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McClouds are overrun, the Empire will come for King’s Court next. There's no way we can keep them back.”

      "We must discuss terms of surrender, my liege," Aberthol said to Gareth.

      "Surrender!?" another man yelled. "We shall never surrender!”

      "If we don't,” yelled another soldier, “we will be crushed. How can we stand up to one million men?”

      The room broke out into an outraged murmur, the soldiers and counselors arguing with each other, all in complete disarray.

      The Council leader slammed his iron rod on the stone floor and screamed:

      "ORDER!”

      Gradually, the room quieted. All the men turned and looked at him.

      "These are all decisions for a king, not for us,” one of the council men said. “Gareth is lawful King, and it is not for us to discuss terms of surrender – or whether to surrender at all."

      They all turned to Gareth.

      "My liege," Aberthol said, exhaustion in his voice, "how do you propose we deal with the Empire’s army?”

      The room grew deathly silent.

      Gareth sat there, staring down at the men, wanting to respond. But it was getting harder and harder for him to keep his thoughts clear. He kept hearing his father's voice in his head, yelling at him, as when he was a child. It was driving him crazy, and the voice would not go away.

      Gareth reached out and scratched the wooden arm of the throne, again and again. The sound of his fingernails clawing was the only sound in the room.

      The council members exchanged a worried glance.

      "My liege," another councilman prompted, "if you choose not to surrender, then we must fortify King's Court at once. We must secure all the entrances, all the roads, all the gates. We must call up all the soldiers, prepare defenses. We must prepare for a siege, ration food, protect our citizens. There is much to be done. Please, my liege. Give us a command. Tell us what to do.”

      Once again the room fell silent, as all eyes fixed on Gareth.

      Finally, Gareth lifted his chin and stared out.

      "We will not fight the Empire," he declared. "Nor will we surrender.”

      Everyone in the room looked at each other, confused.

      "Then what shall we do, my liege?” Aberthol asked.

      Gareth cleared his throat.

      "We shall kill Gwendolyn!” he declared. “That is all that matters now.”

      There followed a shocked silence.

      "Gwendolyn?" a councilman called out in surprise as the room broke out into another surprised murmur.

      "We will send all of our forces after her, to slaughter her and those with her before they reach Silesia,” Gareth announced.

      "But, my liege, how shall this help us?” a councilman called out. “If we venture out to attack her, that will only leave our forces exposed. They would all be surrounded and slaughtered by the Empire.”

      “It would also leave King's Court open for attack!” called out another. “If we are not going to surrender, we must fortify King's Court at once!”

      A group of men shouted in agreement.

      Gareth turned and looked at the councilman, his eyes cold.

      "We will use every man we have to kill my sister!” he said darkly. “We will not spare even one!”

      The room fell silent as a councilman pushed back his chair, scraping against the stone, and stood.

      "I will not see King's Court ruined for your personal obsession. I, for one, am not with you!”

      "Nor I!" echoed half the men in the room.

      Gareth felt himself fuming with rage, and was about to stand when suddenly the doors to the chamber burst open and in rushed the commander of what remained of the army. All eyes were on him. He dragged a man in his arms, a ruffian with greasy hair, unshaven, bound by his wrists. He dragged the man all the way to the center of the room and stopped before the king.

      "My liege," the commander said coldly. "Of the six thieves executed for the theft of the Destiny Sword, this man was the seventh, the one who escaped. He tells the most fantastical tale of what happened.

      “Speak!" the commander prodded, shaking the ruffian.

      The ruffian looked nervously in every direction, his greasy hair clinging to his cheeks, looking unsure. Finally, he yelled out:

      "We were ordered to steal the sword!”

      The room broke out into an outraged murmur.

      "There were nineteen of us!” the ruffian continued. “A dozen were to take it away, in the cover of darkness, across the Canyon bridge, and into the wilds. They hid it in a wagon and escorted it across the bridge so the soldiers standing guard would have no idea what was inside. The others, the seven of us, were ordered to stay behind after the theft. We were told we would be imprisoned, as a show, and then let free. But instead, my friends were all executed. I would have been too, had I not escaped.”

      The room broke out into a long, agitated murmur.

      "And where were they taking the sword?" the commander pressed.

      "I do not know. Somewhere deep inside the Empire.”

      "And who ordered such a thing?"

      "He!" the ruffian said, suddenly turning and pointing a bony finger at Gareth. "Our King! He commanded us to do it!”

      The room broke out into a horrified murmur, shouts arising, until finally a councilman slammed his iron staff several times and screamed for silence.

      The room quieted, but barely.

      Gareth, already shaking with fear and rage, stood slowly from his throne, and the room quieted, as all eyes fell on him.

      One step at a time, Gareth descended the ivory steps, his footsteps echoing, the silence so thick one could cut it with a knife.

      He crossed the chamber, until finally he reached the ruffian. He stared back at him coldly, a foot away, the man squirming in the commander’s arm, looking every which way but at him.

      "Thieves and liars are dealt with only one way in my kingdom,” Gareth said softly.

      Gareth suddenly pulled a dagger from his waist and plunged it in the ruffian's heart.

      The man screamed out in pain, his eyes bulging, then suddenly slumped down to the ground, dead.

      The commander looked over at Gareth, scowling down at him.

      “You have just murdered a witness against you," the commander said. "Don't you realize that only serves to further insinuate your guilt?”

      "What witness?" Gareth asked, smiling. “Dead men don't speak.”

      The commander reddened.

      "Lest you forget, I am commander of the half of the King’s army. I will not be played for a fool. From your actions, I can only surmise that you are guilty of the crime he accused you of. As such, I and my army shall serve you no longer. In fact, I will take you into custody, on the grounds of treason to the Ring!”

      The commander nodded to his men, and as one, several dozen soldiers drew their swords and stepped forward to arrest Gareth.

      Lord Kultin came forward with twice as many of his own men, all drawing their swords and walking up behind Gareth.

      They stood there, facing off with the commander’s soldiers, Gareth in the middle.

      Gareth smiled triumphantly back at the commander. His men were outnumbered by Gareth’s fighting force, and he knew it.

      "I will go into no one’s custody,” Gareth sneered. “And certainly not by your hand. Take your men and leave my court – or meet the wrath of my personal fighting force."

      After several tense seconds, the commander finally turned

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