“This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”

  The words came out in a puff of chilly night air. Despite them, Dalliance walked forward to meet his friend and the horse readily enough.

  Babycakes, the mare, was older and more placid than any other horse Dalliance had ever met, which was good. For all his many talents, Earnest was not an accomplished equestrian.

  “It’s only stupid if we get caught,” said Earnest. “Besides, beggars can’t be choosers. If we wanted to do something smart, we shouldn't have wasted the last three weeks.” He gave the reins a little shake. “Let's just get back before your Da wakes up, huh?”

  Dalliance wasn't used to riding two to a horse and found it uncomfortable. The horn of the saddle pressed into his lower stomach while, behind him, his friend controlled the reins. But they were off, and at a good clip. Earnest’s new spear, slung on a strap across his back like a guitar player might carry his instrument, bobbed and occasionally smacked into Dalliance’s leg as they went. Dalliance's new knife was an unfamiliar weight on his hip, but there had been no question of going unarmed.

  The familiar road they followed every morning to the schoolhouse retreated behind them as they turned right instead of left, heading up and up toward Galton City, capital of the Sapiens Imperium. The Empire of the Wise. A place where emperors might have once actually ruled—or at least archons, elected from among the Four Kings.

  Now it was all run by a chancellor, a placeholder for some rightful, imperially-blooded such-and-such, if still crowned. It was always a shame to realize that the grand titles, the stories and bloodlines of history, would remain trapped between the pages of a book. The real world was more drab, smaller, bereft of that grandeur. Just nasty, dangerous, and mean.

  The clop-clop of the horse's hooves and the nattering of his friend weren't quite enough to hold Dalliance's attention for the entire two-hour ride.

  Which is why he saw the owl first.

  It was flying low, just over the treetops, its wingspan longer than a carriage.

  Dalliance had never really liked owls. Their silent flight was just so spooky, not to mention the noises they made—second only to loons in terms of how haunting and otherworldly they seemed. This one had its eyes focused and was already moving at a rapid clip straight for them.

  Not waiting to see whether it wanted horseflesh or man-flesh, Dalliance kicked back against the stirrups while pushing off the horn of the saddle with both palms, sending himself and Earnest off the horse in a tumbling bundle of lanky adolescent limbs and one spear.

  The owl was gone. Babycakes pranced around nervously, pawing at the dirt path, ears back.

  “What the hell?” growled Earnest.

  “Owl,” Dalliance gasped. “A monster, for sure.”

  “A monster?” He rolled to his feet with more grace than one would expect and unlimbered his spear, looking around warily. “You know it’s my hide,” he said, “if Babycakes gets hurt. It would be better for me if I let it get me.”

  This was a lie, Dalliance thought. We're telling lies, then.

  “This isn’t the time,” Dalliance complained.

  It swooped again, and this time it got Earnest. The owl’s talons clamped around his shin and calf, the hooked claws slashing clean through his pantlegs and lashing his flesh. He screamed, twisting in midair as the monster tried to lift him. Desperation made him grab for a branch, the bark tearing under his fingers, but it held long enough to halt his ascent. The jolt wrenched his leg and forced him to drop the spear.

  Babycakes bolted, audibly crashing through the underbrush in frantic flight. Well shit. All that was left was his friend dangling from a tree, a monstrous owl, and the abandoned spear.

  Dalliance snatched it up. He had no real idea how to fight, but the thing was right there, wings hammering the air like sails. He braced and drove the point into the base of the wing. It slid in easier than he’d thought—through feathers, membrane, and meat. Hot blood sprayed across his forearm, soaking the grip.

  The owl shrieked, a sound like metal ripping, and snapped at him. Dalliance yanked the spear free and stabbed again, once, twice, the blade grinding against bone. The third thrust punched all the way through, and the wing gave out. The monster collapsed into the dirt in a heap of feathers and blood, still thrashing.

  “Through the wing!” Earnest bellowed. His voice cracked on the last word.

  Dalliance jammed the spear down, pinning the wing to the soil. The owl’s body convulsed. Its free talons raked furrows through the ground inches from his boots, and its beak clacked so hard he felt the impact in his teeth. Blood matted its plumage, and a sour, coppery stink filled the clearing.

  Earnest staggered to his feet, the weeping cuts on his leg already welling up with blood. He grabbed a length of deadwood, lifted it overhead, and brought it down with all his weight. The branch cracked against the owl’s skull. He screamed as he swung again and again, each blow making the bird’s head buckle and spatter. The creature kept snapping, twitching, until finally one strike caved the side of its skull in with a wet crunch.

  For a moment there was only the ragged sound of their breathing and the slow, horrible realization of what they had done.

  And then the system chimed:

  [A pitiful end: you have been awarded three (3) experience points for the tactless slaying of a peerless predator by any means at hand.]

  “So much for these pants.”, said Earnest darkly.

  It took them the better part of a half hour to find and calm the horse. By the time the massive stone walls of the Capital loomed before them, lit by torches, they were exhausted and disheveled. The air smelled of coal smoke, livestock, and too many people.

  The pair were exhausted by the time they rode up to Shelton's westernmost gate. The Farmer’s Gate was the only gate either of the pair had ever made use of, but they knew better than to go there now. The demands of getting produce into the capital fast enough to keep it from going bad were such that farmers would already be queued up outside the gates, anything to beat the heat, and either of the two would be recognizable.

  So instead, they went south just enough to go around the little hook-shaped promontory, a protrusion of the city. They came right up to the edge of the floating island and kept on, with the Citadel itself ahead. They had, of course, been able to see the Citadel the entire journey—the half-mile stone tower was visible from the entire shard—but as they drew ever closer to its base, the dimensions of the human-and-dragon-partnership construction and the sheer size, the sheer scale upon which the architects were thinking, became mind-blowing.

  And then they were there. The gate on the other side. The lowest part of the city, gotten to. It was tiered, as it was built on the side of a slope, and the mechanists’ coal smoke hung low over this part of the city, drifting see-through, ebon fingers curling over the wall. The inner wall, that is. Looming in a perfect curved line against the horizon could be seen the other wall, where the beast tides had first been, and still remained, at bay. But here, near the Citadel, everything was still built to a different scale, and approaching the gate, they felt very small. The farm horse they were riding, very plain. The spear on Earnest's back, very rustic.

  And for their part, the guards did not disagree.

  “This is the saddest bandit attack I’ve ever seen.”

  “I think they’re riding it here to trade it up at the glue factory for a second-hand pig-sticker.”

  “Mind the gates, lads! We’ve got savages out here!”

  They all laughed, and so did Earnest, although Dalliance, more confused than anything else, mostly just hung on, looking tired. Earnest’s blood darkened a trail down the mare’s side.

  “Well, at least you’re a good sport,” said the main gate guard. “What’s your business?”

  “It’s cold out,” Earnest tried. “What if we just went in from the wet?”

  “Why are you really here, I asked. You seem injured—do you seek sanctuary?”

  “We planned a quick ride, just checking in about an apprenticeship,” said Earnest quickly. “Not for me—Da’s already determined me to be a dangerous martial man—but my friend here fancies his future as a cobbler. But, uh, there was a monster on the path.”

  “You don’t say. Well, good on you for getting by, and best of luck to you with the apprenticeship. I’ll let you in, but the Narrows—that’s this area—doesn’t hold anything healthy for young lads. Pass through quickly and make for the temple, where you can request sanctuary for the night. Get a good sleep and seek a new master on the Water Street in the morning.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Dalliance was touched at the amount of care that had gone into this advice.

  “We’re all His Majesty’s citizens; we’re all alike beneath the crown. Got to help the little guy out, too,” said the guard.

  “Do we need to send a patrol for the monster?” asked another of the guards, an older-looking man.

  “No—it was fairly small, and we were able to pin it down and kill it.”

  “Didn’t butcher it?”

  “How old do I look?” asked Earnest. The guard smirked and withdrew the question.

  “You,” he said, speaking directly to Dalliance, “you look just the right type of serious to make a good shoe. I might be stopping by to see how you’re doing.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Dalliance said.

  “You say: ‘Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I won’t waste any time in the Narrows, sir’.”

  The guard, and Dalliance himself, chuckled as they passed through.

  “That’s not what I expected,” he confided to Earnest.

  “I know, right?”

  “Also, a cobbler?”

  “You could actually be a totally passable cobbler,” his friend told him. “You’ve got an eye for detail. You don’t like when things aren’t even.”

  He had to admit, it was true.

  “Besides, they make money,” his friend emphasized the word. “If you didn’t want to be a wizard, you could do worse than being a cobbler.”

  “Oh, I’ll keep it in mind as a backup plan,” he joked. Who had ever heard of a Fae-touched cobbler?

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Over here,” Earnest said as they passed the base of a massive, curving stair made of well-dressed, broad stones going up to the inner curtain wall, to the Overlook where you could see past the Wall into the Wild. “If you ever wanted to be up there and look and see what it’s like . . . ”

  “I’ve got a horse,” complained Dalliance. “What am I gonna do with the horse?”

  It was a good point.

  “I guess you’re going to stay here by yourself,” Earnest joked, and went up the stairs two at a time. It wasn’t long before he heard the clop-clop of horse hooves, shod horse hooves on flagstone stairs.

  “Getting her down is going to be an absolute nightmare,” predicted Earnest. “But you’re not gonna see it without me.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  There were a lot of steps, and then they were on a large, flat, circular area, like a parade ground, but a parade ground made of solid stones, abutting the base of the Citadel. From it, another gigantic, curving staircase led up. It seemed to go to the Wall itself, but actually, that would be the inner of the three layers of wall and the only one available to the citizenry.

  “Hell no,” said a guard as he walked over. “He brought a horse up my stairs,” he said.

  “Sorry, sir, we don’t have anyone to watch them, but we . . . ” Earnest began.

  The guard finished the sentence for him. “ . . . wanted to look over the Wall. Of course you did. See where your betters go, see where your fathers and brothers went off to risk life and limb in support of the Empire.” He nodded. “You, go. I’ll watch your horse. It’s important for people to know what’s at stake. And besides, in the darkness, you’ll see the spells better.”

  For all that he’d complained about them bringing a horse, there were multiple horses already around a trough, and he simply walked their horse over to the others.

  “It’s you,” accused Earnest. “You’re all serious-faced. Nobody’s ever this nice to me when I’m by myself.”

  Dalliance tried being honest. “Shut up.”

  Upon the wall top, Earnest said, “This isn’t why we came here. We’ve got a time limit.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll bet you’ve never gotten your dad to let you come up here and look, have you?”

  “No, of course not. And neither have I. It’s not technically safe, is why. That’s what he’d say.” But both boys knew in their hearts that this was not a sufficient reason. In fact, it wasn’t a real reason at all.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Dalliance said. “We’re gonna do the tourist thing, and then we pick a target, get it done, and ride as hard as we can home. I cannot be late. You can be late; I can’t be late.”

  “Roger, roger,” said Earnest dourly. “I hear you.”

  They walked up to the side of the Overlook. Five hundred feet down, the first tier of mages and men stood behind road fortifications. Another twenty to thirty feet down, another tier. Another fifty feet, the ground.

  And what a ground it was.

  It was all corpses as far as they could see into the bracken of the jungle and the towering trees. They went up, up, and up. Each tree was thick as a minimum, as the main house on Dalliance’s farm. Each tree taller, or nearly as tall, as the Wall itself—six, seven hundred feet. And in the distance, giant trees, much, much taller, almost lost in the fog.

  Dalliance had known academically that humanity only inhabited half of the shard, but that wasn’t the same as seeing it. The ground, stretched from the foot of the wall to the forest's floor, was bodies, human and otherwise, and writhing with constant motion. The furry, black-skinned ogres; the pale green of goblin knights; the winged forms of imps, flickering into scarlet flame and spiraling out of the air even as they approached the Wall.

  Once, a pale, lilac lance burning with a subtle hue that nevertheless painted the entire wall a very real amethyst, touched gently down as if from the heavens—and dragged through the battlefield, leaving only ash in its wake. That would be from the Citadel mages. Impossible to know how many in concert.

  "Wow," was the only thing Earnest could say. "I know why you want to be a mage now."

  "I'm going to be down there one day," Dalliance admitted. "What about you?"

  "That's not really an option for me," he admitted. "I had sort of thought about being a philosopher."

  "Really?" Dalliance asked. "You want to go to the Academy so you can be a philosopher?"

  "Well, it's that, or there's seer, and I'd have to join the temple. Seers have a wonderful progression, straight up Acolyte up to Seer, through Prophet to . . . well, I don't remember what the higher title is."

  "Yeah?" Dalliance couldn't think of any possible reason for his friend to spurn being a seer and asked, "What's wrong with that?"

  "Well, I'd have to stop smoking."

  That was the stupidest thing Dalliance had ever heard. His friend smoked a corn cob pipe occasionally, very occasionally, with his grandfather, as a sort of rebellion against Earnest's mother, who was trying to make the old man quit. It was sweet in its own way, but . . .

  "That's it?"

  "Okay, well, I'm gonna live my life my way," said Earnest, "and you can live your life your way. Okay?"

  "Okay, okay."

  With that, Earnest withdrew from the wall top. After looking straight down, Dalliance looked over the side himself. He was actually three walls away from the edge. The Overlook was a tower, technically connecting the second and third curtain walls. Looking down, he realized if he stepped over the edge, he would fall and break himself on the third wall, or possibly the paving stones separating it from the second wall, or possibly the second wall's inner merlons.

  He shuddered and backed away.

  Down the stairs from the Overlook, they passed once again to the parade ground sort of area, but now that he was looking for it, Dalliance could see archways leading onto the second and third curtain walls. This was a confluence; he didn’t know the proper term.

  "We should explore," he suggested to Earnest, and engaged his [Prediction] skill. He had to do it twice, but soon enough, he could see the thinnest silhouettes of where people would be. "They don’t patrol the third very often."

  It made sense. Nobody was on the third. Nobody was at risk of breaking into the third from the front, and the citizenry weren’t a significant threat coming from the inside.

  Okay. Walking along the third, they were able to look down at the Narrows, where industry and cramped living conditions had pushed architecture to its illogical extreme. Stacks of shacks and shanties built right up against the base of the wall. Towering and crooked chimney stacks released coal fumes, the whish and pump of industry audible even in the night hours. Crazed, narrow roads ran between each building—probably where the name came from.

  And then, on from there and up and up the hill along Advent Boulevard—where the triumphant re-entrance from the Citadel would tramp during Triumph Days—up and up, past the different tiers of citizenry to the spine of the city. Atop the hill was built where the Imperial Lake was, where the Imperial Palace and Academy were, as well as the King’s Hunt and other grand buildings. The temple, about halfway up Advent and on the inside, furthest along its tier from the wall, shone with candlelight, looking holy and mysterious.

  “I almost wish we were going to be going to claim sanctuary,” Earnest said. “I’d love to see what it’s like.”

  “Soon enough, we’ll have some feast day or other, and now we’re old enough to go off by ourselves,” Dalliance replied.

  “Fine,” said Earnest.

  And then Dalliance saw it: a trapdoor he would open within the next few minutes. An adult would come out and walk along the wall top, looking around, and then go down the stairs. And when he closed it, that might be their opportunity.

  “Okay, we've got a couple of minutes. Let me explain the goal. We are going to sit right there and look and rubberneck and be amazed by the city. A guard is gonna come out of that trapdoor, and as the trapdoor closes, we have to stop it from going click without the guard noticing. What do you got?”

  As it turned out, all they really had between them were a knife, a spear, and their shoes. Well, this wasn’t good news.

  “How about the bottom of your pant leg?” suggested Dalliance. The one pant leg was already shortened by the attack; cutting off the other one to match it didn’t seem that big of a sacrifice. Earnest did not agree but went with it anyway. It would be their one chance.

  The guard emerged as predicted, turned and saw them, and kicked the trapdoor shut behind him with his foot. Dalliance threw a pad of cloth with a flick of his wrist, spinning, and it landed underneath the closing latch in silence, preventing it from engaging. The trapdoor was unlocked. The guardsman glanced back at them twice, then turned the corner.

  “Okay,” said Dalliance. “You’re up.”

  “Me?” protested Earnest. “Why me?”

  “I can predict that you will come back out, looking smug, in five minutes if you go now.”

  Earnest went, with a much put-upon face, but when he emerged, he did in fact look pleased with himself. He immediately tossed the bundle in his arms over the wall, to the inside of the third curtain wall, down into the Narrows.

  “I think we’re going to be disobeying the guard,” he said shortly, “but it was better than being caught with whatever I had.”

  Reclaiming the horse was a stressful process with the new hurry they found themselves in, but they made it down to the Narrows in plenty of time. Everyone was, if not in bed, at least indoors. And though one very provocatively dressed lady stepped out to greet them as they passed her by, she retreated from them with a quizzical look on her face an instant later. Neither boy needed to comment.

  Leaving via the same gate seemed like a bad idea, and the Farmer’s Gate was, if nothing else, faster to leave by than enter by. So they did, leaving the city as soon as possible. They crossed to the same road they’d come on, and only then did they open the bundle.

  In a secluded copse of trees a few miles outside the city, as the sun began to rise, they unwrapped the bundle. Dalliance stared at the four identical swords.

  "Four of them?" he demanded. "Why the hell do you need four swords? And what's with the bag?"

  Earnest’s eyes were alight with a manic genius. “We don’t say we stole them,” he said, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “We say we found them. Near the owl. That giant owl? It didn’t just attack us. It had also previously killed an Imperial Messenger.” He held up the satchel. “This is our proof. Whenever they retrieved the courier’s body, they must have just missed it.”

  Dalliance gave a slow grin. “I’m liking this so far.”

  “The messenger was carrying a shipment of swords,” Earnest continued, his words tumbling out. “The owl attacked, he dropped the bundle in a puddle, and the owl carried him off. We couldn’t find the body, but we found the swords! And we have the owl’s corpse to prove our story. The fact that it's been eaten a bit? We weren’t done . . . farming experience, and left it there, then had to drive away the grass wolves scavenging it!”

  He held up a sword. “We’ll scrub the markings off these, leave ‘em in the cow pond for a week to get ‘em looking right. And watch this.” He took a small, hard rock and a scrap of parchment. He pressed the parchment into the inner flap of the satchel and ground the rock over it, creating a faint, rectangular impression in the leather. “Looks like a receipt was in there so long it left a mark, but the paper itself is gone. Believable, right?”

  Dalliance shook his head. “Just remember you’re a kid who fought a monster and got some treasure. Give them the bits they need to piece together what ‘really happened’ but don’t go telling them. They’ll never believe us then.”

  “Sure,” said Earnest. “Hey, you’re in front, I want to see something.”

  He pulled out one of the swords. Slim, with a wedge cross-section and a guarded handle, Dalliance was fairly sure he’d heard it called an ‘arming sword’. As he watched, his friend took a handful of sand and the sword in hand, mounted, and attempted to scrub off the maker’s mark—two diamonds, entwined.

  They made off home that way, Dalliance awkwardly holding the reins out so Earnest could spill more sand in his lap. Earnest scrubbed until his hands ached. The two steels gleamed stubbornly, mocking him.

  “Probably for the best,” Earnest admitted, “that your uncle was a pauper.”

  Bickering faded into sullen silence, and then bone-deep weariness and saddle hurts, and riding under the rising light of morning, they passed the spot of the fight. The giant owl corpse was still pinned to the ground, but something—wolves, perhaps—had been at it, tearing away chunks of flesh. It was a gruesome sight, and sobered them completely. Their grand adventure suddenly felt very real and very dangerous.

  “Your plan explains the swords,” Dalliance said, his voice flat with exhaustion. “It doesn’t explain why two twelve-year-olds were in the monster-infested woods in the middle of the night to begin with.”

  “We could say I ran away from home and you came after me,” his friend suggested. It was partially in mockery of Dalliance failing to do just that, he was sure.

  “No.”

  “But I don’t want us looking stupid,” Earnest grumbled.

  “We’ll say we were farming experience,” Dalliance had argued himself, firmly.

  “My way, we look like ignorant schoolboys who couldn’t possibly have been up to anything.”

  Earnest was quiet for a moment. “Your lie does make us look stupid and ignorant at the same time. No one’s gonna think we’re that reckless.” He paused. “Of course, I didn’t want that reputation, but. We’ll go with that.”

  They rode the rest of the way in a fitful silence, heads on a swivel for eyes upon their sneaking back into the village, and made it just as the first farmers were heading to the fields. Dalliance slid off the horse, his body aching.

  “Nice being stupid with you.”

  by Idiot Muffin

  UPDATES: Every Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, & Thursday (Evenings)

  Book One of the Epic Fantasy Series: Sovereign's Silent Path

  Title: Sylas of Cindaleer

  He was exiled as a prince, forgotten by a kingdom, but now, he is bound to a dead queen's will.

  Sylas of Cindaleer doesn’t wield a sword; he wields a mind, honed by ancient philosophies that compel others to follow his will.

  Raised in the shadows of a forsaken past, Sylas was meant to disappear. But a letter sealed in crimson wax, arriving from beyond the grave, pulled him into a world of deceit, schemes, and revenge. His mother’s final message is not a farewell; it’s a command for a grand new beginning.

  As the Holy Kingdom of Halewyn tightens its grip, hidden cults move to manipulate him, and legendary heroes rise to challenge him. Yet Sylas walks neither with tyrants nor rebels. He walks the Silent Path, one forged from recursive imagination.

  In a world governed by Laws and Marks, where Philosophers cultivate to conquer death and dominate souls, a lone Sovereign must uncover his true purpose...

  To walk beside him, you must accept his Mark.

  .???????????.????????.????.?????????????????.?????????????????.?????????????.????????????.?????????.???????????.??????????????.????????????????.?????????????????????.??????????????????.?????????????????????????.????????????.???????????????.??????????????.??????????????.????????????????????????.????????.?????????????????????.????????????.??????????????????.?????????????????????????.????????????????.???????????.??????????????.???????????????????.??????????????.?????????????.????????????????????.?????????.?????????????????.???????????????.?????????????????????????.????????????????????.?????????????????.????????????.??????????????????????.?????????????.????????????????.????????????????????.??????????????????.?????????????????.????????????????????????.???????????????.??????????????????????????.???????.????????????????????.???????????????????????.???????????????????????.???????????????.????????????????.????????.??????.????????????.??????????????.??????????????????.??????????????.???????????????????.???????????????????.??????????????????.??????????????.????????????.?????????????????.?????????????????????.???????????????????????.????????????????????????.??????????????????????.??????????????????????.????????.???????????.?????????????????????.????????????????.??????????????.????????.??????????????????????.???????????????????????????

  (Note: This novel is originally published in Royal Road, so if you are reading it anywhere else, please come to Royal Road to read it and support me. Thankyou.)

  What to expect from this novel:

  1) Unconventional cultivation rooted in philosophy.

  2) Dual protagonists mirrored across two worlds.

  3) 21+ Laws of World and the abstract Laws of Mind, unlocked layer by layer.

  (ARC 4 is the training for Laws of World)

  4) Schemes, masks, and identity plays.

  5) Characters who feel, enemies that think, and tension that bites.

  6) An emotionally charged descent into ruin in search of meaning.

  7) Devoted passion from the author ^^