"That is indeed encouraging." King John leaned forward slightly. "How many of us will you require to assault the place? Would the Royal Guard be sufficient, or will the regular [Guards] be needed as well?"

Clay blinked, taken aback by the King's eagerness. "None, Your Majesty. Between you, me, and Syr Olivia, we should be more than enough to handle a Lair this young."

King John blinked. He exchanged a look with Metmore, who was shaking his head silently. "You are that confident of our success, Sir Clay? I know that you must have grown considerably, but even so…"

He spoke before the King could muster his objections. "If I may ask, you have the [Paragon] [Achievement], do you not?" The King looked at him and nodded, mystified. "Then to be honest, Your Majesty, it is likely that with enough time, you could handle this Lair on your own. Out of a concern for your safety we would accompany you, but when the time comes, I intend to let you destroy it yourself."

King John's mouth fell open in surprise, but before he could recover, Frensfeld spoke up. "Sir Clay, I believe the Guild would rather that I destroy the Lair. Either that, or Syr Olivia or yourself could do it."

Clay looked back at the adventurer. "All of us could do it, Sir Frensfeld, but that's not entirely the point." He looked back at the King, trying to sound as certain as he could. "The fact is, he needs to know this in case something happens and the Guild can't respond. For instance, I'm sure that the Council decided that this particular Lair wasn't crucial enough to destroy, correct?"

The King settled a little further back in his seat. "Those weren't the words they used, but yes."

"So if you feel differently, you should be capable of doing it yourself." Clay shook his head. "I'm not demanding that you should always do it personally, but the option should be there."

King John's eyes narrowed as he studied Clay. When he spoke, his words were a bit colder than before. "You're assuming that I don't already know how to accomplish the task, Sir Clay."

He returned the King's stare. "Then I suppose this will help encourage you to use that knowledge, Your Majesty. Whether you want to or not."

There was a whisper of movement as Metmore drew his sword. The [Noble] made as if to step forward, only to freeze as Olivia turned to face him. Her voice was a whisper. "One more step, and you'll die faster than the last assassin did. And he did not last long."

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The utter seriousness in her voice seemed to freeze the Royal Guard in his steps. Clay kept his eyes on King John, knowing that the [Noble] wouldn't do anything without his order. King John looked back at him, his expression cold and calculating.

Then the King gestured to Metmore, a quick, dismissive wave of the hand. "That is not necessary."

Metmore didn't move immediately. "He has admitted to placing you in danger despite your will, my liege."

"And you aren't?" The King smiled, but there was little humor in it. "Don't be foolish. Besides, I'm fairly sure that Syr Olivia is more than capable of making good on her threat. How many Lairs has she helped destroy? Two?"

Clay shook his head. "Four, Your Majesty. And she's assaulted one Dungeon."

King John's eyebrows rose, and he looked at her with fresh eyes. "Formidable indeed." He shook his head. "Enough posturing, then. As much as I'd like to go into the monster-filled woods alone with you, Sir Clay, the Royal Guard and the Guild both agree that I should have chaperones. Would Lord Metmore and Sir Frensfeld be acceptable?"

The question took Clay off guard for a moment. He nodded. "As long as there are no… misunderstandings."

"I will make sure there are not." King John's voice took on a tone of steel for a moment, and Lord Metmore and Sir Frensfeld both winced. The Royal Guard stepped back and returned his sword to his sheath, standing straight as an iron bar against the wall. Clay watched as the King nodded, and his voice was less firm as he continued. "Do you plan to strike at the Lair immediately?"

Clay glanced at Olivia before he answered. "I believe it might be better if we allow you the chance to hunt some of the monsters first. To introduce you to the challenges of facing a Lair and give you the chance to prepare yourself for the actual assault."

The King nodded slowly. "I see." He stood from the chair. "Then I believe we can get started tomorrow. We'll depart after breakfast."

His words seemed to offer no room for disagreement, and though the delay grated on Clay, he nodded. There had probably already been enough tension for the day. King John took a deep breath and nodded again. "We're agreed then. For today, I'll tour the town; be ready to go when we need you. Sir Frensfeld, I believe that you carry some letters for them, do you not?"

Sir Frensfeld nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then I'm sure they will be grateful to have them." The King turned back to Clay and Olivia. "You are dismissed."

Olivia opened her mouth, but Clay glanced back at her, and she kept silent. They bowed and followed Frensfeld out of the room, leaving King John behind with Lord Metmore.

When the door had closed behind them, Frensfeld let out a tense breath. "Well, that could have gone better."

"Or worse." Clay heard the man huff, as if restraining laughter, and grinned. "Still, it is good to see you, Sir Frensfeld. We need to stop meeting this way, though."

The [Noble] did laugh then, just a quiet bark of amusement. "I certainly agree, Sir Clay. I don't know if my heart can take much more of it."

Clay gave the man a look. "I don't mean to cause trouble."

"And yet you have such skill at it." Frensfeld chuckled to himself softly. "Fortunately, I have faith that your other skills will see us to the other side of this mission soon enough."

They made some small talk with Frensfeld—the [Noble] had been interested to hear of the other Pellsglade heroes, who hadn't crossed paths with him in Crownsguard before the King and his party had left—and then he had handed over a small avalanche of parchment.

Clay and Olivia retreated to his room in order to sift through the pile. There were a surprising number of letters from people all across the Kingdom. Most of them were asking questions about him, or about his adventures. Others demanded help with everything from farms to businesses to injustices they'd endured. One particularly odd case came when two separate [Commoners] accused each other of being secret Rogues and requested him to investigate their opponent.

Some of the letters came from [Nobles] who had heard of his efforts to destroy Lairs. They asked for his help in more serious tones, pleading their case and explaining the lethal threats they faced. Many referred to Janburg, Rettmore, and Glanwood, though apparently the news of Ayleston hadn't traveled very far. Their letters made Clay's heart ache as he read through them, knowing he couldn't possibly reach all of them on his own. Hopefully, once he reached Pellsglade, he could send out the other [Commoners] without needing to be there personally for each attack.

Among the letters addressed to him were a few directed to Olivia instead. Some called her the Masked Slayer and were a mix of similar requests to his. At least one of them contained a marriage proposal from a hopeful [Noble], which she had tried not to laugh at. There were also a few from a handful of Rectors that she carefully set aside to read later; Clay pretended not to know that they were probably talking about their progress with the [Chants] she'd handed over.

The most interesting ones, however, had come from either home or the Guild. In the end, they were what mattered most.

Both Andrew and Lana had written him to let him know that they'd arrived. Their words seemed fairly guarded, as if they were aware of the fact that the letters might not have been private. Some of them mentioned others arriving in Pellsglade, looking for work, or safety, or glory. Andrew in particular mentioned that there was already a group of new recruits who were waiting for him to lead them south to face the monsters in Sarlsboro. Clay set those letters aside to worry about later; for now, he just hoped that the fools wouldn't try to head there without him.

Baron Pellsglade had sent him a small note, mentioning several times that Charles had written and was intending to winter at home. The [Noble]'s visceral joy was practically glowing from the page, which made Clay smile. He also mentioned that the captured assassin had woken, but refused to answer any questions. The Baron had decided to wait for Clay's return before questioning her further, which seemed wise. Hopefully, no one else would try to acquire her for their own ends.

The Guild's letter was a bit more concerning. Apparently, news of the Lairs he was attacking had gotten back to the Council, and they asked several very pointed questions about how he'd managed to destroy those Lairs while he was also performing his other duties. Their exasperation came through the formal language rather clearly, though they seemed equally unable to demand his immediate return, given his current task. As it was, they settled for a semi-polite request that he report to them once the situation in Eldsford was 'resolved', and reminded him to stay on good terms with the King.

He resisted the urge to stall the mission until long after the snows fell out of sheer spite. Clay had been before the Council before, and he would be there again more times than this.

Syr Katherine had also written him, along with Orn and Taylor. All three adventurers referenced the need to examine what they'd retrieved from the Dungeon, as well as the importance of sharing resources and discoveries. Orn went as far as suggesting that he'd visit Pellsglade again soon, while Taylor dangled the bait of rune-smithing out like cheese for an eager mouse.

For her part, Syr Katherine simply explained that she was awaiting his arrival in Crownsguard, and hoped he'd be present soon.

Last of all was the letter from home. His mother had written carefully about what had happened in Pellsglade, obviously avoiding some of the more dangerous topics. She'd clearly expected the Guild or the King to stick their noses in; any mentions of [Chants], Clay's efforts to train [Commoners], or whatever other future plans she'd made were obscured.

She couldn't, of course, avoid everything. Amelia had mentioned the expansion of Pellsglade, and the occasional bit of trouble between neighbors. Sam had talked about the 'excellent harvest' that he and many of the surrounding [Farmers] were reaping, including the fact that he was excited to show Clay what had been happening.

A few other tidbits slipped through; the feud with the Calmfords had hit something of a snag when Will had been caught running around with Jessie, something that had forced both parents to come together for a group lecture. Saphy had begun openly talking about becoming a hero, while Amy and Finn were apparently trying to practice [Chants] without much success. Even Will had mentioned maybe tagging along for a Lair mission, if only to gain levels the way his father had. Clay did not look forward to explaining why that probably wasn't going to happen. Someone who only wanted to be a [Farmer] probably had no need to be around a Curse, especially not the kind Clay was going to be killing.

Still, it seemed like things were mostly fine. He snorted to himself at how much it surprised him. It had only been three months or so since he'd left, after all. How much could his home have changed in that time?

He looked over to find Olivia rereading a letter written by a familiar hand. Clay grinned. "How is the Rector doing?"

She looked up with a crooked smile. "Well, actually. He's been keeping watch on our assassin friend, along with the Baron. Apparently, she feels at least some remorse."

Clay leaned back. "That's encouraging, at least."

"True." She grimaced. "He's also heard a few… rumors about us, unfortunately. He wants to have a talk when we get back."

He felt a chill. It should have been ridiculous—the Rector was only a level five [Commoner], after all—but it definitely wasn't. "Oh?"

If he'd tried to sound nonchalant, he'd failed. Olivia snorted. "It's not that. Not just that. Apparently, he feels that I am building the wrong sort of reputation. In more than one way." She gave him a significant look.

Clay couldn't help but grin. "Well, if you already don't have to worry about that…"

She rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Sir Clay, but someone keeps lecturing me about keeping our word. Apparently, it is somewhat important." Olivia leaned over and kissed him, silencing his protests before they could begin. The kiss was probably not as chaste as the Rector might have preferred, but she still pulled back with a sigh. "In any case, I'm going to see if I can salvage what's left of the popular opinion by going to my own room. I have notes to study, after all."

He heaved a put-upon sigh as she gathered up her letters. "I guess if you have to, you have to." She gave him another pointed look, and he spread his arms in a helpless gesture. "All right, all right. Let me know if you find anything."

"I will." Olivia gave him another smile as she opened the door. "Farewell, traveler."

With that last teasing remark, she closed the door and left him to stare after her. Clay glared at the door for a moment and then turned back to the letters with a grumble. He reread them. Maybe there was something he'd missed that would distract him for a while. Hopefully.

"So. The monsters are in there, are they?"

Clay tried not to notice the barest hint of nervousness in the King's voice as he stared at the trees ahead of them. The fog had faded the day before, though there was a cold wind that continued to blow through the forest. They had been forced to hike all the way to the woods as it blew, with a ceiling of grey stretching above their heads.

To his gratitude, the King had decided to dress quite a bit differently than he had on the day he'd arrived. He wore a set of armor similar to what he'd worn during the Melee, a set of plate and chainmail that was likely proof against almost anything they'd face. His full helm hid his face, and even if it did limit his visibility, Clay was happy to accept the tradeoff if it meant the man would stay alive that much easier. At the very least, his sword was now a very practical piece of smithing, with runes etched along the blade.

Metmore and Frensfeld had similar armor, though Frensfeld's armor was lighter and had a few etched runes that glowed as he moved. Both men were studying the forest with intense gazes, their hands already on their sword hilts. Olivia stood near them, her gaze far more focused on the [Nobles] than the trees and the monsters beyond.

Clay turned his attention back to the King. "Yes, Your Majesty. I can lead you to the first of them soon." There was already one snake wriggling its way into his range, setting off alarms in his ethereal senses. It wouldn't be too hard to lure it into an ambush, especially since there was plenty of sunlight to see by.

The King nodded. He adjusted his own grip on the sword in his hand. "Lead on, Sir Clay. You brought us here. Let's be about it."

Clay nodded and stepped into the woods. The others trailed after him, their armor making soft noises as they moved. He grimaced as he realized that any sort of stealth was unlikely to be possible with this group, but he shoved the thoughts aside and focused on the path ahead.

Before long, Sir Frensfeld spoke up, using a voice quiet enough not to carry too far in the trees. "Sir Clay, what sort of enemies can we expect?"

He glanced back at the [Noble] before responding. "Well, as the Reeve likely told you, the monsters here are a kind of snake." Clay stepped around a bush, his eyes searching the ground ahead for any sign of the snakes they were hunting. "They are greyish, and move quickly across open ground. Bites are venomous. They are extremely aggressive, but are relatively fragile and cannot penetrate most armor."

The other [Nobles] started to relax, at least until Olivia spoke up. "Of course, if they strike you in an unprotected spot, death becomes more likely. Be wary. Listen for their approach."

Her warning brought some of the tension back, but Clay simply shrugged it off. He led them a little further, up until the point when he felt the monster's attention turn to them.

Clay stopped and motioned for the King to come forward. After a quick glance at his bodyguard, John crept up alongside Clay, his sword already drawn.

Keeping his voice to a whisper, Clay pointed at a tree ahead. "John, do you see it?"

The King leaned forward, his eyes sharp behind his visor. He spent a few moments peering through the fallen leaves and bare branches of the woods. Then he stiffened, and his whisper was harsh. "Beside the roots? The grey thing?"

Clay nodded. "It is alone. You can take it." As he spoke, he set his hands on his spear, just in case.

King John, leader of Crownsguard, stayed rooted in place for a moment, staring at the distant creature. Clay thought he saw the man's head twitch, as if he wanted to look back at Lord Metmore.

Then he shook his head and brought up a hand. His whisper had taken on a hard tone. "All right, then."

Lightning cracked out from the [Noble]'s hand, crossing the distance in less than a heartbeat. The snake didn't have the chance to move; the bolt struck it square, leaving it to writhe and thrash amidst the leaves. Clay heard the man breathing hard beneath his helm. It sounded like he was trying to draw air through a metal pipe as he watched the thing tremble.

Then King John lashed out again, and a third time. The bolts crackled with power; one struck home, and the other blasted a small pile of leaves that scattered in the creature's death throes. Clay watched as the snake made one last wriggling twist.

It went still, and the wind was the only sound left for a moment as the King stared at the thing.

John turned to Clay, his eyes wide. "It's dead. I killed it."

Clay nodded. The thing's howl was already fading from his perception. Unfortunately, the noise had apparently attracted attention. "Well done, but there are others coming now."

The King stared at him, and Olivia spoke up in a low voice. "Sometimes, loud actions can have consequences."

He gave her a wry look, given her usual approach to the things, but Lord Metmore muttered a curse. "Where are they? Should we retreat?"

Clay looked back at the bodyguard calmly. "They are coming. Watch for them moving through the leaves." He looked at the King. "I will not let them harm you, but I want you to face them yourselves first."

Before the King could respond, the Royal Guard stepped forward. He grasped King John's arm, less out of anger than desperation. "Sir Clay, we cannot risk this. The King's life…"

"Is less at risk than the [Commoners] who lived here." Clay let his voice grow hard. "He will be safe."

Olivia spoke before the bodyguard could protest further. "The [Commoners] who died here could not say the same. They died without armor, without weapons, without magic." She looked at the King, her emerald eyes a challenge. "They look to the Guild, and to you, for protection. For vengeance. Will you give it to them? Or will you run?"

The King looked back at her, his back stiffening. Then he shook off Lord Metmore's hand. "Prepare yourselves. They are coming."

Metmore looked stunned. He reached out again. "My liege—"

"I will not run, James." The King rolled his shoulders and set himself, his hands clutching his sword. "The girl is right, and I will not run. Get ready."

The Royal Guard stepped back, his posture still showing shock. He was still staring when Frensfeld spoke up. "I see one. Right there!"

Clay had already turned, his eyes tracking a flash of steel-colored skin on the ground. It leaped just as Frensfeld pointed at it; a blade of what looked like air punched into the ground just a moment too late. He heard Frensfeld grunt, saw the adventurer pull back.

Then the King swept past him, his sword flashing out in a broad slash. The snake met it and died, falling in two pieces.

Even as the monster died, another took to the air from another direction. It burst into flame as Metmore pointed at it in panic, smacking limply against Frensfeld before falling to the ground. The [Noble] was already turning, whirling just in time to catch the third monster as it appeared around a tree. This time, Frensfeld didn't miss, and the thing's head went flying into the brush.

The three [Nobles] spent another moment searching for more threats. Clay watched them, conducting his own search and finding no more nearby. He nodded. "Well done."

Then he turned, looking back at them over his shoulder. "The rest of them are further in. Are you ready?"

The King and his companions looked back at him. Then John laughed, an incredulous burst of relieved nerves and genuine incredulity. "You truly are mad, aren't you?" He nodded. "Lead on, Sir Clay. The day is still young!"

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