Chapter 19 The King's Request
The Royal Palace was even more intimidating in daylight.
Caspian stood with his guild at the base of a massive marble staircase, looking up at doors that could have fit their entire tavern inside. Guards lined every step, their armor polished to a blinding shine, their eyes fixed forward but somehow still watching everything.
Tobin adjusted his ridiculous hat. "So. Anyone else feel like we're walking to our doom?"
"Every single day," Elara muttered.
Fizzlewick had his tome clutched to his chest like a shield. "The Royal Palace was constructed approximately 327 years ago and has served as the seat of Aethelgard's monarchy ever since. Fun fact: the foundation stones are enchanted to repel any form of magical intrusion, which means—"
"Fizz," Caspian said gently. "Breathe."
He breathed. Didn't help much.
Marnie stood quietly at the back, one hand resting on her apron pocket. The spoon was there, humming softly. She looked calm. Then again, she always looked calm. It was both comforting and slightly unsettling.
Boris had somehow secured a flask despite being searched at the gate. He took a quick sip, wiped his mouth, and nodded. "Ready."
"You're not supposed to have that," Elara whispered.
"I don't have anything. I'm just standing here."
Bulkan grunted. It sounded like "let's get this over with."
A palace official appeared at the top of the stairs. Same woman from before—efficient, professional, slightly intimidating. "The King will see you now. Follow me."
They climbed.
The hallways inside were works of art. Tapestries, paintings, sculptures. Every surface told a story. Caspian recognized scenes from Aethelgard's history—the founding, the wars, the great heroes. And there, at the end of one hall, a tapestry depicting the invasion. The Creator's army pouring through rifts. The defenders falling. The message burning in the sky.
They paused in front of it.
The official waited, giving them a moment.
Elara studied the tapestry quietly. "Twenty years ago. Feels like yesterday to some people."
Boris nodded. "I was there. At one of the battles. Lost a lot of friends." His voice was rough. "Never thought I'd see anything like it again. Now here we are."
Caspian looked at the image of the Creator—just a silhouette, no face, no details. But he'd seen the face. In his visions. In the core's memories. He knew who was coming.
"We won't lose this time," he said quietly.
Boris looked at him. Something passed between them—understanding, maybe. Hope.
The official cleared her throat gently. "The King is waiting."
They moved on.
The throne room was enormous. Columns rose toward a ceiling painted with scenes of the heavens. Light streamed through high windows, illuminating a central aisle that seemed to stretch forever. At the end, on a raised dais, sat King Aldric the Steadfast.
He wasn't alone. Four figures stood near the throne—the guild masters. Vance Ironwood of the Vanguard. Archmage Seraphina Moonshadow. Master Thorne Quickhand of the Consortium. First Warden Kael Stormbreaker.
The entire Royal Circle, waiting for them.
Tobin swallowed audibly. "Okay. That's a lot of important people."
Elara led them forward. Her steps were steady, but Caspian could see the tension in her shoulders. They stopped at the appropriate distance and bowed.
King Aldric studied them for a long moment. Then he smiled. It wasn't warm, exactly, but it wasn't hostile either.
"Rise. Thank you for coming."
Elara straightened. "You summoned us, Your Majesty."
"I did." He gestured, and servants appeared with chairs—actual chairs, arranged in a semi-circle near the throne. "Please. Sit. This isn't a formal audience. It's a conversation."
They sat. Carefully. Awkwardly. Bulkan's chair creaked ominously.
The King waited until they were settled. Then he leaned forward, his expression serious.
"I'll be direct. The war is coming faster than we anticipated. The rifts are accelerating. Our scouts estimate we have six months, maybe less, before the Creator's army reaches full strength and moves." He paused. "Six months to prepare for an enemy that wiped out half our population twenty years ago."
The weight of his words settled over the group.
Master Thorne Quickhand spoke next. He was a slim man with sharp eyes and a smile that didn't quite reach them. "Resources are being mobilized. Every guild is contributing. Every able-bodied fighter is being trained." He looked at the Gilded Fox. "Including you."
Vance Ironwood's voice was like stone grinding against stone. "The question is what you contribute. You have the Glimmer. You have an anomalous conduit. You have proven resourceful." He paused. "But resourcefulness alone doesn't win wars."
Tobin bristled. "We've done pretty well so far."
"You've fought goblins and survived one ruin. That's not a war."
Elara held up a hand, stopping Tobin's retort. "What exactly are you asking, Guildmaster?"
Ironwood looked at the King. The King nodded.
"We're forming specialized units," Ironwood said. "Small teams tasked with specific objectives. Disruption. Sabotage. Intelligence gathering. Things large forces can't do." He looked at Caspian. "Your conduit. Your... unpredictability. It makes you valuable for such work."
Archmage Seraphina leaned forward, her eyes bright with intellectual curiosity. "And the Glimmer. We believe it can be used to track the rifts. Perhaps even close them temporarily. But we need to study it. Understand it."
Marnie's hand moved to her apron.
Seraphina noticed. "We wouldn't take it. Just observe. Measure. Learn."
Kael spoke for the first time. His voice was rough, practical. "The Rangers would train you. Deepwood survival. Stealth. The things that keep you alive when everything goes wrong." He looked at Caspian. "You've got potential. Raw, unrefined, but real."
Caspian processed this. They weren't being dismissed. They weren't being mocked. They were being... recruited.
Elara clearly reached the same conclusion. "You want us to join the war effort. As a specialized unit."
King Aldric nodded. "You've proven yourselves capable. Unconventional, yes, but capable. And in a war against an enemy who expects conventional responses, unconventional might be exactly what we need."
Boris, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke. "What about Oakhaven? The convergence point?"
The King's expression grew grimmer. "Oakhaven will be defended. We're already moving forces. But your town is small. Remote. It can't be the priority."
"It's our home."
"I understand. But I have to think of the whole kingdom." Aldric met Boris's eyes. "I'm sorry."
Silence.
Caspian looked at his guild. At the fear and determination on their faces. At the weight they all carried.
He stood.
"Your Majesty. Guildmasters." He took a breath. "We'll do it. We'll join your specialized unit. We'll train. We'll fight. But we need something in return."
Ironwood's eyes narrowed. "You're in no position to bargain."
"Maybe not. But I'm going to anyway." Caspian met his gaze. "When the time comes, when the Creator's army moves, we want to be at Oakhaven. Defending it. Not assigned somewhere else. Not pulled away at the last minute. We want to protect our home."
The King studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly.
"Reasonable. If you prove yourselves in the coming months, I'll see that Oakhaven's defense includes its own guild." He glanced at the other guild masters. "Agreed?"
Kael nodded immediately. Seraphina after a moment's thought. Thorne shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him. Ironwood hesitated, then gave a single, sharp nod.
"Then it's settled." The King stood. "You'll begin training immediately. The Rangers will handle your initial instruction. After that, assignments as needed." He looked at each of them in turn. "The fate of this kingdom rests on many shoulders. Yours are smaller than most, but no less important. Don't prove me wrong."
The audience was over.
They walked out of the throne room in a daze. The guards parted. The doors closed behind them.
Tobin waited until they were outside, at the top of the marble stairs, before speaking.
"Did we just agree to be soldiers?"
Elara shook her head slowly. "We agreed to be something else. Something new."
Caspian looked at the sky. At the capital spread below them. At the people going about their lives, unaware of how close everything was to ending.
"Six months," he said quietly. "We have six months to become strong enough to save everyone."
Marnie touched his arm. Her eyes were calm. "We will."
Bulkan grunted. It sounded like agreement.
Fizzlewick closed his tome. "The statistical probability of success in such a timeframe is approximately—"
"Fizz," everyone said.
He smiled. "I was going to say higher than you'd think."
They walked down the stairs together. A small guild from a small town, carrying the weight of a world.