The rhythmic creaking and thudding of his boots was met with the chorus of nature as he strode with purpose through the lost depths of the Westcliff Forest. Finally after years of searching old tombs, of painstaking research in dusty libraries, of life threatening false leads, not to mention all the coin he had spent on beer and women in the taverns while his “partner” did all of those things… now, at last, the Kingsblade was in his sights!

“Cam, how far are we from the castle?” Auden asked, glancing back over one powerfully built, well-armored shoulder towards his squire.

“Half a day’s walk if the weather holds, milord.” Camdyn sighed, adjusting the straps of the overladen travel pack he bore. How long had this been going on? How many years had he let this idiot profit off his hard work?

Everyone in the nine kingdoms knew of Ser Auden of Ashlande, the greatest hero to ever live. Few knew of Camdyn Barrows, his dutifully bound squire, and the real hero behind most of the tales.

Now it seemed that being a great hero was no longer enough for Ser Auden. He set his eyes on the prize of true monarchy, to become a king - but not just any king. The high king of the nine kingdoms. To that end he sought the Kingsblade, a weapon plunged into the throne of the former high king upon his death. On that day he proclaimed that only one worthy of leading as high king would be able to draw the sword from the throne - and with such an act become a king of kings, a peerless warrior, and an exemplar of masculinity. 

Naturally, Camdyn was thrilled to see his master and “mentor” become royalty by way of farcical sword provenance. In his humble opinion, Auden wasn’t capable of leading a sandwich to his mouth, much less leading the fates of nine kingdoms.

Certainly Ser Auden had been a great hero, once, but ever since he had gained Camdyn’s services, he tended less towards heroics and more towards the camp. While Camdyn caught game, slew bandits, chased lost maidens, or whatever task was being asked of them that week, Auden built and maintained the camp, prepared meals, indulged in wine and expensive gifts (for himself), and generally lived as domestic a lifestyle as one could expect for life on the road.

They’d walked this treacherous forest for nearly a week, facing down fearsome dryads, nymphs, elves, and beasts of all shapes and sizes. All of these things were felled of course by Camdyn, as Ser Auden deemed them all ‘beneath’ his stature as a legendary hero. Unfortunately bound by his duty to protect the knight he served, Camdyn was regretfully unable to allow any of these threats to eat Ser Auden.

It was no less than Camdyn had expected, really. Ser Auden hadn’t faced a single threat on the road in years. Every enemy was beneath him. Anything smaller than a house was supposedly beneath his notice. That didn’t stop him from decrying the Mammoth of Northolm to be beneath him, despite being twice the size of the largest mead hall in the village. That, too, had been Camdyn’s to fell. Auden had taken the credit, of course, but it was not his place to speak ill of his sworn lord.

At the midpoint of the first day of their second week in the forest, when all hope seemed lost for ever escaping the tangle of roots and undergrowth, the verdant forest fell away to beautiful rolling farmland. An area so massive as to be unable to see the other side of the clearing they had emerged into played host to more life than either of the adventurers could have imagined. Citizens tended the fields and animals, looking up briefly as the two passed in their rattling armor. Beyond the bountiful fields could be seen a sprawling city of decidedly modern designs. Auden had been expecting ruins, not a bustling farming community and buildings that had kept pace with the other nine kingdoms. Above the houses and the towering city walls, a massive castle loomed like a stoic sentinel, promising the safekeeping of its citizens. Its windows glimmered, small pinpricks of light visible even from here. Camdyn could see why it had come to be called the Diamond Keep.

“We’re here, Cam! The lost kingdom of Heartgrove!” Auden shouted merrily as he gestured at the farmland around them.

“Yes, milord… excellently spotted, milord.” Camdyn huffed, catching a few sympathetic glances from peasants as they passed.

Citizens gawped at them as they passed through the well maintained whitestone paved streets, whispering of their direct path down the Royal Way, marching towards the castle. It was hard to believe that so many lived here still, each going about their daily lives as if nothing had happened, as if the kingdom had not been lost and cut off from all trade for ages.

As they approached the gates of the Diamond Keep, rows of guardsmen waited, critically eying the pair. Each stood tall, carrying long halberds with flags bearing the crest of the kingdom mounted to their spikes. The Elderwood Tree which sat at the center of the Diamond Keep’s gardens stood proudly as ever on the banner; a sigil that had not been seen in the greater world since the war that fractured the peace between the kingdoms. 

“Hold, identify yourselves,” the largest, most ornately armored guard stated.

“Ser Auden Brightflame of Ashlande, Dragonslayer, Bandit-bane, Rescuer of Damsels, Pillager of ancient ruins, Hero of the people! I’m here to pull the Kingsblade and claim my destiny!”

“Camdyn Barrows, squire to Ser Auden,” he said humbly with a bow.

“I see… long has it been since anyone came to try to free the blades. Many long generations, in fact. May the gods be with you,” he stepped aside to let them pass, motioning for the guards to raise the gates.

The interior of the castle was opulent beyond belief, especially for a kingdom that had been without its rulers for decades. In spite of that absence, the staff were no less than one would expect for a castle as massive as this. Twin rows of knights guarded the path through the doors and into the main reception hall, ensuring that no would-be thieves would be tempted to deviate before or after trying for the throne.

Auden’s breath caught as he stepped into the throne room itself. The presence of the guard here was diminished, with only a dozen or so flanking the rich purple carpeting leading to the thrones. Each soldier on the right wore radiant silver armor with golden embossments in fine patterns. To the left stood their counterparts, knights clad in pure gold with silver embossments of fearsome gryphons. Both wore the crest of Heartgrove on their breastplates.

The walk to the front of the reception hall seemed like the longest that he had ever made in his life, each step of his plated sabatons feeling like it had been filled with ballast weights.

At the head of the room sat four thrones, each upholstered in rich purple fabric with gold and silver trim inlaid into the dark stonewood frames. The largest of the thrones sat furthest front, closest to the stairs up to the dais. To its left was a smaller throne, and to its right and further back were two more thrones that were smaller still.

A blade was plunged into the large central throne, and Auden could practically feel his victory at hand, his well deserved nobility. Until he noticed there was a blade stuck in the throne to the left as well.

“I see,” he said after a moment, stroking his pointed beard. “The queen must also be chosen by such a test to prove her worth! Wonderful!” He barked out a laugh that echoed around the throne room.

“That is true, milord,” Camdyn said deferentially, bowing his head slightly.

“Well, I will certainly have to begin summoning ample-bosomed young maidens to begin trying to pull the sword as soon as I am upon the throne,” he joked with another echoing laugh.

“Yes, milord…” Camdyn nodded. “Perhaps you should draw the blade now and prove your greatness?”

“Of course, of course! Good thinking, brave Cam.” He smiled and approached the throne, taking a deep breath before he grasped the elegant silvery hilt of the blade plunged into the largest throne. He prepared himself for a moment, then tightened his grip and with all of his strength drew back on the Kingsblade, preparing to draw bare its long elegant blade.

Instead, he found himself having drawn what appeared to be a thin delicate rapier, beautifully designed with a woven silvery basket hilt with golden embellishments, the design looking much like the roots of the great tree. There was a brief flare from the small gemstones set in the weave, a pure silvery light shining for but a moment before fading.

“What in the… This is the Kingsblade?!” He raised it and eyed it with disbelief. 

“No,” Camdyn said politely, stepping up to the throne to the left and placing a hand on the hilt lodged within. “This is,” he gripped it firmly and pulled it free in a swift motion, holding a gleaming longsword aloft, its wide blade engraved with the sigil of the kingdom, the pommel igniting with a brilliant golden light.

Where once stood Camdyn’s lean, well muscled form, now stood a tall and imposing man, his body powerfully built, his once somewhat mangy brown hair now a silky flowing mane bound back in ornate braids. His dented, shoddy breastplate had been replaced with proper full platemail adorned with the crest of the kingdom.

Auden was speechless for many seconds, perhaps the most consecutive seconds he had ever been quiet in Camdyn’s presence outside of slumber. He stared up at his squire as his jaw went slack. “C-Cam?” He sputtered as he tried to recover.

“Camdyn of Heartgrove, actually.” His voice was deeper and richer than it had ever been, and Auden found himself once more struck mute. His eyes fell upon the rapier in his grasp as he tried to process what had happened.

“If… that’s the Kingsblade… what is… this?” Auden asked, looking back up at Camdyn.

Camdyn smiled, leaning in slightly. “The Queensblade, Milord… or should I say… Milady?”

Auden’s breath hitched in his chest, and the world seemed to upend itself as he dropped backwards, fainting.