After the meeting, Gabriela packed up her documents and went to her working chamber. On the way there, she walked through the great halls of the royal palace. Contrary to what others usually did, she walked purposefully in the direction of her destination, without paying much attention to the magnificently decorated walls, ceilings and columns. Her thoughts were preoccupied with something else. She was still thinking about the Duenitz affair. This noble family had resisted the adoption of Alethic dogmas and practices for many, many decades, longer than almost anyone else in Ordania. Although they hadn’t opposed the rule of the Sorenstein, this was a factor of uncertainty, at least to a certain extent. Eventually, they were offered privileges in their lands, with the threat of "consequences" if they refused the offer. This step finally did the trick. Carrot and stick, as one would call it. Nevertheless, she somehow couldn’t let go of the thought that they might still have something rebellious in them, even though she knew that it made no logical sense for them. However, she knew of the existence of some in the House of Duenitz who still secretly adhered to the old heretical dogmas. Her spies had informed her of this.

  Very soon the woman arrived in her room. She did a few more tasks, that were to be done immediately, then snatched the parchment scroll from her pocket, that the soldier had brought her earlier. Her now aged, slightly wrinkled eyes scrutinised the seal closely. It appeared to be the real one, as it had the familiar "flaws" at the top right. This lady could not be fooled with a fake. Hence, she opened it and began reading. Basically, it was just a very brief, concise description of what knight Gawein's troop had accomplished in the north, not far from the border with Ordania. Gawein was again praised in the highest terms. As much as she disliked such things, she had to admit that the man was a very capable warrior and leader. Rumours about him were spread everywhere, describing him as a legendary knight and hero and praising him to the skies. One of the myths about him even said, that he had once slayed a dragon in his younger years, even though Gabriela knew for a fact, that such creatures only existed in fairy tales. Nevertheless, she and the king allowed the creation of such legends about the knight. He was a loyal servant of the royal house and it would only help them, if such a man was held in high esteem by the population. Besides, this was still to be favoured over a sorcerer, a demon, who was "chosen by God", as the Melgarists propaganda put it. Unfortunately, such was human nature. One simply could not resist a good legend, a "hero" who achieved the impossible.

  The cult that had formed in the Zeemark, which was presumably Melgarist once again, as was usually the case with such groups, had now been extinguished according to the report. This meant that the advisor could at least enjoy some good news. All other recent developments had been less "exhilarating". There were problems in all the kingdoms and countries of the Confederacy and the five knights of the realms were busy trying to get a grip on them everywhere. But instead of getting better, these problems were getting bigger. But they would never give in. "These revisionists would never win as long as she was here!" the woman thought to herself.

  Meanwhile, a small boy in fine clothing sat on the marble railing of the palace's wide, long staircases that descended towards the gardens. He was only physically small and not as young as his height would suggest. The lad had finished his work for the day and relaxed a little by looking out over the gardens and towards the city, catching some fresh air. Next to him, the golden griffin flag of the kingdom and a flag with the coat of arms of the royal house flew on a tall flagpole. The gardens he was marvelling at had been extended only a few decades ago. The palace itself was much older. Nevertheless, the building was not particularly large, considering that it was the seat of the ruler of the entire continent! This was, because it was originally just a palace, which was later converted into the ruler’s main residence. In the distance, outside the palace walls, the bustling city could be seen. It had some larger buildings, but it was nothing compared to the monumental architecture of Meglarsbruck, the old imperial city. There were a few wide avenues laid out by the first dynast of House Sorenstein, along which lime trees had been planted in the style of the former imperial city. A large library had also been built here, which was filled with the huge collection of books that had been transferred here from Meglarsbruck. A large barracks, that looked like a castle, had also been built in the new neighbourhood of the city.

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  Anyway, the boy started to get bored and jumped off the railing. At that moment, however, he saw the royal advisor, Gabriela, standing next to him. "Mother!" he called out, somewhat surprised. The lady, who was slowly getting older, stroked her son's head and said: "Come on, let's take a short walk, Lucius. I've already finished my work for the day." The rather reserved boy nodded to her and they walked down the stairs. Tomorrow she would have to report to the king on the topics and the results of today's meeting. She was looking forward to that moment with some trepidation.

  In the meantime, the prince, Maximilian II, was in his chambers. He was now clean and nicely dressed again. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. The young man invited the person in. It was a guard from the royal bodyguard. "My lord, your father, the king, requests your immediate presence." - "My mother sent you, didn't she?" asked Maximilian. The guard replied: "This shouldn't matter in that respect. I am instructed to escort you to His Majesty immediately, considering that you have tried to avoid an audience with His Highness until now. The young prince puffed briefly and then followed the guard. He was escorted right up to the door and knocked.

  Maximilian II entered the room and saw his father Maximilian I, or to be precise, he saw his father's back. His Highness was sitting at his desk, apparently absorbed in his work. Only his hand was visible, in which he held a feather and on the middle finger of which he wore a signet ring with the initials "M.R.". He would not turn away from work and, without turning around, began to speak to his son, "Idleness is not a virtue and will not be tolerated by me, let alone rewarded. Your teachers have informed me that you are lax in your studies. As the future ruler of this land, you must know who the peoples you rule are, but also how the country and its administration work and how to go about solving problems." - "I know, father. That is absolutely correct. But a king can and will never know everything, which is why he appoints people who know these things as ministers. For the most part, the king's job is to direct." - "This attitude simply is a justification for not having to make an effort yourself. As I said, I will not tolerate it! Your teachers will be having a couple of additional lessons with you in the near future until you reach the level that is desired." The young Maximillian's face contorted in anger. To avoid getting into trouble with His Majesty, he politely said his farewell, but at the same time he irately stomped out of the door. His father, bent over a few parchments dealing with important matters, just shook his head.

  It was already in the evening hours. The sky was overcast here in Olemar, too. A man dressed poorly, but not quite as badly as a beggar, crept along the alleyways of the town. He had black hair. The person quickly darted round a corner into a side alley where three other figures had gathered. "Well, lads! How are things looking now?" he began the conversation. As he was speaking, his teeth, which looked crooked and partly black, thus in very poor condition, became visible. He was obviously a member of the lowest classes. One of the other people replied: "I'm in. I've had enough of these bastards for good!" The others agreed with him. Then the one with the bad teeth said: "Very good. Join us in a week's time. Gather everything you need and decide what you don't need and, if you haven't changed your mind, come to Smith Street 8. Knock four times on the little green back door. The password is," he quickly looked over his shoulder again, just to make sure no one was listening, "Dachshundbracke". Then one of them interjected: "So, we are to go away with you and leave everything behind?" - "Yes, that's the idea. That's why I said we'd give you time to really think it over. Training you and integration you into the organisation can’t be done here in the city. That's only possible in territory we control." The men looked at him briefly and finally nodded. The man nodded back at them and whispered quietly: "See you in a week then, I hope. Praise the martyrs." The other three didn't return the slogan. In the foreseeable future, however, they would be using it.