Lord of the West

Seeds of Legend



A lone horse man travelled along the road, a plain winter travel cloak, superfluous for the weather shrouded his form. His spurs glistened at the horses side, as he urged it to stop flagging in its pace. But his horse had travelled hard and fast that day, from the far south marshes, and up in to the foothills that marked the beginnings of the northern most part of the Duchy.

Ahrlan looked behind him, checking to see if the riders that followed him were still gaining. They had been trailing him for some miles now, after they had met him in the southern market town of Morlyn. He could not be sure at this distance, but he suspected that they were indeed the men that had spoken to him in the Golden Moorhen.

When Sir Ahrlan had first entered the tap room of the small waterside tavern, there were three persons in it, whose appearance was not very prepossessing. They were dressed in the colours of a forester, but the cloth was better then most, and upon their breasts, partially obscured by their short cloaks was the red and black badge of the Duke. Ahrlan almost backed out to find another inn where the company was less dangerous, but they had already eyespied him and noticing their interest he felt that he could not leave without occasioning suspicion.

He sat at the bar and ordered a drink, pulling his long travailing cloak about him so that they might not see his quilted jerkin or the light leather armour that he wore beneath it. He thanked Helu that he had the presence of mind to remove the surcoat that displayed his arms. He had had worn as he had accompanied Lord Sindri to the Imperial camp, but now it was roiled up safely in his saddle bags.

One of the Duke’s men came to sit beside him, rudely starring openly at him. It made him flush despite himself. Another day and the man would be on his back for showing such disrespect to a knight, but today Ahrlan was playing the part of a commoner.

After a while the man spoke. "That's a fine horse you were riding, sir. Has he much speed?"

"He has," replied Ahrlan, starring in to his beer.

“Are your from around here?”

“Not really.” It was not quite a lie.

"Going north, sir?" inquired the same person.

"Not exactly." Ahrlan sighed.

“Not one for conversation are you?”

“Beg pardon.” Sir Bute mumbled, trying to extricate himself from the man’s scrutiny. “But I have travelled far, and have further to go yet. I am weary and in no mood for idle chatter.”

The man nodded, and Ahrlan walked to the window to avoid further conversation. He had taken his meal, keeping to himself. Rather then going back to the bar to pay, he gave the money to a serving girl when she came to clear away his plate.

He kept his horse to a steady trot, hoping that by not fleeing the men who were following him would have their suspicions unconfirmed, and so leave him be. He thought that he had lost them and he turned from the main road up a trail that lead to the woodlands, and to where his men were hiding.

But as he passed the village of Bromley where he would take the road down in to the gorge where his men had made their secret camp some instinct warned him to pause, looking back he saw that the men were behind him again, trailing him discreetly.

He would not lead then to his men, and he continued up the road at a brisk jog daring not to look back. Ahrlan had important documents from Lord Terent Edouard in his possession regarding the Emperor’s will, documents that even he had not read, documents that he could not allow to fall in to the Duke’s hands.

His desterier was not the fastest of all horses, but it was well schooled and willing. Ahrlan drew it off the road and spurred it up a steep bank that lead to the top of a gorge. His horse shook its great head for a moment, but then bounded up, the steep sides, its legs lifted high to avoid the tangling undergrowth. Once at the top of the steep incline Ahrlan then let his stallion have his head and they galloped down the shallower incline and through the woodland, steering it through the trees with the expertise of one who often hunted such narrow animal trails.

It was some time before Ahrlan had decided that it was safe enough to let his horse slow. The young commander did not know these woodlands as well as his own, and although not entirely lost he found himself not entirely sure as to where he was. At last he found a narrow road, and he was sure that if he followed it down hill it would join with the road he was looking for.

The sound of a horse approaching from ahead made him draw rein. Bells jingled along with harness, and a young noble woman riding astride her pony appeared around the corner.

She drew rein with a surprised, “Oh!”

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to startle you.” Ahrlan assured her bowing low and doffing his cap.

They young woman smiled shyly. “I did not expect to meet anyone on this road.” She blinked at the man in surprise, not expecting a man in foresters dress to bow in such a courtly fashion.

Ahrlan took a better look at the maiden, she was pretty, freckles decorated her nose and cheeks, and she long light golden brown hair was plated in a crown, and toped with a fur hat as was traditional in the mountains. She peeped up at him from under bashful lashes. “Child what are you doing riding alone in times such as these? There are bandits and worse in these woods.”

“I was not alone. I was hunting with my father and brother’s only I fell behind.”

“Who is your father? He is obviously of gentle birth.” Ahrlan asked.

“Lord Hobin.” The girl replied softly. “And who are you kind sir? You dress in the rude fashion but your mannerisms are knightly. There is something familiar about you I must admit.”

“I am Ahrlan of Bute.” He said, flashing a charming smile. “Your father’s land marches on mine. You must be Lady Malory? We supped with your family after the tournaments at my kin’s man’s Lord Sindri’s castle.”

“You did.” She blushed. “Though, I did not expect you to remember my name.”

“Yes, you used to play with my younger brother Alwen. I remember after the tournament seeing the two of you playing on your hobby horses, and jousting with daffodils.” Ahrlan said, missing the look of disappointment on the young woman’s face.

“That was a long time ago.”

“Oh, not so long ago.” Ahrlan denied. “But I see you are still a keen horse woman.”

“Not that keen.” Malory admitted. “It is my chicken hearted horsemanship that caused me have been left behind.”

Ahrlan found himself laughing. The young woman blushed hotly. “Well you need not laugh quite so hard!” She scolded, her voice quiet and quavering with mortification. “I know that I am younger then you and…and…”

“Oh, dear sweet child.” Ahrlan soothed, he rode closer and lifted her hand to his lips. “It seems an age since I have last laughed. There is so little to laugh about these days.” Malory looked uncertain, but she smiled back, “Am I forgiven Lady Malory?”

She did forgive him, and agreed to let him escort her back to her father’s care. Ahrlan found himself spending a very pleasant fifteen minuets talking to the timid little mouse of a woman. He could not help but smile often at her little admissions, though he did not make the mistake of laughing at her again.

After a while the young woman relaxed and grew bolder. “Sir might I ask why you ware the garments of a commoner, I did not recognise you at first in such garments for you were always so well attired when I have seen you before?”

Ahrlan looked down at himself and he felt a small stab to his vanity. He wondered how much he could safely tell the young woman, knowing that her father had supported the Duke during the rebellion even though he had not graced the fields of battle. The teasing replies that were on the tip of his tongue died when the young woman spoke again.

“Sir is it that you are hiding in these woods, and that you are a rebel?” Malory watched as his smiled faded. “Oh sir, please forgive me it was rude of me to pry when you are being so kind as to help me find my way back. Please forget that I have said anything.”

The young man took pity, Malory was genuinely distressed over upsetting him and he took hold of her hand once more, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he assured her that he was her friend still, but would say nothing more on the subject, and true to her word Lady Malory did not ask again.

“Oh look ahead, it is my father, and his steward!” Malory exclaimed, and she waved at the horse men in the distance.

“If that is your father, then who is behind us?” Ahrlan said noticing another set of hoof beats. “Belike it’s the Duke’s men still following me.” He said in a low undertone. Malory favoured Sir Ahrlan with a concerned look. He smiled at her reassuringly. “Do not worry about me my Lady. Go on go to your father, he is waving back.” She glanced back at him, but he bid her goodbye as was courteous.

He watched as the Duke’s men approached him, he knew that his heavy desterier was far to tired to outrun the scouts fleet mounts. “We meet again sir.” One of the scouts said, drawing back his cloak and revelling fully the Darcian crest that lay on his breast.

“So it would seem.” Ahrlan replied. “How can I help you?”

“Could you get down from your horse sir?” One of the scouts asked. “I have some questions to ask you.”

Ahrlan slid down from his horse, eyeing his saddlebags where the secret documents lay.

“A fine horse.” Another of the scouts said as he petted the stallion’s crested neck.

“He is.” Ahrlan ventured.

“He’s to fine a horse for a commoner.” The scout said.

"I did not steel him if that is what you think."

"I didn't supose you did. But it begs the question of who you are. Now lad, let’s start with who you are and where you are going? Don't try to bumble me, your no forister, not with this prancer!”

But before Ahrlan could answer Lord Hobin and his daughter cantered up to join them. “Good morning sirs. I am Lord Hobin, master of these lands. May I ask why you are restraining this man?”

“By the authority of his grace lord Darcia, we suspect that he may be a rebel?” The scout replied with a bow.

“On what grounds do you suspect him?” Lord Hobin asked.

“He rides a warhorse, and on his feet those spurs are not iron, but silver. Furthermore his manners are not those of the conman folk.”

“And that is a crime is it?” Lord Hobin asked, and then scratched his beard. “Perhaps I might clear this trouble up. This man is well known to me, he is one of mine sent on an errand, and we were expecting him were we not Malory? I have gifted him with his horse to that end, and the spurs to.”

The scouts looked unconvinced. “My Lord, might we ask what relation he is to you?”

Lord Hobin rode closer and spoke in a low voice so that he might not be overheard. “You might ask, but it is of a very private nature and something I would not want to discuss in front of my daughter.”

“Ah so that’s how it lays.” The scout smiled and looked at the young knight and the lord.

Ahrlan had overheard the conversation and marvelled it. Bastards were not uncommon in the Marchadian nobility, but all the same he could not help the indignant flush that infused his cheeks at such an insinuation.

“That still dose not explain why he ran from us an hour back.”

“Is this true boy?” Lord Hobin demanded angrily.

“Sire it is not.” Ahrlan replied earnestly. He knew that taking his part Lord Hobin had put himself at risk. “I met these men in Morlyn and they spoke to me there. I have not seen them since.”

“Did they charge you with anything then?”

“They did not.”

“Sire.” One of the scouts interrupted. “He lies, he saw us on the road behind him, and then he left the road and galloped off in to the woodlands hoping to lose us.”

The knights eye’s met Ahrlan’s in query. “In faith my lord, I did not know the Duke’s men followed me. They did not hail me, or ask me to stop…”

The men looked as if they were going to argue, but restrained themselves having no good answer for the young man’s argument. Ahrlan continued, “I was but using a short cut that I knew through the woods.”

“You see, nothing to be concerned over.” Lord Hobin said with some satisfaction.

The scouts looked far from convinced, but Lord Hobin was looking at them with a broad grin, daring them to disbelieve him. “So it would seem.” They agreed reluctantly. “There are rebels still abroad in these woods, and one can’t be too carful these days.”

“Very true. And now if you don’t mind my part and I shall return home. I for one am heartily ready for my supper eh Malory, and Ahrlan my boy?!” It was a dismissal. And the scouts had no choice but to let them go on their way, for it was well known that Lord Hobin was one of the main supporters of the Duke in the south. It was only a recent alliance, fragile as any of the alliances in the south were, Lord Darcia had given strict orders not to offend these men.

They rode away, Ahrlan following behind at a respectful distance. He glanced behind to see the Duke’s men arguing amongst themselves and then turning their own horses to go back the way they came. It was a lucky escape.

“Breathing a sigh of relief?” Lord Hobin asked startling the young knight. He then looked seriously at Ahrlan. “Well young man.”

“Do you know me sir?”

“You are Ahrlan of Bute, the famous capatin of the rebel forces, or I suppose you prefer to be called the free companies, and you are also the son of my old friend Lord Bute, you are his eldest are you not?”

“I am sir Ahrlan of Bute. My father’s eldest.” Ahrlan confirmed. “And you are Lord Hobin.”

“Hmm. It has been some time since I have lain eyes upon you. What are you now five and twenty?”

Ahrlan nodded.

“You do resemble your father.” Lord Hobin admitted. “A pity you have not inherited his prudence as well, but I suppose such endeavours are the province of young men.”

Ahrlan bridled at this, he had not been chided like a boy for many a year, but he bit his tongue the old Knight had just saved him even though he knew who he was. “Why didn’t you hand me over to them if you know who I am then?”

“Just because I will not go against the Duke, does not mean I betray my country men.”

“I am in your debt.”

“It is my daughter you should thank. She assured me that you were a noble person, and from what I have seen she speaks the truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come closer, this is not news I wish to disturb my daughter with.” Lord Hobin said softly. Ahrlan drifted closer. “There are rumours that rebel forces are turning on the Knights who did not support them, that they are threatening their families if they do not join them in attacking the Duke and those loyal to him, that they are lead by a son of Bute. There have been murders and the woman folk have been violated.”

“It can not be true, I would never give orders to...” Ahrlan spat with extreme distaste “….who?” Ahrlan asked, he looked closely at the knight, and it dawned on him, like cold water down his spine. “Goring. I can not believe it. Perhaps they are just stories told by the Duke’s men to discredit our cause.”

“That is a possibility.”

“But you think it is true? Even if I swore that it is not the way of our cause, we are true to the ways of our people, the honour of our ancestors.”

“I belive you have nothing to do with such things Sir Bute. Extremes of passion are the way of young men’s politics. But I will say no more.” Lord Hobin said. “If you want proof go to Felindre, do you know where it is?”

Ahrlan nodded. And they fell in to conversation about more genial matters about hunting and the merits of their various hounds and hawks. Lord Hobin’s fortified manor house drew in to view nestled in the valley below the woods. “Will you sup with us?” The old knight asked.

“No. I must go, though the offer honours me. I have caused you enough trouble." He said, brought back to the reality of the situation, even though the past few minuets they could have been in older - better times. "My men, they are waiting for me.”

“It was no trouble son of Bute.”

“You had to lie for me.”

Lord Hobin laughed. “Ah, well your face provided me with enough amusement."

"Your basterd son! I had to bite my own tounge to stop laughing."

"Perhaps one day you may be my son in truth.”

Ahrlan glanced back at Lady Malory, and then back at Lord Hobin who was smiling knowingly at him. For a moment his heart gave a strange light leap at the possibility, but then the reality of his situation weighed heavily upon it once more. “I am in exile, a rebel. Such a thing can not be.”

Lord Hobin said nothing but he did not lose the twinkle in his eye. “All things in good time. Well in any case you will always be welcomed in my hall.”

“It is a kind offer.” Sir Bute admitted. “For now I need to take my leave.”

He bowed respectfully to the older knight and then turned to the young woman who was standing behind them. He rode closer and she looked up with a blush on her fair cheeks. “Thank you for escorting me back.”

He kissed her hand once more. His lips brushing the kid leather of her gloves. She smelt of daisies. “It was a pleasure.”

“May the mother watch over you.” She said with fervour. He was genuinely touched by her concern. But he would not promise her that he would meet her again. He did not know if he would, nor did he have anything to offer her even if he did? He might have spurs, sword and a horse, but that did not make him a knight. As a known rebel he would likely lose all his titles and rights to land, exiled was the best he could hope for. he would be lucky to keep his head if the Duke had his way.

Just as he turned to leave the way he had come, Lord Hobin called after him. “Ahrlan a piece of advice if you would, not all men who serve the Duke are your enemy. And not all men who would support you are your friends.”

“That is sage advice and I will head it.” Ahrlan agreed, and he left them with a heavy heart, burdened with more difficult questions. He returned to his men with the letter from his kinsman, and precious little good news.



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Darcia’s full concentration was focused on completing a fairly lengthy letter to his men on the borders, detailing precisely what he wanted done. His quill danced over the parchment, his script bold, sure, and unflagging despite having been working for hours on the seemingly endless litigation piled up before him in his absence.

He looked up at a knock at the door. Veione let himself in, clean shaven, and imaculatly attired. “My Lord might I…”

Darcia gestured at the parchment. “You will have to wait until I am finished Captain Faorin.”

“Yes sire.”

Darcia went back to his work, only mildly annoyed at the interruption to his thoughts. After a moment he began again, only to be disturbed a few lines later by a tapping sound as Veione idly twiddled his dagger over the fire place.

“I would appreciate you not putting holes in my mantle.”

Veione looked down at the dagger he had been playing with, dropping it in to the heavy oak, tip first, over and over. “Beg pardon.”

Darcia sighed and bent his head back to his objective, but Veione’s restless pacing was distracting, as was his fiddling with the various items in the room. “Veione do sit down.”

Veione did as he was asked for five minuets. But he was as restive as a small child, and prone to making inane noises, clicking his teeth making sounds like horses hoofs. Darcia ran a finger over a dark eyebrow in an attempt to keep his temper. He let his eyes drift back to his writing but after a moment a stand full of swords were toppled over, with a crash. Darcia admitted defeat and signing off the bottom of the letter and he glared up at a rather sheepish looking blond man, who was now trying to gather the blades up and restore them to their proper places. “I didn’t mean to, I was trying to get comfortable and…”

“You are worse then a child Veione!”

“Dam it, Andras you knew that I have no patience for kicking his heals waiting.”

Darcia let out a snort of annoyed amusement. His cousin for all his faults was honest about them. “Fine what is it Veione that is so important that you can not leave me in peace?”

Veione grinned, knowing that Darcia was not really angry at him. He walked over to the desk, and looked down at the document that the duke had discarded. “ How does Lord Alistair on the borders?”

“Well enough. We have got away lightly so far, the passes have remained frozen so late in to the season, but judging by the swell in the rivers they will soon be passable again.”

“I can send a few hundred of my cavalry to aid them. We should have sent them weeks ago but they needed the rest.”

“No. We can not spare them.” Darcia shook his head.

“Sire, any rebels will soon be rounded up by Vespa’s men.” Veione replied. “You said to me only the other day that now we would be best served using the writ then the sword now we are in no immediate danger.”

“It’s not the rebels I am worrying about.” Darcia explained. He passed a letter with the imperial crest dangling from it along with a small scroll, no bigger then his finger. “Here read these, Vespa has been very busy as you can see.”

Veonie glanced through the missive, his sandy eyebrows shot up, and he looked up at the duke in distress. “Then the rumours are true and the Imperial army is indead marching on our borders?”

“It would seem so. The boy means to teach -Me- a lesson.”

“Five thousand horse, and ten thousand infantry besides, and he calls it an expoditanary force, his personal body gaurd.” The Captin said with bitter irony. "Is he serious?"

“Some one behind the Emporor is. " Darcia could practically see Veione doing the maths in his head, trying to work out how many men they had at their disposal. Darcia already knew that it was significantly less then the Imperial army. He gave Veione an apologetic smile. “Don’t worry about it Ve. This is my game now.”

“Your game eh? You have a plan then.” Veione scratched his head, and met Darcia’s eyes evenly before flinging his head back in a rough burst of laughter. “Of course you have a plan, when have you ever not had a plan. You probably had a plan for this months ago.”

“Something like that.” Darcia admitted.

“Can we win?”

“Think of what you have seen of the Imperial army. Our numbers may be fewer, but ours is the superior force. But I hope that it will not come to that. Battles we can win. But a full scale war, there is just not enough of us, eventuly they would ware us down. But to beat us, the Impeial army - by my rood - would be broken, the Empire would never be safe again. ” The duke answered, his mouth then hardend. “In three days I will ride to meet with the Emperor, he seems to belive that will not wish to see him. I suspect that I can convince him that it would not be in his best interests to shake his sabre in the Marchadians.”

“Convince him or threaten him?”

Darcia flashed a wicked smile, but would not venture a answer either way.

Veione thought about what he knew of the Imperial army and decided that the Duke was right. The Imperial force was largely ceremonial, or town watches, guards, or conscripted men. Men for peace keeping,not men of war. Not only that they would be fighting on their own lands, the mountains were harsh, more so if you did not know them. And Darcia had made his own lands his life time’s study. Not that Lord Darcia couldn’t read a prospective battle field as some men read each other’s faces. Had Veione not known the powerfully intelligent mind that his cousin had possessed since boy hood, then he to might have made the mistake in believing that the man was omnipotent on the field of battle.

“What grounds dose he have for this?”

“Apparently I was summoned to the Imperial court to answer some charges. The main of it is that I have unfairly persecuted Lord Sindri. Of course I heard this news when we were deep in the rebellion.”

Veione looked over the documents that Darcia passed over to him. “Bastards, the Imperial force was on the move before he even sent this.”

“So it would appear. Of course i would expect a few documents may have - er - gone astray.”

Veione frowned, remembering the bloated bodies of messengers that Vespa's men had brought back to Bala on the waggons, pulled from the rushing watercourses that ran through the great western forest. “Then there is no way to avoid this?” He moved over to the side board where the bottles of liquor stood and he pored himself a jot. “Do you want some?”

Darcia shook his head.

Veione tossed his drink off. “By the sisters you are a cool bastard Andaras.”

“No, I just don’t see the merit in drinking before noon.”

Veione laughed, and pored himself another small measure, but he drank it slowly this time, thoughtfully. Lord Darcia sat in front of him, his hands steepled, his glacial eyes calm. If it came to battle there would be losses, win or not they would be unavoidable. Darcia had probably worked out just how many men they would need to sacrifice for victory. Not that any sacrifice was acceptable, but sometimes it was necessary. Sometimes he pitied his cousin for having to solder the burdens of such decisions over and over. The captain looked at the bottle of mountain spirits longingly, but refrained.


“You had better have a good plan. It won’t be easy.”

“No it won’t be.” Darcia agreed.

"How long do we have to prepare."

"A week." Darcia gestured to a map by his elbow. "They will not risk passage over the Marshes, They come from the south, they will have to travel the Great Marsh road."

"Do they intend to go through the south. Damm it man we only just put that rebellion down!"

"No." Darcia replied. "The south trails are to narrow to pass that many men along, marshy this time of year, then they will have to fight their way through lands they don't know with no chance of supplys getting to them. No, They will come north the Amber trail. They will march on Bala."

“And what about the other Duke’s, Grovesnor, the North, and the Cinque ports?”

“They do what I would do, and wait and see what will happen. Their men are not with the Imperial force. The Duke of Rhoss is the only man with an army worth mentioning, and he owes me too many favours. I do not think that they will interfere. They are wise enough not to. ” The duke said. “Ah, but Hardor sends an ambassador. He said that Halvard would stand with us.”

“That is easy for him to say, he lays beyond the rule of the Empire.”

Darcia smiled slightly. “He seems to seek to persuade us that we would be better off without the mantel of the Empire shackling us, to make a coilition of the North.”

Veione’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Such talk is treason!”

“Ah, and it would if we be ambitious traitors.” Darcia sighed, “But am not, I gave my word to Sargon’s father that I would protect him. I am a good guard dog you see. Still if worst comes to worst, his aid at our back would be welcome.”

“The boy always was fool.”

“He is young.” Darcia shrugged. “The old emperor, his father feared me; he would have trimmed my wings had he not needed me in his wars. I think they still fear that we want to stand alone. I think blame should be put where it is due, and that is with the Emperor’s advisor's.”

“I hate these political machinations.” Veione scowled. “It leaves me feeling queasy, like bad meat!”

“For now all we can do is prepare for the worst. They showed us their colours at Rhayd. Once bitten twice shy. Don’t look so worried Veione, if Daen and Vespa can hold off three hundred of their men then we should not fear them.”

“They were lucky.”

“Very.” Darcia agreed. “And nothing like that can ever be permitted to happen again.” Veione nodded in accordance. The steal and fire in his eyes matching Lord Darcia’s.

“That was another thing that the Holy Emperor does not agree with me on, apparently he does not agree with my choice of bride.” Darcia said as an afterthought.

“You have told him about Daen?” Veione asked. “Wait, your going to marry her!?”

Darcia looked up at his cousin. “I should believe that it was evident that I meant to marry her?"

“I knew that you loved her.”

"Did you think i was offering Daen a carte blance?”

Veione put his hands up placating. "I know you don't genraly dally with light skirts. But she would not have been your first mistress. It had been some time since a female had taken your fancy..... Daen would love you no matter what.."

"A fancy." Darcia's voice was frigidly cold. "Daen is no passing fancy. And i am not aware that my black reputation included seducing young innocent women."

"No, but i had my quams back in the Imperial city when you had me bring her to you. I had never seen you like that before." A wry smile twisted Veione's lips, even in the face of the duke's displeasure. "Luckaly i knew you better old friend. Gods in a tangle, it will be like your father all over again! Daen is a fine woman, but I she worth starting a war over?”

“She is.”

“By the blood man!” Veione laughed and bent to kiss his lord’s hand. “Married! You Andras! I don’t know whether I should be condemning you or congratulating.”

“I don’t much care which.” The Duke laughed and slapped his cousin on the back. “Now cousin,if you ever compare Daen to the woman i have previously had affairs with I will have to call you out!"

"What and make Daen a widow?" Veione teased.

Darcia was goaded in to laughter. "Ve, you did not come here to discuss politics or my nuptials.”

“Right.” Veione agreed. “It’s the prisoners.”

“What about them?”

“I was wondering what you wanted to be done with them? Conditions at the tower are….... cramped, you know the risk of disease with it being so close to the city, food’s running low, and I don’t think we will be able to spare the men much longer, especially not as I suspect you will want a substantial force to go with you to meet with the Emperor, you will not want to cower behind these walls.”

“Perceptive as ever Veione.” Darcia replied. “I have plans for them too. The prisoners that are fit to do so will come with us.”

“All of them?”

“All of them. Shackled and in wagons, or walking. I want to use them as hostages.”

“That’s dangerous, treasonous. And it will be difficult to feed an extra two hundred men.”

Darcia made a dismissive noise. “I’m sure between Kef, Timor and yourself you can manage it. It’s far from treason. I doubt that Sargon knew anything about this. Besides, even the Emperor can not send a group of armed men in to his vassals territory and lay siege to their properties with no cause. I was merely looking out for the interests of my vessels, acting as a good signor should. ”

“What happens to the hostages if the Emperor does decide to attack us?”

The Duke let out a heavy sigh, his tone was reluctant, but decided. “Then we will have no choice but to kill them.”

Veione’s hand trembled as he put his glass down. “I think I need another drink. Don’t worry I wont, yet. How long do we have to prepare?”

“As I said we march in three days. Before then i have some court cases to hear, the rebels we captured in battle. ”

“Only three days?”

“I have already ordered the shackles be made. They are leather cuffs, I thought that they would be more comfortable for them.”

“I dare say it will make no difference if the Emperor decided to cross swords with us.”

“Then lets pray he is wise enough not to. For all our sakes.”




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Daen pressed herself back against the wall, covering her mouth with her hand struggling not to giggle as Lady Penn passed her hiding place, bustling down the corridor, calling for the young woman. Her stiff skirts rustling like dry leafs as the older woman stormed down the passage, her voice a shrill whisper.

“Lady Daen! Lady Daen!”

“Not today.” Daen smiled to herself, as she slipped out from behind the heavy tapestry, now the coast was clear, skipping back down the passage. After three days of intense boredom, she had finally managed to escape her tormentor, Lady Penn, who had decided it was her life's duty to teach the young woman the ways of the Marchadian, and Imperial court. And worse, Lord Darcia had agreed with the busy body of a woman.


He had waited with her in the sunny chamber that overlooked a courtyard garden. Lord Darcia wondered about the room, his hands behind his back. The room was decorated ornately, with delicate vases, and figurines on every surface, Daen looked about despairingly. “May I say what I think?”


He considered her from his lofty height, and paused in his perambulations about the room. “To me, of course. Yes.”

“Lady Penn is a fool.”

“Undoubtedly. But she is the only person here besides Veione and myself who is versed in the customs of the Imperial Court, and the only female. Therefore, my child, you will bare with her folly, cause her no trouble, and learn the womanly arts of the Imperial court.”

Daen debated within herself. “Must I learn this silly curtsying? What good is this danceing, or how to serve a drink?”

“Little one you said that you wanted to help me. Is this not so?”

“Yes but…I meant ..”

“Little one do not argue. You are to be my duchess, I can no longer ignore your education. The Imperial court is arrogant in its ways, they will expect you to conform to their standards if you wish to win the Emperor’s good opinion and that of our nobles.”

“ I care not for his opinion.” She sighed. But then looked up at her Lord’s frowning countenance. “Would it please you for me to learn curtsying, and playing with fans?”

“It would please me.” He said.

“Oh, fine.” Daen said exasperated, her little nose wrinkling. “I will try.”

“I thought so.” Remarked Darcia beneath his breath. He watched the young woman flounce about the room, after casting him a darkling look. She picked up a pillow, fiddling with it as her temper cooled. That was his little one, swift to anger, swift to forgive.

She turned and considered him, just as he did her. “If I learn all this then perhaps you will take me with you to the South when you go?”

His dark brow lifted. “Where ever did you get that notion?”

“Well Vespa is a woman, and she is one of your Captains.” Daen pointed out resolutely.

“That is another thing entirely. She is not to be my wife.”

“What happend last time you left me behind?”

The Duke frowned his answer was simple, and she knew that he believed it implicitly. “I will never allow such a situation happen again.”

“You can’t promise that.” Daen temporised, laying her hand along his arm.

The young woman watched as her lover‘s eyes hardened. “No.”

“But I want to be by your side always.” Daen said in a small voice.

Darcia’s voice hitched in his throat, and he caught her close, relenting. Missing the mischief that sparkled in her green eyes.

“Always.” Daen repeated, pressing against him, and speaking to him in the coaxing way that she knew would make him groan. “Think love, I will not get in the way. I will stay in the camp. And look how well i did at Rhayd, Vespa and I held the Empire's men at bay."

“I believe you are trying to bargain with me.” He smiled at last. “I rarely negotiate. What if I do not take you?”

"I would follow anyway." Her eyes twinkled. “Then I may be very stupid learning how to curtsy.”

“Imp.” He sighed ruefully. “You force my hand. It will be the knife, not the sword I will teach you. That should not be so inappropriate. ”

Lady Penn entered the room in time to see the young woman executing a joyful jig about the duke, and she mumerd about the unseemly liberties of youth under her breath.

Daen was a quick student when properly motivated, however Lady Penn was a very slow and repetitive teacher. To her credit Daen lasted three days, even though she would rather have been part of the households energetic preparations for moving the army to the south. Daen decided if she had ever wanted to be a princess of legend, she now knew better. Sitting high in a tower playing the harp, and working on tapestries, or the intricate tea ceremonies were not her idea of a useful life. No wonder Princesses wanted to be rescued by a prince. Unfortunately it was Daen’s “prince” that had placed her here, and the young woman ruminated on how best to get back at Lord Darcia for this.

On the fourth morning, Daen had sat through her “lessons” despondently, her mind elsewhere, and trying to decide whether it had been breakfast, her tight corset, or Lady Penn’s perfume that was making her feel so queasy. In the afternoon she felt more herself, but when Lady Penn had declared that she had a high treat for Lady Daen, in the form of an afternoon of stitchery the young woman decided to escape.

Daen revelled in her freedom. At first she thought of enjoying a canter on her spirited mare, but she knew that should she visit the stables Lord Darcia would soon hear of it, and would not be quite pleased, and though she did not think he would be very angry with her when she explained to him, it would certainly be unpleasant enough to ruin her day. Lady Penn would never dare complain to Lord Darcia, and if she returned before dinner, Lord Darcia would never know of her absconding. So she was content to remain at large in the castle, exploring its older sections.

Lord Darcia had told Daen that the palace’s was built upon his ancestors castle, Ravenbourn. The old towers were still to be seen, now dwarfed by more recent buildings. It was the solid heart of the palace, a snarling fortress at the centre of the graceful façade. For some time she drifted from room to room admiring the architecture, the manifold freezes, and looking in each room and cupboard, with cat like curiosity.
Her thoughts, as they so often were these days, were on Lord Darcia. She wondered if he had ever escaped his tutors and run tame about the castle as she did now. She smiled, perhaps not, she could not imagine the sombre and dutiful young man described to her by Veonie to have shirked his studies, no matter how irksome.
As she ascended a staircase that lead to the north tower she hesitated when the stairs opened out to a narrow corridor leading to more stairs and two stout doors. A chill passed over her, this was where Lord Darcia’s cousin and uncle had been incinerated and died.

Out of morbid curiosity she tentatively tried the first door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. The room was empty, and strangely innocuous. But in the second room a rope, cut through still dangled from the candelabra. It swung to and fro, a draught stirring the air in the room. A fancy perhaps, but Daen thought she could see for a moment a body dangling from that rope.

Daen fled back down the stairs, running blindly. Running from fear, and doubt. By the time she stopped, and sat panting at the base of a wall, she realised that firstly it was useless to run, and secondly she was thoroughly lost. Not sure why Daen tugged at an old door, the rusty chain securing it giving way before her and she stepped in to the shadows. She made her way across what must have been the old great hall, judging by the columns, arches, and vaulted windows set high up the wall. Daen realised that the exit door was likely to be on the second floor, like all older Marchadian keeps.

She made her way through the hall, the sun seeping through the windows, revealing where temporary stalls for animals had been set up, the smell of musty straw permeating the air. Daen found a wide wooden ramp set up at the fair end. Looking up she was glad to note that even if the door was locked from the outside, there was a hole in the panelling just large enough for her to squeeze through.

As she ascended the ramp, her mind on what would be for supper that evening, The worm riddled planking gave an ominous groan as she trod upon it. Daen froze before tentatively moving forwards. Before she had gone a few more steps, the boards beneath her feet gave way. Desperately Daen tried to jump for the stone ledge before her, but only succeeded in landing on her front, and then falling through the floor, down in to the darkness below.

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Some unlikely looking travellers emerged from the fields they had been skirting on to the road, just as the sun had risen. Three young men, one leading a dray horse, dressed in Imperial armour, the other two in fine garb more suited to a great hall then walking along a dusty road. Their coats, almost bursting at the seams, over their board shoulders, their armour straped in packs about their sholders. Dogged weariness was etched on all their faces. Determination was the only thing that was keeping them moving.

“Which way?” Vas asked.

Loeff looked at the moss growing on a road side tree. “Right. If I’m right this road will lead us towards Geate. Then we can reach the Imperial city by way of the Golden road.”

“Until then its sleeping rough right?” Blake groused.

“There are wood’s in Kleve at least, they should give a bit of shelter.” Vas said, eternally optimistic.

His cousin scowled. “You hate camping Vas.”

“I do not!”

“You do.” Leoff confirmed, not really paying attention.

In a sotto voice Vas replied. “There are things I have come to like.”

Something was turning around in the young man’s brain for his keen eyes had a distant look to them, somewhat ruminating. Vas could practicly see Leoff planning, his young friend still was determined to make for the Imperial city. If Vas knew leoff the lad would walk straight through the front gate of the Forbidden city, and march right up to the emperor.

As they fell back in to step Leoff’s thoughts had fallen back to their last close escape. He may have been half cut at the time, but he knew that while they were escaping he did not have his blade, and then all of a sudden it was in his hand. When he had thought to ask how, Loke’s answer was mocking. “You called, I came master.”

“Am I your master?” Leoff had asked with as much weary irony as he could muster.

“Are you?” He echoed. And then laughed.

The demon’s laughter had rang in his ears as they had fought, a voice urging him on, telling him where to strike, to desire blood, to revel in the slaughter, in his strength, in his power. A voice that was getting harder and harder to ignore. Though now the blade was inocuously silent. Leoff might know little about Loke, or the demon’s intentions, but he did know that Loke was unerringly drawn to trouble.

It was that strange almost butterfly in stomach excitement that made Leoff stop in his tracks, as they travelled along a narrow road as it wove its way through the gentle undulations that marked the borders of County Bree. Leoff’s hand went instinctively to his sword hilt, and at once his senses were sharpened. He turned his head and closing his eyes so that he could concentrate on sound alone. A hand on his sword hilt, and he could suddenly hear like a dog, almost as if he was seeing them. Approaching were horse men, quite a number of them. At first he dismissed them as merchants, but the scrape of metal on metal made him realise that they were wearing jacks at least, a kind of cheep light armour, made of plates of metal.

“Leoff what is it?” Vas asked noticing his friend’s arrested expression.

“Never mind.” Leoff mumbled, curiosity not being one of Leoff’s vices. But when he opened his eyes to see his companions looking at him questioningly he relented. “There are armed horsemen ahead of us. Best we avoid them. We would be better not to court trouble.”

“So, this is a road there are bound to be horsemen on it. And how can you tell they are armed? I can’t hear anything.” Blake said dismissilvly. “We are in the middle of nowhere, going nowhere. I doubt that even the Empire would send its solders here.”

“Your probably right."

"Better not to court trouble." Vas sujested, looking up the long and empty road, as if he hoped to see the aproaching men. "With this armour we are as good as dead if Imperial troops find us."

"You could talk your way out of the underworld Vas. Always could." Blake grined. "Fooling a few wheat soffing Imperial idiots wont be hard for you."

"That’s a woodland ahead, it will hide us from her eyes.“ Leoff gave a short wry laugh. “I doubt we will over take them.”

The road wound in to the small woodland that hugged the hills like a fur stole about a woman’s shoulders and shadowing the road but staying above it on a ridge they continued slowly. The contrast between light and dark, cool and sweltering was pleasant and they passed unperturbed for a little while.

Then, a sudden commotion reached the parties ears. A cry for help, and then another. Leoff paused, and then started forwards, hiding himself in the trees as he rounded the corner of the bend. Bellow them were the horse men that Loeff had detected, three men in all.

The voice calling for help had belonged to an old man who two of the burly men were accosting. The other was raiding the old man’s cart, pulling things from it and jeering.

“Imperial land’s men?” Vas asked. “Town’s guard?”

Blake snorted as he tethered the chestnut dray horse. “There hasn’t been a town for miles!”

Leoff glanced around the trees. “Their armour is all cheaply made. Mail and Jacks, not a proper sword among them. ”

“Mercenaries then?”

“Could be, but I doubt it. Judging by the colours they are all supporting I would hazard that they are someone’s private force.”

“Then they are no danger to us then?”

“I mislike the look of them.” Vas whispered spying on the horse men. “They look like a bunch of brigands to me. Ill kempt and ill favoured the lot of them.”

Leoff humed in agrement.

“They won’t see us up here.” Blake said in a relieved tone. But turned to find Leoff starting forward. Blake grabbed hold of Leoff’s shirt sleeve, “We shouldn’t bother ourselves with others misfortunes, we have our own problems. You said yourself we should avoid them. It’s not our problem.”

“Ill deads are everyones problem.” Leoff replied. He glanced at Vas as he went past, expecting to see censure like Blake, but there was only admiration.

“And who made you king of the f’n world! He’s so bloody reckless!” Blake groaned as they watched Leoff march off. “Do you think he will be alright?”

“With our help maybe.” Vas replied with a small smile, drawing his own rapier and bending it back, letting it twang back. “By Helu what I wouldn’t give for a proper sword rather then a piece of glorified wire!”

"They have both bloody forgot their armour!" Blake groused, hastely checking the straps on his own. "Dam careless is what I call it."

Not a twig creaked as the young warrior’s approached the men below. Vas kept pace with Leoff, who‘s smiled, baring his strong white teeth, his hazel eyes, golden in the setting sun, a lionish expression in them. “He’s back.” Vas thought to himself, and smiled fiercely back.

Leoff paused on the tree line, at the top of the bank that then dropped steeply away to the road. “Oi!” He called out. “Leave that man alone!”

The horsemen turned to see the impressive figure of a young man, with the face of a hero, and a massive sword slung indolently over his broad shoulder. Behind him were two equally tall hansom young men, alike with hawkish noses, swarthy skin, dark curls and even darker eyes, burlap cloaks hid their forms.

“Look at what we have here!” One of the men laughed. “Three young bucks!”

“Please sirs, I was just going about my business…” The white haired man pleaded from where he coward on the ground.

“Shut your gob, Darnley!”

“Let the old man go.” Leoff repeated.

“This is no business of yours young popinjay!?” A burly man with a club warned. He seemed to be the leader of the gang of ruffians.

Leoff looked down at his coat, the corner of his mouth twisted in to a smile, before he jumped down the bank, advancing upon them. “I think I have just made it my business.”

“We are the Reeve‘s men. The old man is one of his vassals. There is a tithe on goods, we are but taking what is owed to our lord.”

“You are cur’s and scoundrels.” Leoff replied levelly. “Liars too. You’re robbing a man old enough to be your father. No tax ever levied was ever taken on the road.”

“Only following orders!” A fat faced man said.

The large bald headed man, that Leoff had first spoken to came forwards, brandished his club meaningfuly. “You will find it hard to call us curs boy, when your mouth is full of blood!”

“I will call you what I like. It is the truth. And your Master,” Leoff said unruffled. “If he agrees with this robbery.”

The burly bald man flushed angrily. “If you think those fancy clothes will stop us from giving you a beating boy your wrong! Think a few fencing lessons and an expensive sword makes you a man eh?”

“Sirs, don’t trouble yourself with me! Tis not worth your life’s!” The old man pleaded as one of the men pulled him roughly to his feet.

“You heard him, be off with you!” One of the men laughed. “Old goat doesn’t want your help, right Darnley?”

Leoff stood his ground. The bald headed man smiled, revealing a few missing teeth, squaring up to him. “What’s the answer then boy? You and your men going to leave.”

He glanced back at Vas and Blake who still stood upon the bank. Blake was leaning indolently against a tree, his expression bored. Vas looked more anxious, but he nodded. With that Leoff rolled up his sleeves.

“I hoped that would be your answer.”

The burly man rushed him, his meaty fists at the ready. Leoff’s opponent was broader then Leoff, shorter, more heavily muscled with a bull neck, and stocky limbs, but his muscles were not in such fine fettle as the younger mans. Leoff stepped forward at the critical moment, catching hold of the brute who was trying to land him a facer, and threw him across buttocks to the ground, face first.

One of the bald men’s companions came forward to help him. But swift as lightning Vas jumped down, his rapier’s point scraping the horse man’s stubble. “Ah ah,” Vas warned. “That’s not playing fair.”

The bald headed brute, spat out a mouthful of dirt, purple with rage, and came again at Leoff, drawing a wicked looking long blade from his belt. Once again Leoff stepped aside, but managed to deliver a hefty punch to the mans jaw, sending him back on to his backside, before kicking the blade away. In an instant Bherith was out, Leoff holding the man at bay with the menacing looking claymore, his hand steady despite the weight of the sword.

“No need for that young sir.” Another of the men said placating. “No offence was meant.”

“Can still fight!” The fallen man slurred in protest.

“Leave it be Walter!” The man said, looking at Leoff obviously speculating that they might have offended a member of the higher class. Besides they were brawlers, hired muscle, not skilled warriors, it was obvious that the three men outclassed them. He helped their fallen compatriot up, before they all hastily clambered on to their horses and with heavy spurs fled away. The bald headed man shouting back belligerently. “You have made a great mistake! We will be back.”

“Looking forward to it!” Blake shouted back sweetly. Vas waved, and blew an irreverent kiss.

“Here old timer, you alright?” Blake asked, now the horse men were out of sight.

The old man had begun to pick up his scattered goods, he straightened stiffly. “Thank you.” He said. “I wish I had something of value to repay you with.”

“There’s no need for that.” Leoff said, startling the old man. “Here let me help pick that up. Go sit down for a moment, they gave you a fair rough up.”

The old man hobbled over to where Vas was sitting on a log. The dark haired man smiled encouragingly, and offered him his water skin. The old man declined this, and brought out his own flask of something fierce, taking a shaky swig before offering it around.

“The name’s Darnley.” The old man said, his nerves more steady.

“Vas.” The dark eyed man smiled. “That’s Blake my cousin. And yonder Loeff. Don’t worry he wont bite.” Vas said indicating at Leoff, who was now leading the mule and cart over. “He’s a big pussy cat really.”

“Lion more like it.” The peddler replied. He looked at the young men. “Pardon an old man for keeping you.”

“Oh, we are in no hurry. Where are you headed old man?” Vas asked.

“Market at Wallbridge, or was. Look in the back, I had two sheep to sell, i keep a flock up on the hills.”

“It’s late to be selling lambs.”

“Not lambs, ewes.” Darnley replied.

“I might not know much about farming but surely this is the wrong time of year to be selling livestock for anything but meat?” Leoff said as he handed the reins over.

“Aye, but we’s fallen on hard times.” Darnley explained. “Whither goes’ thou, stripling? Away from here I hope, Walter, the man you fought with today has the temper of a pit dog. He will be back.”

“I care not.” Leoff said succinctly. He pointed down the road. “If you’re going back this way, we will bare you company. Just in case those brigands come back.”

“A mighty kind offer.” The old man said, tugging on his beard thoughtfully. “Is there anything that I can do for you, to repay you?”

“You do not owe us anything.” Leoff, said. “ Perhaps you can help us though. we are new to these parts, are we on the right road to Grete?"

"Aye, you are. Its about a days walking along the road. But on horse, or by carriage you could be there by midnight.”

“We have no carriage. And I doubt that our horse is that fast.” Leoff said distractedly as Blake reternd with the afor mentiond cart horse.

“Mind my asking, but where are you going young sirs?”


“The Imperial city.” Vas answered seeing no point in disimulation. “It’s on a matter of some urgency.”


“Ah, I see, urgent is it? Long ways to go then still.” The old man looked at their rich clothing, but wisely decided not to pry. “Best let me show you the short cut then, through Rhodante it will save you half a days walk."

"Won't it be out of your way?" Vas asked.

The shepherd shruged. "Markets at Rhodenthe tomorow. Plenty of places to stay there. One market is as good as any other."


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Daen opened her eyes, and rolled over on to her back, looking up at the hole above her. The fall had winded her, but other then a few grazes she was unharmed. “These must be the store rooms.” Daen murmured to herself. But as she got up she felt the curved form of an intricately carved pillar, and then a deep stone nook. “Catacombs then.”

Gingerly she tried to climb back up, but there was no good perchance to be found. Cursing her own stupidity, and poor luck for getting in to such situations she called for help. The only answer she received were the echoes of her own voice.

“Dam.” She sighed. She heard a flapping above her, the sound of a birds beating wings. It passed by her head and, landed on a ledge level with her face. Daen startled back when presented with this huge raven black hawk. The bird crawed, then hoped closer, turning its head and winking a wicked red eye at her. “Bhereith?” Daen blinked in astonishment.

The bird hopped again, and jumped on to her arm. His raspy voice echoed in her mind, almost anxious. “Little mistress. Are you alright?”

“Yes fine. Bhereith what are you doing here? Did Lord Darcia send you?”

“Not in so many words. But he would not disapprove of me helping you.” The demon said smoothly.

“You came on your own?” Daen asked. “But you’re a sword?”

“I am many things. This is but one of my forms.”

“Does Lord Darcia know about this?” Daen asked sheepishly, knowing that she was very likely in a lot of trouble.

“No he does not know.”

“But he’s your master?”

“Our relationship is more complicated than that.”

Daen considered the demon on her arm, meeting its ruby gaze. She looked around. “Now how do we get out of here? I don’t think I can go the way that you came in.”

Bherith flapped his wings. “We go down there.”

“Where dose it lead?”

“To the Darcian tombs.”

“But they are all the way up the mountain!” Daen exclaimed.

“There are other exits in the castle grounds.”

“It’s very dark.” Daen said moving forwards tentatively. The demon bird’s eyes flashed, and one of the wall torches that Daen had not noticed before now burst in to flame. “Well that’s a handy trick.”
Bherith crawed, pleased. “Does Lord Darcia know about this place?”

“He discovered these tunnels as you did, as a boy when he was escaping from his uncles when they sought to murder him after his father’s death. It was how he found me, in his great grandfather’s tomb. Left here. Follow me, little mistress!” The demon replied, and took off her wrist flying ahead now the tunnel had opened out, vast stone slabs forming the walls and floor.

“Not very talkative.” Daen noted. “Like his master.”

The cool granite was reminiscently comforting to Daen. As her fingers trailed along the wall she could feel runes carved in to the huge granite slabs, markings that were strangely familiar. She was suddenly reminded of Athalvard, as a child running along the stone passages holding Koto’s hand, as they tried to make out the ancient runes. When Koto was older, he had been trained in reading them with the Order, and he had read them with her. Their clan’s history, and before that, before the Illumination of Helu even.

She felt the runes, making them out. It was the same as the oldest part of the Athalvard‘s walls. Though what archaic Nhemian runes were doing on a Marchadian tunnel she could not fathom.

The tunnel ended in a round chamber. Vast stone blocks encircled the room. Giant standing stones, rough with dried lichen. Daen stood in awe, slowly looking around the chamber. “It’s like, it’s like the toppled standing stones in Nheim. These were once open to the air.”

Bherith once more settled on her arm. “You are very observant, little mistress. These stones once did stand open to the air. A temple to the goddess Loer. A mound was built over it, buried just as that religion was. In time Darcia’s ancestors built their first keep upon that mound.”

“You seem to know a lot about this place.”

“I have been around for a long time.”

“Before this place was built?”

“The stones. No. I’m not that old!” Bherith said in mock indignation, before flying about the room, leaving Daen to her explorations.

Daen wondered to the centre of the room, tripping over the lip of a key stone. She fell on to her hands and knees. When the sting faded, she found more runes. “The Dawn star will rise here, ushering in the new dawn.” Daen tried to read the rest, but impatiently Bherith made a few short calls, hovering about another tunnel.
“Alright, I’m coming. Pushy demon.” Daen groused. “Your as bad as your master!”

The exit from the tunnel was provided by an open sluice leading in to the drains that were under the stables. Daen managed to push up the grate, covertly clambering up between the lines of stalls. Bherith popped up afterwards. Daen petted his feathery head fondly. “Thanks for helping.”

Bherith fluffed up his feathers, and then launched himself in to the air, a streak of black, before he was gone. The sound of a soft nikker, drew Daen’s attention. Thuharu, her little mare looked at her expectantly from over her stable door. Lord Darcia found her petting the horse’s ears. Daen looked up at her fiancé, the sound of crisp foot falls announcing Veonie’s and his approach.

“I should have known I would find you in the stables.” Darcia said.

Veione smiled, and in an undertone said to Daen. “He has just left Lady Penn with a flea in his ear!”

Daen suppressed a smile, as Darcia frowned at her. “Well?”

The young woman gave an unhappy sigh. “It was the weaving, or was it embroidery.”

“Pardon?” Darcia demanded as Veonie snickered. Darcia looked at the young woman, then petted the mare. “I should have guessed you were out riding.”

The blond captain glanced at Daen, his mobile eyebrow quirked upwards in a question. There was no movement in the stables that he did not know about, and he knew that the chestnut mare had not left its stall. Daen returned his glance pleadingly, and he smiled ruefully, winking at the young woman.

“Well lets just hope that woman has managed to teach you something of value.” Darcia murmured distractedly. His attention then fell on the young woman, his grey eyes cool as the mountain streams, “The Imperial army will soon be upon our borders, and we will ride out to meet with it."




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