The heavy clank of metal on stone jarred Alph from his shallow meditation. He’d been drifting in and out of the Mind Garden throughout the night, unable to find true rest on the cell’s unforgiving stone floor. His back ached from the cold seeping through his cloak, and his mouth tasted of stale air and worry.

  Two garrison soldiers stood beyond the iron bars, their expressions professionally neutral. The morning light filtering through the narrow window caught on their polished armor, suggesting they’d taken care with their appearance—a formal duty, then, not a routine prisoner transfer.

  “On your feet,” the senior guard commanded, keys already in hand. “Lord Ashworth requires your presence.”

  Alph rose stiffly, his joints protesting the night’s abuse. He brushed ineffectually at his travel-stained clothes, knowing it was pointless but needing the gesture anyway. Lingering effects of yesterday’s hypnotic suggestion had faded completely, leaving him acutely aware of every legal argument he should have made, every defense he’d failed to mount.

  Lock turned with a decisive click that seemed to echo his fate being sealed.

  Heavy clank of metal on stone jarred Alph from his shallow meditation. He’d been drifting in and out of the Mind Garden throughout the night, unable to find true rest on the cell’s unforgiving stone floor.

  As the cell door swung open, Alph’s eyes took in the scene beyond. Two guards stood at attention on either side of the doorway, their hands resting on sword hilts with practiced readiness. Past them, near the corridor’s exit, two more soldiers waited with spears already lowered to fighting position—not quite aimed at him, but ready to be.

  “Step outside, prisoner,” the sergeant barked from beyond the threshold. His weathered face bore the scars of countless skirmishes, and his voice carried the weight of absolute authority. “Lord Ashworth demands your presence. Move slowly and keep your hands where we can see them.”

  Alph grimaced as he pushed himself to his feet. His stomach clenched painfully, empty save for the single cup of water they’d provided the night before. The hollow ache sparked a distant memory—in his previous life, denying a suspect proper meals would have been grounds for a civil rights lawsuit. He could almost hear himself drafting the complaint: deliberate indifference to basic human needs, violation of due process... But that was another world, another life. Here, in this medieval reality, a prisoner’s comfort was an afterthought.

  He stepped through the doorway with measured movements, his body complying even as some distant part of his mind wondered why he felt so accepting of his circumstances.

  As the guards escorted him through the garrison’s corridors, Alph squinted against the sudden assault of daylight. After a night in the windowless cell, the morning sun streaming through the courtyard felt like needles in his eyes. He raised a hand to shield his face, but a firm shove from behind sent him stumbling forward.

  “Keep moving,” the guard behind him growled.

  They turned down an unfamiliar hallway, and Alph’s confusion deepened as he caught sight of a row of water barrels and rough wooden benches. The bathing quarters? His steps faltered as he tried to process this unexpected detour.

  The sergeant noticed his hesitation and spoke without turning. “Even a prisoner needs to be properly presented when in audience with the noble Lord. Can’t have you standing before Lord Ashworth looking like something dragged from a gutter.”

  The gruff explanation carried a note of disdain, as if the sergeant disagreed with affording such courtesy to a prisoner. Yet orders were orders, and maintaining the proper protocols when dealing with nobility took precedence over personal feelings about guilt or innocence.

  Despite the circumstances, Alph felt genuine relief at the prospect of washing. The dried mucus from the Earthrender hatchery still clung to his clothes and skin in patches, its sickly sweet stench mixing with the general filth of the cell. Even cold water from a barrel would be a blessing after marinating in that combination of odors all night.

  The castle’s meeting hall had been prepared for judgment, its usual warmth replaced by the stiff formality of a tribunal.

  Lord Ashworth sat at the head of the mahogany table, his bearing rigid with barely contained displeasure. To his right, Knight Commander Kidris maintained perfect military posture, his scarred hands folded precisely before him as his cold eyes surveyed the room. The morning light from the tall windows cast harsh shadows across his weathered features.

  At the table’s far end, Captain Hendricks shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His face remained pale beneath its tan, and he held his left arm close to his body—subtle accommodation for ribs that hadn’t yet fully healed. The garrison commander sat beside him, his massive frame making the ornate chair seem almost delicate. His expression bore the weight of a man who’d already endured one dressing-down this morning and expected another.

  To the commander’s left, the garrison’s second-in-command appeared remarkably composed. His fingers drummed a silent rhythm on the table’s edge—the only sign that might betray the Epic Bard’s anticipation of the proceedings to come. Behind Lord Ashworth, a young attendant stood motionless, his presence so unremarkable that he seemed to fade into the tapestries adorning the walls.

  “Captain Hendricks,” Lord Ashworth’s voice cut through the morning stillness with measured concern. “How fare your injuries? The healers assured me you’d recover fully, but I prefer to hear it from the man himself.”

  Hendricks straightened slightly, wincing at the movement. “Your lordship’s concern honors me. The ribs are mending well enough—I’ll be back to full duty within the week.” He paused, then added with characteristic humility, “Though I confess, that Earthrender hit harder than anything I’ve faced before. I’m grateful for the garrison’s timely intervention.”

  Lord Ashworth nodded, then shifted his penetrating gaze to the two garrison officers. “Commander Seth, Master Abel,” he said, his tone sharpening to business. “What have your investigations uncovered about yesterday’s incident? I want to understand exactly how a Tier 2 beast ended up at our gates.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Abel leaned forward slightly, his melodious voice filling the chamber with practiced ease. “My lord, our findings paint a portrait of greed overtaking prudence. The primary instigator is one Pete, a Fighter registered with the Mercenary Guild. Our inquiries reveal him to be a habitual gambler with substantial debts to multiple wager houses throughout Stoneford.” He paused, letting the weight of the revelation settle. “These mounting obligations appear to have driven him to seize what he saw as an opportunity for quick profit—namely, Earthrender eggs from an unguarded hatchery. The others in his party served merely as accessories to his avarice, swept along by his decision rather than active conspirators in the theft.”

  Lord Ashworth’s silence stretched through the chamber like a blade slowly being drawn from its sheath. Though his expression remained controlled, the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. His fingers stilled against the mahogany table, and even that absence of movement carried weight.

  Abel’s trained instincts as a Bard made him acutely sensitive to the shift in atmosphere. The mounting displeasure radiating from the lord’s end of the table was as palpable as a gathering storm. Before that silence could crystallize into a rebuke, Abel smoothly continued.

  “Anticipating your lordship’s concerns about ongoing threats,” he said, his tone maintaining its professional cadence, “I took the liberty of dispatching a full detachment to the hatchery’s location at first light. They carry both combat personnel and an assessment specialist to evaluate any remaining dangers.” He inclined his head respectfully. “Should any eggs remain or other creatures be drawn to the site, we’ll have advance warning and the means to neutralize the threat before it can approach our walls again.”

  The words hung in the air, Abel’s preemptive action serving as both a shield against criticism and proof of the garrison’s competence despite yesterday’s near-disaster.

  Kidris let out a derisive snort, his scarred face flushing with barely contained irritation. “How typical of the garrison and town watch—always scrambling to clean up after disaster strikes. Had this matter been entrusted to my Knight Squad from the beginning, we’d already have results to present, not promises of future assessments.”

  The taunt hung in the air like a drawn blade. Commander Seth’s brows creased into a thunderous scowl, his massive frame tensing as he fixed Kidris with a glare that had cowed many a subordinate. But the Knight Commander merely leaned forward, his hot temper flaring brighter at the challenge, ready to escalate the confrontation.

  “Kidris!” Lord Ashworth’s voice cracked through the tension like a whip, sharp and commanding. The single word carried enough authority to freeze both men mid-confrontation.

  The Knight Commander’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw clenching as he fought to swallow whatever inflammatory words had been building. Though his face still burned with indignation and his hands gripped the table’s edge, he knew better than to continue speaking without his lord’s permission. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, waiting for Lord Ashworth to continue.

  Lord Ashworth turned his attention to the injured captain, his tone measured but urgent. “Captain Hendricks, what has your Earth Mage learned from his examination of the Earthrender’s corpse? I trust he found something of note, given how long he spent studying it.”

  Hendricks shifted forward, suppressing a wince as the movement aggravated his ribs. “Indeed, my lord. The Earth Mage reported his findings to me this morning, and they’re... troubling.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “The creature was already half-mad when it attacked us. Its nerve clusters were stained with some sort of black ooze—something he’s never encountered in all his years studying earth aspected beasts.”

  The captain’s gaze flickered toward Seth before continuing. “More concerning is its behavior. When confronted by Commander Seth—a Tier 3 Fighter—the beast should have fled. That’s basic survival instinct when facing a superior predator. Instead, it pressed the attack with suicidal aggression.”

  Hendricks leaned back carefully, his expression grave. “Furthermore, according to the mercenaries’ testimony, the hatchery contained numerous eggs, and they only took four. For an Earthrender to abandon its entire nest to pursue thieves who took such a small portion... it defies everything we know about their territorial nature. They’re ambush predators, my lord. They don’t chase prey across miles of open ground.”

  Abel nodded thoughtfully, adding his own observations. “Captain Hendricks raises an excellent point. During the battle, I noticed the Earthrender’s mental state was in extreme agitation—far beyond normal territorial rage. In my experience, such heightened aggression typically only manifests when a beast is being driven by a Tamer’s influence.” He paused meaningfully. “Yet this was clearly not a tamed creature.”

  Lord Ashworth’s face tightened at these words, his jaw clenching as the implications sank in. He released a heavy sigh that seemed to age him several years in a single breath. With a resigned gesture, he turned to his Knight Commander.

  “Kidris,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of unwelcome knowledge. “Share with them what you learned from the guild masters and that Elven envoy yesterday.”

  After hearing the troubling news about a corruption spreading through the Borov Wood area, Abel and Seth’s expressions turned grim. The pieces of yesterday’s puzzle—the maddened beast, the black ooze, the unnatural aggression—suddenly formed a far more disturbing picture.

  Lord Ashworth’s hands pressed flat against the mahogany table as he surveyed the men before him. “Gentlemen, we face a threat that goes beyond a single maddened beast. This corruption must be found and rooted out from our lands before it spreads further.” His voice carried the iron determination of a lord protecting his domain.

  “I’ve already sent word to the Stone Root Kinship requesting a Tier 4 Druid to investigate this crisis. They will work in tandem with both the garrison and the Mercenary Guild once they arrive.” He gestured toward Hendricks and then Kidris. “In the meanwhile, Captain, your Town Watch will coordinate with the Knight Squad to strengthen our defenses. I want double patrols on all approaches to the town, and the walls properly manned at all hours.”

  The lord’s gaze swept across each face, ensuring his orders were understood. “This corruption has already cost us—it nearly brought disaster to our gates. We will not give it another opportunity to catch us unprepared.”

  The men around the table nodded solemnly, accepting their lord’s commands without question. Each understood the gravity of the situation and their role in protecting Stoneford from this unknown threat.

  Lord Ashworth’s expression shifted, becoming more judicial as he addressed a different matter. “Now, to more pressing concerns—what to do with the culprits we’ve apprehended. Their greed nearly brought disaster upon our town.” He looked at his advisors. “What punishments would you deem appropriate?”

  Kidris’s temper flared immediately. “String them up on the gallows, my lord! Make an example of them so no other fool thinks to endanger Stoneford for a handful of coins. Their stupidity could have cost hundreds of lives.”

  Abel raised a hand in measured disagreement. “If I may suggest a more... productive approach, my lord. Exile Pete from our lands—his debts and poor judgment make him a continued liability. But the other two? Send them as vanguard scouts for the corruption investigation. Let them face the danger they helped stir, but in service to the town’s protection.”

  Hendricks shifted forward, nodding despite the pain it caused. “Master Abel speaks wisely. Dead men teach no lessons, but live ones forced to face their mistakes might actually accomplish something useful.”

  Before Lord Ashworth could decide, the heavy doors swung open. Master Alaric entered with unusual haste, his normally composed demeanor betraying urgency. The chief steward crossed the room in quick strides and leaned close to Lord Ashworth’s ear, whispering something that made the lord’s eyes widen slightly.

  The assembled men exchanged curious glances, wondering what news could be important enough to interrupt such a crucial meeting.