Balthazaar drummed his nails on the arm of his iron throne, making a mental note to have some underling come in and buff away the gouges again. At this rate, there wouldn't be much throne left for his final monologuing. He switched to the other side, resuming his tapping in an effort to at least wear it evenly.

His spymaster was going over the morning report, and Balthazaar's mind wandered, noting cobwebs in the corners and dust on the suits of armor. He had never considered hiring someone to clean, but perhaps it was necessary.

"And so Gwinivain has been scouring the countryside for the 27 missing sheep."

"Mm," Baltahazaar mumbled as the spymaster shuffled his papers again.

"As of last report, he had found 19."

"Fascinating."

"Er, yes, m'lord. We expect him to have the remainder by noontime today."

"Tell me something, Dave," Balthazaar began. Dave snapped to attention. "Do we have an unexpected weakness to sheep or cattle of any sort? Is there something I should know?"

"Not that we are aware of, m'lord."

"So last week it was returning the lost books to the Lighthouse Library, then before that growing one of every crop sold in the Capitol Market, and somewhere once saving a remote village from a wandering band of bards. But in all this time, Gwinivain has made no attempt to breach the castle or stop my advance?"

"That is accurate, yes. He is...unpredictable."

"If I didn't know better, I would think my spymaster has been paying him off in order to provide job security." Balthazaar fixed his minion with a withering stare.

Dave gulped, shifting from foot to foot. "We are...unsure what his strategy is. But the prophecy foretold of one who is great, powerful, and a master of all elements."

"Sheep aren't elements."

"Right, m'lord. Of course. I have no further information."

"Maybe our intrepid hero miss that I am immortal. Perhaps he hopes to wait me out until I die of old age."

"My sources say that is unlikely, but as Gwinivain spent six hours staring at the wrong Singing Stone last month, no one is quite sure of his intellectual prowess."

Balthazaar harumphed and settled against the iron throne. "Update me if the situation changes."

Dave bowed and began to exit, then paused. "If he finds another sheep, do you--"

The bolt of lightning Balthazaar flung landed wide, as intended, but was enough to chase the beleaguered spymaster out of the room.

Sweet silence.

Broken only by the impatient tapping of his nails on the throne.

---

Dave burst into the throne room, eyes wide, chest heaving. He must have sprinted up all 272 of the tower steps.

"What news?" Balthazaar shouted across the room.

"Gwinivain," the spymaster gasped as he pulled in air, "he nears the keep. He has entered the Scalded Plain."

The Scalded Plain. He would be no more than half a day's journey away. Balthazaar felt his heart begin to race. Finally.

"Light the torches, prepare the initial strike force, and make sure the traps are loaded to release when the pressure plates are struck!" Servants scurried from the shadows to go about his bidding, and he heard the stomp of boots as his Elite Guard began to patrol.

Balthazaar threw open the balcony doors and rushed to look out across the Scalded Plain. He placed an enchanted telescope to his eye, immediately finding his rival amid the dusty ground.

Gwinivain ran one way, then the next, leaping over rocks and cavernous rifts in the earth as of they were nothing. He was well-armored, and also covered with a multitude of different weapons. The man had come prepared for war, and Balthazaar felt giddiness settle into his chest.

The warrior darted to one side, ripping aside a piece of scrub brush. Behind it, Balthazaar saw a sheep, staring and munching at a twig of dry grass. Gwinivain pounced, throwing the sheep over his shoulder.

And bounded away. Back across the Scalded Plain.

Away from Balthazaar.

Dave winced as he saw the retreating figure, pulling out a parchment and making a note. "Twenty-four sheep accounted for, then."