The Shadowed Crown

Chapter 6

With the bandit leader's head secured in a sack and the remaining bandits scattered, Col made his way back to Westmarch. The journey was uneventful, the roads clear and the weather fair. As he approached the city gates, he noticed a buzz of activity, a sense of heightened alertness among the guards.

Upon entering Westmarch, he made his way directly to the city guard headquarters, where he presented Vargus's head as proof of his success. The guards, initially wary, were impressed by his efficiency and skill. Word of his feat spread quickly, and it wasn't long before he was summoned to the royal castle.

He was escorted through the grand halls of Westmarch Castle, his footsteps echoing on the polished stone floors. The opulence of the castle, the tapestries, the ornate furniture, the sheer scale of the place, was a stark contrast to the rough, rugged life he was accustomed to.

He was led into the great hall, a vast chamber with high, vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows. King Theron paced back and forth, his face etched with worry, his voice raised in anger as he berated his guards.

"How could you let her slip through your fingers?" he roared, his voice echoing through the hall. "She's a princess, not some common runaway!"

He stopped pacing as he noticed Col, his eyes narrowing. "You're the man who took down Vargus and his bandits, single-handedly?" he asked, his voice sharp.

"I am," Col replied, his voice flat.

"Good," the king said, his expression softening slightly. "I have a task for you, a task that requires your… particular skills."

"I'm listening," Col said, his eyes fixed on the king.

"My daughter, Princess Amelia, has run away," the king said, his voice heavy with worry. "I need you to find her, bring her back to me. I'll pay you whatever you ask."

Col considered the offer, his mind calculating the risks and rewards. The king's desperation was palpable, and the reward, he suspected, would be substantial.

"A thousand gold pieces," he said, his voice firm.

The king didn't hesitate. "Done," he said, his voice decisive. "Just bring her back to me, safe and unharmed."

He described Amelia: her delicate features, her striking blue eyes, her light brown hair with blonde highlights. As the king spoke, Col's mind flashed back to the girl he had encountered on the road. The torn, fancy clothes, the defiant attitude, the blue eyes… it all fit.

"I think I may have seen her," he said, his voice thoughtful. "She was heading towards the town of Century."

The king's eyes lit up. "Then go," he said, his voice urgent. "Find her, bring her back to me. Time is of the essence."

Col nodded, turning to leave. As he walked out of the great hall, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being drawn into something much larger than a simple retrieval mission. There was something about the princess, something about the king's desperation, that felt… off.

He left the castle, mounted his horse, and set off at a gallop. He knew he had to reach Century before Amelia moved on. He also knew that there was something more to this runaway princess than met the eye, and he was determined to find out what it was.

Col rode through the night, the moon a sliver in the inky sky, the stars his only companions. He pushed his horse hard, the animal's hooves pounding against the rough terrain, the rhythm a steady drumbeat against the silence of the night. He was driven by a sense of urgency, a feeling that time was slipping away, that Amelia was slipping further from his grasp.

He reached the town of Century just as the first rays of dawn painted the horizon. The town was a bustling hub of activity, merchants setting up their stalls, farmers bringing in their produce, travelers preparing to depart. He dismounted his horse and made his way through the crowded streets, his eyes scanning the faces of the townsfolk.

He entered a tavern, a dimly lit establishment filled with the smell of stale ale and frying bacon. He approached the barkeep, a stout, middle-aged woman with a weathered face and a sharp gaze.

"Have you seen a young girl," he asked, his voice low and gruff, "light brown hair with blonde highlights, blue eyes, about sixteen years old?" He described Amelia's features in detail, careful not to mention her royal lineage.

The woman's eyes narrowed, her gaze thoughtful. "I might have," she said, her voice cautious. "She came in here last night, asked for a room and some food. Looked out of place, like she'd never seen a town like this before."

"Did she say where she was going?" Col asked, his voice tense.

"She asked about Oakhaven," the woman replied, her brow furrowed. "I told her it wasn't safe, bandits and wild animals roaming the roads. But she was stubborn, said she had to go."

Col felt a knot of unease tighten in his stomach. Oakhaven was a small, isolated village, easily accessible from Century. If Amelia was heading that way, she would be vulnerable.

"Thank you," he said, tossing a few coins onto the counter. "You've been a great help."

He left the tavern, his mind racing. He mounted his horse and set off at a gallop, following the road that led towards Oakhaven. He knew he had to reach her before she encountered any trouble. He also knew that he was running out of time.

Col urged his horse onward, the road stretching before him like a dark ribbon in the moonlight. He scanned the landscape, his eyes searching for any sign of Amelia, but the darkness made it difficult. He knew she was heading towards Oakhaven, but the road was long, and she could be anywhere.

He kept a sharp eye on the surrounding woods, wary of bandits or wild animals. He knew the road was dangerous, especially for a young girl traveling alone. He hoped he wasn't too late.

As he rode, he noticed a small, dilapidated hut, set a little ways off the road. It looked abandoned, its roof sagging, its walls crumbling. He dismounted his horse and approached cautiously, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He didn't want to take any chances.

He pushed open the door, the hinges creaking in protest. The hut was empty, its interior dark and dusty. He was about to turn away when something caught his eye: a small, torn piece of cloth, its color a familiar shade of dark blue. It matched the cloak Amelia had been wearing when he encountered her on the road.

He examined the cloth, his brow furrowed. She had been here, that much was certain. But where had she gone?

He searched the hut, his eyes scanning every corner. He found nothing else of note, but as he stepped outside, he noticed something else: footprints. Large, heavy footprints, unlike any he had seen before. He knelt down, examining them closely. They were orc footprints, unmistakable in their size and shape.

A sense of dread settled over him. Orcs were brutal, savage creatures, and they were known to roam the forests, preying on travelers. If they had found Amelia, she would be in grave danger.

Col's jaw tightened. He mounted his horse, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He had to find her, and he had to find her quickly. The orcs were not to be trifled with, and he knew he was running out of time.