The Conjured and the exiles

a/n; 24.02.08, the ends had a bit of a retweek. Hope you all like it. In not sure about the raid part of this chapter wether is nessisery or not, so any coment would be welcome.

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Veione traveled through the dark streets of Bala like a thief in the night, his keen blue eyes silver in the shadows. Vespa’s apartment was on the third floor of the Scouts barracks. He bounded up the stairs giving himself no time to think through the ramifications of his actions. Like Vespa had done some nights ago he knocked upon her door. From within he could here the sound of movement. Impatiently he knocked again.

‘Who is it?’ Came a sleepy voice from within.

‘It’s me.’

The door opened a crack and a sliver of light fell across him, one weary green eye peeped at him. ‘Veione? What is it? Was there another attack? Or are there orders, I knew I never should have left the inn!’

‘No nothing like that.’

‘Well what then?!’ Annoyance made her voice hard and demanding as she opened the door a little wider.

‘I just wanted to see you?’

She let out a huff. ‘Well I don’t want to see you. Good night captain Faorin.’ With that the door was promptly slammed in is face.

‘I probably deserve that.’ He said aloud. In answer came the finite sound of the locks been made secure. He laughed. ‘We shall see about that my girl.’ And then drew his lock picking kit from his coat pocket. He made swift work of the door lock and grinned when he heard the satisfying sound of the lock clicking open. However when he lent against the door it only gave a little way, dead blotted top and bottom.

Glancing through the small gap the door allowed he caught the movement of patterned silk in the gloom. She had been standing with her back to the wall waiting for him to try and brake in he realized. ‘Clever puss.’ He whispered. ‘But there is more than one way to skin a cat.’

Veione got up and went back out in to the streets. Jogging up a flight of stairs running up to the wash courts, he then could reach the lowest level of the roofs. With cat like grace he swung himself up on to the gray tiles before making his way across the city’s rooftops. This lofty kingdom had long been his playground, first as a boy where he and Lord Darcia, or Andras as he was then once went to be free of the adult’s eyes, and then later he used them as staging for his many amorous adventures.

The buildings in Bala were closely packed; the street plans orderly having been rebuilt after a grate fire long ago so it was easy to go one to the other if one only knew how. Even the domes did not stop Veione, or the arches and vast vaults. Tonight he was a jungle cat, and his mind was upon one thing, the hunt.

He now stood on Vespa’s roof. Securing a piece of rope he had procured around the stout weather vain he then began to lower himself down the wall. He reached Vespa’s window glad there was a ledge he could rest on. Her window was tightly shuttered, not against the weather but him. She knew his ways to well. With his belt knife he rattled the latch managing to pry it open.

‘Veione? What are you doing?’ Her surprise was quickly replaced by that all-too familiar anger. It was that emotion, which he had grown heart sick of seeing marring her lovely face. ‘If you come in I will call my men and they will drag you away.’

Veione paid her threat no mind, tonight he was the bold seducer and he opened the wooden shutter and slung his leg over the sill. ‘Then I shall sit here. Neither in nor out until you speak with me.’ He taunted.

Vespa came in to the light, her hands on her hips, her full mouth pursed in a hard line. ‘Veione get out now! Had you come to me a month ago, perhaps even a week ago I may have welcomed you. But all this time and no word from you I have made a decision I have finished with you. I have finished with everything that I have ever felt for you.’ All this she said her voice cold and dry.

Veione’s smile faltered. ‘Do you wish you hadn't met me, then?’

There was a long pause in which Veione desperately prayed to see some emotion on her mask like face. ‘No,’ the woman said finally. ‘I'd never known anyone like you. I remember marvelling at how confident you were, how daring, how kind. I loved you, i have hated you, but i could never forget you. Its like you once told me they are just different sides of the same coin. But it doesn’t matter now, I have put it behind me.’

Veione was quiet for a moment, stunned to silence. Then he noticed how she shivered faintly and folded her hands across her breast as though she made a barrier against him. ‘It’s not behind you.’ You think I don't notice how you stare at me sometimes how your green eyes catch mine. What a fool, Vespa. I notice everything about you I always have ever since you became my page.’

‘Then why did you not answer me?!’

‘Because I am a fool! Because I was afraid of myself, and of braking your heart, but it’s happening any way isn’t it? Your hearts still braking right now just as mine is, and that will never end.’ He answered, slipping in to the room, his eyes cast down.

Vespa stepped back from him in to the deeper shadows of her room, as if seeking to hide from him. But then his eyes were dazzled by the lamp light as she lit it. She lit another, and then another until the room was bright. Veione remained blind for a little while, using his arm to shield his eyes, but never the less feeling Vespa’s scrutiny. When his eyes adjusted he took in her contemplative look ‘Tell me what you're thinking, Vespa.’

She jumped guiltily. ‘It was nothing.’

‘Tell me,’ the hansom blond man repeated calmly.

Vespa’s gaze slipped past him guiltily and out of the window. Veione enjoyed the glow of the lamp as it illuminated the younger woman’s face, making her eyes glow golden. She stole his breath every time He looked at her. But it was the spirit and the deep feelings that lived behind that beautiful facade that had stolen the captain’s heart.

‘I was thinking of things I wanted,’ Vespa admitted quietly.

‘And what is it you want?’ He asked a sly smile upon his face as he moved closer to the dark haired woman sensing an opening he was keen to exploit.

‘Tell me something that you want Veione,’ Vespa challenged back. ‘As it seems that you never seem to know, changing your mind like the whether in the mountains.’

Veione sighed. As was her habit, Vespa was attempting to make a battle out of everything between them. He made his steady advance upon her and stood only an arms distance from her, forcing her to look up in to his blue, blue eyes. Almost sadly he whispered ‘What will it take to pull you into this? What do I have to do? What should I say to you? Where do I have to kiss you? Where do I have to touch you?’ Vespa’s eyes widened at this her pupils expanding like puddles of spilled ink. Veione continued, reaching out his hand to cup her soft cheek. ‘What I want? He touched her bottom lip running his thumb along it. ‘What I want is to have you under me, Vespa. Naked. Trembling. This pretty mouth open and wet.’ He searched her bottomless eyes. ‘Helpless and soft beneath my touch, and kissing you over and over, your mouth, your neck, your breasts and hips. I want to see your eyes lose their focus as I touch you. I want you to taste my seed as I spill myself into your mouth. And when I'm stiff again, I want to feel you around me as plunge in to you, or as you ride me letting me lay back and watch your glorious body sway. That is what I want, Vespa.’

Vespa’s cheeks were hot with colour. A vein in her throat beat like a bird's wings. ‘If you could have anything that's what you'd want?’ She asked uncertain, but wanting to believe. It almost broke his heart to see the uncertainty there, her desperation.

‘Yes.’ He hissed. ‘That is what I have wanted even when you were too young for me to want such things from you. You are the one fantasy I have never allowed myself to indulge in.’

‘Why?’ She asked breathlessly.

‘Because…’ He sighed not finishing. Unable to use the words I love you yet.

Her protest was spoken against his lips as he swooped closer and it was much easier to let the motion transform itself into a kiss. Vespa moaned softly as Veione sealed their lips together. Her hands pushed at his heaving chest and he drew away reluctantly watching her eyes widen even further and stare at him as though he had gone mad. ‘Maybe I have gone mad.’ He thought to himself.

She frowned. ‘What is this about? I refuse to play games with you Veione, I am not just a plaything. Another conquest.’

‘No, you were never that. Nor will you ever be.’ He told her, stepping forward. She tried to back up. But her back soon met the wall, and she was trapped by his predatory smile. She was confused, it was apparent in the swirling depths of her bright green gaze.

Her breath was coming out in weak pants and the way her brow furrowed he could tell that she was frustrated by how affected by his kisses she was. ‘Veione, I don't know your game, but . . . it stops now. You and I cannot be together like this.’

‘Yes we can. This is where this little game we have always played has been leading. I cannot deny my own desires any more. And I know you feel the same.’ With lightening quickness his mouth slanted over hers again. Their tongues danced and wrestled first in Vespa’s mouth and then in Veoine’s, Vespa never was going to surrender to him. And she sucked greedily at the slick flesh as it curled around her own. Veione felt the delicious pull all the way down on his most intimate aria’s, making him groan and blindly pull Vespa towards him.

What was this? Never had he felt this hard so quickly, he had kissed countless women, and yet this one kiss and it had made him week at the knees as a virgin youth. His heart swelled and filled, this was it, the elusive thing that he had been searching for with the other woman and never found. Vespa was the answer to the question he had never known to ask. ‘I love you; I have always loved you, always. And it hurts not to be with you, but I thought it was for the best, I was wrong, this is completion, and I am sorry.’ Those things were the things that Veione tried to show the woman in his arm’s with his kiss tonight. Pulling back he brushed his lips softly back and forth across the plump flesh of hers teasing her. His gentle nibbling made Vespa’s eyelids feel too heavy to hold open any longer. She let them fall shut with a soft moan. At the sound, she felt Veione smile against her mouth.

‘Show me where to touch you,’ Veione told pleaded, his eyes dark with his rising passion. ‘I need to know how to please you. Show me what you like.’

‘My neck,’ she whispered back hesitantly. ‘I like to have my neck kissed.’

Veione gave the barest hint of an approving smile and pressed his lips to the woman’s graceful throat. Vespa sighed as if in relief and arching her neck back as the blond haired man kissed softly up and down the golden tanned curve. Veione delicately nibbled the pulse beating at the base of her throat and looked up his blue eyes burning. ‘Where else, Vespa? What else could I do that would make you moan for me? I'm going to drive you wild with need,’ He murmured. ‘I'm going to touch you in all those places that make you moan like that.’

‘Touch me…’

"Where?" He whispered, nuzzling against her throat. ‘Ask and you shall receive.’

Vespa bit her lip, and buried her hands in his golden locks making him hiss with pain and pleasure. Her hand guided his low. ‘Touch me here, I need your touch here.’

Veione groaned. ‘Gods, Vespa.’ He let his hand slip between the edges of her silk robe to fondle her already slick desire. Vespa moaned weakly, pressing forward. Her knees trembled and she buried her head in the curve of his neck as the cavalry captain explored her. ‘How does this feel? Is this what you want? Is this what you dreamed of when you played with yourself, my hands here, and my fingers stroking you like this? For I have discovered that my dreams have been false you are so much better than anything my imagination could come up with.’

‘Yes!’ She gasped. Vespa pulled restlessly at his shirt ‘I want more.’ she panted.

‘Where?’

‘Everywhere. Anywhere. . . I don't care!’ she demanded as she slipped her silk robe off her shoulders, baring her naked body unashamedly to his hungry eyes.

Vespa twisted slightly as a rough palm grazed her nipples. ‘Do you like that?’ He purred. Her response was to push himself harder against his hand so that he cupped her small breast firmly. Grinning he caught a peak between his fingers and lightly rolled it until she threw back her head baring her neck again for his lips and tongue to explore with impunity.

‘So wanton.’ He teased. ‘Now I know your weakness,’

Vespa looked through her lashes at him. ‘Show me yours.’

Veoine’s smile faded a touch. He ground his hips against her core, garbing her other breast, letting her feel the urgent stiffness that filled out his breeches. ‘My weakness is right in front of me,’ Veione panted. ‘It's you. No matter how much I wanted to avoid it.’

Surprising Veione, Vespa yanked his coat off, and then his shirt. She bit at his lightly tanned chest, making the older man hiss as she caught a dusky nipple between her teeth and tugged upon it. As she licked a hot path over the captain’s unscarred muscled chest to the other nipple, her clever fingers yanked open his breeches. ‘I love these little berries, I always wanted to taste them’ she said against his flesh. ‘They always seem ready and swollen begging to be touched.’ she surrounded the pert bud with her red lips. Humming, she sucked on his nipple while flicking the tip of it with the end of her tongue. Vespa felt his blue eyes on her, wide with surprise and growing lust. Leting go of his abused nipple she fastened her mouth on his as she pushed her hands into his breeches and immediately sought out the hard length within. Veione groaned in to the kiss, his arm slipping around her waist as she began to stroke him.

‘Is this your fantasy?’ Vespa said against the blond man’s parted lips. ‘Is this what you want from me?’

‘Yes, but as you said it is not enough.’ Veione answered hoarsely a whimper coming from him as Vespa rubbed her finger mercilessly over the small slit on the head of his turgid length. His laughter at the realisation that she was the one who was now seducing him came out as a straggled ‘Aghhhh!’ as she sank to her knees and he shuddered with pleasure as Vespa’s soft mouth engulfed the head of his shaft. He could feel his lover's tongue tracing around the ridged cap and dipping into the slit to taste him. He couldn't help pushing his hips forward, driving himself along the wet roughness of her tongue. When he looked down, green eyes watched him with a mixture of lust and love. Veione ran his hands through the heavy silken weight of her hair, glossy as a horse’s coat, straight and impossibly long not in its usual plat.

Vespa proved herself more passionate about performing this intimate act than anyone Veione could remember, and he had a lot of people to compare her too. He was beginning to realise the difference between making love with someone you cared for, and someone you just desired. Tonight the passion was real and it was unlimited the consummation of eleven years of longing and repression. It made Vespa the best lover Veione had ever had. He smiled as Vespa closed her eyes, lashes trembling. A soft moan surrounded Veoine’s hard desire like a ghostly tongue. But fearing that he would be undone The blond captain pulled back from the woman’s talented mouth. Her eyebrow qwerked in a query as he pulled her up to hug her close, feeling the hammer of her heart against his.

In her ear he whispered. ‘I no longer possess the patience or the willpower they fled the moment you turned your bewitching eyes upon me. I cannot show you restraint. I can only show you how far you have driven me into desperation.’ He searched her face for any resistance. ‘You're ready for me, aren't you? You're ready to take me into your body?’

‘Yes. Do it. I have wanted it for so very long.’

‘Anything. I'll do anything for you. Tell me what you need,’ he murmured as he kissed her once again.

Vespa tangled her one arm in his lion’s mane, her other hand went lower, her nails scoring his firm buttocks, pulling him closer with a boldness that fired Veione’s lust higher, if that were even possible.

‘Ride me.’ Vespa purred. ‘Make me feel it!’

‘Gods . . .’ Veione groaned at the words, and with some force he pushed her hard back against her wall and yanked down his breaches. Vespa looked amused. ‘What are you going to do? You're not going to take me right here. The bed is in the next room.’


‘That's exactly what I'm going to do,’ Veione said with determination. ‘Damm the bed! I want you right now!’

Vespa’s mouth curved in to a satisfied and wicked smile that Veione captured with a bruising kiss. Lust roared like fire through her body at his promises and as Veione grasped her about the hips and lifted her, pressing her back against the smooth plastered wall.

Veoine’s straining tip bumped along her opening and with a flex of his hips, Veione drove inside her. Vespa watched as his shaft disappeared within her, making her gasp at the sensation. She was not one for silence at the best of times, and she let her voice rise in ovation to his skill and virility. It felt so good; every stroke hit directly over that spot inside that made her grow warm and made her toes curl as she warped her legs about his lean waist griping him hard.

‘Oh, gods,’ she moaned, shutting her eyes.

‘Oh, yes.’ He panted against her sweat damp neck. Veione shifted her weight in his arms and he drive into her harder, and deeper. His breath growing more strained as his arms and legs started to burn from holding her, but those were minor discomforts in exchange for the ecstasy that thrusting and grinding in to her body brought to him. He thrust harder encouraged by the sound of slapping flesh and her panting cries until she sounded as though she was sobbing with her need for release. Her voice husky with passion, made him harder. He spoke ferverently to her through his own pants. ‘There cannot be any doubt in your mind now that we were meant to be together like this. There just can't!’

Her body quaked, weakening with the force of Veoine’s driving thrusts. She tightened her legs about the man’s waist, pushing herself up higher to grind against him. In the process her inner walls griped him like a velvet vice.

‘You love this,’ Veione gasped.

‘Yes!’ She cried, fingernails digging into his back, urging him faster and harder. ‘I love it. I love you. I want this to never end.’

And Veione thought of how that would be connected to Vespa like this, inside her, for the rest of their lives. He wanted it, too. He was willing to give up everything else in his life for that that love. It wasn't about the sex; it was about being desired and cherished Vespa. Veione knew in his soul that Vespa had never felt for a person the way she felt about him.

Vespa could see everything on Veoine’s face. Everything, the awe, the naked lust and perhaps something more an expression she had never seen before when he had made love to other women. She laughed aloud in joy her hand’s tightened in the mercenary's hair as her own face contorted as she found her own release. Veione was swift to follow her, his low moan making her shudder with pride; she had done that to him.

When their bodies parted, they were slick with sweat, burning despite the cool night air and week as newborn foals. Veione looked in to her downturned face, trying to read her expression, trying to see how much of this was just him playing a love sick fool. She turned away from him, as if to move away but paused when he made a stifled noise, she turned a curious gaze up at him.

He liked his lips before he spoke. ‘I have accused you of being as cold as a glacier before.’ She nodded. ‘I was wrong wasn’t I?’

‘You were.’

‘What was it you were thinking of earlier?’ Veione whispered, caressing the woman’s damp shoulders. He kissed it, his tongue snaking out to taste the saltiness of her skin. ‘That thing that you wanted?’

Vespa turned and gazed deep into his eyes surprised that he remembered. ‘I wanted you to tell me you love me,’ he whispered. ‘That was what I wanted. That is all I have ever wanted.’

Veione felt like a bastard, but could not regret what they had just done. He should have said the words before perhaps as now she may doubt them, but everyday he promised himself he would tell her. Starting from now. ‘I love you, Vespa.’

‘And the other women?’

‘I love you. And no other,’ Veione kissed her. ‘I love you.’ A kiss. ‘ I love you.’ And another. ‘You are my last and only lover.’

Vespa’s smile was like the dawn barking and her eyes glittered. ‘As you are mine.’

‘Now.’ He said his voice going seductively low as he curled his hands through her hair again. ‘Now my love…’

‘So soon?’ She asked.

‘Hmm.’ He purred. ‘So soon.’ And he took her hand and led her to the darkened bed room.


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The last thing that Alwen remember was a blinding pain and the loud crack as his teeth were forced to snap together. The jolts of his horse trotting underneath him roused him. He felt that his brain was going to get shaken out of his head as he lay trussed across the saddle like the carcass of a stag. His head was still swimming when he opened his eyes, and the sight of the ground rushing beneath him was sickening.

He tried to look up, but could see very little. But judging by the jingle of harness, the constant sharp clop of shod hoofs on the road, and the sounds of men talking his brother’s group must have joined up with a larger cavalcade. Alwen’s head began to pound with pain and in his misery he wretched up his lunch before groaning and once more slipping back to the welcoming oblivion. When he next came to himself he was still slung across his horse but it was quiet and he was alone.

Wriggling like a weasel the wiry boy managed to sqwermed free of his binds and slid to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Alwen roiled away from his horse and lay for a little while gathering himself together. Fortunately he had sheathed his sword before his brother knocked him out and he now used it to unbind his wrists. He lay on his back for a while, the moon was rising, it was not yet full, pale yellow veiled by the cloud, it seemed a very long way away.

Eventually he got up, his head feeling to big for his body and took a swig form his water skin that was tied to his saddle before looking about the moonlit landscape. He did not recognize the bit of woodland that he was in, tall oaks, spindly ash, hornbeam and holly. This was an ancient virgin forest, not like the small coppices of birch and bramble that sprang up in his southern home claiming the rough ground unsuitable for farming. This was probably part of the grate western forest, though what part of it he did not know.

Behind him he could see sky as the woodland gave way to rough brackeny heath land. He decided to leave his horse tethered where it was and made his way to the edge of the wood and surveyed the common. There was no round around. He had been abandoned in the middle of no where. It was just the sort of thing that Goring would do, mean bastard that he was. In the distance he could see a glint of sliver that could be Lake Nuur, and the huge shadowy form of Mount Elbrus rising behind it was familiar. He was somewhere north west of his own lands. If he headed towards the mountain then he would eventually reach the river, or a road.

He went a bit further on to the heath, and a few sheep started up from the bracken practically underneath his including an early spring lamb. Alwen looked down and saw hoof marks, shod horses, and lots of them. Despite his sore head, and aching ribs he followed the winding path where the tracks bit deep in to the soft ground. His vision was a little blurry, but he carried on not entirely sure why.

The common gave way to farmland, woven hurdles marking the strip fields. Beyond that set up on a little rise was a Burr town. A quiet prosperous independent market town named Pritbur. Relived to his very heart he realized that he could pay for a night at an inn, perhaps get some food and a decent nights sleep before he headed back home to face his father. But as he turned back to get his horse his ears caught voices raised on the wind.

Staggering onwards he came closer and in the flickering light of torches he saw that below the town gates was a large raiding party was laying siege to the stout wooden gates. Alwen watched with detachment as the towns folk tried to deter them, raining down arrows, stones, scalding water and boiling oil. The sound of agonized cries from the unfortunates who had looked up at the wrong moment pierced the night. Somewhere in the back of his mind Alwen realized that his brother could be amongst those men.

Despite the defenders valiant efforts the battering ram forced the gates open with a loud aching drawn out creek. The solid wooden doors splintering and then bowing in at the hinges, as they sagged open the armed raiders swarmed in like a surging tide. Men at first, then the doors were pushed open wider so that the mounted men could barge through. That’s when the screaming started, the terrified cries of women as their men folk were slain by the armed raiders. Orange flames began to lick up the thatch and Alwen was filled with horror, living the evening’s earlier events all over again like some terrible nightmare.

Half staggering, half running he was propelled forwards, hardly knowing why. But he could not just stand by and watch this happen. The logical part of himself that said that this was suicide, that he was in no state to fight anyone. But still he moved forward, more doggedly than swiftly, to tired and dazed to entertain more than one thought at a time. Right now beside his pounding headache he had an overwhelming desire to stop them, to stop his brother from what ever atrocity he was trying to commit. Unable to bare the thought that he could simply stand by and let one of his blood do something so terrible again.

The gate had been abandoned by the time he reached it. There was that hellish light again as the poorer buildings not built of stone but thatch and wood caught like tinder, the wood dry as tinder from months of cold winter. Men wielding swords and axes that glinted wickedly in the dancing light fought against the burgers who often wheeled little more then scythes, long pikes and knifes. But On the roofs those with hunting bows rained down arrows as carefully as they could trying to pick out foe from friend in the fickle and shifting light. The women folk rained down abuse and anything that they could throw. The town’s people were fighting back, and they did with the ferocity of those defending their homes. However this town had been confident that the threat of the Duke’s wroth would keep greedy nobles hands from it and had grown fat with trade, lax in the years of relative peace. They were merchants, bakers, butchers, candlestick makers not warriors or soldiers. Against and ruthless and organized force they had little hope.

Alwen looked about trying to comprehend all that he saw, but it was too much to take in. Over the next few weeks he had flash backs in which he recalled things that he did not remember seeing at the time. The sight of a woman desperately trying to get her old mother to hide under the house. Children’s faces their eyes wide and scared as they hid beneath a chicken coop. A bearded man collapsing to the ground as an axe split his head. How a scythe would hack in to a leg like an axe a sapling. How death was not as it was described by the bard’s songs or in the stories told about the heath, it was messy, people gasped and stared wide eyed making choking noises. Some however just fell, no last words, no meaning just gone. A life ended, stopped. Dead.

At the time all of this was irrelevant, the smoke stung Alwen’s eyes until they were streaming, or was he crying? He recognized the man who was with his brother earlier, the fire glinting off the gold inlays in his orate imperial armor. He hacked at people beneath him with a sword, he was not very skilled, but the large man beside him in more practical imperial armor defended him from attack, whilst barking terse orders to the other men.

A group of horse men shifted and there reveled was not just Goring but his other brother Ahrlan to. ‘To me Edouard!’ Goring shouted back to the resplendent noble. The imperial dug his long spurs in to his obviously expensive mounts sides needlessly hard and drove it to canter along side his brothers who charged down the main street mowing down those beneath them.

Over the din Alwen caught there voices. ‘See my lord I said that we would have our sport tonight.’

‘Indeed it’s turning out to be the most fun I have had in years!’

Fun! How could anyone think this was fun? What kind of vipers did these men have in their breasts? Drawing his sword he was screaming, screaming his brother’s name. Over the noise of the battle no one herd him, he was just another voice in the multitude drowning in the chorus of pain and terror of that night. It was not his brothers he met first, but a foot solder. Suddenly all the things that he had practiced for hours since he could hold a sword were suddenly forgotten. He had imagined that in his first fight he would use all his skill, clever bits of sword work like the knights of stories. Instead he fought like a novice at best, swinging his blade wildly. Fear, anger, and hatred were the only things making his week limbs move.

He soon found himself surrounded by the confused mass of fighters. Blinded and deafened by the flurry and confusion of the melay it was nearly impossible to tell friend from foe. He kept falling over, and soon he could hardly lift his sword above his head. A man with an axe swung it at him. Somehow Alwen managed to block, his instincts to survive working far faster than his conscious mind which seemed to have fled the moment this madness started. There was a sharp crack, as his sword blade was shattered, leaving him with nothing but the hilt. Alwen stared at his broken sword without comprehension. He looked up the axe man with wide verdigris eyes. The burly man was just about to bring his mangled weapon down for another swing. Helplessly Alwen stared up at his impending death when he was knocked down from the side. The axe knocked against his shoulder, and it blossomed with pain as he fell to the floor. Men trampled over him as he tried to rise. A heavy, lax warm weight landed on him, a body. The young man gave up struggling for a moment and lay in the muddy street, his cheek against the rough cobble floor and closed his eyes.

He might have blacked out again as he could remember noting but the wet cold of the floor sinking in to his body, and the chill that seeped in to his limbs. When he finally moved the now cooling body off himself and knelt up the battle was over. Alwen’s arm hung limply by his side and he knew that he had broken his collar bone. Men at arms milled around looting from the bodies. There was the piteous sobbing and cries for mercy as the younger towns women were found and raped. Those towns’ men who had survived the massacre now were bound and helpless to do anything but watch the carnage as there once thriving town was picked over like a caucus.

Alwen was still griping his broken sword. He looked down at it now; it was useless, useless as he was. He hadn’t been able to protect a single person. Alwen saw the town banner flutter to the ground. Desperately he managed to snatch it from the mud, a white background with a red walls, three golden sheaves of wheat upon it, and sitting upon it Darcia’s ebony raven with its wings spread above it. Stunned still he did not hear anyone approach him until he was dragged to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

‘Well, well it seems that even our younger brother wanted to join in the raid.’ It was Goring. Alwen tried to twist away from his older brother’s grip. But his attempts were only met by laughter.

‘I almost didn’t believe what Terent told me that little Alwen had attacked you. But just look at him as blood splattered as the rest of us.’ The pride in Arhlan’s voice made Alwen feel sick. He wanted to disagree but the choke hold his brother had him in stopped him from talking.

‘Perhaps now the young lad will come join in the women and make of him a real man?’ Came the silky imperials voice, pitched as if this was a grate treat he was offering Alwen, like he was a small child been offered a ride on a pony.

‘No.’ Alwen choked out.

His brother shook him roughly again. ‘Whelp! I swear if you take that kind of tone again I will…’

The noble shrugged. ‘Goring, it just means all the more for us. Let the boy do as he pleases.’

Reluctantly and not before he kicked the legs from underneath him Goring left off worrying his younger sibling and followed the imperial noble towards the town hall. Alwen glanced up to see Arhlan standing over him, but his eyes were on his older brother.

‘Aren’t you going with him?’ Alwen glowered.

His brother glanced down at him, ‘No. I have no taste for such things.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘There is more to raids then just bloodshed and rape.’ Arhlan said. ‘Lord Edouard has offered us help in liberating the south from lord Darcia. Tonight is just a first but with support we can gain our independence.’

‘The why attack just a town. These people were innocent. Why not attack Lord Darcia?’

‘War is not like that Alwen. There are politicks at work here. And a town like this is not so innocent, they support Lord Darcia. Had they sundered to us at first and sworn allegiance to an independent south then this would not have happened. Anyone in the south who supports the bastard duke we shall fight. This was just a demonstration.’

‘A threat.’ Alwen confirmed. His brother nodded. ‘But what happens when the Duke comes again? Last time he crushed the rebels.’

‘Last time. But not this time this time Lord Edouard has promised to persuade the Emperor himself that the Duke is unlawfully attacking his own people.’

‘Lord Edouard is worse than Goring!’

‘I was not talking about the younger Terent.’ Contempt laced his elder brother’s voice. ‘I was talking about Lord Gaius Edouard. He is a sage man, a councilor to the emperor. I have met him only once, but I would trust him.’

‘But what then?’

His brother looked down at him again. ‘What do you mean what then?

‘Well when Lord Darcia is defeated. Who then rules the south?’

Arhlan seemed taken aback for a moment. Apparently he had not considered that to any grate degree. ‘We rule it, the nobles of the south as we used to.’

‘And Lord Edouard won’t want a piece of the lands he has invested so much time in?’ Alwen asked trying not to sound mocking, trying to win his more sympathetic brother around.

His brother did not answer him for a moment but seemed to judge the younger man. ‘Hmm, your sword is broken. Father will not be pleased.’ Alwen realized that his brother had dismissed him as he always had, dismissing him as too young to understand such grown up matters. A dreamer, too soft hearted for the real world. Alwen looked down at his shattered blade sadly as his brother left.

Alwen looked back down at the banner he had saved pondering whether he could make a sling of it. The flag was muddy and now blood splattered like himself, torn in places. The golden sheaves of wheat proclaimed that this had been a farmers market, the red walls a free city, and the raven with its wings spread showed that Darcia protected it. Suddenly Alwen knew what he could do to help, and shakily he got up and ignored by the men at arms he left the sacked town and headed back to the wood where his horse was tethered still with the intention to ride north. With some luck he would be at Bala by late tomorrow.

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Daen headed back to the inn, now thoroughly chilled. Samigina guided her through the dark in her horse like animal form. The spirit Daen had discovered was not bound by any one shape, so Samigina could appear like a pale tall willowy woman should she wish, or a lithe water serpent, a cloven footed unicorn, or a winged creature that resembled dragons of legend, only much smaller than Daen had expected, or she could appear a mixture of any of those attributes should she chose. However she had told Daen with some embarrassment that she did not like to use her winged form, as she was afraid of heights.

The mahogany haired woman neared the wayside tavern, and took some time to herself fairly secure in the knowledge that her absence had not been noticed after letting her mind flow out to brush those still sleeping within. She had been hugely disappointed not to speak with Leoff that night. The longer he stayed, the more likely he was to get caught. And she could not guarantee what Darcia would do if he found them. Samigina sensed her mistresses desire to be alone and she dissipated without a word.

Daen couldn’t face going back to Darcia just yet, not with knowing what she was hiding from him, not knowing that she still could not trust him with the secrets she held. All the experience she had gained in her life had taught her to guard her secrets, and guard them well, that was not going to change overnight, not even for him. Tonight she felt laden with her secrets as now added to the burden she now carried the guilt over the things that her negligence towards her brother had caused him to do. His sins had become hers.

A loan tear slipped from her eyes, then another before she could quell her rising emotions she wiped it off and stared at her hand for a moment and the moisture gathered upon it. There was no use crying for Leoff, he would not want her tears. He probably did not even want her help, but as ever he would have it weather he would or no. After all he sought to aid her when she had told him categorically that she was fine.

She would appeal to Darcia for him, tonight. But with a sinking heart she knew her lord was not going to like this. Firstly Lord Darcia would be angry that she hid anything from him, let alone something so important. The second reason was that in Darcia’s heart there was a cold steal, Daen knew that she and precious few others brought out what little softness there was in him, really he was a dread lover, a harsh man, strict with himself and he spared the rod on no one.

Leoff had not only attacked him (that may have been forgivable) but also her, and others besides, in her Lord’s mind that was well beyond the bounds of what he could tolerate. If Darcia was willing to horse whip her, the woman he loved for nothing more than disobedience, then she did not rate Leoff’s chances on gaining her lords mercy too highly. Still she could try to intercede for him, and as long as Darcia did not discover his location until she gained his word that her brother and his companions would not be harmed then they might stand a chance. To save her brother she was willing to draw the full fury of her lord wroth upon herself, as though Leoff would not survive it, she stood a better chance.


However if they could lay low for perhaps a few days and not be discovered then none of that mattered. She could, if Leoff could keep his mouth shut about why he was in Marchadia (And taciturn as her brother was she was sure he could manage it) introduce Leoff and his friends not as would be assassins but as her brother come to visit her. It was not a lie; after all he was coming to find her and though it might not be entirely truthful, the story was safer for everyone involved. She could see Leoff, show him that she was fine where she was. And he could stay or go as he chose.


The pale golden moon’s light was diffused by the clouds that shrouded its disk like form. Daen paused to look up at it. She felt drawn to it, and then the world rocked about her as the pull of strong emotions drew her out of her body, her vision blurring and going faraway to a town, and a raid.

She touched the minds of those who were there, people crying out in need a silent plea for the god’s or anyone to help them in their time of need, they did not realize was been herd. Daen wondered is this what the gods felt. Able to watch but not intercede. The horrors of the raid unfurled about her as she experienced it in one body and then the next. But if all she could do was witness the tragedy, then that is what she would do, feeling that she owed the people at least that much.

One life she followed was of a young brewers daughter, her father and husband both were fighting in the streets below, and all she could do was boil water in the hope that one of the raiders would come close enough to the house for her to scald their eyes out. In the dark she could not even see them. Daen lost her contact and like a burr then found another, a man who ran a livery stable, he fought side by side with a town official he had despised for years after he had banned his building another block of stables. But such little hates and loves were all irrelevant now the town was under attack. He hoped the fire’s did not spread to the hay barn, and that if it did the stable lad would let lose the horses. For a moment she wondered if she had stumbled back in to one of Cira’s nightmares. Then there was something new a boy with a broken sword in his hand, that same boy then riding hard through the night, he was coming, coming to tell Darcia something…

‘Daen, Daen… Please say something!’

The vision shattered and broke, leaving her with little more than ruminants of the dream.
‘My Lord?’ She murmured.

‘Oh thank the gods!’ Darcia sighed as he picked her up from the floor where she had presumably collapsed. His hot skin burned her; she was trembling, and could hardly feel her toes and fingers, just how long had she been lying on the floor?

‘I’m so cold.’ She whimpered through chattering teeth.

‘I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t be surprised if you catch your death of cold going out with just a night gown on.’ His hard words were belied by the worry in his tone.

‘I think I had a vision, a town been raided it was horrible.’ She said twining her arms about his neck seeking out more of his body heat.

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know, south perhaps.’ She answered, and then closed her eyes to concentrate. ‘We will know more tomorrow a rider comes. A boy, a knight with a broken sword and a large heart.’ As an after thought she added ‘I had almost forgotten how tired this could make you.’

Darcia let out an half frustrated, half amused groan. ‘Foolish girl going out side with everything that’s gone on, if you are constantly wondering off how am I supposed to protect you hmm?’

‘I never said that I wanted to be protected.’ Daen answered, her eyelids laden. ‘My brother he is coming.’

‘Is he the boy you speak of? Or is it another one of your family coming to attack you?’

She shook her head, her eyes closed. ‘Neither. I would like you to meet him. Promise me you will not harm him…’

‘Why should I harm him? As long as he means us no harm. What kind of man do you think me Daen?’ He said placating, as if soothing a child saying there are no monsters under the bed. She wanted him to promise but she was just so tired and cold to do any more tonight. Dawn was not long away; it could wait until day light. She fell in to sleep before she could help it, the welcoming dark pulling her down and down.




Lord Darcia walked back to the inn sedately; his heart beet calming now he knew the young woman was safe. On the way back he spotted Timor coming from out of the woods leading his rangy hunter.

‘My Lord…is she alright? What happened?’

‘Oh, she was just sleep walking.’ Darcia answered coolly. ‘It seems like none of us are sleeping well tonight?’

‘It seems not. Yesterday was very disturbing.’

‘So did you find anything?’

‘No. not that I really expected to.’ Timor shrugged.

Darcia looked towards the west. ‘I shall to bed, and try to get what sleep I can before dawn comes once more.’

His captain bid him goodnight, or what was left of it. And Darcia took his woman back to the inn to curl protectively around her, using his naked body to warm her chilled one. Carefully he brushed her hair out of her face so that he could look down at her relaxed countenance. He traced her slightly parted lips, and her soft cheek. It was unusual for Daen to sleep so deeply, he almost expected her curious green eyes to flutter open and look up at him. But they stayed closed, her breathing soft and even.

He had been very perturbed when he woke and found her gone. He very nearly panicked when Bherith could not sense her within the building. In the back of his mind he worried that she had run away again as foolish as irrational as that may seem. With a sigh he lay back, somewhere in him was the abandoned little boy he once was, left to defend himself in a strange court, outcast and ridiculed. Of course all that was long ago, and he was not that boy anymore, however the fear of abandonment still lurked in the deeper recesses of his heart.



Daen was to sleep well into the next day, almost unto mid-afternoon. Dawn came and went, and Darcia did not have the heart, nor would it seem the ability that morning to wake the young woman who was out like the dead. Avis and Kef were happy to stay longer and await the young woman’s wakening.

Leoff and his companion’s hiding place was discovered a little before noon. Vas and Blake who had tried to stay alert, had slipped off to sleep having not slept for nearly two days, lulled now that the nights chill had gone and the trench was now warm and somewhat pleasant if cramped.

Daen had been right, In Bala there were no blood hounds. However she had not counted on the curiosity of Timor’s two young hounds Luff and Buff. The captain had been taking his exercise at lunchtime, along with a very cheerful if not tired Veoine and a few of Veoine’s and his own men.

As the hounds ran towards the gorge Timor had tried to call them back. ‘Luff, Buff you bad hounds come back here I say! Come to heel we are not going that way!’ But the hounds pointedly ignored there master and carried on blithely as if they had not heard him.

Veoine had laughed in high spirits and took of his belt to use as a leash. ‘Don’t worry I will get them!’

‘No don’t, they are probably just after that badger set again!’ Scowled Timor irritably.

‘Your to soft upon them.’ Veoine mocked and ignored his friend’s strong insistence that he not bother, the engineer been out of temper all day for some reason. A few of Timor’s men went with the cavalry captain, used to looking for his wayward hounds and headed up to the gorge.

The hounds gregarious creatures that they were let out joyous yelps and barks at the new people they found in the woods, before attempting to dig the dosing men out. Veoine been a trifle tired lagged behind the young engineers who ran up the slope to catch there captains naughty hounds. Luff and Buff to busy with there excavations to notice them were caught easily and wined piteously when they attempted to drag them away. It was unfortunate that one of the young men happened to step over close to the trench and his foot slipped down through the fake ground.

When this happened all hell broke lose. The young engineer called out to his companions that he had found some men hiding. Leoff who had been deep asleep was suddenly roused as Vas, startled awake scrabbled over him. ‘We are discovered!’ Blake said horrified. Leoff was up in a flash, his mind still sluggish from sleep, but his reactions were swift. Without thinking his sword was out and he burst forth from the trench. They were outnumbered, but with some luck they could fight there way free he thought as his sword made short work of the man calling his companions down upon Leoff’s small group.

Vas was swiftly as his back, but Blake still lay at the bottom of the trench gaping up at them like a fish. Veoine’s men, as well as the rest of Timor’s now ran to aid their fallen companion. A few rushed at Leoff and Vas who managed to fend them off easily, mortaly wounding another two engineers, who for the most part had little fighting skill, but much bravery. Veoine’s cavaliers fared much better but Leoff was a gladiator fighter who had seen worce odds, he was an expert at such close combat fights leting his insticts take over him as he had in the Imperial areina.

Loeff was taking some wounds, but nothing that would stop him. He felt no pain. Only the desire to fight, to get free. His vision was a red hase. He had a man on the floor and he bit there neck unable to draw his sword out of the outher man he had just felled swiftly enough. Vas stood back in horror, Leoff was fighting with a savagry he had not seen him use since he fought that suicidely unevan match in the arina. He had never thought he would have to witness such a sight again. He wanted to escape as well, but he could not find the will to act, made stupid and impotent by the violence infront of him.

Veoine seeing what was going on shouted for them to stop. It was to no avail, recognising the young man who was fighting like a berserka he ran in to the fray his wiery body hiting the larger man's hard, forcing him to the floor. His men then had Leoff’s group completely surrounded but seeing no way. The dark haired man with Daen's brother threw himself upon his heaving chest, perhaps to sheal him. The young mans eyes were wild, his face contorted with blood lust. Veoine watched, holding his men back with a gesture of his hand as the dark haired man spoke franticly to the still strugaling and snarling younger male, tying to talk him out of his berserk state. After a while Leoff went limp and lay panting, his puipils dialated. The dark haired man on top of his let out a sigh of releef. Leoff roled his eyes towards the blond capatin who looked down at the body of the dead soldier, and then up at the walking wounded before he rubbed his brow wearily.

His blue eyes pierced Leoff as he asked rhetorically. ‘What have you done?’




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Hope you all like this; I finally managed to get around to Vespa and Veoine getting together!