Lacuna - N.R. Walker Page 0,4

Tancho didn’t need luck. He had skill. And being told to fight well was implying the possibility that he could fight any other way, like telling the sun to rise well. It knew no other way, like Tancho knew no other way.

So no, Asagi would only say to return safely because that was all there was left to say. Tancho had been taught all there was to know.

He was ready.

He was leaving his land and his people in very good hands.

And if he was honest with himself, Tancho was excited. Everything in his life had led to this point. As all rivers run to the sea, this was his destiny. He nudged his horse with his heel and the three of them rode over the palace bridge into the city, lined with people waving white ribbons and cheering for their king.

He would not disappoint them.

And the closer he got to his destiny, the hotter his birthmark burned.

Chapter Three

Aequi Kentron was a sight to behold, a picture of peace and order. The citadel itself was as old as time, steeped in history and tradition, built long before the Great War. The sandstone bricks were handcrafted, worn now, but still immaculate. There were potted trees, vines and flowers along the entranceway. Sunshine painted the tall walls and Soko’s smile. Crow chuckled at his friend’s bright-eyed amazement.

A moated island-castle was built of sandstone with four bridges that linked to each land like ventricles to a heart. Sandstone walls with merlon and embrasures, ornamental crenellations if not for anything else. There were flags and pennants for each land: black for Northlands, white for Westlands, green for Eastlands, and red for Southlands.

If the Great Kingdoms were a large mass of four equal parts, the Aequi Kentron, was the bullseye.

Crow hadn’t been to the Aequi Kentron for many years, though it hadn’t changed at all. As he and Soko rode over the Northlands’ Bridge and into Aequi Kentron, they were officially out of their country and on neutral ground.

A tolling bell announced their arrival, and three guards came to meet them. Each wore the compass rose emblazoned on their chest and a yellow cloak; one held a bell, one stood back with his head bowed, the third stepped forward to greet them.

“Welcome, King of the Northlands. An honour bestowed upon us.”

Crow swung his leg over and slid down from his horse, and Soko did the same. The third guard took the horses, and the first waved his hand to the large wooden doors. “To your quarters, if you will. After such a journey, there have been baths and supplies prepared in anticipation of your arrival. This way, to the north wing. The men will bring your belongings.”

The seven-day journey itself had been refreshing if Crow was being honest. Yes, his arse could do without meeting a saddle for a while, but seeing his country—the mountain ranges of sheer peaks and snow that gave way to rolling hills before flattening out to grassy plains; the villages, the townspeople waving and cheering with delight at seeing their king—had been something Crow would cherish in his memories forever.

Spending seven days and nights with Soko had been like old times. In their teen years, they would spend nights out under the stars, far removed from castle luxuries, hunting for food, lighting campfires. They’d also had to practise marksmanship and survival skills, but that was what made it all the more fun.

They’d spent the first two nights at inns on the way to Aequi Kentron, needing a hot bath and a warm bed. Only a fool wishing for death would cross the highlands in winter and sleep outside. So while the inns had provided warmth and shelter and bellies with hot food, they’d also provided one too many blackberry wines, which, in turn, provided headaches for the morning’s ride.

But as they drew closer to their destination, and as they came out of the mountains, they found the weather a little more forgiving and opted for a makeshift campsite hidden from the road.

Crow could say, without doubt, it was one of the best weeks of his life. He could take off his title and be his true self. Not a king, not one born for greatness, not one chosen by fate. Just a man, with his best mate, riding through the countryside.

But now they were here, where fate awaited, and he couldn’t help but feel a little melancholy.

“Is the room not to your liking, my lord?” the guard asked. He’d led them