The king's first jest as soon as he enters the council room doesn't calm our jittery nerves: "Oh, don't look so surprised. I have a very hard head, as I'm sure all of you already know. It'll take more than a knock to the head to kill me."

No one laughs at that.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "The council shall commence."

It's a day after Diomedes' surprise attack. Truth be told, I'm surprised that there's a council at all, since two of our major players were rendered unconscious yesterday. One has evidently recovered; the same cannot be said for Sir Kendrick. The war council suddenly feels very empty without his dominating presence by my side.

Abruptly, the thought of Sir Isaac hits me. I force myself to swallow my worry down. No use fretting over the old knight's well-being now.

I start observing the various occupants of the room, attempting to distract myself from the anxiety pulling at my stomach. Their faces are all drawn, blanched, just like mine. And—odd. Sir Evan is attending the council. I briefly consider what his purpose here is before King Terrell's voice grabs my attention.

"Fellow noblemen, I'm sure that you've all heard of the ghosts that besieged our walls yesterday, so I won't go into detail to save us some time," he says, the aging lines on his face looking more prominent than before. "What I would like to discuss is the progress of the training of the Elite Guard. Captain Eldric?"

"It's going on fairly well, sire," the captain responds crisply. "Sir Kendrick and I have seen to it that the knights are trained well. They seem to take to the new style of fighting very quickly, Your Majesty. Even more so than the Bane and I."

"Age always catches up with us eventually, Eldric." A sardonic smile forms on the king's face. "But I'm pleased to hear that they're doing well. Their efficiency has been proven by their triumph over the undead legion yesterday."

"Squire Falkner contributed considerably." I spot said squire's cheeks burning ever so slightly. Even though we spent the whole past evening howling our hearts out in Hangman's Tower, we didn't bother to ask the other what had happened on each side of the battle. I wasn't neither in a talking mood or a questioning mood anyway. Now though, I find myself thirsting for answers—did he actually defeat the legion without the help of Miraterciel?

"Ah. I take it that the account of the full fight will be found within the report that you're due to give me?"

"Aye, but of course, Your Majesty."

"What happened to Squire Rutherland back then?" Dozens of eyes suddenly focus a singular sharpness upon me. I lift my chin, determined to not cower under the pressure. "Didn't he help you during the fight against the ghosts, Captain Eldric?"

The captain casts me a concerned look. "To be fair, Your Majesty, Sir Kendrick wasn't there either. Squire Rutherland had a premonition that something was wrong and opted to go and search for the Bane instead. He was right," he replies slowly.

Sir Kendrick. Diomedes. Sir Isaac. The shadows. The darkness. I suppress a shudder, feeling a chill that hadn't been there before.

"Of course, Diomedes was possessing Sir Kendrick." The king's brows draw together. "How is he?"

"The Galenni report that he is still unconscious, but his condition has stabilised. He should fully recover by the end of the week," the captain answers in frank tones.

"I see. So his second-in-command—the Scourge, will be temporarily overtaking his duties, yes?" King Terrell nods thoughtfully at a powerful-looking man seated fourth to the right.

"Naturally, Your Majesty," says Sir Connall while putting a hand over his heart, dipping his head towards the king.

"Excellent. We'll come back to that matter later. Now, there's talk of the candidates' assessment to still be held? Even after everything that had just happened?"

Ah. So this is Sir Evan's purpose in attending this particular war council. "The Knights of Elder have held a separate council, Your Majesty," he says. "Some of the knights wanted to put a stop to the assessment, to focus our energies into preparing everyone for a battle against the ghost army. However, some decided that the summoning of a ghost legion to attack us was a taunt from Diomedes, and they think that we shouldn't give in him."

"You had a voting? What's the vote ratio?" asks the king.

"Eighty nine to forty three, in favour of continuing the assessment." Sir Evan's voice is unnervingly quiet. Even without the fear tightly woven into his words, I think all of the members of the council would have a sudden shiver running down their spines.

"Foolish old cods," mutters Baron Samareal.

"Well then, since the decision has been made, I see no reason to delay preparations for the assessment anymore," says King Terrell, apparently oblivious to the baron. I hold back a grimace; this distraction coming in the form of an assessment may very well cost us in the expenditure of our energies. King Terrell knows it too—although his tone is amiable, the irritation is showing on his face. However, nothing can be done about it, as whatever decisions the Knights of Elder make concerning their own matters cannot be overruled by any party, even the king himself. "Captain Eldric, you and Sir Evan shall discuss safety precautions to be taken during the assessment. Sir Evan, I'm afraid that's all we can do for now, as we've not yet determined the level of threat that Diomedes is posing to us."

"I understand, Your Majesty." Sir Evan bows his head in obedient acquiesce, while the Captain of the Guard murmurs something in agreement.

The king suddenly turns his attention upon me; I straighten myself. "Squire Rutherland, you have fought with Diomedes yesterday afternoon, who was possessing Sir Kendrick's body at the time. Or so goes the report you've provided Captain Eldric." His eyes briefly flicker towards the captain. "So, can you share with us, how it was like?"

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, sire," I say evenly. "Diomedes is powerful, that is that."

Perhaps my tone was a little too curt to be used when addressing the King of Perinus himself, because my father kicks my leg under the table, none too gently. "I see that I have to be more specific while questioning the Champion of Pst. Bronicus." King Terrell actually smiles at me. "What method of attack did he opt when fighting? Any strategic tips to give our fellow warriors just in case we encounter him?"

Miraterciel. The room swallowed by shadows. Diomedes. It all comes rushing back, a sickening apprehension crashing into me like a gargantuan wave. Suddenly, I find it hard to breathe—hard to think. I try to concentrate on the present, but I can only see my fight with Diomedes.

A fight that I want to forget.

"Squire Rutherland, are you all right? You look pale," says the king. I risk a glance at Gilbert; he gives a small nod, indicating that I have indeed gone pale.

"I—I'm fine." King Terrell cocks a brow at my stammering. "I'm fine," I repeat with more conviction. "He was using necromancy. I had to use all of my powers just to keep him at bay." Including my own brand of the Dark Arts.

"Necromancy? I remember that the act of summoning a wraith to a necromancer's aid was a fairly arduous process. Is that right, Squire Rutherland? Since you've read up a fair bit on the Dark Arts, it's only right to confirm my belief with you."

"Aye, that's true, sire." In my peripheral vision, I see that an expression of confusion is spreading across Gilbert's face. In reality, none of the books we'd touched had mentioned anything about the true process of summoning a ghost. All we had read about was the final steps of binding, by using an enchanted rope. Nothing about how to enter the spirit realms, the real feat to be accomplished. "But he didn't summon any ghosts yesterday, save for the legion that attacked the Quinnians. He just manipulated shadows to his own will. However, it was more than enough to incapacitate me for a few moments." I choke down a sob when I remember the tendrils of darkness crawling all over my body, threatening to engulf me whole.

"Ah, of course, shadow manipulation. So the ghosts are not all we have to worry about..."

He trails off. The atmosphere in the room tenses up; everybody is waiting for me to share the details of my fight with Diomedes, how I managed to hold him off for the time being. As I'told Captain Eldric this morning.

A lie—Diomedes had spared me. I'm lucky to be alive. I can't help but feel that if he had killed me in the throne room there and then though, it would be a preferable alternative to whatever he is planning for me.

I clear my throat. I have to distract myself before my thoughts wander too far off. "Your Majesty, if you'd like to know, I managed to use...a compulsion on Diomedes. It saved me." Gilbert's staring at me in disbelief now, I can feel it—we agreed to not divulge this valuable piece of information to outside ears. Except that if I do not use my compelling ability as an excuse, then I would have no other explanation as to how I 'triumphed' over Diomedes.

"A compulsion?" Everyone in the room—save for Gilbert—perks up, leaning forwards in tangible anticipation. "How did you find out that you had the ability?"

"It was out of sheer desperation, I suspect," I reply readily. "I tried to do it again this morning; it didn't work." The least I can do is to hide the fact that I can actually use my compelling ability at will. Last night, when I briefly visited Abner to ask how I can control this ability, he said that my compelling differs from Gilbert's—a Champion of Pst. Bronicus uses trickery and manipulation to get his (or for me, her) way. A Champion of Pst. Ailith uses brute strength and force, and acts upon instinct. In short, if I want to properly use a compulsion, I have to maintain a cool and clear head, and subtly guide my target to my will. My compelling abilities strengthen my ability to manipulate, not give me the ability to manipulate.

"Ah, no matter then. I'm sure that you will eventually learn to control this new ability of yours. I appreciate you reporting this to me, Squire Rutherland." The king rubs his bearded chin with bejewelled fingers. The members of the council seem to think otherwise. From the expressions on their faces, they're telling me that I need to master this ability—now. Better sooner than later, after all.

With that, we conclude the account of my duel with Diomedes, to my relief. We move on to other subjects, including ways to reinforce the safety of the castle denizens during the candidates' assessment; the increment of men to join the special task force lead by Captain Eldric; and a little speculation of how and why Diomedes has come here, to Perinus. Abner said that Diomedes had summoned a whole legion of ghosts a whole continent away.

Then the cathedral bell rings, its tones mournful and grieving, as if it too has realised that Cordair is in immediate danger of being razed to the ground by a very powerful necromancer. Four rings. Four in the afternoon.

King Terrell dismisses the council. Only Captain Eldric, the Scourge—Sir Connall, and Sir Evan are required to stay behind. I see Gilbert making his way towards me. I dodge him, being the first to flee the room. I'll have to explain everything to Gilbert on another day. I'm sorry, Gilbert, I think, somehow hoping that he'll get the message.

Not now. Just not now.

******

A/N: Dedicated to MrsCosmopilite for being such an amazing reader! Her book, Second, is—in my opinion—one of the quiet stars of Wattpad. Its protagonist, Edith, is definitely not your usual heroine. No, I mean it, seriously. She's not even supposed to be the main character! Why? Check it out to find out, duh.

And I know I've been bombarding you guys about stuff like this, but Constantine reached a #20 ranking in fantasy! Woohoo! Bring out the confetti and dance in it! Ahem. Anyway, please remember to vote, comment, share and recommend!