The setting sun lit the clouds a fiery pink and orange. The trees and taller London structures that comprised the city skyline were silhouetted black against the burning sky. The air was crisp and carried a fragrant scent, uncharacteristic for the smoky metropolis. This evening was truly one for the London annals – an evening worthy of remembrance.
Two men sat on a park bench, one finely tailored, the other in garments as choice as his companion’s, but bearing evidence of a hundred or more winters. The men beheld the majesty of the natural spectacle before them looking not at one another as they spoke.
“They call this a royal park. Regent’s as it were,” said the man in the weathered clothes, observing the rich green grass and manicured shrubbery about him. His long greying hair – yet red at the ends – was caught up in the breeze.
“It’s the one place in this Forsaken city that hints of home,” the other remarked. “Sometimes I find it hard to imagine that sentient beings can exist in such filth.”
“You only say that because you’ve always known what true beauty is,” the older man said reproachfully. “You wouldn’t know the difference if you had been born here. And you likely wouldn’t be the worse for it.”
“What does it matter debating it?” the younger said with agitation. He continued with more than a touch of authority: “Do you have any real evidence that she is the one?”
“I’ve never been more confident in my life,” the elder said, checking his previous tone.
“I grow weary of your misjudgment. Literally, I might add. The next body you leave in your wake of incompetence is yours to dispose of. The Council sang your praises when they commissioned you to the successful execution of my errand. I can’t say that I am thus far impressed. You must know somebody important.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the chastised gentleman stiffly, “but finding one in millions is not the most simple of tasks as you might imagine. Nevertheless, I am sure beyond a doubt that we have found her.”
“How can you be so sure? And what of the others? How many have you sent to their death for the sake of what? Possibility?”
“From what I have observed of your Protector, excessive loss of Forsaken life is not a cause for your consternation.”
The young man’s mouth snapped shut as he shifted in his seat. “That is my business, Watcher. Tell me why you are convinced of this one?”
Here the Watcher leaned his head and shoulders to his right. The red tips of his hair brushed his jacket. “She is a perfect copy,” he whispered to his bench mate.
The young man perked up instantly. For the first time he looked the Watcher in the eye. “Truly? You are sure of it?”
“Beyond a doubt.”
“It’s been two hundred years since you last saw the princess. Your memory better serve you well.”
“When I saw the girl, I felt a stirring in my heart that I have not felt since my foregone youth…since I first laid eyes upon Shara in Avalon.”
“Don’t call it that, old fool. You’ve spent too long in this waste. ‘The Realm’ will suffice, or better still, home.” He shifted once more. The news had raised his spirits and his body showed it. “And what of Shara herself? Any trace of the recreant princess?”
“No need for that, My Lord,” said the Watcher, openly offended by the besmirching of the former highness’ name. “And no. Still no sign of her whereabouts. All accounts I’ve acquired affirm that she is indeed deceased. But I have learned that her highness continued to live up to the legend of her profound cunning and shrewdness long after she absconded from Av…from the Realm.
“You believe she is alive?”
“I have no substantiated reason to believe otherwise. Perhaps I came too close.”
“Once again your blunders precede you,” the young man said cooly. He stood before the Watcher and addressed him sternly. “My father will be dead soon, and I wish to be present for his passing. He will see his daughter-in-law before the end. For fifty years I’ve endured this world. My waiting has come to an end. All that is left for me to complete my errand here lies in your hitherto incapable hands. Do not disappoint me again.”
“Your Highness, you sound almost as though you’re threatening me,” the old man said with a wry grin. “Do not forget to whom you are talking, boy. Perhaps you put too much stock in that murderous Protector of yours. He may appear fearsome and unbreakable to you, but I have dwelt here far longer than he.” The color in his eyes faded to a swirling grey-white. Swarming shadows collected about his body, a wreath of darkness which the failing light of day could not allay. “He knows not the full measure of my strength nor the strength of any Watcher that calls the Forsaken Land his home away from home.” He laughed, almost arrogantly. “You may be a proud princeling, in the Realm, but as long as you remain here you may forget your lordly tone, Your Highness.”
“All the more reason to get home, Watcher,” his voice quavering ever so slightly. He cleared his throat and composed himself. “And if you ever wish to see it again you will not defy me.”
“Dually noted, sire,” the seated man conceded smiling, as his shrouded form retreated back to its former state. He stood and made ready to take his leave. “Your lapdog is approaching. Thank him kindly for his absence.”
The young man looked in all directions, but saw not of whom the Watcher spoke. “I see you at least live up to your name in some regard, old man.”
“And I see you are in want of your glasses, my lord.” The Watcher set off to the north towards Macclesfield Bridge. The young man squinted to follow his shape, but the horizon had swallowed nearly every last drop of light. He pulled from his pocket his glasses and put them on.
A shorter man, a year or two older by the looks of his face, sidled up to his master from behind. He tucked his hair behind his ears and stared off in the direction of the departing old man. “Want me to follow him?” he asked.
“No. Don’t meddle with his affairs. He is here to help even if he is a Council lackey. I have to believe that they have our best interest in mind, even if their methods and constant secrecy have made every king suspicious since the Founding.”
“Did he have anything useful to say, the old bastard?”
“Yes. You’ll go to her tomorrow. There is reason to be hopeful about this one.”
B David Larson 
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