1

Ganry and Myriam made slow progress. They didn’t speak. Partly to avoid making any unnecessary noise and partly because Ganry was annoyed with himself for having got unwittingly caught up in whatever mess was unfolding in the Kingdom of Palara. Eventually, the creek that they had been following crossed under a bridge, and he decided to chance their luck on the road for a while, heading in the general direction of Castle Locke.

“Do you know where you’re going?” asked Myriam quietly, sitting behind Ganry on his horse.

“Not exactly, but Castle Locke lies due west from the Kingdom of Palara, so we’re heading the right way.” He waved his hand in a vague westerly direction. “Why is Locke a safe haven for you anyway? Who’s waiting for you there?”

“My mother’s family hold Castle Locke.”

They rode on in silence for a while.

As they rounded a bend in the road, they came upon an armed road block.

“Halt! Who goes there?” challenged one of the soldiers.

Ganry quickly assessed the situation. Two soldiers, the one who spoke with his hand on his sword hilt, and the other with an arrow held loosely in his bow. He knew that the archer would pose the biggest problem. Even if they turned to gallop away, the bowman could easily shoot their horse down.

“It’s them!” The archer raised his bow.

Without hesitation, Ganry pulled a knife from his boot and threw it at the archer, hitting him high in the shoulder. The arrow sailed harmlessly over their heads. He spurred his horse, Bluebell, forward and rode directly at the remaining soldier, drawing one of his short blades. In one smooth motion he slashed at the soldier’s face as Bluebell pushed past. The soldier bellowed in pain and fell off his mount. His comrade, with a knife in his shoulder, was none too keen to follow them. Ganry urged Bluebell on without looking back, and they remained at a canter until they had put several miles between them.

Myriam turned around but did not see any sign of pursuit. “They’re not following us. Are we safe for now?”

“Princess, we are a long way from safe,” cautioned Ganry. “Those soldiers will call for reinforcements and will be after us in no time. Plus, there’s no knowing what lies ahead. We have a couple more hours of daylight left, then we’ll need to find somewhere to spend the night.” Ganry turned Bluebell off the road and returned to the forest trails where they were less likely to encounter soldiers or other travelers. They followed the creek, pushing deeper into the forest, always heading to the west.

“So it seems that your Uncle is not that keen for you to leave the castle,” observed Ganry wryly, breaking the silence. He might as well try to learn more about what the the hell was going on. “Are you ready to explain why I’m fighting Palaran soldiers, with a Palaran Princess?”

Myriam didn’t respond for a time. Ganry thought she might have fallen asleep. He heard her sigh softly. “My father has held the throne of Palara for the last twenty years,” began Myriam. “He has one brother, my uncle, Duke Harald. Harald has never married. His focus has always been on our kingdom’s army and our defenses. It’s been a relatively peaceful period for our Kingdom, a time of prosperity. My father never really discusses affairs of state with me, but things seemed to begin to sour between them last summer. My uncle wanted to mount a campaign to expand our Kingdom, to overpower our weaker neighbors. My father refused.”

Ganry stifled a yawn. He wasn’t really interested anymore, but talking would help keep him awake. “So how did you escape the coup?”

“Leonidavus, my tutor, had become worried about the tension between my father and my uncle. For the last few weeks, one of my handmaidens slept in my bed and I slept in one of the spare rooms in Leonidavus’s chambers. When my uncle took control and had my family arrested, I had just enough time to escape before they realized that the girl in my bed was not me.”

Ganry was impressed with the subterfuge and the young blond girl’s resilience. “And tell me again, why is your uncle hunting you?”

“He wants to kill me so I no longer have a claim to the throne. Either that or he wants to marry me to cement his own claim.” Ganry could hear her teeth clench. “I would slit my wrists before marrying him.”

“I see,” nodded Ganry. He tried to change the subject. Might as well find out a bit more about the reception they were likely to get. “So how well do you know your mother’s family?”

Myriam shivered in the growing cold, and the emerging dusk. “Not very well. My grandfather, my mother’s father, died when she was quite young. It is my grandmother who is the head of the house now. They control all the land in the Berghein Valley. My tutor, Leonidavus, was from Berghein. I am sure that I will find sanctuary there. My grandmother will protect me.”

The creek that they were following eventually led them to an old mill with an inn next to it, set back from the road. Ganry went inside to check whether they had any rooms available. Myriam sat patiently on Bluebell, who had dropped his head to snack on the lush grass that was growing nearby. The forest was quiet. She could hear the wheel of the mill turning slowly as the water rushed through it, creaking and groaning.

“I’ve booked us one room,” said Ganry as he emerged from the inn. “I’ve said that you are my daughter, traveling home to our farm in the west. Try and keep yourself hidden as much as possible, and don’t talk to anyone.” He led Bluebell around the back of the inn to the stables and made sure that he had food and water for the night, before he escorted Myriam upstairs to the small room that they would be sharing.

“Thank you,” said Myriam softly as she sat on one of the narrow beds.

“For what?” asked Ganry, the evening light catching the tears that glistened on the cheeks of Myriam.

“For helping me. For protecting me.”

“Just doing my job,” nodded Ganry gruffly, embarrassed by the display of vulnerability and the fragility of the cargo that he had been entrusted with. He opened the window of their room and breathed deeply as he looked out over the forest. The air was still, the forest was quiet. The calm before the storm, he thought grimly.

The last ten years on the road had left Ganry feeling exhausted and emotionally drained. He had seen things that he would not have believed possible: the cruelty of men, the evil caused by greed. He too had done a lot of things that he was not proud of, things that disturbed his dreams and kept him awake at night.

Ganry laid his weapons out on his bed. He began cleaning the short blade that he had used to fight off the soldier at the road block, wiping the blood away. The throwing knife that he had used on the archer would have to be replaced. He was disappointed about that. It was one of his favorites. Light and easy to carry but deadly accurate in the hands of an experienced fighter.

His most treasured weapon was his long sword. Forged by the mysterious Grimlock bladesmiths, it was one of the last remaining swords of its kind. No one knows what happened to the fabled Grimlocks, and their secret blacksmithing techniques died with them. Ganry picked up the sword reverently and gently ran his finger down the length of the dark blade, admiring the craftsmanship, the strength, and the power of the one constant in his life. He sheathed the sword and pulled out another of his daggers, handing it to Myriam.

“You should have a weapon, just in case.” Ganry liked this blade too, and was reluctant to give it away. He had a strange fondness for all his weapons. They were his only family now. He briefly considered her earlier threat and wondered if this would be the blade she would use to slit her wrists if Harald ever forced their marriage.

“I already have one,” said Myriam meekly, pulling up her dress slightly to draw a small dagger attached to her slender calf. “It’s just a knife really, I guess.” She presented it to him. “My mother gave it to me three years ago. It is a Palaran custom to present a ceremonial dagger upon a girl’s twelfth birthday, to symbolize her entering womanhood.”

“It’s beautiful,” admired Ganry, taking it carefully from the Princess, turning it over and studying it. It was an elaborately decorated dagger, with precious stones and gems decorating the handle. The blade itself shone almost white as it caught the evening light that filled the room. He could tell it was made by a master. “Who forged this?”

“I’m not sure who made it, my mother never told me. She said it had been in her family for generations. She called it ‘Harkan’. It came with this ring.” Myriam held out her hand. Ganry examined the ring and noted that it was a perfect match for the knife. It was decorated in the same gems, shining with the same bright, white light.

“Keep these hidden,” cautioned Ganry. “You shouldn’t show anyone that you have them. It will only attract undue attention. Only draw the blade if your life depended on it.” Ganry packed his weapons away and stored most of them under his bed for the night, tucking a simple dagger into his belt as a precautionary measure. “We’d better go downstairs and get some food before the kitchen closes,” he said, leading the way. “Keep your cloak on, and try to remain discreet.”

2

Ganry and Myriam took a seat at one of the small tables in the bar. The innkeeper came over and took their orders. Venison stew was the only food available. Ganry ordered ale, and Myriam took small sips of watered wine. The only other patrons in the inn were three shady looking brutes sitting at the back, nursing tankards. They stared at Myriam, making her uncomfortable. She was glad of Ganry’s rough appearance and muscular physique. They instinctively sensed that Ganry would not be easy pickings, so left them alone.

The food at the inn was surprisingly good, large chunks of meat in a thick gravy, served with a loaf of fresh bread. They both ate heartily, their stomachs reminding them that it had been a long time since their last meal, after a hard day of riding.

As they were eating, a well-dressed young man entered the inn. He carried a longbow over his shoulder and looked like a nobleman. Ganry rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger, uneasy at the prospect that agents from Castle Villeroy may have tracked them down. The young nobleman took a seat at the bar and ordered some wine. He carried a large pouch of coins by his side, which did not escape the notice of the three brutes at the back. On closer inspection, Ganry sensed the young man was nervous and inexperienced, almost like he didn’t belong in an inn like this. He was unlikely to be looking for them, but still Ganry still kept his guard up.

The largest of the brutes smacked his fist on table, making Myriam jump in surprise. “You seem a long way from home, little man,” he said loudly, attracting the attention of the nobleman.

“Just passing through,” replied the young man politely, sipping his wine at the other end of the bar from Ganry and Myriam.

“Do you have any spare coin for some honest woodsmen?” asked another of the men, getting up from their table and leaning next to the nobleman. This one was slimmer, with a hooked nose like a hawk. He had the type of smug face that Ganry just wanted to punch. “The least you could do is buy us a drink!”

They don’t look anything like woodsmen. Woodsmen don’t carry swords.

“Not today, sorry gentlemen,” replied the nobleman, trying to sound firm but looking increasingly nervous.

“Oh, we’re not gentlemen…” snarled the third brute, standing in an intimidating position behind the nobleman. This one was even uglier than hawk-nose, with a long scar along his jaw. “My friend here asked if you would be so kind as to buy us a drink. If you’re going to be rude, then we will have to show you exactly just who is in charge in these here woods!”

“You should help him,” whispered Myriam to Ganry.

“Why? It’s not our fight. You don’t know who he is. He could be one of Duke Harald’s men out looking for you.”

“Give us your money!” shouted the largest brute, who was now standing threateningly in front of the nobleman. He grabbed the young man around the neck, tipping him off his stool, sending him crashing to the floor. He yanked the coin pouch, pocketing it, and they all began kicking the young man, stomping on him as he rolled around on the floor at their feet. They cheered each other on, laughing all the while.

“He looks familiar,” whispered Myriam urgently. “I insist that you help him! Criminals should not have free rein in my father’s kingdom. He would not have tolerated that.”

Ganry reluctantly stood, drawing the attention of the men to him. “That’s enough now, fellas. Take his gold and leave him be.”

“Mind your business!” snarled the largest brute. He drew his knife, took a few steps forward and pointed it at Ganry’s face. “Or you’ll be next.” He leered at Myriam sitting behind Ganry, her eyes wide in fear. She thought the brute looked a lot scarier now that he was closer, and directing his focus on her. She instantly regretted asking Ganry to help. There were three of them and only one of him. The brute grabbed his crotch crudely. “And we’ll have some fun with that sweet girl you’ve got hiding under that cloak.”

“You asked for it.” Ganry had held onto his tankard as he stood from the bar. While the large brute’s attention was focused on Myriam, Ganry smashed his tankard over the brute’s head, forcing him to reel back with a bloodied cranium, and drenched in ale.

Scar-jaw came running with his fist raised. Ganry kicked him in the knee, sending him sprawling to the ground in pain.

Hawk-nose drew his sword. “You bastard. I’m gonna slice and dice you, and then poke that bitch of yours until she screams for more.”

In one quick motion, Ganry stepped in to meet him, catching him with a straight left jab to his beak like nose, crushing it with satisfaction. “Let me give you some friendly advice,” Ganry hissed, grabbing him by the throat. “A dagger is much better at close quarters. Here, let me demonstrate.” Ganry drew his dagger, sticking hawk-nose in the stomach, dragging the blade up and out.

The large brute rushed at Ganry, who swiped his dagger in a horizontal arc, cutting the brute’s face, drawing a howl of pain and anger. Ganry stomped on the hand of Scar-jaw, who was reaching for his own dagger. He thought about leaving it at that, but he didn’t want to wake up in the middle of the night with large men looming over him, so he thrust his blade into Scar-jaw’s neck, silencing him for good. Ganry pivoted immediately behind the large brute, quickly slitting his throat. He stepped towards Hawk-nose to finish him off, but he already lay in a pool of his own blood, his intestines spilled on the floor.

“What am I going to do with these bodies!” protested the innkeeper, emerging from behind the bar where he had been hiding.

“They’re thieves,” replied Ganry. “Probably rapists too. Bury them like thieves. Just don’t put them in your stew.”

“You didn’t have to kill them!” exclaimed Myriam, helping the battered nobleman to his feet.

“I tried asking nicely,” Ganry shrugged. “Men like that only respond to one thing.”

“Princess Myriam?” asked the nobleman weakly, trying to focus on Myriam’s face.

“Yes. Do I know you?”

“What are you doing?” growled Ganry. “Do not reveal your identity!”

“I know him. I think. Get some water for him, please.” Ganry grudgingly fetched a pitcher of water and helped Myriam guide the injured man to their table.

“Thank you for your help.” He sat down gingerly. “I am Artas,” said the nobleman. “My father is Lord Holstein.”

“Lord Holstein? I do know you! He is one of my father’s closest allies!” exclaimed Myriam. “I remember you, Artas! What are you doing here?”

“When Duke Harald took control of Castle Villeroy, he arrested my father and all of my family. I only just managed to escape through the stables with my bow and a small pouch of spare change.” He looked around for his coin pouch. His bow was laying on the floor, miraculously undamaged in the brief scuffle.

Ganry unceremoniously flipped the large brute over, retrieving Artas’s pouch, and dropped it on the table in front of him. The cord fell open and Ganry could see that it was filled to the brim with gold, more than he would earn in ten years. Spare change, he called it. Ganry rolled his eyes. Myriam grabbed the bow and handed it to Artas.

“Where will you go now?”

“I’m not sure, I just need to find somewhere safe until I can work out how to free my family.”

“Ride with us!” Myriam suggested brightly. “We’re headed for Castle Locke.”

Ganry shook his head. “No, this is a really bad idea. He cannot ride with us. We probably have to kill him now that you have told him where we are going.” He was only half-joking.

“Nonsense,” dismissed the Princess. “Artas and I used to play together when we were children. His family have always been our most loyal supporters. He will travel with us and that is final. I will pay you more gold if that is what is required.” Ganry grumbled unhappily, soothed a little by the prospect of more gold.

“We can’t stay here tonight though. It’s too dangerous. We’ll have to get moving.”

“Artas needs time to recover. Surely it is more dangerous for us to travel at night? Can we not stay until morning?” Ganry looked across at the innkeeper who was watching them intently. He walked over to speak with him at the bar.

“I’ll help you dispose of these bodies,” said Ganry, nodding towards the three dead ‘woodsmen’ that lay on the floor. “You can keep whatever they were carrying except for one horse, which I’ll need. My young nobleman friend here will also leave you a generous tip, by way of an apology for causing such a commotion in your establishment. Do we have a deal?” The innkeeper nodded warily. Ganry knew that he was going to have to keep watch all night. This mission seemed to be becoming increasingly more difficult with each hour that passed.

3

Ganry roused Myriam and Artas early the next morning so that they could continue their journey. As soon as the sun began to lighten the sky, they moved quickly away from the inn and the damage that they had left behind.

Artas slowed his horse to ride next to Myriam, leaving Ganry to ride a little ways ahead. He wanted a quiet word with the Princess of Palara.

“Princess, who is this man,” Artas indicated with his head toward Ganry. “And are you sure you can trust him?”

“Please Artas, call me Myriam. No formalities. I don’t know Ganry well, but my tutor Leonidavus vouched for him, and I trust Leonidavus. I’m not sure whether we can trust him though. Why don’t we ask him?” Artas quickly shook his head, but Myriam smiled sweetly at him, and raised her voice. “Ganry! Artas wants to know if you are trustworthy.”

Ganry turned in his saddle, placing his hand on his sword hilt. “You doubt my honor, boy?” he growled.

Artas raised his hands defensively. “I… no… of course not, never,” he stammered.

Ganry harrumphed and turned back around, half grinning to himself.

Myriam stuck out her tongue at Artas.

She was in a bright mood as they continued to ride along the forest trail that followed the creek westward. “Does your horse have a name, Artas?”

“His name is Orton,” smiled Artas weakly. He was still in pain from the night before, and also realized that Myriam had been having fun at his expense.

“He’s beautiful!” admired Myriam. “Ganry’s horse is called Bluebell. But I guess we don’t know what this guy is called,” she said, affectionately patting the neck of the horse that she was now riding, having liberated it from the dead ‘woodsmen’. “I think I’ll call you Oaken out of respect for your previous owner.”

“No need to pay any respect to his previous owner!” laughed Ganry. “They were oafish brutes who would have happily killed us once they were finished with young Artas here.”

“You can’t hold Oaken responsible for that,” protested Myriam. “Don’t worry, Oaken,” she said, ruffling the horse’s mane. “I’ll take care of you. We’ll make a good team.”

Artas smiled to himself. He couldn’t help but be infected by Myriam’s cheerful personality, though he was still worried about what lay ahead. “Do you know the forests of Cefinon well, Ganry?”

“No, this is not my country. The road is not safe for us though, so the forest is our best bet. As long as we keep heading west, then we are going in the right direction.” They rode on in silence for a while, picking their way along the forest trail that followed alongside the creek. Ganry spotted a few hares running about, and pointed them out to both Myriam and Artas. “Are you good with that longbow, kid?”

“I’m lethal,” grinned Artas.

“I’m not talking about hitting a target at archery practice. I’m talking shooting a moving object. Maybe even in an actual fight, a battle.” Ganry wondered if he would be useful at all to have along. “Have you ever seen combat?”

“I have often won first place at royal tourneys.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t fill me with confidence,” said Ganry, shaking his head.

“Tell us about your sword, Ganry,” interjected Myriam, looking for a way to change the subject. “How long have you had it?”

“A warrior’s sword is a very personal thing.” Ganry was always hesitant to discuss his longsword. It was special, and rare. The types of qualities that made other men envious.

“My guess is you were a soldier or a knight of some kind,” said Artas.

“Yes, a long time ago I served the Emperor Fontleroy. I led his legions into battle. This sword has kept me alive.”

“Where did it come from? It’s such an unusual design.”

“It was forged by the Grimlock, high in the Limestone Mountains.”

“My father has a Grimlock blade,” said Artas. “He never talked much about it, except that it had a strange unpronounceable name. All Grimlock blades are apparently ancient. Was it created for you?”

“No, smart ass” said Ganry, shaking his head. He scratched at his growing beard. “I may seem old to you young-uns, but I’m not that old. This sword has been in our family for generations. It’s name in the common-tongue, depending on the scholar you ask, translates to either Wind or Storm. I’ve always just called it WindStorm.”

“I like it!” clapped Myriam.

The winding trail that they were following brought them within sight of a small wooden cabin, nestled in the forest.

“Wait here.” Ganry dismounted from his horse and walked cautiously towards the cottage. He knocked at the door, and after a few minutes, it was opened by an elderly man. Myriam and Artas could see Ganry talking with him, eventually waving them forward. “We can eat here and refresh the horses.”

The old man prepared a simple meal of bread and cheese. He had a long white beard and wore a strange looking conical hat. He was affable, generous with the food, and welcoming to the strangers. Myriam liked him instantly. He pottered around his small kitchen, bringing refreshments to the table. Myriam saw that his home was well-kept, though there were many strange jars. She wondered what they contained. Finally, the old man sat at the table and joined them.

“This is very kind of you,” said Myriam, thanking the man as he tore the bread into pieces.

“It’s nothing, child. We don’t often get visitors as special as you,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

“Oh, we’re not special,” deflected Myriam. “We’re just traveling through, heading back to our farm.”

“My dear girl, you’ve never set foot on a farm. And neither has your noble young friend here,” he looked pointedly at Artas. “Well, you all seem a long way from home.”

“You are very perceptive old man,” cut in Ganry. “But enough questions, the less you know about our business the better.”

“Indeed, these are troubled times…” nodded the old man sagely. “Kingdoms are in turmoil, and a princess has gone missing…”

Ganry and Myriam exchanged a worried look.

“Relax,” the old man continued. “Who am I gong to tell?” His eyes sparkled. “In fact, I have a gift for you.” From his pocket he pulled out a thin silver chain and held it out towards Myriam.

“Oh! It’s beautiful,” admired Myriam. “But honestly, I couldn’t accept it, you really don’t need to give us anything.”

“Take it,” insisted the old man. “Silver will help keep you pure and help ward off those that seek to harm you. Silver shimmers in the sun and shines in the light of the moon.”

“It sounds like magic!” gasped Myriam as she allowed the old man to place the chain into the palm of her hand.

“Child, magic is a word that people use when they are unable to explain what they are seeing and feeling.” The old man watched closely as Artas secured the chain around the neck of Myriam. “Objects can have power though, if we let them. If we believe in them.”

“Thank you,” said Myriam, tracing her fingers lightly along the silver chain that now hung around her neck.

“Time to go,” announced Ganry firmly, standing up and preparing to leave.

“Safe travels children. My door is always open to you.”

“You are too kind, thank you,” said Myriam. “What is your name?”

“Barnaby,” smiled the old man kindly, with a half bow. “I am known as Barnaby of Bravewood.”

4

“Do you think he is a wizard?” asked Myriam, looking back over her shoulder at Barnaby who was watching them ride away.

“There’s no such thing as wizards,” scoffed Ganry.

“What do you think he meant by the power of this silver chain then?” Myriam ran the fine links of the chain between her fingers.

“He’s just a lonely old man making up stories. Pay him no heed.”

“Well, I think it’s all very mysterious. I like the idea of being a bit magical. It would be so much easier if I could simply cast a spell on uncle Harald and release my family from the dungeon.” Tears began to roll down Myriam’s cheeks at the thought of her family being held captive, possibly already dead.

“Hey… come on…” soothed Artas. “We have to stay strong. If we give up hope then there will be no chance of them being rescued.”

“You’re right, thanks Artas,” said Myriam firmly, wiping the tears from her face. “Sorry. It just all got a bit too much for me for a moment there.”

“Shhh!” hissed Ganry, pulling his horse to a stop. “Listen!” Artas and Myriam halted their horses and strained their ears to try and hear what had caught Ganry’s attention.

“Is that dogs? Barking?” asked Artas, trying to catch the distant sound that seemed to be carried on the breeze.

“Hunting dogs,” nodded Ganry.

“Hunters?” asked Myriam. “Do you think that they’re hunting us?”

“It’s hard to tell,” replied Ganry. “We can’t take any chances though.”

“Do you think we’re safe on this trail?” Artas shifted nervously on his horse. “Should we move deeper into the forest?”

“I don’t really want to lose sight of this creek, or we might lose our bearings. I’m guessing that they’re out near the road somewhere, but if they’re looking for us then we have to expect that they’ll start to push into the forest eventually.”

“If we can’t get to the road, where will we find shelter tonight?” asked Myriam.

“We’ll have to camp out. Let’s try and pick up the pace while we still have daylight, and then we can look for a clearing to make camp.”

The three horses moved briskly along the forest trail, the travelers keeping any conversation to a minimum. They needed to stay alert for any sign that the hunters may be drawing closer, or that they were on their trail. As the light of day began to dim and evening began to fall, Ganry found a clearing in the forest that seemed a suitable place for them to spend the night. Myriam secured the horses while Ganry built a fire. Artas soon returned with a couple of ducks that he had shot down by the creek.

“We’ll have a feast in no time,” smiled Ganry, pulling out one of his knives to begin preparing the ducks, skewering them onto a stick so that they could be roasted over the hot coals from the fire. “We’ll need to set a watch. We’ll take it turns,” he said to Artas.

“I can take a turn too,” volunteered Myriam.

“Okay,” nodded Ganry. “That way we’ll all get a few hours sleep.”

“No, Princess, you can’t stand watch,” objected Artas. “It’s not right. I will take your watch for you.”

“That’s very sweet of you Artas, but we have a long journey ahead of us, and we all need to keep our strength up. I can take my turn on the watch. I promise that the minute a twig snaps or owl hoots, then I will wake you both up.” Artas reluctantly agreed and they focused on slicing off pieces of the roasting ducks.

Ganry took the first watch while Artas and Myriam slept. The forest was quiet. It was a still night, dark beneath the canopy of the trees, the stars hidden somewhere above. Ganry stared into the glowing embers of the fire, poking it gently with a stick to keep it burning. He was annoyed with himself for having gotten into this position, putting himself at risk in a fight that had nothing to do with him. He hated to admit it, but he felt protective of Myriam, the Princess of Palara. She was around the age that his own daughter would have been had she lived.

Ruby. His daughter’s name had been Ruby. So full of life and love, Ganry felt sick at the memory of her loss. She had been taken from him while still so young. He liked to think that Ruby would have been as strong and as independent as Myriam was proving to be. He had grown fond of Artas also. The young nobleman was so innocent and naive in the ways of the world, but with a strong sense of honor, duty, and loyalty. Despite his teasing, Ganry could see that Artas’s bow skills were impressive.

He smiled wryly to himself. Here he was, an old worn out warrior, traipsing across the country trying to keep these two kids out of trouble. He pulled out his sword, WindStorm, and began to polish it gently, the light from the fire flickering in reflection along the blade, making it seem almost as if it were alight; a sword of flame, ready to burn its enemies to ash.

Ganry returned WindStorm to its scabbard. There would be time enough for fighting, for battles, and for bringing enemies to justice. He always hoped that one day he would find peace, a quiet corner of the world where no one shouted for war, where no one was gripped by greed. Yet whenever he felt that he was getting close to that moment, something would drag him back into action, back into the fire.

5

It was deep in the night when Ganry woke Artas to take his turn on the watch. Artas rubbed his eyes to try and clear his head, propping himself up by the fire. He had only slept fitfully, disturbed by dreams, his imagination fueled by the fear and uncertainty of the world around him. Ganry wrapped himself in his cloak and turned his back to the flames.

Artas looked across at the sleeping form of Myriam. While they had played together as children, he had not spoken to Myriam for years. They moved in different circles and the life of a royal princess was sheltered and protected—even from nobles such as himself. Getting to know her better as they traveled on this journey, Artas was forming a deep bond of affection for her, like a sister, reinforcing his loyal belief that she was the rightful heir to the throne of Palara and his commitment to keeping her safe.

The fate of his own family continued to plague his thoughts. Their arrest had been sudden and unforeseen. It was difficult to know how brutal Duke Harald would be in eliminating the King and his supporters. All that Artas could do was to hope that they remained alive, to hope that somehow they would be reunited. The night went slowly by, Artas lost in his thoughts as he stared into the glowing embers of the fire.

A twig cracked in the darkness. Artas reached for his bow. Then, silence. He remained alert, fearful that someone or something was watching them. The horses became restless. Their movement woke Ganry. Artas brought his fingers to his lips, indicating the need for silence.

“Do we have company?” whispered Ganry.

“I don’t know,” replied Artas quietly. There was a sound, then the horses became unsettled. Something is not right.

“Wake Myriam,” instructed Ganry, firmly gripping the hilt of WindStorm. Artas gently placed his hand on Myriam’s shoulder and she quickly stirred, heeding his signal to be quiet.

“It could be nothing,” reflected Artas.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” said Ganry. The three travelers sat beside the fire, their backs to each other, peering out into the darkness. “What animals live in Cefinon Forest?” Ganry asked Artas as the night lay still around them.

“Deer mainly. There are some bears in the mountains.”

“What about animals that would move at night?”

“Foxes. Occasionally wolves. Stoats and weasels. That kind of thing I guess.”

“Yes… a fox would be curious enough to investigate us, before deciding that we were too big to bother with. Wolves would have moved quicker to attack the horses. Just to be on the safe side, let’s all stay awake for the remainder of the night. Daybreak can’t be too far away.”

Eventually, the morning sun’s rays began to emerge through the gloom of the forest. They saddled up the horses and resumed the journey along the trail beside the creek. Artas couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t alone.

The sound of barking dogs broke through the stillness.

“Let’s pick up the pace,” urged Ganry. “They aren’t on our tail, but those hunters are getting closer.”

After several miles of hard riding, the trail that they were following led them towards a large house. Ganry pulled to a stop just on the edge of the clearing. “Who would live out here?”

“It looks like some sort of estate,” observed Artas. “Should we just avoid it and keep going?”

“We could do with some grain for the horses as well as some food for ourselves,” mused Ganry. “Why don’t you go and see if you can find anyone, and what sort of reception you get. Myriam and I will remain concealed here. Do not reveal your identity, we have no idea where the loyalties of these people might lie.” They watched as Artas slowly rode his horse Orton into the grounds of the estate and out of sight.

“Do you think those hunters are chasing us?” asked Myriam while they waited.

“We have to assume that they are,” nodded Ganry. “If your uncle has put a bounty on your head, then we have to assume that everyone is chasing us—even people that you may think are our friends. We’ve no idea how long your uncle has been planning this coup.”

“I wish my father had talked with me more about the affairs of state,” sighed Myriam. “Any time that I asked questions, he said that I was too young and that he would tell me everything when I was older. I know a lot about romantic poetry and music, but not much else. Nothing that is of any use to us right now.”

“You never know when you’ll need some romantic poetry.”

“Well, with you two for companions, I don’t think I’ll have any need in the near future!” laughed Myriam.

A few moments later Artas came riding back from the house.

“What did you find?” asked Ganry.

“It looks okay. This is a summer house for the Stapleton family. They’re not here, but if we pay the foreman then we can refresh the horses and they will give us some supplies as well.”

“Perfect. Lead the way.”

They soon had their horses unsaddled. A table had been laid for them for lunch.

“So where are you heading?” asked the estate’s foreman, joining them at their meal.

“West,” replied Ganry, “back to our farm there.”

“Unusual to be traveling along the old forest trail? Why don’t you take the main road?”

“There seems to be a lot of soldiers on the road at the moment. We’re simple folk. Easier to keep out of the way of trouble.”

“You know… I had some hunters through here a day or so ago.”

“Oh?” replied Ganry, biting into some bread and cheese, trying to appear disinterested.

“Yes, they were hunting some people. A man and a girl. They were offering a hefty reward for their capture. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

“Like I said, we’re simple folk. We haven’t heard anything about that.”

“I’ve never seen a farmer carry a sword like that one,” insisted the foreman.

“It’s just a family heirloom. It’s useful for deterring bandits. And people who ask too many questions.” Ganry glared at him. He could tell the foreman would cause trouble. They would need to leave here sooner than they planned.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Myriam apologized to the foreman. “It’s been a long journey for us and my father is tired and irritable. Please, tell me how much we owe you for your hospitality and we’ll be on our way.”

Artas handed over the payment and they quickly gathered up their horses and resumed their journey along the trail.

“You know that he’s going to try and collect that ransom from the hunters. They’ll be on our trail before nightfall,” grumbled Ganry as the estate vanished into the trees behind them.

“I don’t think your farmer story is particularly effective,” said Artas. “None of us look like simple folk for starters. You are a warrior, and we are obviously noble.”

“The farmer story is fine,” Ganry insisted. “You just need to act more convincingly. Or why don’t you come up with something better next time.”

“Perhaps I will. Anyway, if they know that we’re on this trail, then their dogs will be able to track our scent whichever direction we go.”

“The road is definitely too dangerous, we’re going to need to push deeper into the forest. Let’s take the horses into the water of the creek for a while, try and lose the scent.”

They could only make slow progress, but the horses tentatively picked their way along the narrow bed of the creek, dodging the loose stones and deep pot holes.

“There are fish swimming between the legs of the horses,” observed Myriam. “Should we try and catch some?”

“Let’s focus on getting somewhere safe first,” cautioned Ganry. “We’re going to need to find a camp within a few hours. It’s going to be another long night without much sleep.” The sound of barking dogs floated on the breeze that stirred through the leaves of the forest. “We need to stay in the water a bit longer, and then we’ll try and find cover.”

After another mile of slow progress through the water of the creek, they came to a small stone bridge where a young man was fishing. He looked up in surprise as the three travelers approached. Ganry placed his hand firmly on this hilt of his sword.

“Hello,” said the young man cautiously.

“Hello,” replied Artas.

“Why are you walking your horses in the water?” asked the young man. “You’re scaring all the fish away.”

“Sorry about that. We had just got a bit muddy on the path, a lazy way for us to clean their hooves.”

“Oh,” replied the young man, not particularly convinced.

“You live around here?” asked Ganry. The young man nodded. “What would we find if we rode that way?” Ganry pointed deeper into the forest.

“Why would you want to ride that way?” asked the young man perplexed. “There’s nothing but forest. It just gets deeper and darker and then there’s a big ravine. I don’t know what’s on the other side of the ravine, I haven’t found a way across it yet. Wait a minute, you’re hiding from those hunters aren’t you?”

“Don’t be silly,” quipped Artas, looking sidelong at Ganry. “Can’t you see we are just simple folk heading back to our farm? That sword and those blades that big man is carrying are all heirlooms. Myself and this young lady here, often enjoy dressing in our Sunday best while we toil in the fields.”

The young man just stared. “Err…”

“Artas!” laughed Myriam. “Yes, we’re hiding from the hunters. Have they been past here?”

“Yes, a couple of times,” nodded the young man. “I stay out of their way. Their dogs frighten the fish.”

“Would you help us?” asked Myriam. “We need somewhere safe to spend the night.”

The young man appeared to consider it. He had exchanged a few words with the hunters earlier. They claimed to be seeking a young servant girl who eloped with an older man. The young lady in front of him was definitely no servant, he knew that much. Her demeanor suggested one high-born. The young man claiming to be a farmer was dressed in fine, well cut clothes. He hesitated because of the large warrior glaring at him menacingly. But a smile and nod of encouragement from the pretty girl made up his mind.

“It would be my pleasure. My cottage is only small. But it’s fairly well concealed. Follow me.” The young man picked up his fishing rod and the string of fish that he had caught and led the way down a small narrow path. The three travelers followed, dismounting from their horses so that they could thread through the undergrowth and dodge the low hanging branches of the forest which immediately became denser on this side of the creek.

After about ten minutes of walking, they came to a small clearing and a cottage made of logs and earth. There were a couple of goats tethered to a post and a handful of chickens scratching in the dirt. “Here we are!” said the young man proudly.

“You live here alone?” asked Myriam, noting that the cottage was particularly basic in every respect.

“Yes,” replied the young man. “I lived here with my father, but he died last winter.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” said Myriam sadly, his words making her think of her own parents. “How rude of us, we don’t even know your name. I’m Myriam, this is Artas, and that angry man is Ganry.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Hendon.”

“I guess you don’t get many visitors out here,” observed Myriam. “Don’t you get lonely?”

“I’m kind of used to it I suppose. I have the goats to keep me company. Will you share the fish that I caught?” Hendon proudly brandished the string of silvery brown trout.

“We would love to,” beamed Myriam, happy to be welcomed by a friendly face.

Hendon set to work and expertly cleaned and prepared the fish, throwing some small logs into the wood-burning stove so that he could heat a pan in which to fry them.

There weren’t enough chairs around the small table, so Hendon graciously stood while his guests sat to eat. He was captivated by the young girl. He thought she looked like a living doll, as she was extremely pretty. But Hendon thought the young man, Artas, was even more arresting, with his handsome good looks.

“Hendon, could you guide us through the forest?”

Hendon started, afraid that Artas had caught him staring. “The only way to head further west is to cross the ravine. There’s no way across.”

“Are there no paths leading down into the ravine?” asked Ganry, picking at his teeth with a fish bone.

“Nothing that I’ve found. The sides are sheer, even the goats don’t attempt it.”

“What are we going to do?” moaned Artas. “It feels like we’re trapped.”

“Horses can swim, can’t they?” asked Hendon. Ganry nodded. “About five miles downstream from here, the stream enters a large lake. If you could cross the lake, you should then be able to pick up another trail that would lead you to the west.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Ganry, getting up from his seat. “We’ll leave tomorrow. I expect you to guide us to this lake, Hendon.”

Hendon didn’t feel like he was being given a choice. “Okay.”

“Thank you, Hendon,” smiled Myriam brightly. “What about your goats and chickens?”

“My neighbor drops by occasionally. I’ll leave him a note to care for them until I return.”

Ganry stretched his arms wide and yawned. “We’d better get some sleep. It sounds like we’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Hendon insisted that Myriam take his bed while he slept on the floor with Ganry and Artas. Myriam slept deeply, dreaming of her grandmother and Castle Locke.

6

“You can ride with me,” Artas offered to Hendon. “Orton is strong enough to carry both of us,” he said, patting the neck of his horse. Hendon eagerly swung himself up to sit behind Artas. “Do we walk in the water of the creek again or risk taking the trail?”

“We’ll move much quicker on the trail,” decided Ganry. “We’ll just have to hope that the hunters are behind us and not ahead of us. Let’s go.”

Hendon and Artas led the way along the winding forest trail, snaking its way through the trees beside the crystal clear waters of the creek.

“Isn’t it dangerous? Living in the forest by yourself?” Myriam asked Hendon.

“Dangerous? What could harm me out here?”

“Oh, I don’t know, bears… wolves… woodsmen…” suggested Myriam.

“It’s more dangerous living in a castle by the sound of it.”

“You have a point,” sighed Myriam. “Maybe I would be better off living out here in the forest.”

The sound of barking dogs cut through their conversation.

“They’re close!” snarled Ganry, urging his horse into a fast canter. “How far to the lake?” he shouted to Hendon.

“Just a few more miles!” Hendon was clutching onto Artas to avoid falling off as they sped along the uneven track.

Artas rode up beside Ganry. “Sounds like they’re out on the road.” Another bout of barking suggested otherwise. “And behind us! We could have two packs on our tail!”

“They know we’re heading west. They must be covering every escape route possible. Let’s just hope that they haven’t thought of the lake. You go on ahead with Myriam. I’ll try and distract them and buy us some time!”

“Are you sure?” shouted Artas.

“Yes, go!” urged Ganry, pulling his horse Bluebell to a standstill and watching Artas and the others ride on towards the lake. The sound of barking dogs was drawing closer. Ganry quickly tried to think of a way that he could slow down the hunters that were in pursuit.

Meanwhile, Artas and Myriam drew within sight of the lake.

“Let’s aim for that rock over there on the other side,” pointed out Artas. “We can’t swim too far or the horses will tire. Try and keep the heavy cloaks dry by tying them on top of the saddle. We’ll need to swim with the horses to lead them. Quickly now!” Myriam followed Artas’s instructions, preparing Oaken to go into the water while Artas tied his cloak on to Orton’s saddle.

Myriam looked around in alarm. “Where’s Ganry?”

“He’ll be here,” reassured Artas. “Get going now, start swimming. They may chase us into the water.”

“Hendon! You should come with us,” Myriam waved her hand urgently, beckoning him. “If the hunters catch you, who knows what they will do to you.”

“I can’t! I have to stay!” protested Hendon.

“It’s too dangerous!” insisted Myriam. “At least help me swim Oaken to the other side!” Hendon relented and helped Myriam lead her horse into the water. They tentatively began to swim across the lake, leading Oaken towards the rock on the opposite shore. Artas looked hopefully down the track, trying to see some sign of Ganry. All of the sudden there came loud yelling.

“Artas! Your bow!” Ganry was riding recklessly down the narrow winding forest trail, as fast as he could possibly go. “The dogs! Shoot the dogs!”

Artas knelt one knee to the ground to steady his aim. He notched his first arrow and waited for a clean shot. As Ganry rounded the final bend, Artas could see a pack of large wolf-hounds almost upon him, barking, snarling, snapping at Bluebell’s hooves as he galloped along in panic. Artas released his first arrow and one of the dogs fell down. He calmly notched a second arrow and released it. Another dog fell. He could see that Ganry was also being pursued by men on horses. He contemplated targeting them but decided to follow Ganry’s instructions and loosed his third arrow to take down another dog. His fourth arrow and fifth arrow both missed. His sixth arrow finally felled the last wolf-hound just as Ganry skidded to a halt next to Artas at the edge of the lake.

Artas watched in amazement as Ganry spun Bluebell around on the spot and rode straight at the pursuing hunters. Drawing a wicked looking curved short-sword in his left hand, and his long sword in his right, he swung the blades with a mad fury that made the hunters hesitate in their attack. His long sword, WindStorm was just a blur, creating a high pitched whooshing sound as it cleaved through the air. Just like the wind.

Artas considered shooting his bow, but with Ganry in amongst the hunters, he didn’t want to risk it. It didn’t look like Ganry needed help in any case. In a few short moments, all four hunters had been cleanly dispatched. Artas saw that Bluebell was instrumental in the victory, using his body to barge into the other horses, knocking the men off balance. Ganry used his short blade to block, and WindStorm to thrust up close. He would swing the blade in big arcs to parry and cleave at a distance. As the last of the huntsmen fell from his horse, Ganry raised his sword high in the air and shouted in triumph at the empty forest.

“Ganry, we need to go!” urged Artas, securing his bow and cloak to the saddle of his horse, Orton, and leading him into the lake. “There are bound to be more huntsmen on our trail. We should keep moving.”

“Of course, you’re right. Sometimes the rush of battle overwhelms me.” Ganry quickly secured his cloak and sword to the saddle of the panting Bluebell and followed Artas into the water. They could see that Myriam and Hendon were almost half way across the lake, making good progress towards the rock they were aiming for.

“Nothing in this lake that we need to worry about?” shouted Ganry to Artas as they led their horses, swimming through the water.

“Such as what?”

“I don’t know… we never swam in the marshes of Llandaff because of the snakes there… just wondering if there was anything that I should be keeping an eye out for.”

“I think the catfish grow pretty big around here but let’s just get to dry land and try not to think about it.” Artas increased the speed of his swimming.

When they reached the other side of the lake, Hendon and Myriam helped to pull them up out of the water.

“Can we light a fire and try to keep warm?” asked Myriam.

“Given the mess that we’ve just left on the other side of the lake, I don’t think it would be wise to hang around. We should get moving,” said Ganry, trying to shake the water out of his pants. “Lead the way, Hendon.”

“I can’t go with you. I can’t leave my home,” protested Hendon.

“Hendon, there’s a whole world waiting out there for you. You’ve proven yourself useful. Look, Myriam is the princess of Palara. Serve your kingdom, boy. She needs you more than your goats and chickens.”

Hendon stood flabbergasted. He decided to drop to one knee. He heard that’s what people do in the presence of royalty.

“Oh, get up,” Ganry pulled him to his feet. “No time for that. You might not have been this way before, but you know the forest better than we do, so lead the way.” He gave Hendon a little push in the back. “That’s not a suggestion.”

Myriam tried to smooth the situation. “Please be nice, Ganry. Here Hendon, you can ride with me for a while.”

Hendon sighed, resigned to his predicament. He swung himself up behind Myriam, on the back of Oaken. “It’s this way,” he pointed.

They rode mostly in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. It was a warm day, and as they rode, their clothes soon began to dry.

“Are you okay?” asked Artas, falling back a little to ride next to Ganry.

“Yes, that was a close one. Thanks for your help back there. I didn’t stand a chance with those dogs on my heels. That’s some nice shooting. I knew it was a good idea to bring you along.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” chuckled Artas.

“Does this forest run all the way to the Berghein Valley?” Myriam asked Hendon.

“I’m not really sure,” replied Hendon. “I haven’t been this far before. But we’re traveling west so that’s the right direction at least, isn’t it?”

“Yes I guess so. I suppose there’s nothing stopping the hunters swimming across the lake too, but I feel that we’ve at least got a bit of a head start on them. I just wish we knew what lay ahead.”

“I can’t help you with that one, I’m afraid. Fortune telling has never been one of my strengths. You need Barnaby of Bravewood for that.”

“Barnaby?” Myriam touched the silver chain that hung around her neck. “You know him?”

“Yes of course,” nodded Hendon. “Everyone in the Cefinon Forest knows Barnaby.”

“He gave us food as we rode past his cottage. He gave me this nice little present. Are you saying he is a fortune teller?”

“There’s not much that Barnaby can’t do. At least that’s what he says. My father always warned me to stay away from him, saying that he practiced dark arts, but I’ve always found him fairly harmless. I like the stories he tells.”

“What sort of stories?”

“Stories about the forest and the kingdom mostly. Sometimes wilder stories of what the future might hold.”

“And what did he tell you that your future would hold?” probed Myriam.

“He said that I would meet a Princess and be swept away on an adventure.”

“Really?” gasped Myriam.

“No, I’m only joking,” laughed Hendon. “But he did say that silver will help ward off those that seek to harm you. Silver shimmers in the sun and shines in the light of the moon. He gave me one of those chains too.”

“We seem to be matching our jewelery well!” clapped Myriam. “This forest is full of surprises.”

The travelers followed the forest trail quietly for several hours until Ganry called them to a halt. “I can see smoke up ahead.”

“It could be the town of Athaca,” said Hendon. “I’ve heard that it’s somewhere here in the forest.”

Myriam tried to peer through the trees for signs of civilization. “Why would a town be all the way out here?”

“I think they log trees and then float them down the river to the port of Brammanville.”

“That could be handy if we wanted to go north,” mused Ganry. “But it doesn’t help us get west. The question is whether we go in or whether we try and keep a low profile and go around.”

“I don’t think we can go around,” noted Artas, pointing at the ground. “It looks like this trail goes straight into the town. It’s bordered by the river on one side and thick forest on the other.”

“Ride ahead Artas, see what you can find out,” suggested Ganry. “We’ll wait here for you.”

“Won’t we be fairly conspicuous if we rode into town?” asked Myriam.

“We may not have any option. Let’s see what Artas can find out.”

“So sad that they are cutting down the trees,” said Hendon quietly, watching the smoke drift lazily into the sky.

Myriam followed his gaze. “I guess they need them to build the boats though.”

“It hurts the forest,” Hendon said sadly.

“But can’t the trees grow back?”

“Barnaby says that new trees can grow, yes, but once a tree is cut down it dies, it’s spirit dies. He said that if you anger the forest then it will remember the pain that you have caused it. That the forest never forgets.”

“That’s a bit creepy isn’t it?” said Myriam, eyeing the trees around her slightly more circumspectly.

They waited about an hour before Artas finally rode back into their little makeshift resting place.

“So what’s the verdict?” Ganry asked Artas as he walked his horse towards them.

“We definitely have to go through. It would take us days to try and work our way around. Unless you want go up across the mountain, there’s no way that we’d be able to cross the river unless we go over the town’s bridge.”

“What’s the town like? How conspicuous will we be?”

“Hendon was right, it’s a logging town. But there seemed to be quite a few merchants and other travelers passing through, so if we keep a low profile we should be okay. There’s an inn not far from the gate that this trail will take us to. We could spend the night there until we get a better sense of the terrain that lies ahead of us.”

“Good work. Let’s do it,” accepted Ganry. “Lead on Artas, we’ll follow.”

7

Athaca was only a relatively small town. It was walled on all sides except where it faced the river. The River Walsall was one of the major waterways in the Kingdom of Palara, beginning high in the Basalt mountains, and flowing through the Cefinon Forest before reaching the Damatine Sea where the port of Brammanville had been built. The walls protecting Athaca were not made of stone, but of wood, from trees that had been felled from the forest. The gate that serviced the forest trail was relatively small, but it was manned by the town guard.

“What’s your business in Athaca?” demanded the guard as Ganry presented himself.

“We are returning to our farm in the west,” replied Ganry. “We seek lodging in Athaca for the night.”

“Not the farm again,” whispered Artas under his breath.

“Shut up,” Ganry hissed back, while smiling politely at the guard.

The guard looked at them suspiciously. He eventually produced a ledger. “Write your name in this book. We are to record all entrances and exits.” Ganry quickly made up names for them all and entered them into the book. “Any weapons to declare?” asked the guard.

“No,” replied Ganry, pulling his cloak tighter around him to conceal the sheath of his sword. “Just my son’s hunting bow.”

“Very well, carry on,” nodded the guard, opening the gate for them.

“I wrote our names as the Johannson family,” Ganry whispered to Artas. “We need to make sure that we use the same name when we ask for the room at the inn.”

“No problem… dad.”

“Shut up fool,” grinned Ganry.

The inn was fairly small and basic, but they were able to secure a room that would sleep them all. Hendon and Myriam took charge of the horses while Ganry and Artas investigated the town.

“Look at that, Artas. How industrious.” Ganry watched the tireless woodmen of Athaca at work. They were dragging the wood in from the forest and then tipping the logs into the river to send it downstream.

“How do they stop it from getting caught in a log-jam along the way?” wondered Artas aloud.

“I guess they have checkpoints of some kind along the river, plus they probably send men down on rafts to help clear any blockages.”

“They seem to be sending a lot of logs down. Do you think they’re building a lot of boats?”

“It could be that,” considered Ganry. “Perhaps some houses too? But mainly boats, I imagine. Duke Harald is likely increasing the size of his fleet.”

They walked on through the town and found the main gate that they would need to leave through in the morning in order to continue their journey westward.

“How are we going to get through that?” asked Artas, studying the heavily guarded gate.

“We’ll just have to hope that they accept that we’re the Johansson family and that they don’t ask us too many questions.”

“Isn’t that fairly risky?”

“No more risky than walking in like we’ve just done,” countered Ganry.

They returned to the inn and met up with Myriam, who was just about to go look for them.

“Should we try and buy another horse for Hendon?”

Ganry stood at the window looking down onto the busy street below. “Yes, probably a good idea. We’ll be able to move faster if we’ve each got a horse. Artas, take Hendon with you and go and buy one.”

Once Artas and Hendon left the room, Myriam sat down on the bed. She looked exhausted.

“How are you holding up?” asked Ganry.

“I’m okay,” she smiled weakly. “Just tired, I guess. This feels like the first time we’ve stopped since my world was turned upside down. If I don’t think about what we’re running from or what we’re heading to, then I’m good. I can focus on just surviving. But I’m scared Ganry… I’m really scared.”

Ganry didn’t want to patronize her by saying things would be fine. He just patted her shoulder comfortingly. “Perhaps we should send word to your grandmother. Let her know that you’re coming and what has happened.”

“Who could we trust with such a message, Ganry? I think we’re better just to keep going, get there as soon as we can.” Myriam sighed. “How far do we still have to travel?”

“If we were on the road, it would take us another eight days, but we can’t risk that. Once they realize that we evaded the hunters, they’ll increase their efforts to find us. We’re going to have to work our way along the trails of the Cefinon Forest, so it’s anyone’s guess, really.”

Myriam flopped back onto her bed, and tried to get some rest.

8

Duke Harald sat brooding, alone in the throne room of Castle Villeroy. He had an important decision to make. King Ludwig and his wife, Queen Alissia, were safely locked away in the dungeons of the castle. The plan had been to kill them immediately and claim the throne, but the escape of the Princess Myriam complicated things.

Myriam was the legitimate heir to the throne, and while she lived, Harald’s right to rule would always be under threat. It infuriated him that she continued to evade capture. Duke Harald’s dilemma was whether to kill the King now and claim the throne immediately or to continue to wait and delay any action until Myriam had been captured. Regicide is no small matter. To kill a king is a bold decision—especially when the king is your brother.

Duke Harald’s ambitions to seize the throne had been brewing for a very long time. He had always been the stronger of the two brothers, the more aggressive. It was Harald who had led the armies, seen to the defense of the Kingdom of Palara, and commissioned the expansion of the Kingdom’s fleet of ships. It was a cruel twist of fate that he was the younger of the brothers, that it was Ludwig who had been crowned King. That Ludwig had fathered a child was yet another obstacle for Harald to overcome.

He tugged at his beard in frustration, trying to decide what to do, and the best course of action.

“Excuse me, sir,” said a tentative voice, as the door to the throne room slowly opened.

“Yes, what is it?” responded Harald gruffly.

It was Henrickson, his captain of the guard. “We’ve had a report from the hunting party that was pursuing Myriam.”

“And?” demanded Harald impatiently.

“We’re not exactly sure what happened, but she has eluded them, sir.”

“What do you mean, eluded them?” growled Harald. “She is a fifteen year old girl. How has she possibly eluded a hunting party?”

“She must be under the protection of someone, sir,” suggested Henrickson. “Half the hunters were slain, the dogs too. No fifteen year old girl could have done that.”

“So there was someone with her when she escaped,” snarled Harald. “I knew it. But you found the body of her tutor?” Henrickson nodded. “So there are other agents at work,” reflected Harald. “Where did the hunting party lose sight of her?”

“They were deep in the Cefinon Forest. It appears that she crossed Lake Braff, heading West.”

“They are in pursuit?”

Henrickson nodded. “Yes sir, they are heading towards the logging town of Athaca. We have sent reinforcements there, also.”

“Tedious little witch!” spat Harald. “It infuriates me that we are wasting time scouring the Kingdom for this girl. Carry on, Henrickson. Bring her to me as soon as she is captured. Kill anyone that is trying to protect her.”

Henrickson bowed and left the room.

Harald started to pace. He always did this when trying to calm himself. He was angry that one young girl could thwart his carefully laid plans. Whoever was helping her would pay dearly.

Harald had always been an ambitious man. His father had taught him well. Harald had been schooled in the art of war from a young age—how to fight, how to kill, how to plan a battle, and how to defend a city. Frustratingly, he had been born into a long, extended period of peace for the Kingdom of Palara. There was the odd border skirmish, the occasional pursuit of a marauding gang of bandits, but on the whole there were few threats to the security of the kingdom. Diplomacy and trade became the weapons of choice while he gnashed his teeth and sharpened his sword.

He’d never had any interest in taking a wife. Women bored him. He dreamed of power. He dreamed of control. The plan to overthrow the rule of his brother Ludwig began to germinate and grow in his imagination when he was twenty-one. On a dare from one of his men, Harald had consulted a fortune teller. She was a wizened old woman draped in a shawl and burning incense to try and conceal her stench.

“You dream of glory…” croaked the old woman, studying Harald’s hand. “But yet you will die alone. You will die alone and your dreams will crumble to dust…” Harald had been so enraged by the old woman’s prophecy that he had drawn his sword and slit her throat. He was determined that fate would not decide his destiny, that he would make his dreams come true, and that he would be the most powerful man that the world had ever seen. His name would be remembered throughout history.

At first, he had tried reasoning with his brother, Ludwig, explaining the importance of building a strong army and expanding the influence and control of the Kingdom of Palara. He elaborated in detail on the need to build stronger alliances and subjugate those that refused to cooperate. But Ludwig was too content, too comfortable to see and understand what was possible, and what could be achieved. He wanted peace, but all that Harald dreamed of was war.

On his deathbed, their father had arranged Ludwig’s marriage to Alissia from the House of Locke. Harald had never really understood their father’s fascination with Castle Locke, but Alissia had proved to be a loyal wife to Ludwig. Soon after they were married, Myriam had been born and the succession of the throne secured.

Ludwig and Alissia had to die, of that Harald was certain, but he knew that he couldn’t kill them while Myriam lived. He needed to finish this cleanly, once and for all. Ludwig and Alissia would have to remain in the dungeon until Myriam was captured. Until Myriam could be brought back in chains.

9

King Ludwig had been content to let his brother Harald assume leadership of the armies of the Kingdom of Palara. Ludwig’s interests lay more in the negotiation of trading agreements with their neighbors. The rough and tumble of the army was more suited to the temperament of his hot-headed brother.

Under the stewardship of Duke Harald, the armies of the Kingdom of Palara had almost doubled in size. He had transformed it from being a part-time military made up of conscripted farmers and tradesmen, into a professional army of men trained to fight, equipped with swords, shields, and armor.

They may have lived in a time of peace, but for many years the armies of the Kingdom of Palara had been preparing for war. A war that King Ludwig had not seen coming.

While Castle Villeroy was well protected by its defenses and a detachment of the Royal Guard, Duke Harald had developed two other centers of military power. The Walbourg Fort and the The Port of Brammanville.

The Walbourg Fort was located on a rocky outcrop that overlooked the River Walsall, downstream from the logging town of Athaca. It was here that Duke Harald had created an enormous armory for the Kingdom and had built barracks to house the thousands of professional soldiers that he had recruited and trained. The Fort was in a strategic position, controlling any traffic on the river, looking out across the lower plains and out to the Damatine Sea. Soldiers could move quickly on horseback or could be transported by river raft down to Brammanville.

Brammanville had long been an important port for the Kingdom of Palara. A bustling trade hub that had taken Palara’s grains and produce across the Damatine Sea to their trading partners in the cold lands of the north.

Shipbuilding had been a skill and tradition that the men of Brammanville prided themselves on. Their trading ships were wide and flat, enabling them to make long-distance journeys across the Damatine Sea, but also to cope with the narrow waters of the Marshes of Llandaff and other inland waterways. But Duke Harald wanted a different kind of ship. He wanted ships that could carry the Kingdom’s soldiers and horses. Ships that carry the Kingdom to war and carry the Kingdom to victory.

Unbeknownst to Ludwig, Harald embarked on a massive ship building program, creating a fleet that was now safely anchored in the harbor of Brammanville. A fleet of ships ready for a war that had not yet been declared, against enemies that had not yet been identified.

10

“Henrickson!” shouted Duke Harald.

“Yes sir,” replied Harald’s captain of the guard, entering the throne room of Castle Villeroy.

“If we assume that we will soon have dealt with the inconvenient Princess and my brother, we need to start planning our next move,” said Harald.

“Yes sir,” nodded Henrickson. “I have prepared a map room where you can consider how you would like to mount the campaign.”

“Excellent,” nodded Harald, following his captain to the adjacent room. Henrickson had set up a table with a large map of the region. The Kingdom of Palara was shown in the center. To the east the hilly lands controlled by the tribes of Ashfield and beyond that the plains of Mirnee. To the south the Basalt Mountains and the lands controlled by the Hartnett family. To the west the Berghein valley and the House of Locke. “What I’m interested in is here…” said Harald, pointing to the north-west.

“Vandemland?”

“Yes…” mused Harald. “They’ve never responded to any of our trade delegations. We share a land border with them but they keep it well fortified, and from what I hear, their mines are producing valuable seams of metals and jewels.”

“They have always been fiercely independent. It is difficult to gauge their military capabilities. We don’t even have very good maps of what lies within their borders.”

“We have two points of access though. There is the land border that we share with them, but they also have an extensive coastline along the Damatine Sea. We could use our ships to launch an attack on two fronts,” said Harald, using the map to illustrate his plans.

“But what would our objective be, sir?” asked Henrickson.

“To conquer Vandemland and subjugate it to the rule of Palara,” said Harald firmly. “Imagine what message that would send to our neighbors. Not only would we take control of Vandemland’s mines but we would also show our strength and determination to the world around us.”

“If we launch an attack against Vandemland, do we not leave ourselves exposed?”

“It is a point well made,” concurred Harald. “We will need to secure our borders, but we have no existing quarrels with anyone. They will not be expecting us to move against Vandemland. But we cannot move until Myriam has been captured and executed along with my brother.”

“We could send spies into Vandemland to try and assess their strength and assist our planning?”

“Yes, excellent Henrickson,” agreed Harald. “Better yet, why don’t you go?”

“Me, sir?” asked Henrickson in surprise.

“Yes. It is a mission too sensitive to entrust to anyone else. You will be the one leading our forces in the attack, so it makes sense for you to see how the territory lies in these lands to the north-west. Take a few men with you and leave tomorrow. I will take care of disposing of my brother and his daughter while you continue our plans for war.”

“Of course sir, as you wish. When would you like me to report back?”

“As soon as possible. Our soldiers are ready. Our fleet of ships is ready. Our nation is ready for war. We just need to dispose of my brother. Once I am King of Palara, our nation marches!”

11

Back in the logging town of Athaca, on the River Walsall, Artas and Hendon were on their way to buy a horse that Hendon could ride on their journey to Castle Locke. Artas had asked the innkeeper for directions to where the best place to buy a horse would be, and the innkeeper had suggested that they try the farrier near the western gate. As they approached, Artas could see that the farrier was busy at work, preparing a new pair of shoes for a horse that was tethered nearby.

“Good day!” greeted Artas politely. The farrier barely acknowledged their presence. “We were told that you might have horses for sale?”

“Who wants to know?” growled the farrier.

“We are traveling to the west, returning to our farm there. One of our party needs a horse for the journey.”

“Those three are for sale over there,” grumbled the farrier, pointing to the stables at the back of the farrier’s premises. Artas and Hendon went to look at the three horses. They didn’t seem to be particularly well-cared for and none of them were in great condition. “Well these aren’t particularly inspiring,” said Artas quietly to Hendon. “What do you think, should we look elsewhere in town?”

“Shhh, don’t be so hasty,” smiled Hendon, stepping forward and running his fingers through the mane of the closest horse. “You’ll hurt their feelings. These are all fine horses. They just need a bit of love and affection.”

“Okay…” Artas said skeptically. “I’m sorry if I hurt their feelings. So which one of these fine animals would you like to carry you to the Berghein Valley?”

“I would like to take them all. They’re not happy here.”

“You can only have one, Hendon.” Artas crossed his arms. “Come on now, which will it be?”

Hendon placed his arm around the neck of the middle horse. “This one. He has been to the west before, he knows the way.”

Artas rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Hendon.” Artas quickly negotiated the sale with the farrier and they were soon leading their new purchase back to the inn where Ganry and Myriam were waiting. “Oh, we forgot to ask the farrier what the horse’s name is!” said Artas, stopping suddenly, thinking that they would have to turn around and go back to get this information.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay, I know it,” said Hendon cryptically.

“What do you mean? How do you know it?”

“Well, it’s just a hunch I have,” shrugged Hendon.

“So, what does your hunch tell you? What’s the horse’s name?”

“Bartok,” replied Hendon confidently.

“If you say so,” said Artas, raising an eyebrow.

They were soon back at the inn and Hendon was making Bartok at home in the stables, ensuring that he had plenty of feed and water, brushing his coat thoroughly and adjusting the saddle that they had purchased from the farrier.

“This was the best that you could find?” quizzed Ganry, emerging from the inn to see how they had fared.

“Shhh… you’ll hurt the horse’s feelings,” quipped Artas.

“Eh?”

“Looks can be deceiving,” said Hendon. “But this is Bartok. He is a clever horse, lots of stamina, nothing will startle him.”

“Come on, I’m getting hungry. Let’s have some dinner.“

Artas and Hendon finished up in the stables and joined Ganry and Myriam at a small table in the corner of the bar. The innkeeper came over and took their meal order. There wasn’t a lot of choice. A meat stew or some pork sausages. Ganry noticed that Hendon was pushing his food around his plate, looking quiet and thoughtful.

“You must be missing the fish from your creek?”

“I am,” nodded Hendon. “And my goats and my chickens. I miss the forest.”

“I’m sorry, Hendon,” said Myriam gently, placing her hand lightly on his arm. “I know it must feel like we dragged you away from your home. I guess we did in a way, but I don’t think it was safe for you there any more, because of us more than anything. I’m sorry that we made you come with us, but I’m really glad that you did. I’m really glad that you’re here.”

“It’s okay. My father always said that I would have to leave the forest at some stage.”

“Why did he say that?” asked Ganry.

“I’m not really sure. He never explained it. Sometimes he would say that there were forces beyond the forest that were greater than all of us, and that at some stage our past would catch up with us.”

“I wonder what he meant by that?” pondered Myriam.

Ganry finished up the last of his sausage. “And how did your father die?”

“He was old…” replied Hendon, looking down at the table. “His body was weak, he had injuries, scars. One cold winter’s day he just didn’t wake up, the cold night had taken him. I shook his body, tried to stir him, tried to call him back, but it was too late. He was gone and I was on my own.”

“Well, you’re not on your own now,” said Myriam, trying to comfort him. “We may not be family, but we are your friends. Who knows what we’ll find on our journey to the west? Maybe you’ll discover something about yourself that will surprise you.”

12

“Right! Let’s get moving!” said Ganry loudly, rousing his traveling companions out of their beds. “Let’s make an early start and get on the road!” Myriam, Artas, and Hendon all soon pulled themselves out of their small narrow beds and prepared for departure. The horses were saddled and their rucksacks packed with supplies. “Remember, when we get to the main gate they will want to check us off their list. We entered Athaca as the Johansson family, we’re heading west back to our farm. Okay?”

“What happens if they challenge us?” asked Artas.

“We’ll just have to play that by ear if it happens. We know that the gate will be heavily guarded. We know that they’re checking everyone in and out. If we run into any trouble we’re not going to be able to fight our way out of it, we just need to stick to our story. We’re the Johansson family, we’re farmers. Nothing more.” They mounted their horses and Ganry led the way on Bluebell.

When they reached the main gate of Athaca, there seemed to be a lot of activity and commotion.

“This doesn’t look good,” said Artas quietly. They pulled their horses to a standstill to try and get a handle on what was happening. “Do we push on and try and get through?”

“What’s going on?” shouted Ganry to a merchant who seemed to be returning from the direction of the gate.

“They’ve shut the gate!” replied the merchant. “They’ve arrested someone.”

“Damn,” cursed Ganry under his breath. “Hold my horse,” he said, handing Bluebell’s reins to Artas. “I’ll go and see what I can find out.” Ganry pushed through the crowd so that he could get a view of what was happening at the gate. There were a lot of soldiers everywhere and a growing crowd of people wanting to use the gate to exit the city. Craning his neck, Ganry could see that a group of soldiers were holding a man, his hands tied behind his back. The crowd were jeering, jostling for position as the soldiers seemed to be waiting for instructions on what to do. “Why have they arrested him?” asked Ganry, turning to one of the onlookers.

“He’s been accused of practicing the dark arts,” replied the onlooker. Ganry looked again—the man looked familiar. Suddenly it hit him. The man that had been arrested was Barnaby of Bravewood.

Ganry quickly returned to his traveling companions and relayed the news of his discovery.

“We have to save him,” said Myriam firmly.

“We can’t save everyone,” hissed Ganry, concerned that they were becoming more vulnerable with every minute they remained in Athaca.

“I’m not leaving while Barnaby is being held captive here,” added Hendon flatly.

“Ganry, it’s obvious that he’s been arrested because they suspect him of helping us,” added Myriam. “The hunters would have been able to follow our trail right to his door.”

“All the more reason for us not to interfere,” insisted Ganry. “They’re probably using him as a decoy to get us to reveal ourselves in some sort of foolish rescue attempt! You have no idea how many soldiers are manning that gate. They clearly know that we’re here. The next thing will be a door-to-door search. We have to get out of here!”

“Well, as the gates are closed there’s not much prospect of that at the moment though, is there?” added Artas. “Hypothetically, if we were to try and rescue Barnaby, how might we go about it?”

“I’m not even entering into this discussion,” replied Ganry. “If we make any attempt to rescue Barnaby, it will get us all killed. It is highly likely that we will all be killed anyway. We never should have entered Athaca.”

“We had no choice, Ganry,” reminded Myriam. “And if we are all going to die anyway, then we may as well die trying to rescue Barnaby.”

“So that’s settled then? You’re making all the decisions now?” said Ganry, raising an eyebrow.

“What if we caused some sort of distraction,” suggested Artas. “Like setting one of their boats on fire?”

“No, it has to be bigger than that,” replied Ganry. “We have to set the wall on fire, draw the soldiers away from the gate.”

“So you do have a plan!” smiled Myriam. “I knew you wouldn’t let us down.”

“I need my head examined,” grumbled Ganry. “Artas, take Hendon, find a secluded part of the wall where you can work without drawing too much attention to yourself. The walls are made from forest timbers but they won’t burn easily—they’ve treated the beams to make them as tough as possible. You’re going to have to create some sort of fire trap, build it with straw and wood but you’ll also need some sort of fuel like oil if the fire is to catch hold and threaten the wall. It needs to look like a big fire, even if it’s not doing that much actual damage.

“Princess, you and I will focus on Barnaby. Once we see the flames taking hold, you need to try and distract the crowd, draw their attention to the flames, whip up some panic. I’ll move in and kill anyone that stands between me and Barnaby. We meet back here, grab our horses and then push through the main gate, dispatching anyone or anything that stands in our way. Is everyone clear?”

They all nodded.

Ganry was not feeling nearly as confident as he was sounding. “Right, let’s go. Artas and Hendon, you have fifteen minutes to get that blaze going. Once it is burning, get back to the horses. Princess, don’t draw too much attention to yourself, just generate a bit of panic and make sure everyone sees that there is a fire threatening the wall. This is our only chance to get out of Athaca. Let’s do our best to avoid the dungeons of Castle Villeroy.”

13

“Fire! Fire!” screamed Myriam, as soon as she saw the flames and smoke emerging above the roofs of the buildings near the town’s walls. Myriam had pushed herself into the middle of the frustrated crowd that was waiting for the gates of Athaca to open. Her screaming quickly drew attention and concern as everyone craned their necks to see the fire. The smoke was now billowing in dark clouds.

The soldiers manning the gate tried to keep order, dispatching several men to investigate. Myriam was growing concerned that she wasn’t getting much movement from the crowd, despite her loud hysterical screaming. If she couldn’t create some panic then they wouldn’t be able to get past the guards that were holding the gate closed.

“Dragon!” screamed Myriam hysterically. “Oh my god, I think I saw a dragon! We’re under attack from a dragon!” Fortuitously, just at that point, the fire seemed to catch on to some straw and light timber and burst up the wall, high above the rooftops of the buildings. The crowd of people tried to move, looking to get further away from the fire, away from the screaming girl. The more the soldiers tried to keep everyone contained in the area near the gate, the more restless the crowd became. They were pushing and shoving, demanding that the gate be opened. More soldiers were dispatched to deal with the fire. There was a lot of screaming and shouting. Not just Myriam now, a general air of panic and fear was building. Myriam quickly pushed back through the crowd to where their horses had been secured. Artas and Hendon were already waiting for her there.

“Do you think it’s worked?” asked Artas.

“I don’t know,” replied Myriam. “I haven’t seen Ganry yet.”

Just then Ganry sprinted back and jumped on his horse.

“Where’s Barnaby?” demanded Myriam.

“Follow me, now!” shouted Ganry, pushing his horse, Bluebell, into the crowd, adding to the confusion and chaos that had broken out in front of the gate, drawing screams, curses, and shouting as Bluebell shouldered past anyone that stood in his way. Myriam, Artas, and Hendon were riding close behind.

As they approached the gate, the remaining soldiers shouted at them to stop. Ganry drew his sword, WindStorm, and without preamble began slashing and swiping at the soldiers seeking to protect the gate. Artas drew his bow and began to assist by picking off any soldiers beyond the reach of Ganry’s sword.

Myriam could see that Barnaby had been tied to a post not far from the gate, but in the confusion he had been left unattended. So she spurred her horse, Oaken, across to him. She jumped down to the ground to cut his ropes, and then helped him clamber up behind her back onto Oaken just as the gates of Athaca swung open and Ganry forced his way through.

Ganry paused to make sure that Myriam, Artas and Hendon had all safely made it past the gate, before spurring Bluebell on to canter away from Athaca as quickly as possible.

At the first crossing that they came to, Ganry turned off the road and took one of the trails that led into the Cefinon Forest, finally bringing Bluebell to a halt while they all quickly caught their breath.

“Everyone okay?” asked Ganry, looking over his traveling companions who nodded. “Barnaby?”

“I’m okay, thank you, Ganry. I must say that that was the most excitement that I’ve had in a long time!”

“A dragon?” said Ganry, raising his eyebrow at Myriam. “We’re being attacked by a dragon?”

“I was running out of things to say!” protested Myriam. “No one was really panicking enough!”

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” asked Ganry. Myriam shook her head. “Have you ever heard of anyone seeing a dragon?” Myriam shook her head again. “Dragons belong in fairytales for children, but you did well,” smiled Ganry. “You all did very well. We got out of there, just. But we need to keep moving and we need to keep moving quickly. We know that they’ll come after us as soon as they can and we don’t know what else lies ahead. Does anyone know this part of the forest?” They all shook their heads. “Great, then who knows what we’ll find. Come on, let’s move.” Ganry turned Bluebell around and headed off down the forest path, followed by Artas riding Orton, Hendon riding Bartok, and Myriam riding Oaken with Barnaby sitting behind her.

“I’ve seen a dragon,” whispered Barnaby to Myriam.

“Really? Are you just saying that to make me feel better or have you really seen a dragon?”

“Oh they’re real,” smiled Barnaby mysteriously. “Dragons used to rule these lands, but over time their power weakened. Now they live only in the places that are beyond the reach of man. They are shy, but still capable of great things.”

“I never know whether to believe you Barnaby, but I do hope that you’re right, and that you really did see a dragon. How did you see one if they live only in the places beyond the reach of man?”

“It was purely by accident,” explained Barnaby. “I was traveling high in the Basalt mountains when a storm suddenly struck. I quickly looked for shelter and I came across a small cave. I made a fire to try and keep warm and by the light of the fire I could see that the cave continued further into the mountain. I’m quite a curious fellow, so I made myself a torch and explored a bit. It was like a tunnel, leading deeper and deeper into the mountain. I walked along the tunnel, following it down. The further I went the bigger the tunnel became, and after what felt like several miles I suddenly came upon this enormous cavern within the mountain. I couldn’t see much, the light from my torch would only shine so far, but as I looked down into the depths of that cavern I could feel the heat. I could smell the acrid smoke of burning. I could see the hot red of fire. I knew that I had entered the lair of a dragon!”

“Is he telling you the dragon story?” asked Hendon, falling back to ride with them.

“Do you believe in dragons, Hendon?” asked Myriam.

“If Barnaby says that there are dragons, then I believe in dragons.”

“Good,” said Myriam firmly. “Then I believe in dragons too.”

14

Henrickson pulled his horse to a standstill when they came in sight of the border crossing into Vandemland.

“There it is, Arexos, Vandemland,” declared Henrickson. Arexos didn’t reply. He still didn’t really understand why Henrickson, the captain of the guard at Castle Villerory, Duke Harald’s right-hand man, had been sent to Vandemland. As Henrickson’s page, Arexos had dutifully followed his master, but he was surprised that they were traveling unaccompanied, and that Henrickson hadn’t at least brought a small company of soldiers with him on this mission to the northeastern borders of the Kingdom of Palara. The border crossing looked quiet. There wasn’t a great deal of traffic between Palara and Vandemland.

“What are we waiting for sir?” asked Arexos. “Shall we proceed?”

“Have patience, Arexos, there’s no rush. They’re not exactly expecting us.”

Arexos looked perplexed. “What do you mean sir? I thought you said that we were here on a trade mission?”

“We are, in a manner of speaking. Duke Harald has asked us to make some inquiries on his behalf while we are here. But it is not an official visit so we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves. We just need to pass through this border crossing without setting off any alarm bells.”

“But sir, you are dressed in the insignia of Castle Villeroy. Isn’t it fairly obvious where you are from?” pointed out Arexos.

“I brought a change of clothes with me just for this purpose. It’s getting late anyway. There’s an inn ahead, we’ll spend the night there and then make our crossing into Vandemland in the morning.”

Henrickson and Arexos pushed their horses on to the nearby inn, ensuring that their horses had food and water before taking their rucksacks to their room. They found a table in the bar where they could eat their dinner.

“What can I get you gentlemen?” asked the innkeeper, approaching their table. “We have roast venison this evening which is lovely.”

“Roast venison sounds good,” nodded Henrickson. “And two beers please.” The beers arrived quickly and the food not long after.

The innkeeper noted Henrickson’s castle guard insignia that he was still wearing. “So what brings you from Castle Villeroy all the way out here?”

“Just part of our normal rounds,” reassured Henrickson. “All part of keeping the kingdom safe. Tell me, do you get many people passing through here from Vandemland?”

“Vandemland? No, no one comes from there.”

“But the border crossing is just a mile away,” insisted Henrickson. “Surely there must be a certain amount of traffic coming and going through there?”

“No, not at all,” said the innkeeper, shaking his head. “I can’t say with certainty that no one uses the border crossing, but I certainly don’t get any customers who have come from Vandemland and are on their way into Palara, and to be fair, I don’t get any customers who are heading from here into Vandemland. Why? Are you thinking of going?”

“No no,” laughed Henrickson. “Just curious I guess.” The innkeeper wandered away to let them eat their meal.

“Isn’t it going to be difficult for us to pass through the border crossing incognito if they don’t actually get any other visitors from Palara?” asked Arexos, wiping up the gravy from his roast venison with a piece of dry bread.

“That is correct. We might need to rethink our approach here. The trouble is that there isn’t really any other way across the border. It’s such a narrow pass between the cliffs that it effectively forces you through the border crossing that they’ve built. To avoid it, we would have to either travel west through the Berghein Valley and then make an attempt across the Schonbaker Ravine, or we would have to travel further north to the port of Brammanville, and take a boat from there that would land us somewhere along the coast of Vandemland.”

Arexos looked forlornly at his empty plate. “They don’t guard the coast?”

“Yes, they have lookouts and a patrol, but we would have more chance of evading those along the coast than we would of sneaking through a border crossing.” Henrickson pushed his plate away and drank the rest of his beer. “Let’s sleep on it for now and we can make a decision in the morning.”

***

The beds in their room at the inn were fairly small and uncomfortable, but Henrickson slept reasonably well. It had been several days of hard riding to get to the border with Vandemland, so it was good to be able to have a night of rest in a proper inn.

Henrickson woke to the smell of coffee.

“I brought you some breakfast,” said Arexos, as Henrickson slowly opened his eyes and remembered where they were.

“Well done, Arexos, you look after me well.”

Arexos began pouring Henrickson a mug of coffee. “I’m not sure that the innkeeper was telling us the whole truth.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I spoke with the stable boy this morning when I went down to check on the horses, and he said that there is some traffic between here and Vandemland.”

“Really? Why would the innkeeper lie to us?”

“Well, you were wearing your castle guard insignia last night. You probably scared him. The stable boy says that the traffic between here and Vandemland is done by Narcs. They are gangs of smugglers that operate in this area.”

“Smugglers? I hadn’t thought of that,” pondered Henrickson.

“What would they be smuggling, you think?”

“Jewels, most likely. Jewels and precious metals that come from the mines in Vandemland. They would get a good price for those and there would be plenty of buyers.”

“Maybe we could get them to smuggle us in?” suggested Arexos.

“They’re hardly going to agree to do that, are they?” laughed Henrickson. “As you’ve already pointed out, the Narcs aren’t going to be particularly welcoming to my castle guard’s uniform.”

“The stable boy has a contact. I said that you were a mercenary on a spy mission into Vandemland. He said that he would get a message to the Narcs and see if they were willing to transport us across the border.”

Henrickson spurted his coffee from his mouth in alarm. “You told a stable boy that I was here on a spy mission!”

“Stable boys don’t care about that kind of thing,” reassured Arexos. “Neither do Narcs. They just care about money.”

“So when do you think we’ll hear back from your well-connected stable-boy?”

“Shouldn’t take more than a day or two. I said we’d wait here until we heard from him.”

“You’re quite good at this spying game,” smiled Henrickson, admiring the resourcefulness of his young page. “You’d better go get some more coffee. Looks like we’re not going anywhere in a hurry.”

15

The mournful sound of a cawing raven somewhere outside the castle walls carried distinctly down into the dungeon of Castle Villeroy.

“Why does he still let us live?” asked King Ludwig, holding his head in his hands in despair.

“Because our daughter continues to elude him,” replied Queen Alissia, placing a comforting hand on the arm of her husband.

“She is just a child,” sighed King Ludwig. “What hope has she got against Harald and all the armies of the Kingdom?”

“She is not just a child,” corrected Queen Alissia with a smile. “Myriam is a resourceful young woman, and she is our daughter. We have taught her well. She was clever enough to avoid capture when Harald took control of the castle, cleverer than we were. I have every faith that she will find a way to stay beyond Harald’s reach.”

“But why not kill us first while he continues to search for Myriam?” King Ludwig wondered aloud.

“Perhaps I could answer that, sire?” It was Lord Holstein, the father of Artas. Loyal supporters of the King, Lord Holstein and his wife, Elisabeth, had also been imprisoned by Harald. They occupied a cell next to the King and Queen. “If he were to kill you and Queen Alissia now, he would still not be able to claim the throne because Princess Myriam would be the rightful heir. He would run the risk of alienating the people of Palara and strengthening support for Myriam. If he can capture Myriam and kill all three of you, then he is next in line to the throne. He can claim the crown and be free to rule the Kingdom of Palara unopposed.”

“Precisely, Lord Holstein,” agreed Queen Alissia. “So the safety of our daughter is more important than ever for all of our sakes—and for the future of the kingdom.”

“I feel so helpless, locked up here in my own dungeon!” groaned King Ludwig. “I just wish that there was something I could do to help her!”

“The Queen is right, sire,” said Lord Holstein quietly. “Princess Myriam is a bright girl, I’ve no doubt that she is making her way to Castle Locke, to the family of the Queen. She may be there already, preparing an army to march against Harald, to liberate the Kingdom.”

“I have a feeling that she hasn’t quite made it to safety yet,” said the Queen softly. “The roads will all be watched closely, she will have to find another way. I have been dreaming of forests… and fire.”

“Fire?” asked King Ludwig. “Why fire? You haven’t mentioned fire to me before?”

“I know, I didn’t want to worry you. It was just last night, but I dreamed of fire, I dreamed of dragons.”

“There’s been no news of your son, Artas?” asked the King, changing the subject.

“No,” replied Lord Holstein. “Again, I think that is a good thing. If he had been captured or killed, I think we would know about it by now.”

“There is a chance that he is with Myriam,” suggested the Queen.

“Really?” Lord Holstein was surprised to hear this. “What makes you say that?”

“My dreams are never very clear,” sighed the Queen. “But I do have a strong sense that Myriam is not alone, that she is with friends who are helping to keep her safe. Artas shoots a bow, doesn’t he?”

“Why, yes. He is a very good archer.”

“I feel then that they are together,” confirmed the Queen. “I feel that they are both safe.”

“Well, that gives me great comfort,” said Lord Holstein. “I am proud that he is able to be of service to Princess Myriam.”

“How old is your son Artas, now?” asked the King.

“He is now twenty years, sire.”

The King cocked his head. “No wife yet?”

“No, afraid not. I have suggested several suitable matches to him, but he has declined every one. His passion seems to lie with his archery and his horse. Not that it matters much now, I guess.”

“If he is able to help Myriam, he will help save the kingdom. He will return home a hero and will be able to have his pick of the daughters of all the noble families!” declared the king.

“Perhaps he chooses not to marry?” suggested the Queen. “Like your brother, Harald, who has never shown the slightest interest in women.”

“That damn fool Harald,” spat the King furiously. “Betrayed by my own brother!”

16

“The light is fading, Ganry. How much farther do you want to travel?” Artas was a skilled horseman, but riding in the dark with Myriam and Barnaby would not be wise.

“Yes, we should find shelter soon.” Ganry looked back from the direction they had come. “This track just seems to be taking us in circles through the forest though.”

“We’re still heading in a westerly direction.” Artas traced the arc of the sun with his hand. “But you’re right, this forest does seem to stretch for eternity. Have you not traveled this way before?”

“Normally I stick to the roads,” said Ganry with a wry smile. “But the forest does extend all the way to the border of the Kingdom of Palara, so it will at least provide us with cover until then.”

“They will come for us in the forest, wont they? They did last time. And now we have Barnaby with us, we seem to be moving slower than ever.”

“Yes, you’re right Artas, but I can’t think of any alternative.”

“Have you been to the Castle Locke before? Do you know Myriam’s grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue?”

“No, never. I’ve heard stories of her, but I’ve never had any business to be in the Berghein Valley. Have you?”

Artas shook his head. “No, but the stories I’ve heard intrigue me. She seems to be a resourceful woman by all accounts.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“What if we could get the Duchess to come to our aid?”

“To send forces across the border, into the Kingdom of Palara? Even if we could get a message to her, I can’t imagine she would provoke Duke Harald so blatantly. It would be the perfect excuse for him to launch an attack on Castle Locke, an outright hostile act!”

“Yes, but it is her granddaughter that she would be protecting, and her daughter too. Protecting them from a usurper who has stolen the throne,” insisted Artas.

“But would she be strong enough to withstand the might of Palara’s armies? To withstand the wrath of Harald?”

“Of that I’m not sure, and I don’t think Myriam has much insight into that either. What if I took the message to the Duchess?”

“You?” asked Ganry. “What, ride ahead, while I follow along behind with this motley lot? That leaves me too exposed. I could never protect them if the soldiers caught up with us or if we ran into any trouble.”

“Well, what if we sent Hendon?”

“That simple boy has no chance on his own,” dismissed Ganry. “He belongs in a cottage in the forest, not riding messages to Castle Locke. No, I think it’s best if we stay together and just keep moving as fast as we can. Look, there’s a clearing, let’s make camp here tonight.”

The group quickly got to work and secured the horses and built a fire. Artas went off with his bow to try and find something that could be cooked for dinner.

“I think I can hear a stream close by,” announced Hendon. “I’ll go and see if there are any fish.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Barnaby, and the two of them bustled off through the trees.

Ganry looked over at Myriam who was tending to the fire. “How are you holding up?”

Myriam appeared pensive. “Do you think we’re going to make it to Castle Locke?”

“I can’t promise you anything,” replied Ganry honestly. “I’m not even exactly sure where we are.”

“This forest does seem to be going on for ever.” Myriam pulled her cloak around herself as she studied the sturdy old trees that surrounded them on all sides. “If they follow our trail from Athaca, it won’t take them long to catch up with us. They can’t be that far behind.”

“I know. Artas and I talked about him riding ahead to ask your grandmother for help, but it seems too risky.”

“I know that having Barnaby and Hendon with us slows us down,” said Myriam. “But I don’t know… there’s something about them both that tells me that we’re doing the right thing. Hendon is like a woodland spirit, and Barnaby is so old and wise that I can’t help thinking that perhaps he could cast a spell or two and keep us all safe.”

“Don’t let your imagination get away from you,” smiled Ganry. “Barnaby is a good storyteller, but that’s probably all. Unfortunately, I don’t think storytelling is going to be much help with keeping us safe from the long arm of Duke Harald.”

“I shot a pheasant!” announced Artas proudly, displaying the bird as he came back to the clearing.

“Just one?” asked Ganry. “Looks like it will be a light meal for us all tonight.”

“Well it’s better than none!” protested Artas, pulling out his knife and beginning to prepare the bird so that it could be roasted over the coals of the fire.

“Thank you for offering to ride ahead, Artas,” said Myriam, touching Artas lightly on the shoulder. “It is very brave of you, but I think Ganry’s right. I think it’s better if we stick together.”

Artas continued plucking the feathers of the bird. “When was the last time you saw your grandmother?”

“Not since I was a small child. She came to Castle Villeroy for my twelfth birthday. She told me that my twelfth birthday was an important one, that she had come to give me her blessing. I was scared of her, I think. She seemed somehow distant and cold. I hope she remembers me. I hope that she will be willing to help me.”

Just then, Hendon burst back into the clearing where they had set up camp.

“Quickly!” he gasped. “You have to come and see this!” Ganry, Artas, and Myriam followed Hendon back to where he had left Barnaby. “We came this way looking for a creek or river,” explained Hendon. “Barnaby said that he could feel water nearby. We found the creek and followed it down looking for a good spot to fish and then we began hearing this noise, like distant thunder. So, we followed it further and the noise got louder, and then suddenly, we found this!”

“That’s amazing!” gasped Myriam in astonishment as they stood at the top of the waterfall, looking down into the churning waters below.

“Look!” pointed Hendon. “There’s three different creeks, all feeding into these falls, from here it seems to form a fairly substantial river.”

“What river would that be, then?” asked Artas.

“I’ve no idea!” admitted Myriam.

“It would have been helpful if your tutor had focused a bit more on geography lessons instead of romantic poetry,” said Ganry sarcastically.

“Which direction is the river flowing?” Artas crouched down to get close to the water. “Do you think it’s heading west? Maybe we could follow it as a way through the forest?”

“It’s getting too dark now to do anything about it anyway.” Ganry turned to walk back to their camp. “Catch some fish, Hendon, and let’s get some food in our bellies. We can think about how we tackle it in the morning.”

***

They had agreed to take turns keeping watch during the night. Myriam took first watch, handing over to Hendon, who woke Ganry when it was his turn.

“Everything okay?” asked Ganry quietly as Hendon roused him from his sleep.

Hendon yawned. “The forest is watching over us. See, there is an owl in the tree above us, and those eyes over near the tree belong to a fox.”

“Do you really talk with animals?”

“I don’t know,” replied Hendon. “Sometimes I think that I can hear what they’re thinking, sometimes I can’t. Barnaby is better at it than I am. He can have whole conversations just by looking in the eyes of an animal. He always says that goats are very intelligent, but I think foxes and owls are cleverer than goats.”

Ganry added a log of wood to the fire and propped himself up against one of the nearby trees. “Get some sleep, kid. I’ll keep the fox and the owl company for a while.”

Ganry stared out into the deep darkness of the surrounding forest. He almost found it amusing that the strange twists and turns of his life had brought him to this point, sitting in the middle of an unfamiliar forest, on the run from everyone, trying to keep a disparate group of travelers safe from harm. He was a long way away from the plains of Mirnee—not just geographically, but in every sense of the word. He wondered whether the Emperor Fontleroy, now known as Fontleroy the Mad, was still ruling. It had been a while since Ganry had had any news from Mirnee. There wasn’t really anything connecting him to that place now. He had left with nothing but his horse, Bluebell, and his sword, WindStorm.

WindStorm lay across his knees, secured safely in its scabbard. He always liked to keep it close. It gave him a sense of security, one of the few constants in his life since he had lost his wife and daughter. The truth was that he didn’t really know much about the origins of WindStorm. It had belonged to his father, a big man with a big imagination.

Ganry’s father had been a proud warrior and WindStorm had been his most prized possession. He had always told Ganry that WindStorm was forged in the fires of the Grimlock bladesmiths who lived in the Limestone Mountains, but Ganry had no way of knowing if this was true.

Ganry had idolized his father like a god. As a child, Ganry had helped polish his father’s armor, helping him to prepare for battle. Before leaving the house to head off to war, Ganry’s father would take his sword from his scabbard and hold it high above his head, shouting at the top of his voice:

“I am Davide de Rosenthorn! I wield the mighty WindStorm! I yield to no man!” He said that this is what he shouted as he attacked his enemies, as they fell beneath his sword. It was the battle cry that Ganry had also adopted, just as he had also adopted his father’s sword.

Ganry chuckled to himself as he silently mouthed the words. He knew that one day he would meet the man who would prove him wrong. When you live life as a mercenary, you knew that it was only a matter of time before your life ended violently. He knew that he would die one day, but he hoped that he would be able to survive a little longer, perhaps long enough to deliver Myriam to her grandmother at Castle Locke. It was a small thing, and it probably didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of the world, but he felt that if he could just do this one good deed then his life may have had some meaning, some purpose.

Ganry missed his father. He missed those days of long ago when his father was a god, when his father was invincible. His father hadn’t died a hero’s death. He hadn’t died on the battlefield with his sword held high. He had been poisoned, dying a wretched, painful death in his bed. Ganry blamed his step-mother but none of his uncles would believe him. So Ganry took hold of WindStorm and left the family home to join the armies of the Emperor Fontleroy. He looked at the sword that lay across his knees. A sword that had drawn a lot of blood, a sword that had taken many lives. A sword that was the only connection that he had to the father that he admired so much.

17

“So what do you think?” said Artas, staring down at the churning waters at the bottom of the waterfall. “There doesn’t seem to be any trail running along beside the river, it’s just cutting straight through the trees.”

“We should build a raft!” declared Hendon excitedly.

“A raft?” said Ganry in disbelief. “You want to float down the river?”

“Yes! That would be perfect! We could float down the river on a raft!”

“But what would we do with the horses?”

“They could swim behind the raft!”

“They can’t swim long distances, they get tired quickly.”

“Well, we could take lots of breaks as we go,” insisted Hendon.

“It would get us off the trail and make our tracks impossible to follow,” added Myriam.

“What if there are more waterfalls downstream?” protested Ganry. “A raft isn’t much good to us if it floats us over the edge of a giant waterfall.”

“We’ll be taking it slowly with the horses anyway,” suggested Artas. “So we can always have one of us scouting ahead.”

“And who’s going to build the raft?” Ganry was not convinced. “Do any of you know how to build a raft that will take the weight of all five of us?”

“Actually, I have a lot of experience with raft building,” interjected Barnaby quietly.

“Barnaby, you are full of surprises!” laughed Myriam. “Well, I think that settles it! If we stay on that forest trail, it is inevitable that Duke Harald’s men will catch us and either kill us instantly or drag us back in chains. Trying to raft our way through the forest on this river is by no means a perfect solution, but it at least gives us some hope of staying a step ahead of our pursuers. Don’t you agree, Ganry?”

“I guess you’re right,” he grumbled.

“Right,” said Myriam, taking charge. “Hendon and Barnaby, you see if you can find a safe path for us that will get us down to the bottom of the falls. We’ll gather up the horses and our gear and then we’ll be ready to make a start.”

It was a slow descent, carefully leading the horses down the steep bank that took them to the level of the river at the base of the falls. Barnaby quickly set to work and began constructing the raft, finding suitable logs and binding them expertly together with ropes and vines. In no time, the raft was ready to go.

“I have to admit Barnaby, that is a particularly solid looking raft,” admired Ganry.

“Well, let’s just take it fairly slowly to begin with,” cautioned Barnaby. “It’s quite a heavy load that we’re carrying and we’re not really sure how fast this river is flowing.”

“I’ll swim with the horses,” offered Hendon. “Just to get them settled at the start.”

“Okay, let’s load up and slowly push off,” said Ganry, not feeling as certain or confident as he was trying to sound. They used long poles to maneuver the raft away from the bank and out into the current of the river. The horses were tied to the back of the logs and Hendon led them into the water. He began swimming alongside them as they became used to this new method of transport.

Ganry peered at the slow moving current. “No snakes in this river, are there?”

“You’re obsessed with snakes!” laughed Artas. “I’m pretty sure that there are no snakes in this river.”

“Pretty sure?” Ganry raised an eyebrow. “It’s just that in the marshes of Llandaff, there were water snakes that were pretty vicious.”

“How big were the marsh snakes?” asked Myriam.

“The biggest that I ever saw was ten feet long, but there were stories of real monsters that could sink a small boat,” replied Ganry, looking carefully once more at the river water.

“Ten feet is big enough, thanks!” gasped Myriam.

“Are they poisonous?” Artas was curious.

“I don’t think so.” Ganry dragged his hand in the water to see if he could catch any movement underneath. “They’re constrictors, they wrap around your body until you can’t breathe anymore.”

“No wonder you didn’t go swimming in the marches,” shivered Myriam. “I’ve never heard of any snakes like that in the rivers of Palara, but then again I didn’t really know that this river existed, so I guess anything is possible.”

“If one of the horses suddenly goes missing, I’m getting off the raft,” said Ganry firmly.

The river flowed smoothly and the raft made good progress, floating along through the thick forest of trees that lined both banks.

“We’d better take a break soon!” said Hendon, pulling himself up on to the raft. “The horses are starting to tire.”

“Okay, there’s a sandbank on that next bend in the river, let’s aim for that.” Ganry took hold of one of their steering poles and began to guide the raft in the direction of the sandbank. The horses seemed relieved to have their hooves back on solid ground, but they sensed that it was only a momentary respite from the river, so quickly began to graze on the grasses that grew along the banks.

“You’re a genius, Hendon!” congratulated Myriam. “This raft is working out so well!”

“Well, Barnaby is the raft builder. That’s the real skill.” Hendon smiled modestly, clearly pleased with the praise from the Princess.

“You know, I’m losing all track of distance and direction,” said Artas, looking up into the sky. “It’s hard to see much beyond the canopy of the forest, and the way that the river twists and turns, I’m not even totally sure which direction we’re heading anymore.”

“So you’re saying that we could be just floating around in circles?” asked Ganry.

“Well, not exactly,” laughed Artas. “The river has to be flowing somewhere. I’m just not totally sure that it’s taking us where we want to go. Barnaby, any ideas?”

“The Cefinon Forest holds many secrets and surprises,” replied Barnaby sagely.

“We don’t really have many options,” acknowledged Ganry. “We’re just going to have to keep floating along and see where the river decides to take us.”

18

“Sir, I think you should come down to the stables with me now,” said Arexos, opening the door to the room that he was sharing with Henrickson, at the inn near the border crossing with Vandemland.

“What is it, Arexos?”

“The stable boy has a message from the Narcs.”

“The smugglers? Right, let’s go.” Henrickson followed Arexos down the stairs and out into the back yard of the inn.

“Psst!” hissed the stable boy, seeing them approach. “Go down the back, the end stall.”

Arexos led the way and Henrickson followed cautiously, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of the dagger that he had tucked into his belt. Waiting for them in the last stall was a shady looking man, a member of the gang of Narcs that smuggled anything of value into and out of Vandemland.

“So you want to get into Vandemland?” asked the Narc.

“Yes, is that possible?” Henrickson watched him carefully.

“Anything is possible. For a price.”

“How soon could you get us across the border?”

“Our next run is tomorrow night.”

“How do you get past the border crossing?”

“Now if I told you that, I would be giving away all of our secrets,” smirked the Narc. “You don’t need to worry about that. You’ll be blindfolded. We’ll take the blindfolds off once you’re safely on the other side.”

“Blindfolded! Is that really necessary?” protested Henrickson.

“Like I said, we can’t give away all of our secrets,” repeated the Narc.

“What about getting back across the border? How would we contact you to arrange that?”

“My boss will give you a time and place where we’ll collect you for the return journey. If you miss that pick-up then you’re on your own. Any other questions?”

“No. I think that’s all I need to know for now.”

“Right, we’ll pick you up here tomorrow night at sundown. Make sure you have your money ready,” hissed the Narc as he disappeared into the night.

“I’m not convinced that this is a good idea,” said Henrickson to Arexos as they made their way back up the stairs to their room. “But I don’t think we’ve got too many other options at this stage.”

“Are you sure that we need to go into Vandemland, sir? Couldn’t you just go back to Duke Harald and explain that the border crossing was closed?”

“While that does sound fairly tempting, Arexos, I’m afraid that we don’t have that luxury. Duke Harald would see that as a failure and he really doesn’t tolerate failure.”

***

The next evening, just after sunset, Henrickson and Arexos were sitting in their room at the inn when they heard a long, low whistle from down in the yard.

“I’m guessing that’s our signal,” said Henrickson, and they gathered up their rucksacks and headed down to the stables.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” greeted the Narc that they had met with the previous night. “Money first, please.” Henrickson handed over the amount they had agreed on. With payment completed, Henrickson and Arexos were instructed to mount their horses, and then a black bag was placed over each of their heads.

From that point, their journey into Vandemland was a mystery to Henrickson. They seemed to be surrounded by men on horses as they were led along. There wasn’t a lot of talking, but he heard different accents that he couldn’t place. The bag over his head completely disoriented him and he lost track of how long they had been riding for, and he had no clue as to which direction they were riding in. Eventually, their horses came to a stop and he was roughly helped to dismount from his horse before the bag was removed from his head.

“Where are we?” Henrickson quickly looked around and tried to get his bearings.

“This is the slave market of eastern Vandemland,” sneered the Narc.

“But why have you brought us here?” asked Henrickson, confused.

“Because we have just sold you to the highest bidder, slave!” laughed the Narc, quickly securing Henrickson’s hands and feet with chains.

“You can’t do that! I am the captain of the palace guard!” protested Henrickson.

“Different country, different rules,” grinned the Narc. “The soldiers of the Kingdom of Palara have been a pain in our neck for too long. It’s about time we got some sort of compensation. I told your new owner that you thrive on hard work, but that if you give him any trouble then the only discipline that you understand is the whip. I think you’re going to like it here.”

“Wait, where’s Arexos? What have you done with my page?” shouted Henrickson.

“He’s not your page anymore, is he?” laughed the Narc. “We sold him as a body slave to one of the rich nobles. He’ll be feeding grapes to a fat old man before the sun comes up.”

Henrickson looked desperately around him. He could see immediately that there was no chance of escape. Not only was he bound by chains, but the Narcs were well armed and clearly pleased with the profit that they had made on the sale.

The slave market was a busy, bustling place, full of men of all shapes and sizes, exotic looking men of a type that he hadn’t seen before. He guessed that they came from somewhere across the Damatine Sea. A large, fierce looking man approached Henrickson and grabbed him by the chains that bound him, dragging him across to a flat-bed wagon on which a few other dejected looking men were sitting. They were also in chains. Once Henrickson was loaded onto the wagon, it lurched off down a rough track and Henrickson was helpless to do anything but curse his own foolishness for being so easily tricked into this disastrous situation.

19

“What do you mean she escaped!” roared Duke Harald, infuriated by the news that the messenger had brought to him. “She is a fifteen year old girl! How in the gods’ name did she manage to escape from a town where the gates were locked and the soldiers of Palara stood guard!” The messenger knew that this was probably a rhetorical question, so he knelt silently in front of the Duke, keeping still, while the Duke’s rage echoed around the room. “Where is Henrickson?” shouted Harald. There was no answer. There was no one else in the throne room apart from the quivering messenger who had his eyes averted and was concentrating on a chipped stone in the floor. Harald suddenly grabbed the messenger by the hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look him in the face. “I asked you a question!” spat Harald menacingly. “Where is Henrickson?”

“Sir, there’s been no word from him. Not since you sent him to Vandemland,” stuttered the messenger.

“Get out!” shouted Harald, spitting a mouthful of saliva into the face of the young messenger. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” The messenger hastily exited the room, relieved to have escaped with his head still attached to his shoulders.

Harald slumped dejectedly onto the throne. It was a beautiful piece of furniture. Solid, dependable. It had been the throne of the Kingdom of Palara for centuries, long before Duke Harald’s family had come to power. The throne was a relatively simple design, made from oak that had been felled from the Cefinon Forest. It was inlaid with gold and precious stones, creating the image of an eagle in the tall back rest, so when you sat on the throne, the majestic bird of prey hovered above you. Studying it, Duke Harald wondered why an eagle had been chosen as the symbol of the Kingdom of Palara. In all his years of hunting, he had had never seen an eagle in these lands.

In keeping with the throne itself, the rest of the room was not lavish but it had a sense of grandeur, a sense of occasion. There was a plain chair to the left of the throne. This is where the Queen would sit. The stone was of slate. It wasn’t an enormous room—just large enough for the King to receive important visitors, delegations from neighboring kingdoms, or trade partners. This is where official declarations are made and where commandments are issued. It is from this room that the Kingdom of Palara is governed.

The walls were decorated with tapestries—detailed pieces that told the history of the Kingdom and the history of Duke Harald’s family. Harald remembered studying these tapestries as a child. He and his brother had an old, eccentric tutor who had sought permission to bring them into the throne room so that they could learn their history. They were taught the journey, the circumstances, the events that had brought the Kingdom of Palara into existence, and the triumph that had been the ascension of Duke Harald’s family to the throne.

As he sat, dejected, staring at the walls, he tried to recall those stories now. How the displaced tribes came down from the Basalt Mountains and claimed the forests as the floods receded. How the great chief Terrick had united the tribes, imposing control brutally and without mercy, bringing the people together and founding the Kingdom of Palara.

Palara was an ancient word that meant “The beauty is in the skies”. After a seemingly endless period of rain that had submerged all of the lowlying land, the sun finally broke through and blue skies reappeared. Terrick declared that they would never forget the beauty of a clear blue sky. That was a long time ago, and much had changed since the days of the great chief Terrick.

The Castle Villeroy had been built by Duke Harald’s great-grandfather, the grandfather of his father. His name was Lord Ironbark, or at least that’s what everyone referred to him as. He claimed the throne of Palara by killing everyone that stood in his way—a tactic that had always impressed the young, studious Harald. Before Ironbark had come to power, the kings of Palara had lived in long, wooden houses, but Ironbark felt that a king needed to have a seat of power that reflected his worth. He brought in stonemasons and master builders from the east to build a castle that could not only be defended against the most ferocious attack, but one which sent a signal to the world that this was the home of a king, this was the home of the King of Palara.

In the history of the Kingdom, there had never been a Queen that had taken the throne. There was nothing in the laws of the kingdom that forbade it, but it was clear that sons took precedence over daughters, and throughout the history of the kingdom there had always been a son born who had been the rightful heir.

As the only child of Ludwig, Princess Myriam was set to be the first Queen to rule the Kingdom of Palara. That was one of the reasons that had emboldened Harald to take control. There was a lot of disquiet amongst the noble families about having a woman rule them. As soon as he could capture Myriam, he would put this nonsense to an end and claim the throne as the only and rightful heir.

20

“Well done, Artas. That’s a good fire,” complimented Ganry, as Artas prepared a bed of fiery coals over which they could cook some food.

“Look at these beauties!” exclaimed Hendon, returning from the river where he had quickly caught enough silvery trout to feed them all.

“The horses are munching happily away!” announced Myriam, having safely secured the horses nearby. “They seemed pretty happy to be on solid ground. I didn’t have the heart to tell them it was only a temporary respite from their swimming.”

Ganry sat down on a log near the fire. He was proud of his brave little crew of travelers. Against all odds, they were still safe, still moving along on their journey.

“What do you think, Barnaby?” Ganry asked as the older man took a seat beside him on the sandbank where they had made camp. “Should we stay here for the night or should we push on and try and get a bit further down river?”

“Well, that depends…”

“Depends on what?”

“Whether you are still trying to reach Castle Locke.”

“Are you saying that in order to reach Castle Locke, we need to get back on the raft and keep moving along the river?”

“This river doesn’t take us to Castle Locke. This river doesn’t flow to the Berghein Valley,” said Barnaby.

“I thought you didn’t know this part of the forest? How do you know that this river won’t take us to the Berghein Valley?” demanded Ganry.

“The fish told me.”

“Great! Now we’re taking directions from fish!” exclaimed Ganry. “I prefer to eat fish, not take directions from them. Are they cooked yet, Hendon?”

“Where do you think this river leads Barnaby?” asked Myriam quietly.

“It doesn’t leave the forest.”

“But it has to flow somewhere, doesn’t it?” asked Artas.

“It does,” agreed Barnaby. “But it doesn’t leave the forest.”

“Well, whether that’s the case or not, it is the only way we’ve got to travel at the moment, so my view is that we have to keep following this river to wherever it is taking us,” said Ganry firmly.

“But what if it isn’t taking us West?” Myriam was concerned. “What if it is taking us further away from Castle Locke?”

“I think that’s a risk that we’ll need to take. We’re so deep in this forest now that it is too late to try and turn around and find a road. Let’s camp here for the night. It’s a good sandbar, we’ve got a fire going, and it will give the horses a chance to rest. We can continue on our raft down the river tomorrow and see where it takes us.”

Night soon fell and the travelers all found a place to sleep near the fire. Ganry took first watch, throwing a log on the fire to keep the coals glowing.

“Can’t sleep?” asked Ganry, as Artas came to sit beside him.

“No. I’m worried about my family. I set out to try and find a way to rescue them from the dungeons of Castle Villeroy, but now we just seem to be getting farther and farther away. And we’re not even sure where we are.”

“I know, kid, I know. Things haven’t really turned out as we’d hoped. But right now I don’t think we’ve got too many options.”

“I understand. I just feel a bit helpless, that’s all. We seem to have been traveling for a long time but we’re really not sure if we’re any closer to where we’re trying to get to.”

They sat in a comfortable silence, watching the flames dance, creating flickering shadows around them.

Ganry watched as Artas fiddled with his bow. “Why did you take up archery? Most boys from noble families are taught to use a sword.”

“I was always pretty small for my age,” Artas said, now checking the fletching on his arrows. “I was never very strong. The other boys always beat me at wrestling. When it came to learning to wield a sword, I really wasn’t strong enough to lift a full-sized one, let alone be able to fend off an opponent with it. So my tutor suggested that instead of trying to compete with the stronger boys that I try a different tactic, so he taught me archery.”

“You’ve done pretty well at it.”

“Thanks,” chuckled Artas. “It made me look at things a bit differently. It made me feel strong and powerful which was something that I’d never felt before. To realize that I didn’t need to be tall or muscular in order to win a fight. I guess you wouldn’t understand that.”

“I wasn’t always this size. I’m a lot older than you, remember.”

“And who taught you how to use a sword?”

Ganry hesitated for a beat. “My father.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No, he died,” said Ganry, stirring the coals of the fire.

“In battle?”

“Surprisingly not. He was a warrior but he was poisoned by my step-mother. I guess that you could say that he was killed in the battle of love.”

“I don’t have a lot of experience in that department,” said Artas, bashfully.

“You’re only young kid, plenty of time for that. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Ganry put his arm in a brotherly way around Artas’s shoulders and punched him lightly.

Artas shrugged him off with a laugh. “Have you ever been married?”

“Yes, I had a wife and a daughter. They’re both dead now,” replied Ganry darkly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” apologized Artas.

“It’s okay, it seems a long time ago now. A different time, a different place, a different life.”

The silence around them lengthened. Artas looked over at Myriam, sleeping peacefully. Her blond hair was untied and lay around her face like rays of the sun. “Why are you protecting Myriam?”

“What do you mean?” Ganry raised an eyebrow. “I’m a mercenary, she is paying me to protect her.”

“There’s more to it than that,” pushed Artas. “No gold is worth the danger that you have placed yourself in on this journey. Whatever she is paying you, you could get double that from Duke Harald if you delivered her to him, I’m sure.”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right. I never thought about that. I could always use more gold.” Ganry chuckled lightly at the shocked expression on Artas’s face. “Just kidding. You know, I’m really not sure. It just seems to be the right thing to do. A chance to do something good for once. A chance to be a hero.” He poked at the fire, causing the flames to dance higher.

21

“Let’s go slaves!” The whip cracked as the wagon pulled to a stop and Henrickson and the other men were pulled down on to the ground.

Betrayed by the Narcs, the smugglers, Henrickson had been sold into slavery in Vandemland. He looked around the desolate landscape. They had arrived at some kind of mine. The dust and the heat were almost unbearable. Henrickson had heard about the mines of Vandemland, but this was beyond anything that he had ever imagined—a vast pit, a deep scar on the land. Henrickson could see thousands of men at work, down in the depths of the mine, hauling loads of rubble up small, narrow ladders, with vicious looking overseers cracking their whips to keep the men working.

The secretive kingdom of Vandemland was known for producing some of the world’s most precious stones and gems, and now Henrickson could see how they did it. Duke Harald had sent Henrickson, the captain of his guard, to scope out Vandemland, to gather information, to prepare for an attack. This wasn’t quite what he had planned.

“Get to work, slaves!” growled one of the foremen, thrusting a pick towards Henrickson. Henrickson reluctantly took hold of the tool and followed the overseer through the clouds of dust and down towards the ladders that would take them into the depths of the mine. “You dig the rock and carry it to the surface. Simple,” explained the overseer.

The slaves working on the mine seemed to be from all sorts of different countries, all different sizes, shapes, colors, and languages. All of them had one thing in common: they were all slaves of Vandemland.

The overseers looked liked grizzled old warriors, wearing leather chest-plates and armed with short, straight daggers. The whips they wielded, though, were their most threatening weapons. They didn’t hesitate to bring the stinging strip of leather down across the back of any slave that they felt wasn’t working hard enough, wasn’t working quick enough, or wasn’t being obedient enough.

The rock that they were digging into was relatively soft, crumbling beneath the pick as Henrickson swung it, slamming the iron spike into the cliff face. The bucket, once filled, had to be carried all the way back up to the top of the mine. Henrickson wasn’t sure what they were even looking for. It was a combination of sandy soil and hard lumps of rock that he was loading into his bucket. He had been told to just take it all to the top.

The unfamiliar motion of the pick soon blistered the skin on his hands, making each digging movement painful. Henrickson knew that he had to find a way to escape from the mine, escape from the captivity of Vandemland. So far, he hadn’t really learned anything that might help Duke Harald’s plan to invade the country, but it was clear that there was great wealth buried beneath the soil of these dry, arid mountains.

“Dig faster!” growled an overseer standing behind Henrickson, and he soon felt the sharp stinging pain of the whip biting into his skin across his back, the force of the blow knocking him to the ground.

“Come on, keep up,” said one of the slaves next to him, helping him back to his feet. “Don’t give them a reason to hurt you.”

“You speak my language? Are you from Palara?” asked Henrickson, quickly getting to his feet and collecting his pick so that he could continue working.

“Once I was…” replied the man. “But I doubt I will ever see my home again. I am Ragnald.”

“I am Henrickson. How long have you been here?”

“Several weeks now. They captured the ship that I was on, just off the coast here.”

“You’re a sailor?”

“A merchant. I was heading for the port of Brammanville. We must have strayed into waters that belonged to Vandemland. We were surrounded by their ships and boarded. They took everyone prisoner. Anyone that resisted was killed.”

“What are our chances of escape?” Henrickson tried to talk discreetly while continuing to chip away at the rock in front of him, loading his bucket and preparing to lug it up the ladders to the top of the mine.

“Of course I’ve thought about escape,” hissed Ragnald. “Everyone thinks of escape, but there is no way to escape. Where would you go? It is a day’s journey to the coast but they are just sheer cliffs down on to the rocks below. In the other direction is the Schonbaker Ravine which is totally impassable, and then everywhere else is desert. There’s not just the overseers to think about, there are guards surrounding the perimeter of the mine. Every day they execute the men that have tried to escape. They don’t just execute them, they draw and quarter them, tearing them apart while their screams echo around the mine.”

“That does sound a bit of a challenge.” Henrickson remained undeterred. “But we’ve got to find a way out of here. I’m not ending my days in this hell-hole of a mine. I’d prefer to try and escape and be executed like a warrior than die at the end of a whip like a miserable slave. Will you come with me?”

“You’re a fool,” said Ragnald, shaking his head. “You have no chance of escaping. I would prefer to take my chances here.”

“Then you are a coward,” spat Henrickson. “You deserve to die a slave. I will fight for my freedom.”

22

“What news, Zander?” demanded Duchess D’Anjue impatiently as her chief counsel entered her throne room.

“Duchess,” greeted Zander, bending down on one knee on the stone floor and bowing deeply in a formal greeting.

“Enough with the bowing, Zander!” dismissed the Duchess impatiently. “What news have our messengers brought from the Kingdom of Palara?”

“It is not good news, I’m afraid, Duchess,” began Zander. “Our agents have confirmed that Duke Harald has seized control.”

“But what of King Ludwig and my daughter Alissia? What has become of them?” demanded the Duchess urgently.

“Their fate remains unclear. They were certainly taken prisoner, but that is all the information we have at the moment.”

“Has Duke Harald claimed the throne? Has he declared himself king?”

“No, it does not appear so.”

“That means that they’re still alive!” said the Duchess, thumping the arm of her wooden throne. “He can’t claim the throne while the rightful king is still alive. Tell me, Zander, what news of my granddaughter, Myriam? Was she also taken prisoner?”

“We weren’t able to find out anything concrete regarding Myriam, I’m afraid,” replied Zander somberly. “There were some reports that she had been taken prisoner, but then also some rumors that she had, in fact, escaped.”

“I wonder…” said the Duchess to herself, thoughtfully, looking into the distance. “It’s strange that we’ve had no word from Myriam’s tutor, Leonidavus. I wonder if they have perhaps managed to escape? I have had dreams about her recently… vivid dreams… that would make sense, that she is calling for me, searching for me, needing my assistance. If only we knew where she was, but all I see in my dreams is water…”

Leonidavus had been one of the Duchess’s most trusted advisors. She had sent him to tutor her granddaughter Myriam so that she would know her history, that she would understand her family and their eternal rule of Castle Locke at the top of the Berghein Valley.

The Duchess had been pleased with the match of her daughter Alissia to the future king of Palara. She had never thought that Ludwig was particularly bright or inspiring, but he was solid and dependable, and he was the heir to the throne. The Duchess didn’t know much about the brother, Duke Harald. She had met him only once or twice. It was in Leonidavus’s last report to her that he had first mentioned his concerns that Duke Harald had designs on the throne of Palara. The Duchess was angry with herself for not taking that warning more seriously, for not having taken action sooner to ensure the protection of her family.

“Duchess…” said Zander tentatively, cautious about interrupting the Duchess’s train of thought.

“Yes, Zander, what is it?”

“Would you like me to take a small detachment of men and go into the Kingdom of Palara to search for Myriam?”

“That is tempting. But where would you look? My dreams aren’t particularly clear. I can’t give you a map reference. Besides, I’m cautious about antagonizing Harald too much. If I sent an armed party across the border, he could easily claim it as an act of aggression, giving him an excuse to crush us with his vastly superior army.”

“We could disguise ourselves?” suggested Zander. “If we weren’t wearing the colors of Locke, then we could pass for mercenaries or traders just riding through.”

“But would you even recognize Myriam? How would you know who you were looking for?”

“I have served your family all my life. I believe will recognize her. My men are skilled hunters. If she is still alive, we will find her.”

“She will be scared and unsure of whom she can trust,” replied the Duchess, clearly warming to the idea. “She wears the ring of Locke, the matching one to mine.” The Duchess held up her left hand to display the glowing ring. “Take my dagger with you, it carries the same stones. She will know it as being of this place. The stones glow brighter when they are brought together.” Zander held out both hands and carefully received the small precious dagger from the Duchess. “How many men will you take with you?”

“Just four plus myself. The main road is heavily guarded by the soldiers of Palara. We will need to find an alternate path in order to try and avoid their attention.”

“Then you will have to enter the forest. Do you know the forest of Cefinon?”

“Does anyone know the forest of Cefinon?” said Zander with a smile.

“You’re right. That vast ancient forest remains a mystery to us all. But if the road is heavily guarded, then there is no other way to travel between here and Palara, which means that if Myriam is trying to reach me then she must also be trying to travel through the forest. When can you leave?”

“I will leave immediately, Duchess. My men can be ready within the hour.”

“Excellent. Go!” instructed the Duchess. “Look for water, Zander. My dreams show me only water.”

The Duchess stood from her throne and walked across to one of the windows that looked out across the Berghein Valley. This protected valley with its rich farmlands had been the home of her family for generations. This castle had remained strong and powerful while the lands beyond its borders had frequently torn themselves apart as various factions vied for power and control. The Duchess wondered whether she had the strength to once again withstand the storm that was brewing beyond the walls of her home. The storm, which had already engulfed her precious daughter, was now threatening her even more precious granddaughter.

23

“The river seems to be slowing down.” Hendon was keenly observing the current as their raft floated along, trailing the four horses who gamely swam along behind them.

“You’re right,” nodded Barnaby.

“We’re coming in to that bend up ahead,” pointed out Artas. “It could be a place to stop and let the horses rest.”

“I can’t see any sign of a sandbank though,” countered Ganry. “It’s almost as if those trees are growing out of the water.”

“Let’s sit tight for a bit longer,” suggested Myriam. “There might be a sandbank around the corner that we can pull into.”

The five travelers clung to their sturdy raft as it followed the flow of the river around the bend. As they slowly swung around, they found themselves confronted by a flotilla of small fishing boats and a forest of spears pointed in their direction.

“It looks like they were expecting us,” observed Ganry wryly.

The fishermen quickly secured ropes to the raft and began to drag it along behind them. As they moved forward, the party of five began to understand why the river had been slowing down. They had entered a massive lake concealed completely within the forest.

“Lake Men,” said Barnaby with growing concern.

“What does that mean?” growled Ganry impatiently. “Who are these Lake Men?”

“I’ve heard of them before, but never knew how to find them. They have very little contact with the outside world.”

“They don’t seem very friendly.” Artas looked warily around.

“They’re probably just scared.”

“So am I,” shivered Myriam.

The fishermen towed the raft into their settlement. To Ganry’s eyes it was a strange, ramshackle collection of wooden houses built on stilts over the water. Once the raft was secured against one of the walkways, the five passengers were instructed to disembark.

“The horses?” Ganry gestured towards the four horses that had been towed along behind the raft. Several of the fishermen quickly worked to untie the horses and led them along to a lower walkway where they could be pulled out of the water.

“Who are you?” demanded a tall, imposing man who emerged from one of the houses. He had an air of importance. The other Lake Men clearly deferred to him. Ganry assumed him to be the tribe’s leader.

“We are holiday-makers, heading west.”

“No one travels on this river,” replied the lake man. “No one travels on a raft like yours. We have been following you since you entered our territory. You are lucky that the water dragons didn’t eat you.”

“Water dragons?” They sound worse than snakes, thought Ganry.

“I asked who you are!” shouted the lake man. “Answer me now or I will have you all killed!”

“I am Princess Myriam from Castle Villeroy, the heir to the Kingdom of Palara,” said Myriam respectfully, stepping forward to try and defuse the situation. The lake man studied her carefully.

“The Kingdom of Palara means nothing to us here,” said the lake man darkly. “We are beyond your control.”

“I acknowledge your independence,” replied Myriam.

“Why would a Princess of Palara be floating along the hidden river on a raft?”

“We are in danger. My family has been taken prisoner. We need to get to the west to safety.”

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“What do you mean, going the wrong way?” demanded Ganry.

“I am not here to answer your questions,” spat the lake man, clearly unimpressed by Ganry’s tone. “You are my prisoners. No one enters the lake without my permission and you do not have my permission! Lock them up!” He gestured to his men to take Ganry and the others away. “Leave the girl with me.”

“No!” shouted Ganry, struggling against the men that had him firmly tied with rope.

Myriam shivered with fear as the lake man led her back inside his wooden hut. She saw that it was small and damp. There was little sign of comfort or warmth. She could hear the water of the lake washing beneath the floor of the hut. She had to admit she was scared of what his intentions might be.

“You have no need to fear me,” said the lake man, sensing Myriam’s apprehension. “Please, take a seat. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Myriam nodded as she sat on a cushion on the wooden floor. “You can see that you have created a problem for us. This is one of our main fishing villages. The secrecy of this lake is the only thing that has kept us strong and independent all of these years, and then suddenly you appear—the heir to the throne of Palara.”

“We don’t want any trouble.” Myriam felt calmer now that the man was displaying some form of civility. Her natural curiosity kicked in. “You have other villages? How many of you are there?”

“There are several thousand of us. Our main settlement is on the other side of the lake, hidden within the trees.”

“And you are their leader?”

“I am Clay, the chief of the Lake Men.” He smiled broadly, revealing a full set of yellowed teeth.

“Sir, please…” began Myriam, thinking about her own quest. “My companions and I need your help. We are in great danger. We must get to Castle Locke.”

“The home of Duchess D’Anjue?”

“She is my grandmother. Do you know her?”

“I owe no allegiance to Castle Locke, but then again I owe no allegiance to Castle Villeroy,” replied Clay. “My ancestors fought hard to survive the great floods. When the tribes descended from the Basalt Mountains, my ancestors struggled to retain their territory, and to protect the forest. Since that time, our continued existence has depended on secrecy and on being hidden. Every fiber in my being screams at me to kill you and your companions immediately. Your very presence here is a threat to everything that we have fought so hard to build.”

Myriam involuntarily jerked back from the menace in his eyes. “Please sir! Please spare us!” begged Myriam. “I promise that we won’t betray you!”

“Well,” pondered Clay, looking her up and down with a half-smile and licking his thin lips. “I may have a proposition for you…”

24

“My brother is a traitor to the Kingdom of Palara and is to be executed!” declared Duke Harald, slamming his fist down on the table, causing the old judge to jump in alarm. They met in the throne room but Duke Harald did not sit on the throne. He knew to sit there would not be proper until he had been duly declared King of the realm. The old man sitting across from him was Judge Strogen, the Chief Judge of Palara. It was Judge Strogen that needed to sign the order that would confirm Duke Harald as the rightful claimant to the throne; the order that was needed before Duke Harald could be crowned as the rightful King of Palara.

“Will there be a trial of your brother’s crimes?” asked the judge tentatively, nervously smoothing his robes as he did his best to avoid Harald’s steely gaze.

“There is no need for a trial,” dismissed Harald. “The evidence is irrefutable.”

“And when will the execution take place?” asked the judge.

“Within seven days,” replied the Harald bluntly.

“And the family of King Ludwig? What will be their fate?”

“Queen Alissia will also be executed. She is complicit in her husband’s guilt,” spat Harald.

“So that will leave Princess Myriam as the heir to the throne?”

“No… it will not!” growled Duke Harald fiercely. “Myriam will be executed also. The guilt of her father stains the whole family.”

“My understanding was that you do not currently have Myriam in custody?” asked Judge Strogen, feeling the anger emanating from the Duke across the table.

“That is irrelevant!” shouted Harald, becoming increasingly tired of the old man’s questioning. “An arrest warrant has been issued for Myriam. As soon as she has been apprehended, then she will be brought back here to Castle Villeroy and executed along with her family.”

“I see.” Judge Strogen pondered this for a moment. “Then I am afraid that I cannot sign the order until her death has been confirmed. While Myriam lives, she remains the rightful heir to the throne of Palara.”

“Outrageous! What if she was confirmed as missing? She may very well be dead. No one has seen or heard from her for some days now. How could a young child survive, wandering the countryside alone? Could we not declare that she is missing and presumed dead, therefore no longer considered heir to the throne?”

“Absolutely,” agreed the judge amiably. “There is certainly some precedent for that, and our laws are quite clear on how a situation like this should be handled. The period of absence that must be observed is set at seven years. You would be appointed as Regent of the Kingdom, but Myriam must be missing for at least seven years before you could be crowned as King.”

“Damn these foolish laws!” cursed Harald, the large vein in his neck throbbing fiercely and his face turning a worryingly red color.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t see any way around this difficult situation,” said the judge, holding out the palms of his hands.

“What if I had you killed?” Duke Harald had a steely glint in his eye. “What if I had you killed and all of your fellow judges? What if I rewrote the laws of this kingdom? What if I declared myself King? Placed the crown on my own head and ruled this country like a man? Like my forefathers? Like the Great Chief Terrick did when he united the tribes and formed this great nation!”

“I humbly urge you to respect our laws and traditions sir,” insisted the judge. “It is our laws and traditions that have kept our country safe and secure throughout the years that have passed since the Great Flood.”

“Get out!” shouted Harald. “Get out! Get out! Get out!” Harald stood up suddenly and tipped over the table at which they were sitting, sending the jug of wine and goblets spinning across the floor, causing the old judge to fall backwards off his chair. The judge hurriedly picked himself up and scurried out of the throne room, thankful to have escaped with his head still attached to his shoulders. He had always heard that Duke Harald had a terrible temper, but he had never seen it in action before.

As the door slammed shut behind the departing judge, Harald threw himself sullenly into the wooden throne, the throne that he coveted, the throne that would soon belong to him. He just had to be patient. It was just a matter of time. He was concerned that he hadn’t yet heard from Henrickson, his captain of the guard. Perhaps it had been foolish to send him off to Vandemland, but it had seemed a relatively simple mission.

Impatience was one of Harald’s faults. He was always rushing on to the next big idea instead of seeing through the challenges that had to be faced. He hadn’t expected that seizing the throne would be so difficult. He had the support of the army, and he had the support of the nobles. It infuriated him that he was being outwitted by a girl.

Now, his ambitions were being blocked by a frail old judge in black, silk robes. Harald was torn, his heart told him to defy convention, to defy laws and rules and everything that stood in his way. But his head told him that he had to try and bide his time, that unless he was crowned King according to the laws and customs of the land then everything that he had worked so hard for could quickly unravel. He needed to be patient. He needed to let time run its course. Unfortunately, patience and time were two things that he did not have a lot of.

25

“You’re mad!” hissed Ragnald. “You’ll never make it!”

“I have to try!” whispered Henrickson. “Come with me!” Ragnald shook his head, unwilling to risk his life on the slim hope of escaping from the soldiers that guarded the mines of Vandemland.

Henrickson had waited until nightfall. As the sun began to set, the guards finally called an end to the working day and led the slaves, shackled by chains around their ankles, back to their sleeping quarters. The sleeping quarters were rows of canvas tents set back from the top of the mine. Six slaves to each tent. Conditions were crowded, dirty, there were fleas, and an inescapable stench that seemed to permeate everything. Henrickson had spent the first few days of his captivity trying to find a weak point in the mine’s security, trying to figure out how he could possibly escape from this hell-hole and return to Palara.

Henrickson felt that the slaves were too closely observed during the day for there to be any chance of avoiding detection, but at night when they were all chained together in their tents there might be some hope of sneaking past the guards.

The first thing that he had to do was to get the chain off from around his ankle. It was a thick, rusted, iron chain, fixed to him by a manacle. He’d concealed a sharp piece of rock in his clothing while working down in the mine. As soon as they had been marched into their tent, he used the rock to begin working away at the manacle, banging the rock against the rusted joint, and using brute force to try and free himself from the chains that bound him. Several times, his blows missed the iron manacle and the rock painfully struck his leg, blood flowing from the wound.

“Do it quietly,” whispered Ragnald. “You will bring the guards here and they will kill us all!”

“Shut up coward,” spat Henrickson. “Your fate is no concern of mine.” Eventually, the hinge on the manacle broke beneath the pressure of the rock and the chains fell from Henrickson’s ankle. His next challenge was to somehow move away from the tented camp where the slaves spent each night. The tents were arranged in long rows, with guards patrolling up and down in between each row.

Henrickson tried to peer out through the flap in the tent. The visibility was poor but he could just make out a guard walking down towards them. Henrickson pulled his head back inside and waited until the guard passed. Once the coast was clear he quickly slid out of the tent and crouched down behind it. There was a guard patrolling in front of him and a guard patrolling behind. He needed to evade their detection and make it to the perimeter of the camp. The boundary was also patrolled, but under cover of darkness, Henrickson felt that he had a chance of escape.

He crawled low on his belly, pausing in the shadows as the guards came close, moving only when the coast was clear, slowly but surely making his way to the perimeter. When he reached the edge of the camp he stood up and began to move slowly towards the fence line where the guards patrolled.

It was a cloudy night, the stars were barely visible, and Henrickson had to almost feel his way across the dry rocky ground. He paused. He could see one patrol to his left and one patrol to his right. If he moved quickly, he had a clear path directly in front. Henrickson moved cautiously forward, one foot in front of the other, ears pricked for any sign of movement from the watching patrols. Henrickson’s heart was racing, his adrenalin pumping as his hopes began to rise of a successful escape. He hadn’t made any sort of plan for where he would go or how he would attempt to make the journey back to Palara. His mind was solely focused on escaping from the captivity of the mine first. Slowly, cautiously, one foot in front of the other.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a dull metal click and Henrickson’s body was flooded with searing biting pain. He couldn’t hold back the scream that roared involuntarily from his lungs. He looked down and saw the metal teeth of the trap biting into his leg, the blood gushing from the gaping wound as the steel jaws firmly held his leg within its grasp. He tried to wrestle the jagged teeth of the trap open, desperately trying to free himself, but the next thing he felt was a thud to the back of his head, knocking him unconscious.

It was morning when Henrickson was woken by the bucket of cold water thrown on his face. He groaned, the pain in his leg was unbearable. Before he knew what was happening he was dragged out into the middle of the camp where all the slaves were being assembled before beginning their day of work. Henrickson was thrown down into the dust, in agonizing pain from the wound in his leg, the searing sun making it almost impossible to see.

“Let this be a lesson to you all!” shouted the guard that was standing over Henrickson’s crumpled body. “No one escapes from the mines of Vandemland! No one! You are all slaves here and you will die here, as slaves!”

Chains were wrapped around Henrickson’s ankles and wrists and he was stretched out painfully. The guard pulled a long blade out from the scabbard on his belt and held it aloft so that the assembled slaves could appreciate the punishment that was about the be meted out. The blade flashed brilliantly in the rays of the sun as it made its first cut across Henrickson’s abdomen, slicing his body open. He was barely conscious, beyond registering any more pain, beyond feeling anything as the second cut of the knife sliced down his body length-ways, the blood gathering in a pool around him.

“Bring forth the slaves who shared this vermin’s tent last night!” roared the guard, wiping Henrickson’s blood from his dagger. Ragnald and the other four men were pushed roughly forward. “Kneel!” instructed the guard.

The five slaves knelt in a line, facing the broken body of the dying Henrickson. One by one, the guard stood behind each of the kneeling slaves, grabbing hold of the hair on their heads and pulling them back so that their necks were exposed. He then sliced his sharp blade across each of their throats, swiftly ending their lives and their captivity. Ragnald was the last in line. He knew what was coming, and he almost looked forward to it. Finally able to put an end to this torture, this wretched existence. Finally, freedom.

26

“Once we have passed through the fort, then we will need to leave the main road as soon as we can,” instructed Zander as his small company of men passed through the border crossing from the Berghein Valley into the Kingdom of Palara. The border was not tightly controlled. Two flags from the ruling houses marked each side. The flag of Castle Locke was a white horse on a green background, and on the opposing side the flag of the Kingdom of Palara was a golden eagle soaring over water.

To leave the Berghein Valley, Zander and his four men passed through a small guard post that was manned by the guard of the Duchess D’Anjue. The guards recognized Zander’s insignia and his rank as chief counsel to the Duchess. The control barrier was immediately opened for them so that they could pass through unimpeded. On the other side of the border, the Kingdom of Palara had a small fort that was known as Forest Hill, as it stood at the top of a small rise giving views back across the Cefinon Forest and over the border into the Berghein Valley.

The fort had been built a long time ago. It was built from stone, designed to last and hold this strategic position for the Kingdom of Palara. There was a small troop of soldiers charged with holding the fort and monitoring any traffic that was passing in or out of the Berghein Valley.

“Halt!” challenged the guard, as Zander and his men approached. “State your business!”

“I am Zander Moncrieff, chief counsel to the Duchess D’Anjou. I travel on official business to Castle Villeroy.”

“Show me your papers.” Zander handed over his letter of passage that bore the seal of the Duchess D’Anjou. “Make sure you stick to the main road,” said the soldier gruffly, handing back Zander’s documents after studying them briefly. “There are bandits in the forest.”

“Thank you, we will.”

The soldiers opened the gates that the fort used to control the road, and Zander and his men rode through, passing by the old stone fort and beginning their quest to try and find the Princess Myriam.

“Let’s stop at that inn ahead,” pointed Zander. “We need to try and get some local knowledge of what other paths lead through the forest.” Zander spurred his horse, Samphire, forward and led his four men to the small highway inn. A wooden sign swung back and forth in the gentle breeze proclaiming it proudly as the “The Bull’s Horn”.

Zander had brought only four men with him because he knew that he needed to travel fast, and to try and avoid drawing too much attention to his quest. He had chosen four of his best men. They were strong, reliable, trustworthy, and intensely loyal. All four men were in their early thirties (as was Zander) and had served Zander since his first appointment as a commanding officer in the Castle Locke guard.

The five men rode around the back of the inn so that they could feed and water the horses. The ride from Castle Locke to the border, and then across into the Kingdom of Palara, had taken them all morning, so the horses were obviously pleased to be able to take a break.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” greeted the innkeeper, coming out to the stables to welcome them. “Can I interest you in some lunch? We have some very tasty lamb shanks today. The meat is so tender that it falls off the bone and melts in your mouth.”

“Yes, that sounds good, thank you. I’m sure we’ve all worked up an appetite,” replied Zander. The innkeeper bustled around to pull five chairs around a table and poured them mugs of beer while the kitchen prepared their meals.

“And where are you heading to, then?” asked the innkeeper, making conversation as he put their beers on the table. “By the look of your clothing, I’d say that you’ve just come across from the Berghein Valley. What brings you to the Kingdom of Palara?”

Zander was always friendly with innkeepers. They were usually useful to pump for information. “We are on our way to Castle Villeroy. But we were also interested in seeing some of the forest, so we were wondering if there was another path that we could follow, away from the main road. Would you know of any?”

“Well, there are lots of paths into the forest, but no one really knows where they all lead or where they’ll take you. Plus, the soldiers have told us that there are a lot of bandits in this part of the forest and that we have to be extra vigilant. They’ve increased the number of men manning the fort as well.”

“What about rivers or lakes in the area? Are there any major bodies of water that we should see?”

“Of course, the main river is the River Walsall which flows into the Damatine Sea at the port of Brammanville. You’ll cross over the river when you get to Athaca on the main road, although I hear that the town was damaged recently in an attack.”

Zander wondered if it had anything to do with the Princess. “An attack? What sort of attack?”

“Oh, I don’t really know all the details,” replied the innkeeper. “I only hear stories from soldiers and travelers, but apparently it was a gang of bandits that had been arrested in Athaca, but they managed to escape by setting the town on fire.”

“Do you know anything about these bandits?”

“No, I’m afraid not, but the soldiers have increased their patrols to try and find them, so I’m sure it won’t be long until they’ve been captured and executed. Enjoy your lunch gentlemen!”

27

“I don’t like this,” growled Ganry, looking out through the small window in the room in which they had been locked by the Lake Men.

“Yes,” agreed Artas, “it worries me that they have kept Myriam separate. Do you think that they will harm her?”

“It’s hard to say. I’ve no experience of these Lake Men. They seem a pretty rough lot.”

“There have been stories of the Lake Men,” mused Barnaby. “No one was really sure that they existed, but there were always tales of tribes of people living deep in the forest. The tribes were here before the flood, and they resisted the great chief Terrick’s wars to unite the kingdom.”

“How have they stayed hidden for so long?” asked Hendon.

“Well, we are deep in the Cefinon Forest now, although I’m not exactly sure where we are…” pondered Barnaby. “I guess the only way to get here is along the river that we drifted down and they probably kill anyone who comes across them by accident.”

“Like us?” Artas was greatly concerned. “That means that they will probably kill us, doesn’t it?”

“Probably,” sighed Barnaby. “If it means protecting their home, and protecting their existence.”

“It’s funny, though,” said Ganry, still trying to see out the window. “They seemed to know quite a bit about the Kingdom of Palara. They knew enough about the outside world to know what we were talking about.”

Barnaby traced his hand along the wall of their cell. “Yes, I noticed that. They are certainly not completely primitive. It has taken a certain ingenuity to remain hidden for so long, to build a culture, a way of life that revolves completely around this isolated lake deep in the forest. I imagine that they interrogate anyone that they capture to obtain as much information as possible.”

“Great,” groaned Ganry, “they’re going to torture us first and then kill us. This is working out really well.” Ganry returned his attention to trying to scope out the surroundings of their prison. He could see that it was a small fishing village, all made of wood, the houses and buildings constructed on stilts out across the water, which were connected by wooden walkways and pontoons that formed a small marina. He couldn’t see a lot of people in the village and no real sign of any guards. Mostly just men that seemed to belong to the boats of the fishing fleet. “This is only an outpost.”

“What do you mean?” asked Artas, joining Ganry at the window.

“They don’t really live here, that’s why it feels so rough and temporary,” explained Ganry. “I think it’s just some sort of fishing outpost for them.”

“So there is another settlement somewhere? On this lake also?”

“I guess so, but who knows?” shrugged Ganry. “We really don’t know what we’re dealing with here. If Barnaby’s theory is correct, we might never know. They might interrogate and kill us here before we even see their main settlement.”

Artas clenched his fists. “Then we will need to escape.”

***

“This way, Princess,” said Clay, the chief of the Lake Men, stepping down into the small boat that was secured to the wooden pontoon outside his residence. He held out his hand to help Myriam to follow him down. It was a simple, wooden boat that was functional, but had some trappings that indicated that this was a boat that belonged to someone of importance. There was a small sail that helped to catch the breeze and there were several oarsmen that helped to guide the boat away from the pontoon. Myriam looked back towards the wooden settlement where she knew her companions remained imprisoned. She felt sick at being separated from Ganry, Artas, Hendon, and Barnaby, but she felt that she didn’t have a choice. This was the only way that she would be able to save them.

Myriam sat down on the wooden bench and hugged herself tight. “Where are we going?”

“To my city, Halawa,” replied Clay proudly. “It’s not far, just across the lake.”

“But what of my companions?”

“It is better that they remain at the fishing village. Safer for them. And safer for you.”

Myriam pulled her cloak around her shoulders and shivered, partly from the cold wind generated by the speed of the boat across the lake, but mostly from fear of the unknown, of what might lie ahead.

Myriam studied Clay, the chief of the Lake Men. He stood in the bow of the boat, clearly in charge of the crew, carefully scanning the waters ahead, a man at home on the water, a man that was at one with this lake. He looked to be in his late forties, but it was hard to tell, as his face was weathered, and his body was strong. His hair was long, tied at the back, streaked with gray. His beard was also streaked with gray, plaited at the ends. His clothing was made from a dull material, a long cloak billowed behind him. The crew of his boat were dressed similarly. They were tall, proud men. Lake Men.

28

Queen Alissia was awoken by the sound of a key turning slowly in a lock. She stirred on the uncomfortable bed in the dungeon cell in which she and her husband, King Ludwig, had been locked since Duke Harald seized control. It was early, still well before sunrise, and the dungeon was pitch black. The Queen sat up and tried to peer out into the darkness to see what was going on. She heard another key slowly turning in a lock. She quickly shook her husband who was lying next to her.

“What is it?” he asked, opening his eyes.

“Someone is coming,” whispered the Queen. She could see the flickering of a torch beginning to throw some light into the dungeon as its holder made their way down the steep stone stairs. “It’s the dungeon master,” said the Queen, watching intently as the bulky shape of the brutish man used the torch that he was carrying to begin lighting other torches around the dungeon.

“It’s the middle of the night. What do you think he’s doing here?” asked the King. Just then there was the sound of voices and the rattle of armed men descending the stairs.

“Soldiers!” exclaimed the Queen, immediately getting out of bed and wrapping herself in her cloak. “They could be coming for us,” she said, handing the King his cloak. The Queen peered out of the small barred window of their cell, looking out into the dungeon to try and work out what was going on. A company of six armed soldiers were standing to attention, waiting. More footsteps were heard as someone else began the descent into the dungeon.

“It’s Judge Strogen!” whispered the Queen as the elderly Chief Judge of Palara emerged into sight.

“I don’t like this,” grumbled the King. “Why would they have dragged the Chief Judge down here in the middle of the night?”

The Queen watched as the judge spoke briefly to the dungeon master who then picked up his ring of keys. The dungeon master led the judge across to one of the cells, but he didn’t approach the cell that contained the King and Queen. Instead, he went to the adjacent cell that imprisoned Lord Holstein and his wife, Elisabeth.

The Queen tried to watch and listen as the cell door was opened. The judge spoke quietly. “Lord Holstein and Lady Holstein. You have been imprisoned in these dungeons because you have both been charged with treason. In my capacity as Chief Judge of the Kingdom of Palara, I hereby find you guilty as charged and sentence you to death. Your execution will be carried out immediately.” The Queen closed her eyes as she heard Lady Holstein begin screaming and wailing in horror as the reality of the judge’s pronouncement hit her. The guards stepped forward to surround Lord and Lady Holstein to lead them from their cell.

“I forbid this! I forbid this!” shouted the King angrily. “Judge Strogen! I am still the rightful King of Palara and you have no authority to make this judgment or pass this sentence. I forbid this, do you hear me!” The judge did not acknowledge the King in any way, but slowly and carefully led the way out of the dungeon and up the steep stone steps, with the guards escorting Lord and Lady Holstein following behind. As they watched the lights of the torches slowly disappearing and heard the last of the doors being locked, the Queen broke down and sobbed as the King wrapped his arms around her.

“It’s only a matter of time before they kill us too, isn’t it,” she said sadly.

“We can only pray to the gods now,” replied the King. “Pray for some kind of miracle.”

***

As the sun slowly began to rise to the east of Castle Villeroy, a single drummer began to beat a muted rhythm in one of the small courtyards within the Castle. Duke Harald took a seat on the plain wooden chair that had been placed for him on the gray flagstones, so that he could observe proceedings.

The soldiers led Lord and and Lady Holstein out into the center of the courtyard where a block of wood had been positioned. This is where the Kingdom of Palara executed people by beheading them. Execution by beheading was a punishment reserved for members of the nobility or prisoners of some political or religious importance. Ordinary criminals simply had their throats cut by the local Sheriff, but the execution of someone of noble birth required a bit more ceremony.

Judge Strogen stood in front of the executioner’s wooden block. The executioner, wearing a black hood and clutching his axe, stood patiently to one side.

“I, Judge Strogen, the Chief Judge of the Kingdom of Palara, hereby authorize the execution of Lord Holstein and Lady Holstein,” announced the judge, as loud as his frail voice would carry.

The judge stepped to one side and a priest stepped forward to say a prayer over the prisoners. The judge nodded to the soldiers who led Lady Holstein towards the executioner’s block. She was ghostly white, her face pale, her eyes red from crying. Her whole body seemed numb. She knelt down and placed her neck on the block of wood, her chin in the groove that had been specially carved for the purpose.

Lord Holstein, unable to watch, closed his eyes as he saw the executioner move into position. The executioner slowly raised his heavy iron axe and then brought it swiftly down, the blade slicing cleanly through the long, elegant neck of Lady Holstein. As he heard the thud of the axe blade hitting the wood, Lord Holstein’s body shuddered. He felt sick to his very core. As the soldiers grabbed hold of his arms, he opened his eyes and saw his wife’s lifeless body being unceremoniously dragged away.

“You will pay for these crimes!” he shouted bitterly at Duke Harald who was watching proceedings with apparent disinterest.

“My dear Lord Holstein,” smirked Harald, “I’m afraid that it is you who are about to pay for your crimes.”

Lord Holstein was led to the executioner’s wooden block, freshly stained with the blood of his wife. He knelt down and placed his chin in the groove carved into the block, closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the ugly reality of what was about to happen. The hooded executioner slowly raised up his iron axe and then quickly brought the sharp blade down onto Lord Holstein’s exposed neck, cleanly severing his head from his shoulders, creating a pool of blood that surrounded the block of wood that had ended the lives of so many.

“Very good.” Harald stood up from his chair and stretched his arms. “I think it might rain today,” he said, examining the dark clouds that were forming in the sky, before striding off back inside the castle, hastily followed by his retinue of guards and attendants.

29

“You will be sleeping in the slave quarters at the back of the villa, but most of your time will be spent here in the main house,” explained Badr al Din, the chief housekeeper who had purchased Arexos from the Vandemland slave market.

Arexos followed the housekeeper in a daze. He was still having difficulty understanding how he now found himself in this position. It seemed only moments ago that he was traveling with his master Henrickson, the captain of the guard at Castle Villeroy. They had paid the Narc smugglers to transport them into Vandemland, but once the blindfolds had been removed, it was clear that the Narcs had betrayed them, deciding to sell them into slavery as retribution for the difficulties that the soldiers of Palara had caused to their smuggling operations.

Arexos had been pulled from the horse that he had been riding, the blindfold untied, and then chained to a post while the Narcs negotiated his sale to the highest bidder. He had seen his master, Henrickson, being dragged off and thrown onto a cart with other slaves. He had tried to call out to Henrickson but one of the Narcs had slapped him across the face to silence him.

Arexos hadn’t been able to follow the negotiations that had been swirling around him, but before too long he had been unchained from the post where he was standing and led along to a horse drawn cart. The man that had bought him was Badr al Din, the chief housekeeper who was now patiently explaining the operations of the villa and what Arexos’s duties would entail.

“Any questions?” asked Badr al Din with a warm smile.

“Um… who owns the villa?” asked Arexos uncertainly.

“The man who owns this villa, and the man who now owns you, is Qutaybah, one of the most powerful men in Vandemland.”

“And this is his home?”

“One of his homes!” laughed Badr al Din. “He mainly uses this villa as a hunting lodge, so he may come and stay for a few weeks at a time, often bringing a lot of people with him that he will entertain. He’s not here at the moment, but we are expecting him to arrive in the next few days. That is why we have had to increase the staff in readiness. That is why we have bought you.”

“Oh, I see…” Arexos said stiffly. “Are you a slave too?”

“You’re very inquisitive for a young boy!” chortled Badr al Din. “Yes, of course I’m a slave. Almost everyone in Vandemland is a slave of some sort. Only the noble families are free citizens of these lands, the rest of us all belong to them. You my dear boy, as a slave captured from a conquered people, are the lowest status level of all slaves, the lowest of the low.”

“But I’m not from a conquered people!” protested Arexos. “I’m from the Kingdom of Palara. Vandemland hasn’t conquered Palara.”

“That is of no importance,” dismissed Badr al Din. “You were sold in a slave market by slave traders. That means you are a conquered slave, the lowest of the low.”

“Were you a conquered slave too?”

“No, indeed I was not!” snorted Badr al Din. “My family were shepherds on the grasslands owned by Qutaybah’s family. I was very fortunate to be selected to join the household staff. Only tradesmen and merchants are of a higher cast than shepherds. Now enough talk, let’s get you bathed and dressed in some fresh clothes. You may be a captured slave, but you at least need to look a bit presentable.”

Arexos meekly followed Badr al Din, who led the way into the bathing room attached to the sleeping quarters for the slaves. It was a simple but functional stone pool of hot water with jugs of cold water filled from a nearby aqueduct.

“How does it work?” asked Arexos, looking at the bath in confusion.

“Take your dusty clothes off, rinse the dirt off you with the cold water, and then you soak your body in the warm tub, and then before you put your robes on you apply this oil to your skin,” explained Badr al Din patiently.

Arexos sniffed at the jug suspiciously. “What’s the oil?”

“It’s just almond oil. It’s good for your body, keeps you healthy. Hurry up now, we have chores to do!”

Arexos quickly stepped out of his clothes, sluiced himself with the cold water to wash the dust and smell of the slave market away, before sliding into the warm water of the bathing pond.

“Oh, this is nice…” sighed Arexos appreciatively, suddenly forgetting the stress and anxiety that had been overwhelming him as the warm water soaked his tired body.

“Come on now, you’re not here to enjoy yourself!” scolded Badr al Din, holding a cloth out to Arexos so that he could dry the water from himself as he emerged from the bath. “Smear the oil onto your skin and put this robe on. This will be what you wear now that you are part of the staff here at Villa Salamah.”

30

Zander pushed his chair back from the table and threw his cloak around his shoulders. “Right boys, let’s saddle up and get moving.”

It had been a hearty lunch at The Bull’s Horn inn and a good chance to refresh the horses after their ride this morning from Castle Locke, but every minute was precious if they were going to be successful in their search for Princess Myriam.

“Sir, the attack on Athaca that the innkeeper was talking about, do you think that has anything to do with Myriam?” asked Aban, one of Zander’s men.

“It’s about the only lead that we have so far. We might need to take a gamble on it. It would certainly help to narrow our search as it would place her somewhere between Athaca and here.”

“But she wouldn’t be traveling on the main road,” chipped in Yasir, another of Zander’s men, as they rode along. “So she’s either gone north into the farmlands that lie towards the coast or she’s gone South into the Cefinon Forest.”

“Yes, that’s true, Yasir,” acknowledged Zander. “I can’t imagine that she will have gone into the forest though. There’s no way that she could navigate her way through that, so my guess is that she will be trying to pass through the farmlands without drawing attention to herself.”

“But sir, remember that the innkeeper spoke of brigands. It almost sounded like a gang of some sort. Perhaps she isn’t traveling alone, perhaps she is with companions? In that case, a group of them is more likely to attract attention in the farmlands, and she may have someone with her that knows the forest, which would make that a safer option.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that. We could try splitting up so that we try and cover both scenarios, but at this stage I’d prefer us to stick together, if possible. The trouble is, if they’ve gone into the forest, they really could be anywhere, and the Duchess’s visions of water don’t seem to be helping us, unless she was perhaps referring to the River Walsall at Athaca?”

“So what are your orders, sir?” Aban was eager to proceed.

“Let’s take the first path into the forest that we can find,” decided Zander. “I’m not sure where this search will take us, but we’ll just need to keep trying to gather information as we progress. Yasir, you and Najid ride ahead and scout us a path off this road and into the forest.”

Yasir and Najid spurred their horses on and cantered away. Zander studied the road ahead and the trees that were becoming thick on each side of the road. This main road led to the town of Athaca, across the River Walsall. It then went all the way across the Kingdom of Palara to Castle Villeroy, becoming the main east-west transport link for the country. From Athaca north to the Damatine Sea, the main transport link was the River Walsall, which carried timber and goods down to the port of Brammanville where the Kingdom’s fleet was harbored. The east/west road effectively bordered the Cefinon Forest which lay to the south of the road, thick forest all the way to the foot of the Basalt Mountains.

Zander was not looking forward to entering into the forest. He had heard stories, fairytales mostly. There were legends of wild beasts, monsters, and tribes of untamed men who did not bow to the laws of civilized man. He hoped that somewhere in that forest was Princess Myriam, and that somehow she was still safe.

“Do you know this forest at all, Karam?” Zander asked the man riding beside him. Karam shook his head. Karam was one of Zander’s most ferocious fighters. A mute, his tongue had been cut out as a child. “The stories… do you believe any of them?” Karam shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re not scared are you, sir?” asked Aban.

“Not scared, Aban. Not scared, just a bit curious. Plus I don’t really like surprises.”

At that moment, Yasir and Najid came galloping back towards them.

“We need to get off the road now, sir!” shouted Yasir. “A large company of soldiers from the Kingdom of Palara, coming this way! Follow me, there’s a path into the forest just ahead!” Zander and the others quickly broke into a canter and followed Yasir off the road and into the forest, along the small dirt path that soon seemed to be swallowed up by the surrounding trees. “They have dogs with them, sir. Let’s push in deeper as quickly as we can. We don’t want to give them any reason to follow us. We’d be outnumbered if things got a bit sticky.” They spurred the horses on, dodging low-hanging branches and vines as they sped along the forest path.

“We don’t have a lot of daylight left.” Zander and his men slowed their horses into a more sustainable speed. “We should think about making camp for the night. What about this clearing up ahead? Karam, you’re in charge of finding some food. Yasir and Najid can take care of the horses, and Aban and I will get a fire going. We’ll need to set a watch through the night.”

Zander’s men quickly set about their tasks, securing the horses, and gathering wood. It wasn’t long before Karam returned with enough pigeons to feed them all, expertly dressing them and skewering them on sticks so that they could be roasted over the coals of the fire. As night fell, they quickly made their beds and tried to get some sleep.

Zander took the first watch, sitting by the fire and silently observing the dark forest that surrounded them. The rustling in the branches, the impassive trees, the gnawing sense that someone or something was watching their every move troubled him.

31

“Nearly there!” shouted Clay, chief of the Lake Men, turning back over his shoulder to smile encouragingly at Myriam, as the small boat sped across the still waters of the lake. Myriam nodded, and pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders. As the boat rounded a tree-covered promontory, Myriam gasped as an enormous city came into view. Hundreds of elaborate wooden houses, built on stilts out over the water of the lake.

“This is Halawa!” beamed Clay, gesturing expansively.

Myriam looked around in awe. “I had no idea it would be so big.”

“Yes, this is our main city, our main settlement.”

The boat was soon pulling smoothly into dock against one of the many wooden pontoons. Clay was met by a small retinue, who appeared to be household staff. He held out his hand and assisted Myriam to step from the boat onto the pontoon. “Come, my home is this way!”

As they walked along, Clay was warmly greeted and welcomed by everyone who observed their approach. It was clear that Clay was a popular leader of the Lake Men. The wooden walkways that they followed led them towards a large building, long and low in its construction. As they walked towards it, the doors swung open.

“Here we are!” smiled Clay, encouraging Myriam forward as he acknowledged the members of his household that were bowing in greeting, showing the appropriate respect to the chief of the Lake Men. “Let me introduce you. Everyone, this is Princess Myriam from the Kingdom of Palara. Princess, this is my sister, Lisl, and her son, my nephew, Linz.”

“Pleased to meet you,” greeted Myriam politely.

“You are most welcome in our home,” bowed Lisl. “Please, join us for refreshments by the fishpond.”

Myriam followed Lisl who led the way through what Myriam assumed would be a palace. Clay’s home was constructed of wood and it was a big open space. There didn’t really seem to be any rooms or internal walls. There were some small partitions and curtains to create privacy or screen off certain sections, but as a home it seemed more like an enormous hall, quite different to Castle Villeroy where Myriam had grown up. The fishpond that Lisl had referred to was an intriguing space within the palace. There was a large round hole in the floor through which the water of the lake lapped quietly. There were seats around the hole and Myriam could see large, brightly colored fish swimming slowly around in the pond.

“I’ve never seen fish like these,” admired Myriam. “Can they not swim away into the lake?”

“We have created a cage beneath the water so they can’t really swim away,” explained Lisl. “Plus we feed them so well that I don’t think they would go anywhere even if there was no cage.”

“What sort of fish do you call them?” asked Myriam, intrigued by their bright colors, long whiskers, and sharp teeth.

“They are Polopon fish. Don’t put your fingers in the water as they are quick to bite. Beautiful but deadly, like so much in this world.” Myriam drank the tea that was poured for her and ate some of the smoked fish that had been prepared. She looked across at Linz, Clay’s nephew. He seemed quiet and reserved. She thought perhaps he was just shy.

“How old are you, Linz?” Myriam asked, trying to make conversation.

“Thirteen.” He was barely able to meet Myriam’s gaze.

“One day, he will be chief of the tribe,” beamed Clay, proudly slapping Linz on the back, seeming to cause him further embarrassment.

“You have no children of your own?” Myriam asked Clay.

“No, I have never married. I always seem to have been too busy to find a wife, but I am happy for my nephew to continue the family tradition and keep our tribe strong and prosperous.”

“What are you doing here?” asked Linz quietly, shyly looking up at Myriam.

“There is trouble in my Kingdom. I am in hiding with my companions and I’m afraid that we stumbled upon your lake by accident.”

Lisl looked across at Clay in alarm. “You have companions?”

“They are being held securely by the fishing fleet,” soothed Clay.

“Please, will you release them?” Myriam pleaded. “I am worried that they will be hurt or mistreated, or that they may try and escape.”

“It is really for their own protection that we are holding them there,” replied Clay. “Our laws require that any outsiders who enter our lake must be immediately executed in order to keep our existence secret, in order to keep us safe. If we brought them here to Halawa, I would have no choice but to order them to be killed. By keeping them with the fishing fleet out near the mouth of the river, we can avoid drawing too much attention to them, for a short time at least.”

“Why have you brought me here then? Don’t the laws apply to me also?”

Clay looked at Myriam thoughtfully, glancing briefly at his nephew. “I would like you to marry Linz. I would like you to remain here with us and become part of my family.”

Myriam gasped and also noticed that Linz had opened his eyes wide in astonishment.

“But I can’t stay here!” insisted Myriam. “I have to rescue my family and my kingdom. I have to find a way to take the throne to which I am the rightful heir!”

Clay was unmoved. “But my dear Princess. You must understand that now that you have found us, now that you have discovered our existence, we can never let you leave.”

32

“If only there was such a thing as magic,” mused the Duchess D’Anjue, absentmindedly twisting the thick, solid ring that she wore on the middle finger of her left hand. It had been several days now and still there had been no word from Zander, her chief counsel, whom she had dispatched to search for her missing granddaughter. The Duchess regretted not having been able to spend more time with Myriam, but she had tried to provide support from a distance, sending the learned Leonidavus to the Castle Villeroy to tutor Myriam and watch over her.

“It wasn’t enough,” muttered the Duchess, scolding herself. When Duke Harald had seized control of the Kingdom of Palara, she had begun to lose hope. “I should never have tried to bargain with that fool.”

The Duchess prided herself on her diplomacy and her ability to steer powerful men to follow the course that was most advantageous to her, and to her small principality within the Berghein Valley. Alissia was her youngest daughter and the match with Ludwig, the heir to the throne of Palara, had seemed too good to pass up, securing an alliance with her biggest neighbor, garnering the protection of the powerful armies of Palara.

Alissia had been a smart girl. She knew that marrying Ludwig was the right thing to do. Ludwig clearly wasn’t the smartest of men, but he didn’t seem to be overly violent and he wasn’t unpleasant to look at.

When Myriam had been born, the Duchess insisted that Myriam be sent to her at Castle Locke, for schooling and tutorship, but Ludwig, King by this stage, flatly refused, demanding that as Myriam was the heir to the throne that she must remain in Palara at Castle Villeroy. Only after much beseeching by Alissia did he begrudgingly accept a tutor from Castle Locke.

Correspondence with Alissia had been infrequent, and the Duchess had only made the journey to Castle Locke once—for Myriam’s twelfth birthday, an important occasion in the Berghein Valley.

The Duchess smoothed a gold thread that trailed across her robe as she walked to the window of her study, looking out across the valley below. She had never felt more alone. She had never felt more isolated. Her brow furrowed in thought.

Suddenly, as if she had reached some sort of clarity or decision, she reached out and rang the small bell that sat discreetly on her desk.

Her valet opened the door of the study. “Yes, Your Excellence?”

“Send the captain of the guard to me.”

The Duchess sat down at her desk. It was a simple design, made from the wood of the walnut trees that grew throughout the Berghein Valley. She picked up one of the scrolls that sat neatly on top of the desk, rolling it out in front of her so that she could study it closely. The Duchess was not a young woman, but her eyesight was still keen. With her index finger she traced the road that led from the Berghein Valley across the Kingdom of Palara, all the way to Castle Villeroy. To the south of the road lay the rich farmland that stretched to the coastline of the Damatine Sea, while to the north of the road lay the Cefinon Forest—the deep dark forest about which so little was known. The Duchess’s concentration was disturbed by a polite knock on the door.

“Yes?”

“The Captain of the Guard is here to see you, Your Excellence,” announced her valet.

“Thank you, send him in,” commanded the Duchess. “Captain Versance, thank you for coming at such short notice,” smiled the Duchess, greeting her captain.

“I am at your command, Your Excellence,” bowed the captain. “How can I be of assistance?”

“What is the status of our army?”

“As we are in a time of peace, we have stood down all but the permanent guards that protect the castle.”

“How many men could we call up if we needed to?”

The captain looked concerned. “Are we under threat, Your Excellence?”

“Answer my questions first, captain,” scolded the Duchess, “and then we will decide whether we are under threat. How many men could we call up if we needed to?”

The captain replied without hesitation. “Two thousand, Your Excellence.”

“And how quickly could we have them called to arms and ready for action?”

“One week, Your Excellence,” replied the captain confidently.

“Thank you, captain. As always I am impressed by your command of our forces. You have always served me well.”

“Your Excellence, what is the threat that we are facing?”

“War is coming, Captain. I don’t know exactly when it will come, or where our greatest dangers lie, but I am certain that war is coming to the Berghein Valley.”

“Would you like me to mobilize our forces?” asked the captain, uncertainly.

The Duchess didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Call the men to arms. Every man that can wield a sword. The enemies that we will face will be stronger than us, they will be better trained than us, they will have more weapons than us. It is going to take all of our courage, all of our strength of will, to survive the storm that is bearing down on Castle Locke.”

“Yes, Your Excellence, I understand, I will see to it at once.” The captain bowed deeply before leaving the room.

The Duchess returned to the window of her study, looking out over her estate. She felt a strange sense of foreboding. She wondered if any of them would survive the wrath of the Kingdom of Palara, whether any of them would survive the wrath of Duke Harald—the pretender to the throne.

33

“These will be your quarters!” announced Clay, leading Myriam to a spacious room within the long, low wooden building which housed Clay and his household. “That is until you are married to Linz, and then we will set up something more comfortable, more suitable for my heir and his wife.”

“Please, sir!” begged Myriam. “Please don’t do this.”

“This is your home now,” replied Clay sternly. “There is nothing for you beyond this lake. My guards will be watching you, although should you try and escape, there is nowhere for you to go. You would not survive one night out here in this jungle.”

The chief of the Lake Men drew the curtain and left Myriam alone in her new quarters. The room was simply furnished but comfortable, a wooden floor covered by mats, a seating area with cushions, a sleeping area with furs and skins for warmth. Myriam could hear the gentle lapping of the waters of the lake beneath the wooden floor. To one side, there was a small waterwheel turning, a gentle stream of liquid passing through it, delivering fresh water to the room. Myriam admired its ingenuity before crossing the floor to the small window that looked out across the lake.

She sighed deeply, frustrated at lurching from one danger to the next, worrying about the fate of Ganry, Artas, Hendon, and Barnaby. She felt tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She brushed them away quickly, angry with herself for not being stronger, but the tears continued to fall as the fear and exhaustion began to take hold of her.

“Hello?” said a quiet, tentative voice, suddenly breaking through Myriam’s misery. It was Linz, the chief’s nephew, the boy she appeared to be destined to marry, the heir to the man who held her captive. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” began Linz, but seeing that Myriam had been crying, the boy seemed to have second thoughts and became embarrassed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’ll come back later.”

“No, it’s okay,” said Myriam, drying her eyes and forcing herself to look Linz in the eye. “You may enter.”

“Um, my uncle said that I should come and talk with you,” mumbled Linz.

“And what did your uncle tell you that you should talk to me about?” asked Myriam, almost amused by the boy’s lack of confidence and discomfort in her presence.

“He didn’t say,” replied Linz timidly.

Myriam crossed her arms. “Linz, I can’t marry you. I don’t belong here. I belong in my own kingdom, with my own people. You must understand that.”

“I didn’t realize that there was anything beyond the lake, beyond the forest.”

“There is a whole world beyond this forest!” exclaimed Myriam exasperatedly. “You don’t want to marry me anyway, I can see it in your eyes!”

“What do you mean?” asked Linz, looking concerned. “My uncle says that I must.”

“Why don’t you marry one of the girls from your own people, from the people of the lake?”

“My uncle says that it is forbidden. He says that the heir of the lake people must always take a wife from the foreign tribes.”

“Which means kidnapping someone and holding them against their will?” demanded Myriam angrily.

“I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it,” replied Linz shyly.

“Look at me, Linz,” said Myriam softly, reaching out and taking Linz’s hands in her own. “Look me in the eyes. In your heart, do you really want to marry me? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with me? Do you really want to have children with me?”

Linz gulped uncertainly, trying his best to hold her steady gaze. “No. No, I don’t. But I can’t disobey my uncle.”

“Listen, you will be heir to the lake people whether you marry me or not,” said Myriam, trying to think of a way to use Linz’s lack of interest in her to her advantage. “Your uncle’s plan to marry us is purely opportunistic. If I wasn’t here then it wouldn’t be an issue, so it is in both of our interests if you help me to escape.”

“I can’t do that!” hissed Linz nervously.

“I’m not asking you to kill anyone!” countered Myriam. “I just need you to help me find a way back to the fishing village where my friends are being held prisoner.”

“You would need a boat and someone to sail it,” said Linz, thinking through the logistics.

“You could sail it for me?” suggested Myriam.

“But even if you were to escape, where would you go?”

“We need to get to the Berghein Valley.”

Linz looked doubtful. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“North I think. We need to go North or Northwest.”

“Across the other side of the lake there is a channel that runs to the north, but it is forbidden to enter it.”

“Forbidden for you perhaps, but not for me!” smiled Myriam excitedly, as the possibility of escape began to take shape.

“We will have to travel at night to avoid detection by my uncle and his guards.”

“So we will go after sundown tonight?”

“But the water dragons come out at night, it would be too dangerous to try and reach the fishing village.”

“What exactly are these water dragons?”

“They are bigger than a man with skin covered in leathery scales. No spear or arrow can harm them and they have fierce ferocious teeth. They swim through the water and can also walk on land,” explained Linz.

“Would they attack the boat?”

“They have been known to, although it is not very common.”

“Then we shall just have to try and avoid them. We go tonight. Agreed?”

Linz nodded and they shook hands to seal their bargain. “Agreed.”

34

“Bring me my horse!” ordered Duke Harald, storming out towards the stables.

“Sir, would you like to go hunting?” His arms-bearer followed at his heels, trying to gauge his master’s mood.

“No, I would not like to go hunting!” spat Harald. “My best hunters are out trying to catch that elusive fool of a girl. If they can’t manage to snare her then they would be no use trying to hunt a fox! No. I will ride to consult the Druids. I will go alone.”

The Prince’s horse was called Thawban. It was a name that meant companion or friend. Harald was beginning to feel that his horse was the only thing that he could trust. Thawban was a beautiful horse, standing tall and proud, his shining dark black coat shimmering as it caught the light. The stable boys quickly saddled the beast and prepared him to be ridden. Thawban began to impatiently paw the ground as he sensed the presence of the Duke, the saddle and reins a clear indication that he was about to be let out from the constraints of the stable, out into the fields that lay beyond Castle Villeroy.

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to accompany you, sir?” asked Zaim, the arms-bearer.

“I’m sure, this is something that I have to do alone. No harm will come to me. I will return before nightfall.”

Harald took hold of the reins of his horse, positioned his left foot in the stirrup, and pulled himself up into the saddle, swinging his right leg over and securing it into the other stirrup.

“Come, Thawban! Hah! Hah!” Harald urged his horse into a brisk gallop and his soldiers quickly opened the gates of the castle as he rode through and out onto the open road. It felt good to be away, even just for a moment, the wind clearing his head as Thawban cantered easily along the dirt road that would lead them to the Druids’ temple on the outskirts of the Cefinon Forest.

Harald reflected that his plan had seemed so simple, yet ever since the moment that he had imprisoned his brother, the King, and seized control of Castle Villeroy, he seemed to be blocked and frustrated at every turn. He had ordered the execution of Lord Holstein and his wife Elisabeth in desperation, seeking some way of advancing his claim on the throne, a claim that seemed to be impossible to fill while Myriam remained out of his reach.

After two hours of solid riding, Harald came within site of the Druids’ temple—a small stone building being reclaimed by the forest, with creepers and grasses growing from every nook and cranny in the stone.

One of the slaves of the Druids helped Harald to dismount and led his horse, Thawban, away to the stables to be fed and watered. Harald walked towards the large wooden door that was the entrance to the temple. The door opened slowly and an elderly man came out, dressed in a white robe. He wore a garland of mistletoe around his head and carried a staff made from oak.

“We have been expecting you, Duke Harald.”

“Your prophecies are false!” roared Harald. “I have followed everything that you have told me and yet still I am not king!”

“Then why do you return here if you do not seek our counsel?” asked the druid humbly, leading Harald through the small antechamber and into the larger hall concealed within the stone building.

The druid sat beside a small altar where a fire was burning. He poured some wine into an earthen goblet and gave it to Harald to drink.

“Did you bring a sacrifice in order for us to seek the guidance of the spirits?” inquired the druid.

Harald reached inside his cloak and pulled out a small flask, handing it to the druid. “It is the blood of Lord Holstein whom I sacrificed in the name of the spirits.”

“A fitting sacrifice,” said the druid solemnly, taking the stopper from the flask and pouring a small amount of blood into a silver bowl that was being heated over the coals of the fire. “All human souls are immortal. Death is only temporary. We pass from one form to another.”

The druid added some dried powders to the small silver bowl, swirling the blood gently as it heated. A strong odor began to fill the room and the druid closed his eyes.

“What do you see?” asked Harald eagerly.

“What questions do you seek answers to?” countered the druid.

“Will I be King?”

“There are many paths that could lead you to the crown. But these paths are not yet certain while the Princess Myriam remains the rightful heir.”

“Does Myriam live?”

The druid swayed back and forth. “Yes. She lives, but her life is in danger. She has not reached safety.”

“Where can I find her?” demanded the Duke.

“She is surrounded by water. Her heart looks to the west but her path is hidden from her.”

“Surrounded by water? What does that mean? She escaped from Athaca, we know that. There is no other water between Athaca and the Berghein Valley.”

“She is trapped in the hidden lake, deep in the Cefinon Forest beyond your reach,” said the druid.

“I will burn that forest to the ground if I have to!” snarled Harald. “Nothing is beyond my reach!”

The druid tipped the mixture of blood and powders into the burning flames of the fire, causing it to hiss and spark.

“What else do you see?” demanded Harald.

“You will bring death and destruction to us all,” the druid said calmly, standing up and walking away into the darkness of the temple.

Harald was left staring at the embers of the fire, struggling to control the fury that burned so fiercely inside him.

35

As daylight broke in the Cefinon forest, Zander stirred his four men. Param was in charge of preparing some breakfast for them all, which was a thick porridge paste made from mixing oats and water. He heated it over the small fire rekindled from the coals of the night before.

“I don’t know how many days I can take of this miserable breakfast.” Yasir forcibly spooned the porridge into his mouth.

“Stop complaining!” ordered Zander. “We’ve eaten worse. We’re on a mission. There will be time enough for good food when we have found Myriam and returned her safely to her grandmother.”

After finishing breakfast, they gathered their belongings and untethered their horses.

“We’re really working blind here, sir,” said Aban, who had returned from scouting out ahead. “We can keep following this path, but we’ve really got no idea where it will take us. As far as I can see it goes further into the forest, but for how long is anyone’s guess.”

Zander shook his head wearily. “This is madness, isn’t it?” His men realized it was a rhetorical question which did not require a response. Aban, Yasir, Najid, and Karam sat patiently on their horses, waiting for some sort of order or direction from their leader.

“I could help you,” said a voice from behind them. Zander and his men quickly turned in surprise, hands clutching at the hilt of swords in readiness for a surprise attack.

“Who are you!” demanded Zander gruffly, staring down at the small man wearing a simple brown cassock.

“Well, that’s not very polite is it!” replied the man. “I offer to help you and you start rattling your swords at me! Do you want my help or not?”

“Why would you help us?” asked Zander suspiciously.

“I’m just a good natured soul, I guess,” laughed the man. “Clearly, you don’t need my help though, so I’ll be on my way.” The man picked up his rucksack and turned back along the path towards the main road.

“Wait,” said Zander, realizing that there seemed to be no better options available. “We do need your help. Tell me your name, friend.”

The man turned back around. “I am Ghaffar. I live in this forest.”

“Are you a druid?”

“No,” laughed Ghaffar, “they don’t train men like me to become druids. I guess I’m something like a monk. Are you lost?”

“No, we’re not lost,” Zander said stiffly.

“Have you lost something, then?” probed Ghaffar.

“Perhaps.” Zander considered his words carefully, not wanting to reveal too much to a stranger. “Yes, we are trying to determine the best way for us to search the forest for what we have lost.”

Ghaffar cocked his head askance. “Do you search for the missing Princess Myriam?”

“What makes you say that?” asked Zander suspiciously. He was unsure what to make of this self proclaimed monk.

Ghaffar smiled broadly. “It seems that everyone searches for the Princess Myriam. From the soldiers of Duke Harald, to the waters of the River Walsall, to the trees of the forest, and yet she remains unfound.”

“What do you mean by that? Are you able to help us with our search or not?”

“Well, that depends on why you search for Myriam. We know what Duke Harald intends to do to her, but the question is whether she would be safer with you, or safer to remain concealed within the trees of the Cefinon Forest.”

“She will come to no harm with us. We are from the Berghein Valley, the land of her family. We will take her there to safety.”

“There is no such thing as safety. Not here, not anywhere. Not anymore,” said Ghaffar mysteriously.

“Sir, this fool is talking around us in circles!” growled Aban impatiently. “I say let us cut off his monkish head and be on our way.”

“Calm yourself, Aban,” counseled Zander. “It is often the way of lonely monks to talk just for the sake of talking. Without him, we are back to square one.” Zander took a deep breath and attempted once more to make some sense of what the monk was telling him. “Ghaffar the monk, you say that Myriam is concealed within the trees of the Cefinon Forest? The Duchess D’Anjou has had visions that she is surrounded by water. Are these riddles saying the same thing?”

“Ah, clever Duchess. She has not lost her powers after all. Yes, Zander Moncrieff, everyone knows where Myriam is hidden but no one can speak its name.”

“How do you know who I am?!”

“There are no secrets from the trees of Cefinon Forest.”

“Can you take us to this place? This place where Myriam is hidden?”

“I can show you the way,” nodded Ghaffar, “but I am forbidden to cross the water.”

“Well, that at least is something. Let’s go.”

“Sir, are you sure?” cautioned Aban. “This feels like some sort of deception.”

“His timely assistance does seem too good to be true,” agreed Zander in a whisper. “But without some sort of guidance, we could be lost in this forest for the rest of time. Stay alert, stay on guard. We will need our wits about us.” Zander held out his arm to Ghaffar to help pull him up onto the back of his horse, Samphire. “Which way, good monk?”

“Follow the path. The trees will show us the way.”

36

“Here’s your food,” said the lake man, as one of the guards opened the door to the room where Ganry and the others were being held.

As he placed the bowls of food on the floor, there was a dull thud as Ganry brought both his fists down onto the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. The clatter of the falling man and spilt bowls quickly brought the guards running. As they stormed through the door, Ganry and Artas worked together to knock them over, using brute force to push them off their feet.

“Sound the alarm!” came a cry from outside. “The prisoners are trying to escape! All hands to the pier!” Guards came running thick and fast. Despite their best efforts, Ganry and Artas were soon overwhelmed, and all four of the prisoners were secured in tightly bound ropes.

“Well, boys, we gave it a shot,” apologized Ganry.

“Silence!” shouted the guard standing over them.

“I was just telling my friends,” began Ganry, but he was cut short by a sharp blow across the face from the angry-looking guard, eagerly repaying Ganry for the blows he had suffered during the prisoner’s break-out attempt.

“You have no right to speak!” snarled the guard. “We should kill them now!” yelled the guard to one of the men who seemed to be in charge.

“Those are not our orders,” replied the man. “We are to keep them secure until we receive word from Clay as to their fate. In the meantime, they can remain tied in ropes so that there are no more escape attempts.”

“A boat approaches,” shouted a lookout. “From the Halawa direction.”

“Unusual for anyone to be out in the water at night. Is it Clay?”

“It flies the symbol of Clay’s house, but it’s not his boat,” reported the lookout, peering into the darkness of the night.

***

“You must stay hidden,” whispered Linz, helping Myriam to conceal herself in the bottom of the boat beneath several old cloaks. “Do not move until I come for you.” Linz expertly guided his boat into dock on one of the floating piers of the fishing outpost.

“Who goes there!” challenged the lookout.

“It is I, Linz of the house of Clay!” announced Linz with as much confidence as he could muster. The head of the guards quickly approached when he heard that it was Linz that had arrived.

“This is an unexpected but timely visit,” said the head of the guards respectfully. “Why do you cross the lake at night?”

“I am here to represent my uncle, the chief of this clan.”

“I had planned to sail to Halawa myself in the morning to see your uncle,” explained the head of the guards. “You see, the prisoners we are holding, they have just tried to escape, but we have managed to restrain them.”

“Have they been harmed?”

“No, we have them tied up securely now, but they have bruised and battered a few of my men,” said the head of the guards.

Linz jumped onto the dock, after attaching the boat securely. “Your men will heal,” Linz remarked with little compassion. “My uncle has sent me to collect the prisoners and take them to Halawa. I will take them with me tonight.”

“He has sent no men with you for protection?” the head guard asked in concern.

“The matter is too sensitive. No one must know of their presence here.”

“Then I will travel with you, to help you escort the prisoners to Halawa,” offered the head of the guards.

Linz was starting to get worried, and it showed. “That won’t be necessary,” he said quickly. “If they are tied securely, then I will simply lay them in the bottom of the boat and sail them directly to my uncle’s private mooring.”

The head of the guards looked uncertain at this arrangement, but Linz was his uncle’s heir, the chief of the Lake Men. It seemed unwise to argue.

“Right then. I’ll get my men to load the prisoners into your boat.”

“Give me their weapons too,” instructed Linz. “My uncle wants to inspect them.”

37

Ganry was feeling angry with himself—angry that their plan had failed, angry that they had been unable to escape, angry that they had found themselves in this position to begin with. He was seething that his death was going to be so miserable and ignoble, executed like a common criminal, bound from head to toe with thick rope.

“Get up now, scum,” snarled one of the guards, roughly yanking Ganry into a standing position.

“This is it,” thought Ganry to himself, seeing that Artas, Hendon, and Barnaby were also being lifted to their feet.

“How are we going to do this?” asked one guard to another.

“Drag them?”

“Too awkward, isn’t it?” countered the first. “Be easier if we carry them? One in each end?”

“Fair enough,” nodded the second guard. “Alright boys!” he shouted to the group of guards milling around uncertainly. “Two men to each prisoner, one at the head and one at the feet. Take it slowly and make sure that those ropes stay tight!”

“They’re going to feed us to the water dragons!” whispered Artas to Ganry, panic in his eyes. Ganry groaned inwardly, an even more pathetic way to die.

The soldiers clumsily hoisted the prisoners up and stumbled along the walkway. Ganry was expecting to hit the water at any moment.

“The boat is just at the end of this pier!” shouted one of the soldiers.

“Great, they’re going to take us out into the middle of the lake to make sure that we have no chance of surviving,” grumbled Ganry to himself, resigned to the fate of a watery death.

“Right, throw them in,” shouted the guard. “Make sure that they’re all nice and flat down on the bottom of the boat.”

“Ungh!” grunted Ganry, landing heavily as he was unceremoniously chucked onto the wooden craft. One by one, each of the prisoners were thrown on board, tumbling on top of each other, crunching and bruising as each of them landed heavily on the other. Eventually, Ganry could feel the boat pushing away from the pier, and begin to bob gently across the lake. Ganry closed his eyes and tried to be thankful for the few small pleasures that his life had brought him.

***

As soon as the boat was out of sight of the fishing outpost, Linz dropped the sail and brought it to almost a standstill, far out in the middle of the lake. He pulled a small dagger from his belt and began to cut the ties of the prisoners that had been thrown into the bottom of the boat.

Lying on top was Barnaby, and with a few quick slices of his blade, Linz began to pull the ropes from Barnaby’s ankles and wrists, helping the small elderly man unsteadily to his feet and across the boat to one of the small wooden benches that lined the side. Next was Hendon. Linz worked quickly to cut through the ropes, pulling Hendon up off the others beneath him. Next to be freed was Artas. Linz’s blade sliced cleanly through the ropes that firmly bound him. Once Artas was free, Linz turned his attention to Ganry.

“What the hell is going on!” muttered Ganry, surprised and confused at having the ropes cut from him at a moment when he had been expecting to meet his death in the cold dark waters of the deep lake.

“Quickly! You have to stand up, move out of the way!” urged Linz.

“Hmmph,” came a muffled moan from beneath Ganry.

“Princess, are you okay?” asked Linz with concern in his voice.

As Linz helped to lift Ganry up from the bottom of the boat, Myriam began to struggle out from beneath the cloaks that had been concealing her.

“You heavy oafs!” exclaimed Myriam angrily. “You nearly killed me! I thought I was going to suffocate with all of you lying on top of me like sacks of potatoes!”

“What were doing down there?” asked Ganry, flabbergasted at the turn of events. “Who is this? What’s going on?” He gestured towards Linz.

“Calm down, Ganry.” Myriam dusted herself off. “We’re rescuing you.”

“You’re rescuing us?” asked Ganry in disbelief. “We’re supposed to be protecting you!”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it!” laughed Myriam. “Besides, you’re being very rude. None of you have thanked Linz here for his incredible bravery in helping you to escape from certain death.”

“My apologies,” said Ganry, turning to Linz. “Thank you. But I’m afraid I’m still not sure who you are?”

“Linz is the heir to the clan of the Lake Men,” explained Myriam. “His uncle, the chief of the clan, had decided that we would be a perfect match to be married, an idea that neither of us was particularly thrilled about, so I persuaded Linz to help me rescue you.” Linz seemed embarrassed with all of the attention and the praise being heaped on him.

Ganry addressed Myriam. “So what’s the plan now then, Princess? Now that you’ve rescued us so bravely?”

“Um, I hadn’t really got that far to be honest,” admitted Myriam.

“You will have to sail this boat across the lake until you come to the Temple Stream.” Linz pointed into the distance. “That’s the only stream that flows out of the lake. It will take you to the north. It is the only way that you will be able to reach a trail that will take you to the outside world.”

“You’re coming with us, aren’t you?” asked Artas hopefully, intrigued by the young lake boy.

Linz shook his head regretfully. “No, I have to return to my people.”

“Won’t your uncle be angry with you?” Myriam was concerned for the safety of her new-found friend.

“I will tell them that you overpowered me,” said Linz, thinking quickly. “Perhaps if you cut me or beat me, it will look more believable. Then I will swim back to Halawa from here.”

“You can’t swim from here!” insisted Myriam. “It’s too far! And what about the water dragons? It’s not safe for you, Linz.”

“I am a strong swimmer. Don’t worry. The water dragons generally hunt near the shore, it would be rare for them to be looking for prey in deep water. I will be safe. I need to look like I have been attacked though. Can one of you hit me hit me in the face?”

None of them were eager to hit someone who had just moments ago rescued them from likely death.

“Come on, punch me!”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” said Artas, stepping forward. Linz braced himself for the impact of the blow.

“Ow!” grunted Linz, as Artas slapped the back of his hand across Linz’s cheek.

Ganry shook his head. “No, you’ll need to do it harder than that, Artas. That’s barely made his cheek blush. You’re going to need to draw blood. Do you want me to do it?”

“No, I can do it,” insisted Artas. He drew his arm back and brought the back of his hand fiercely against Linz’s face.

“Aagh!” howled Linz, feeling the pain of the blow.

“Again!” instructed Ganry. “Try and bruise the eye.” Artas forcefully slapped Linz again. “And once more,” insisted Ganry, “this time try and cut the lip.” Artas hit Linz across the face again, the power of the blow knocked Linz to the floor of the boat.

“This seems an awful way to be thanking you for rescuing us,” protested Myriam, helping Linz back to his feet.

“It’s what needs to be done. Now cut me.”

“What?” asked Artas. “What do you mean cut you?”

“Use your knife, slash me across the chest. Just enough to damage my tunic and cut my skin, draw some blood. It will look more realistic.”

“If you’re sure,” Artas said uncertainly, collecting his knife from the bundle of weapons that Linz had liberated from the fishing outpost. He weighed the knife carefully in his hand, and then delicately used the blade to cut several slashes in the tunic that Linz was wearing.

“Cut me,” reiterated Linz, pulling apart his tunic and exposing his smooth, hairless chest. Artas placed the sharp edge of his dagger’s blade against Linz’s skin and dragged it slowly across his chest, drawing a line of bright crimson blood as the blade sliced over where the young boy’s heart would be.

“Very good, you look sufficiently beaten up now,” grinned Ganry. “Like a gang of mountain thieves have taken everything you own.”

“Thank you,” said Myriam, gently kissing Linz on the cheek. Linz winced with pain as her lips brushed his bruised face.

“I have no way to thank you,” said Artas gravely.

“I’ll remember you by the scars on my skin,” smiled Linz, placing his hand on Artas’s shoulder, before slipping over the side of the boat and into the dark water below.

Myriam watched Linz swimming quietly away into the distance.

38

“Please sir, I cannot sign this, it is unconstitutional,” begged Judge Strogen, the Chief Judge of the Kingdom of Palara.

“Sign it!” screamed Duke Harald, incensed with fury.

“But you cannot be King while there lives a rightful heir with a stronger claim than you,” said the judge feebly.

“I know that, you fool, but this will at least bring me one step closer. Sign it!” Harald slammed the wooden table with his fist.

They were in the throne room of Castle Villeroy. Harald was sitting at a plain wooden table, within touching distance of the throne that he coveted so fiercely.

“If you kill the King…” began the judge.

“The question is not if,” interrupted Harald. “Sign that bit of paper and my fool of a brother will meet his death at sunrise! I will rule the Kingdom as Regent until we have been able to find that witch of girl Myriam, and bring her back to Villeroy in chains.”

“In all good conscience, sir,” protested the judge, “it would go against everything that I have sought to uphold. It would go against all the ancient laws of this land. It would leave me with no integrity and I would be bringing the office of Chief Judge into disrepute. I cannot sign that death warrant.”

“Then I shall find a new Chief Judge who will!” hissed Harald, quickly drawing his short dagger and slitting the throat of the elderly man who cowered before him.

Harald wiped the blood from the blade of his dagger on the black robes of the dead man who lay at his feet. He calmly walked around the table and resumed his seat, turning towards him the parchment on which was written the death warrant of his brother. Harald picked up the elaborate quill, carefully dipped it in the small pot of ink that stood nearby, and slowly and deliberately signed the name of Chief Judge Strogen.

39

King Ludwig squinted into the morning sun as it rose to the east of the castle. It had been a long time since he had been outside in the fresh morning air, away from the dungeon in which his brother had imprisoned him. Somehow, he cherished this sunrise even more, knowing that it would be the last that he would see.

The muted rhythm of the single drummer began to beat, the death march always played before an execution. The courtyard that they were in was known as the Judge’s Courtyard because it was reserved for punishments and executions overseen by the judges of the Kingdom of Palara. King Ludwig could feel his wife, Alissia, shivering beside him. He reached out and took her hand, their fingers entwining as he tried to offer some small comfort to her, on the last day that they would spend together. They were surrounded by soldiers, but somehow it felt as if they were alone in the world, together, watching the sun slowly rise in the east.

Duke Harald entered the courtyard from a wooden door with two sentries posted on either side. It was the door that led directly to the throne room. Harald sat himself down on the wooden chair from which King Ludwig would normally observe proceedings such as these. The Duke’s gaze was steely, ice-cold, his face displayed no emotion. The King was surprised not to see Judge Strogen, the Chief Judge. A death warrant of this magnitude would require his signature and his authority. King Ludwig looked across the courtyard to where the bloodstained block of wood stood. A shiver ran down his spine.

Normally, the Chief Judge would read out the death warrant and confirm the sentence, but today the only sound was the steady drum.

Zaim, Duke Harald’s arms-bearer, motioned to the guards. They took hold of King Ludwig’s arms and walked him into the middle of the courtyard towards the executioner’s block. The executioner in his black hood stood beside the wooden block, patiently resting his large axe on the stones beneath his feet. The King knelt down on the cold stones, and placed his neck in the purpose-built groove that was carved in the wooden block.

A druid stepped forward from beside Duke Harald and chanted a short invocation. The soldiers stood to one side and the executioner moved into position, slowly lifting his iron axe and then bringing it swiftly down, the blade slicing cleanly through King Ludwig’s neck, ending his reign as the ruler of the Kingdom of Palara.

Queen Alissia gasped in horror as the axe blade fell and ended the life of her husband. She closed her eyes so that she didn’t have to watch the executioner pick up her husband’s lifeless head, his body dragged unceremoniously away. She heard the splash of water as the executioner tipped a bucket of hot water over the wooden block, washing away the blood that had been spilled.

Queen Alissia opened her eyes as she felt the soldiers roughly grab her by the arms, walking her towards the center of the courtyard. The druid stepped forward once more and said a brief invocation before the death sentence was imposed on the Queen. The drum continued to beat steadily and slowly. Queen Alissia knelt down, feeling the cold hard stones of the courtyard beneath her. She felt numb, tired, beyond fear, as if these final moments of her life were part of some terrifying dream, a dream from which she couldn’t awake.

The Queen placed her neck down on to the wooden block, feeling the warm wetness of the water with which it had just been cleaned. She closed her eyes, trying to block out everything that was happening around her, everything that had happened, everything that was about to happen. She did not see the executioner slowly raising his heavy iron axe. She did not hear its blade falling quickly towards her. She did not feel the pain as her life was violently ended.

“It is done,” said Duke Harald, standing up from his wooden chair and beginning to walk from the courtyard.

“What should we do with the bodies?” asked Zaim. “Will there be a funeral for your brother and his wife?”

“A funeral?” repeated Harald, contemplating the idea. “No. No funeral. They are traitors to the Kingdom of Palara. Mount their heads on spikes and display them at the castle gate. Let their deaths be a warning to all other traitors that may be sympathizers of my brother or his wretched daughter. There will be no mercy for traitors. There will be no honor for traitors. There will be no funerals for traitors.” Harald turned and left the courtyard, returning to the throne room.

Alone, Harald took off his cloak and sat on the golden throne reserved for the ruler of the Kingdom. Regent of the Kingdom did not have the same satisfying ring that being King would have, but until Princess Myriam was found and killed, then Regent was all that he could be. Slowly but surely, Duke Harald was edging towards the fulfillment of his dreams.

40

The Duchess was sitting in her study having an early breakfast, enjoying the warmth of the sunrise as the rays from the east began to brighten the room. Breakfast was one of the Duchess’s favorite meals of the day. Today, she had ordered poached hen’s eggs and toasted muffins. She smiled contentedly to herself as she sliced through one of the eggs, releasing its soft yellow yolk to flood gently over the crumpet.

“Excuse me, Your Excellence?” politely interrupted one of her pages. “I’m sorry to disturb your breakfast, but you sent for your Captain of the Guard, Captain Versance?”

“Of course, send him in.”

“Your Excellence,” bowed Captain Versance, always a stickler for protocol.

“Come in, Captain,” gestured the Duchess.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer me to come back after you have finished your breakfast?”

“Nonsense, Captain,” dismissed the Duchess. “We have more important things to discuss than breakfast. Come, take a seat. Let me pour you some tea while you tell me about your progress in calling together our army.”

“Well, as you have commanded, we have called all able-bodied men to report to the Castle,” began the captain, as the Duchess started to pour tea from her favorite delicate china teapot. Suddenly, the Duchess’s hand began to shake, and the teapot began to wobble. “Your Excellence?” asked the captain, concerned by the Duchess’s shakiness. The Duchess continued to struggle to control the teapot, tea spilling messily over the table in front of her. “Your Excellence? Your Excellence? Are you okay?” The Duchess seemed to have a glazed look over her face. Suddenly the teapot fell from her hand, rolling across the table and falling onto the stone floor where it smashed into a multitude of pieces. The Duchess slumped back in her chair, not responding to the captain’s concerned queries.

“Aaaaggghh!” screamed the Duchess, her body wracked with pain as she slid down onto the floor.

“Your Excellence!” shouted the captain, leaping to his feet. “Raise the alarm! Raise the alarm! The Duchess has fallen ill!” Maids and pages quickly dashed into the room, helping the captain to lift the Duchess to her feet. “Take her to her bedroom!” instructed the captain. “Call the doctors! Call the doctors!”

“My daughter,” sobbed the Duchess suddenly. “My daughter. Oh my dear daughter, I’m so sorry.”

“Your Excellence? Your Excellence? What is it? What’s the matter? What is it that pains you?”

“My daughter… my daughter is dead,” sobbed the Duchess. “He has killed her. He has killed them both.”

“Who has? Duke Harald?”

“He’s executed them. I watched them die.”

“Your Excellence, please just rest now, the doctors will be here soon. They will give you something to help you relax,” comforted the captain.

“No!” shouted the Duchess, sitting up suddenly from her bed, her voice becoming steely and firm. “No. I have no need of doctors. We have wasted too much time already. Call my army together! I will rain fire down on that mad man! I will not rest until I tear him limb from limb! I will feed his eyes to the crows and scatter his ashes to the wind so that his name will be forgotten for all time!” The captain had never seen the Duchess so enraged. Her fury was terrifying, all-consuming, filling the room with her anger and anguish. “Go now, Captain!” instructed the Duchess darkly. “Go now. We both have a lot of work to do.”

The captain bowed deeply as he left the room.

41

“I feel sick,” said Myriam, suddenly clutching the side of the boat.

Artas rushed to her side. “What is it, Princess? What’s the matter?”

“I… I don’t know,” gasped Myriam, clutching her stomach. “I just feel blackness, everywhere blackness.”

“I feel it too,” nodded Hendon. “Something has taken the light. There is something evil, something powerful.”

“What are you both talking about?” Ganry continued to steer the boat. “I don’t feel anything. Barnaby, you take care of Myriam and Hendon. Artas, help me point the boat towards the Temple Stream. We’ve got to get off this lake as quickly as possible.”

Artas moved over to give Ganry a hand. “We’re getting closer to the shore. Do we know what a water dragon looks like?”

“I’m sure we’ll know one if we see one. Let’s just take it steady. The Temple Stream must be just up ahead. Barnaby, how are those two doing?”

“Cold, but calmer. It’s almost as if they’re falling into some sort of sleep. Will we be able to find somewhere to rest tonight?”

“I’m inclined to stay on the boat to be honest. We need to put some distance between us and those Lake Men.”

“Wait, what’s that?” Artas leaned over the side of the boat, looking down into the water. “I saw something move down there.”

“Stay calm, stay calm,” soothed Ganry. “No need to panic until we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Whoah!” Artas jumped as the boat lurched suddenly.

“That wasn’t good.” Ganry drew his sword WindStorm from its scabbard.

“I think we’ve found a water dragon.”

“Or a water dragon has found us. Stay back from the edge of the boat, it might decide that we’re too big to worry about if we don’t provoke it.”

Artas grunted as he fell against the mast, knocked off balance as the boat lurched again, as if it was being pushed to one side or run aground on some rocks.

“I think that’s just its tail hitting us,” said Ganry. “Maybe trying to tip us over. If we can get a look at its head, I’ll take a swing at it.”

“Watch out!” yelled Artas, as the craft lurched again.

Ganry crouched at one end of the boat, sword at the ready. “Can you see its shape?”

“It seems long long and thin.” Artas tried to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that that was buffeting their boat. “Maybe a bit like a snake? A big snake?”

“A snake? I hate snakes! Why does it have to be a snake?”

“There! There’s its head!” pointed Artas.

“It’s too dark, I can’t see anything. Careful!” The boat lurched once more as the water dragon bumped it again with its tail.

“Don’t antagonize it,” cautioned Barnaby.

“Antagonize it?” asked Ganry incredulously. “It attacked us, remember?”

Barnaby shook his head, while clutching the side of the boat. “It’s just a wild animal. We’ve entered its territory. The more that we act like prey, the more it will hunt us.”

“So what would you suggest?”

“There’s the temple that we’ve been looking for.” A dark building slowly emerged from the mist. “That’s the beginning of the Temple Stream. Pull up there, stop the boat there.”

“Really? You want to stop the boat while we are being stalked by a water dragon?” asked Ganry in disbelief.

“Yes! That’s exactly why we need to stop the boat.”

“There’s a pier outside the temple,” indicated Artas. “Can you guide us in there?”

“If our watery friend doesn’t tip us over first,” said Ganry, rolling his eyes. “Take the rope, Artas. You’ll need to jump to the pier to pull us in tight and secure the mooring. Ready? One… Two… Now!”

Artas leaped across the small gap between the bobbing boat and the small wooden pier that extended from the temple, quickly wrapping the rope around one of the mooring posts to secure it.

“I can’t see the snake!” shouted Artas.

“Don’t call it a snake,” growled Ganry. “Let’s call it a water dragon. Somehow that makes me feel better.”

“There it is!” Artas peered at the long dark shape, moving gracefully under the water. “It’s still circling us!”

Barnaby watched it swimming lazily around them. “Relax. Let’s just get everyone off the boat and into the temple.”

Artas was still worried. “Can they not climb on to land?”

“We know nothing about these beasts. We just need to tread carefully.”

Artas and Ganry helped Barnaby to lift Myriam and and Hendon out of the boat.

“Artas, go with Barnaby.” Ganry stood as far away from the edge of the pier as possible. “See what that temple holds for us and whether we can bunker down here for the night. I’ll try and keep an eye on what this water dragon is up to.”

With his dagger drawn, Artas led the way off the pier. They headed towards the temple, which appeared to be built on stilts over the water in the style of the Lake Men.

“It looks deserted,” said Artas quietly, feeling his way through the darkness. “This door is open.” He pushed cautiously against the large wooden door that seemed to give access to the temple buildings.

“What have you found?” whispered Ganry, coming up behind the group, sword still drawn, warily peering into the darkness around them.

“Deserted I think. Any sign of that water dragon?”

“No, it seems to have lost interest once we stopped moving. Barnaby was right.”

“We should probably try and spend the night here,” pondered Artas. “If we could just get a fire or something going, we’ll be able to see what we’re dealing with.”

“Maybe I can help you with that,” said a voice from deep within the darkness.

Ganry moved protectively in front of the the others. “Who’s there?” he challenged.

A small light flickered at the rear of the temple.

“My name is Ghaffar. Welcome to my temple. I’ve been expecting you.”

42

“Quickly, Arexos, quickly!” urged Badr al Din. “The master, Qutaybah, arrives today. Everything must be perfect or it will be me that will be sent to the slave market.”

Areas did his best to carry the enormous platters of fruit through to the quarters that would be used by Qutaybah, the master of Villa Salamah, to which Arexos now belonged.

Arexos’s days of living in the Kingdom of Palara seemed a long time ago, a different lifetime almost. His life had taken an unexpected turn when he, and his master Hendrickson, had been betrayed by the Narc smugglers and sold into slavery. Arexos often wondered what had become of Henrickson. He hoped that he was safe and well somewhere.

In the early days of his captivity, Arexos had dreamed that Henrickson would come and rescue him. He imagined that Henrickson would turn up out of the blue one day, storming in, shouting his name, searching for Arexos. But as the days had dragged on into weeks, that fantasy faded. He became resigned to his day-to-day reality of life as a slave at Villa Salamah, under the direction of Badr al Din, the chief housekeeper of the villa.

“Sir, what’s he like?” asked Arexos, working alongside Badr al Din. They were changing the cushion covers that covered the floor of Qutaybah’s sleeping quarters.

“Who?” replied Badr al Din impatiently, focused on the task at hand.

“The master Qutaybah. The man that we belong to. I was just wondering, what’s he like?” repeated Arexos.

“You are always so full of questions!” laughed Badr al Din. “It is unlikely that you will meet him, he’s a very private man. He likes things done perfectly, no surprises.”

“How will he travel, when he arrives here today?”

“Well, of course he will ride his horse, like all nobles do.”

“But will he travel alone, or will he have servants with him? Or family?” persisted Arexos.

“He doesn’t have family. Villa Salamah was part of the estate of the master’s father. Qutaybah inherited everything when his father died. He may travel with a small number of slaves, but generally he just travels with his security guards. They are hired soldiers that answer to him alone. Some people call them the assassins.”

“What do you mean? The assassins?”

“That’s enough!” snapped Badr al Din. “I’ve said too much already. The master does not tolerate idle gossip.”

Arexos felt a little nervous but also excited at the prospect of meeting the powerful man who held Arexos’ life in his hands.

A distant bell echoed through the grounds of the villa.

“That’s the signal!” gasped Badr al Din in alarm. “They are coming. The watch-tower has alerted us. Qutaybah is coming! Quickly now, let me make a final check… good yes, good, I think we are ready. Go now, back to your quarters until I call for you!”

Arexos almost did as he was told, retreating out of sight of the main building of the villa compound, but he didn’t go and conceal himself within the slaves’ rooms as Badr al Din had instructed. Arexos was curious and wanted to catch a glimpse of Qutaybah. He had never seen a Vandemland noble before, and he wondered how they differed from the nobles of the Kingdom of Palara.

Arexos didn’t have long to wait. In just a few moments he could hear the clattering of horses’ hooves across the stones and pebbles that lined the forecourt. Peering discreetly around a corner, he could see the boys from the stables come running to take care of the horses of Qutaybah and his men. Arexos saw Badr al Din walking out to meet the party.

“Master! Welcome to your home!” exclaimed Badr al Din formally, bowing deeply and respectfully. A large man walked past Badr al Din, seeming to not even acknowledge his existence. It was clear to Arexos that this was Qutaybah. He walked with power and with purpose. Arexos only caught a brief glimpse of him. A tall man, broad shoulders, his ebony skin contrasting sharply with the white robes that he wore. Arexos wondered what language he spoke, what it would be like to serve such a man, and how different it would be serving Qutaybah compared to serving Henrickson.

Arexos began to wander slowly back towards the slaves’ quarters, assuming Qutaybah would be secluded within his quarters for the rest of the day. As Arexos was trailing his fingers through the cool trickling water of one of the fountains that lined the courtyard, he was surprised by a deep voice from behind him.

“Who are you?” It was a voice that Arexos didn’t recognize, its suddenness startled him. He turned slowly and was intimidated to realize that it was Qutaybah himself who stood behind him, watching him carefully. Before Arexos could speak, Badr al Din bustled forward, bowing deeply.

“I’m so sorry master, so sorry. It is just a new slave that we have been training, no need to concern yourself with him. He was just on his way back to the slaves’ quarters,” groveled Badr al Din.

“No, he wasn’t,” contradicted Qutaybah firmly. He wasn’t going anywhere. “This boy isn’t used to being a slave. Where did you find him?”

“He was purchased from the slave market,” explained Badr al Din.

“Where are you from, boy?” demanded Qutaybah, addressing Arexos.

“He’s from…” began Badr al Din, trying to retain some sort of control over the situation.

“I asked the boy!” snapped Qutaybah, quickly silencing the housekeeper. “Answer me boy, where are you from?”

Arexos was unsure of the protocol for addressing a man such as Qutaybah. “I’m from the Kingdom of Palara… your… royalness.”

“Palara?” noted Qutaybah with interest. “Badr al Din, you should know better than to buy slaves from Palara. But anyway, assign the boy to my quarters. He will attend to my needs during my stay.”

“Master, please,” began Badr al Din, “the boy is only new. Let me offer you a more experienced…”

“Enough with your sniveling!” snapped Qutaybah. “My orders are clear. Do not give me an excuse to cut your head off.”

Badr al Din bowed as low as possible, his forehead pressed to the ground beneath him. “Yes, master.”

Arexos looked at Qutaybah in awe, there was something incredibly compelling and magnetic about this man.

“You haven’t learned how to bow yet, boy?” asked Qutaybah, raising a querying eyebrow towards Arexos. Arexos hurriedly attempted a bow, so clumsy that it drew a good-natured laugh from Qutaybah. “Come,” he smiled, “it’s been a long journey. Draw me a bath. Hopefully you are better at that than you are at bowing.”

43

“All rise for the Regent of Palara!” boomed the loud voice of the footman, announcing the arrival of Duke Harald into the throne room. Harald carefully sat on the great throne, knowing that it would cause grumblings among the conservative members of the nobility, but not caring anymore about whose sensitivities were trampled, or whose egos were bruised.

This was an important moment. He had called the heads of all the noble families of the kingdom together. His first official act since declaring himself Regent of Palara.

The room had fallen silent as soon as he had entered, and he let that pregnant pause hang over the assembled gathering. He liked the sense of anticipation, that they were hanging on his every breath, waiting for his words of wisdom.

“My Lords and Ladies,” began Harald eventually, choosing his words carefully. “I have called you together to warn of a dire threat against against us all, a dire threat against our very Kingdom.” Harald slowly looked around the room. He already knew who his allies were and which of the noble families remained loyal to his brother, or at least the memory of the dead King. He would deal with those sympathizers later, quietly. This was a moment for leadership, not for retribution.

“The events of past few weeks have been upsetting for us all. My own family has been torn apart by betrayal, mistrust, and treason. But for the good of our kingdom, we cannot dwell on the past. With the death of my brother, King Ludwig, the rightful heir to the throne is my niece, the Princess Myriam. Unfortunately, Myriam has been abducted from the castle, and we believe that she is being held by brigands in the Cefinon Forest. We hope and pray to the gods that she remains safe, but we fear that she may have already met a violent death. All of our efforts are focused on finding Myriam and returning her to her rightful place on the throne of our beloved Kingdom. In the meantime, I have agreed to accept the heavy responsibility of ruling as Regent, merely to ensure that there is some stability and leadership for our country during this difficult time.”

Duke Harald paused and looked around the assembled throng of nobles, trying to gauge how much resistance he would face. He would kill them all if he had to. He had come too far now. What was one more life? Ten more lives? One hundred more lives? The druids had foretold that he could be King, he simply had to make it happen.

“My Lords and Ladies of Palara, while we have had our problems, our threats do not come from within the Kingdom, they lie on our borders. We have received intelligence that the barbarians of Vandemland have been building their forces, readying themselves for an attack on our beloved kingdom.” Harald paused for effect at this point. He was pleased to see worry and concern cross the faces of the nobles. It had been a long time since Palara had been threatened by war, a long time since the Kingdom had been embroiled in any sort of major conflict.

“Our homes, our families, our very way of life is under threat,” continued Harald. “We must mobilize our army at once. We must prepare our fleet for battle. We must take the initiative and destroy our enemies before they have an opportunity to inflict any damage on us.” There were nods and murmurs of approval. Harald smiled, he knew that he had them where he wanted them.

“Of course, wars of any kind are expensive. It will take all of our reserves to equip our army and build the ships necessary in order to launch a major offensive against the barbarians of Vandemland. Each of us must play our part. Each of us must make sacrifices in order for our campaign to be successful, and in order for us to be victorious. For this reason, I am imposing a twenty percent tax on all households. Twenty percent of the value of each estate will be forfeited to the crown of Palara for the purposes of funding our defense.”

There was an audible gasp from around the room as the assembled nobles began to register what Harald had just said. A twenty percent tax was crippling, especially as it would be charged on top of the existing range of taxes that were already being collected. For many, it would mean that they would have to sell significant parts of their property, or forfeit them to the crown in lieu of payment of taxes—a consequence that Harald was not unhappy about at all.

With his speech concluded, Harald stood and waited patiently while the assembled nobles slowly realized that they were expected to bow and curtsy to the Regent, who was now their ruler. Harald made a silent note of those who were slow to bow, slow to show their respect for him. They would be the first to feel his wrath, to feel the power of the new order in the Kingdom of Palara.

44

“I’ve got someone here who has been searching for you.” Ghaffar stoked the fire before him, illuminating the room with its flickering flames.

“What do you mean?” Ganry demanded.

Ghaffar looked over the group, his eyes finally settling on Myriam. “Well, to be precise, I have someone here who is searching for her.”

Ganry was ready to pounce at the first sign of hostility. “How do you know who we are?”

“There are no secrets from the trees,” shrugged Ghaffar mysteriously.

“Ganry,” said Myriam softly, beginning to recover from the darkness that she had felt on the boat. “I think we can trust this monk. I feel quite safe here.”

“I agree,” Barnaby added.

Ganry was not appeased in the slightest. “Who is waiting here? Where are they?” he growled at the monk.

“Calm yourself, friend. Don’t be scared. Come with me. The main temple buildings are away from the water, and they are waiting for you there.”

Ganry was uncertain of what exactly was happening, but Myriam seemed determined to trust the monk. Ganry followed warily with his sword drawn, as Ghaffar moved quickly through the back of the temple room, and out into a complex of buildings surrounded by the trees of the forest.

“Princess Myriam, may I present to you Zander Moncrieff and his men, Aban, Yasir, Najid, and Karam,” announced Ghaffar formally.

“Princess,” said Zander respectfully as he and his men knelt and bowed. “It is a great relief to finally find you safe and well.”

“You have been searching for me?” Myriam asked uncertainly.

Ganry stood protectively in front of Myriam, pointing his sword at the men. “Who are you? Who sent you?”

Zander motioned at his men to remain at ease. He directed his words at Myriam, ignoring Ganry’s hostility and drawn blade. “Princess, we are from the Berghein Valley. We have been sent by the Duchess D’Anjou. The Duchess has sent us to find you and return you to the safety of her protection at Castle Locke.”

“My grandmother? My grandmother sent you?” gasped Myriam. “You are from Castle Locke?”

“How do we know that this isn’t some kind of trick?” growled Ganry. “Duke Harald has his best hunters searching for Myriam, how do we know that you are who you say you are?”

“The Duchess foresaw that you may be cautious. She entrusted me with her dagger. It carries the same stones as the ring of Locke that Myriam wears. The stones grow brighter when they are brought together.” Zander slowly pulled the dagger out from the leather sheath that he wore on his belt, holding Ganry’s stern gaze to show that he meant no harm. The dagger that the Duchess had entrusted him with was a small weapon. It looked almost inconsequential, perhaps decorative, but the stonework and engraving on it was exquisite.

A small sigh of recognition escaped from between Myriam’s lips as she gazed at the blade. She raised her left hand and the assembled men could see the ring there. As she reached out towards the dagger that Zander held, the stones began to glow brighter, both the stones inlaid on the ring and the stones set on the dagger hilt.

“This is wonderful,” laughed Myriam. “Let me introduce my companions, my friends. My protector is Ganry de Rosenthorn, my fearless archer is Artas of the House of Holstein, our wise and learned friend is Barnaby, and this helpful young man is Hendon.”

“I am pleased that you have been in good company, my Princess,” bowed Zander. “The Duchess will be keen to thank and honor each of you personally as soon as we reach the safety of Castle Locke.”

Ganry slid WindStorm back into its scabbard. “How easy will it be to reach Castle Locke from here?” he asked, unsure really where in the forest that they were.

“Well, we may need some guidance from our friendly monk, Ghaffar, here, but we’re not too far from the border between Palara and the Berghein Valley, so we will just need to find a way to avoid their border controls and we will back amidst the safety of our own people.”

“We will need to move quickly, then. We have the Lake Men on our heels and Duke Harald’s men scouring the roads for any sign of us.”

“Yes, you will need to leave just as dawn begins to break,” agreed Ghaffar. “The Lake Men won’t sail in the dark, but they will guess that you will have attempted to flee in this direction. So they will be paddling in their boats as soon as the sun rises.”

“Can you show us the way back to the road, Ghaffar?” asked Zander.

“Yes, but how will you travel?”

“He has a point,” said Ganry. “We had to leave our horses behind with the Lake Men.” Ganry was upset that he had to leave his beloved horse, Bluebell, behind. They had been through a lot. It was odd to think that their journey together had ended so abruptly.

“We will have to ride two to a horse,” suggested Zander practically. “We can sort out the logistics in the morning. We don’t have any other option. We’ll need to travel as quickly as possible in order to try and avoid detection.”

“I have a question,” said Ganry suddenly. “The water dragons, what do they look like?”

“Well,” began Ghaffar thoughtfully, “they have a long body and tail, and they move through the water like a snake. I guess you could just describe them as a very big snake.”

“Thank you,” frowned Ganry. “You have no idea how unhappy that makes me.”

45

“Myriam grows stronger,” said the druid, peering into the smoke that rose from the bowl, which he swirled over the flames of the flickering fire. The elderly druid sat on the floor of the temple, and opposite sat Duke Harald, Regent of the Kingdom of Palara.

“Stronger?” questioned Harald. “What do you mean, stronger? How can she be growing stronger?! She is a girl hiding amidst the trees of the Cefinon Forest!” The Duke’s eyes were red from the smoke, his words hissed from between his teeth, a vein throbbed alarmingly in his right temple.

“The stones are drawing together… the stones of the Berghein Valley,” continued the druid, studying the smoke.

“Berghein,” snarled the Duke, “I knew that old witch was not to be trusted. What are these stones that you speak of?”

The druid breathed deeply, surrounded by the pungent smoke that filled the temple, staining the walls as they had been stained for centuries. The relationship of the druids to the rulers of Palara was a complicated one. While they recognized no one as their master, they had been used as trusted advisers to the powerful since the days of the great chief Terrick. The druids had been at his side then, and they still sat at the side of the House of Villeroy.

“The Berghein Stones are old, ancient stones, powerful stones… their coming together symbolizes the uniting of a family… uniting against you, my Duke,” whispered the druid.

“Ha! You and your stupid old prophecies,” dismissed Harald contemptuously. “There is no power in stones! There is only power in weapons—in steel and in iron, weapons that will destroy any family that dares to stand against me. Weapons that will destroy the armies of the Duchess D’Anjou and her wretched brood from the Berghein Valley.” Duke Harald stood impatiently and began pacing the room. “Tell me… tell me of my victory… tell me when I will be crowned King of Palara!”

“I can only see what the smoke will reveal to me.”

“You old fool,” sneered the Prince. “You’re all fools. I should cut off your head and burn this place to the ground!”

“My death would be inconsequential, as has been my life,” replied the druid calmly.

“Why won’t you tell me what I want to hear!” shouted Harald, his voice echoing around the small temple.

“Perhaps you are not listening to what I am telling you,” suggested the druid.

“What do mean?”

“There is a power in the Berghein Valley that is drawing the ancient stones together. There is a family that is united against you. Perhaps Princess Myriam is just a distraction—your real threat lies within Castle Locke… your real threat is the power that is calling these stones home.” The druid watched carefully as Harald tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“So…. if I could strike at Castle Locke… if I could destroy the Duchess D’Anjou… Princess Myriam would have nowhere to turn, and I would soon rule not only the Kingdom of Palara but also all of the Berghein Valley as well!”

“Only the gods can see the future. We can but try and interpret the signs that they reveal to us.”

“Druid, your life is spared for another day,” growled Duke Harald. “My horse! Bring me my horse. I must return to Castle Villeroy. We have a battle to fight!”

Harald rode back to the castle as fast as his horse, Thawban, could carry him.

***

“A change of plan, Zaim!” announced the Duke, as his arms-bearer entered the throne room. Duke Harald was peering over a map of the region. “Vandemland is no longer our main problem. Instead, we march on the Berghein Valley.”

“The Berghein Valley, sir?” asked Zaim in surprise. “But Castle Locke is impregnable, it has never fallen. Do you intend to lay siege?”

“I intend to smash that miserable place to pieces… to dismantle it brick by brick… to erase it from the memory of time,” snarled Harld, smashing his fist against the table.

“The fleet of ships that we have been preparing for the attack on Vandemland will be no use to us against the Berghein Valley,” pointed out Zaim.

“We have not forgotten about Vandemland. Our ships will not be wasted, but if we are to realize our ambitions, it is Castle Locke that must fall first. It is the Duchess D’Anjou that must feel my wrath!”

“Understood, sir. We should be cautious not to underestimate the Berghein Valley. Do we have any information as to how large a force the Duchess has at her command?”

“We will send everything that we have. Let the full force of the armies of Palara rain down on her!”

“But the walls of Castle Locke,” counseled Zaim. “We need some sort of strategy as to how we will break them.”

“I have a strategy,” grinned the Prince. “The druids have stores of fire-powder. We will line the walls of the castle with barrels of fire-powder and blow that old witch into the sky.”

“But the druids only use the fire-powder in their ceremonies. They would never give it to us, especially if they knew that we planned to use it in battle.”

“The druids do not rule Palara, I do! Take a force of men and storm the druid’s temple. Seize as many barrels of fire-powder that you can find.”

“And if they resist, sir?”

“Of course they will resist,” replied the Duke. “Slay them. Slay them all!”

46

“Massage my shoulders, boy,” instructed Qutaybah as Arexos helped to bathe his master. Villa Salamah wasn’t his master’s principal residence, but in the eyes of Arexos, it was lavish. Qutaybah’s private quarters at the villa contained a large bathing complex with a steam room, a dry sauna, and several different pools containing water heated to varying temperatures. Arexos poured some oil into the palms of his hands and began to gently apply it to the muscular shoulders of his master. He marveled at the contrast between the dark black skin of Qutaybah and his own white hands.

“Excuse me, master,” interrupted the housekeeper Badr al Din, bowing as he cautiously entered the room.

“What is it?” snapped Qutaybah, annoyed at having his bath interrupted.

“I’m sorry sir, but your deputy has requested an audience with you.” Badr al Din was still bowing deeply.

“Yazid? Of course, send him in.”

“Would you like me to leave, master?” suggested Arexos.

“Of course not, boy. Keep massaging my shoulders. Concentrate around the back of my neck, that’s where the tension is.”

“Sir,” greeted Yazid, kneeling down on one knee and using his right hand to clasp his left wrist in front of his face in the traditional military greeting of Vandemland.

“What is it, Yazid? It must be important to be interrupting my bath?”

“I’m sorry sir, it is indeed important. I felt that you would want to hear this straight away. We have received a messenger from the Duchess D’Anjou of Castle Locke.”

“The Duchess? Contacting us? That is unusual.” Qutaybah became noticeably more interested in the conversation. “What does that old witch want?”

“She wants to employ us.”

“She has a job for us?” laughed Qutaybah. “We are not some petty mercenaries for hire! We are the best soldiers that Vandemland has ever seen!”

“She is gathering her forces for an assault against the Kingdom of Palara. She plans to march against Duke Harald. She seeks our support, and she’s happy to pay for it.”

“Keep massaging my shoulders, boy.”

Arexos hadn’t realized that he had stopped. When he had heard mention of the Kingdom of Palara, his mind had suddenly gone blank. It was the first time that he had thought of his homeland for days now. Arexos wondered what had happened to Henrickson, his master who he had traveled to Vandemland with, on the orders of Duke Harald, on the orders of the man against whom armies were gathering. At the urging of Qutaybah, Arexos quickly resumed massaging the big man’s shoulders, trying to remain inconspicuous as the two soldiers continued their discussions.

“So if we were to accept the Duchess’s commission, what would she have us do?” asked Qutaybah.

“She has asked that we travel to Castle Locke to meet with her there. She is gathering her forces in the Berghein Valley, and then plans to march on the Kingdom of Palara, pushing eastward until she has captured Castle Villeroy and slain Duke Harald.”

“Fascinating,” mused Qutaybah. “I’d always thought of the Duchess as being one of Palara’s closest allies. However, the coup by Duke Harald has obviously changed things.”

“He has executed her daughter,” advised Yazid, “and Myriam, who is the heir to the throne, is missing.”

“Ah, I see,” nodded Qutaybah. “There is nothing more dangerous than a mother who is forced to protect her children. I wonder if Duke Harald realized what trouble he was stirring up when he began to toy with the House of D’Anjou.” Qutaybah closed his eyes as Arexos continued to steadily massage his muscles. Yazid remained standing silently beside the bath, waiting for some sort of instruction or indication from his leader as to what steps should be taken.

“What is our intelligence on the armies of the Kingdom of Palara?” asked Qutaybah, opening his eyes.

“Even well before the coup, Duke Harald had taken control of Palara’s military,” replied Yazid. “He significantly increased their ground forces and has also built a sizeable naval fleet. They are a formidable force. We had assumed that they were readying their forces for an attack against us here in Vandemland, but perhaps their focus has been the Berghein Valley all along.”

“They do mean to attack you,” interjected Arexos.

“Did I tell you to speak?” roared Qutaybah. “How dare you interrupt the conversation of your masters!”

“I’m sorry master, but Duke Harald does mean to launch an attack against Vandemland,” insisted Arexos. “It’s the reason that I am here… it’s the reason that I was captured and sold as a slave.”

“What are you talking about?” growled Qutaybah, turning to look intently at his young slave.

“Before I belonged to you, I was a page to a man called Henrickson. He was the chief military adviser to Duke Harald of Palara,” said Arexos quickly.

“Go on… I’m listening.”

“Duke Harald sent Henrickson on a secret mission into Vandemland to assess the strengths and weaknesses, and to develop a plan of attack so that Palara could seize control of the territory. We paid a gang of Narc smugglers to get us across the border, but they betrayed us and sold us into slavery instead. I was bought by your household,” finished Arexos.

“And Henrickson? What happened to him?” demanded Qutaybah.

“I’m not sure. I never saw him again.”

Qutaybah nodded, a glimmer in his eye. He lay back in the bath and Arexos resumed massaging his broad muscular shoulders.

“You become more and more useful to me each day, boy,” smiled Qutaybah. “So… the threat from Palara is real. I guess the question is, how do we respond? What sort of numbers can the Duchess muster against the armies of Palara?” asked Qutaybah, turning towards Yazid.

“She only has a small standing army. She has begun calling up the farmers and tradesmen of the Berghein Valley.”

“Farmers and tradesmen,” guffawed Qutaybah. “She is going to need more than farmers and tradesmen to take on Duke Harald!”

“I imagine that is why she has reached out to us,” suggested Yazid.

“I imagine that is precisely why she has reached out to us,” agreed Qutaybah. “But perhaps our interests have begun to align with the Duchess D’Anjou… an intriguing development. What I don’t understand is why has she has approached us directly? She hasn’t gone to the Caliphate of Vandemland to seek a formal alliance? She seeks to engage us as mercenaries? But then again, she may have done that, and the Caliphate is sensibly trying to keep some distance until this feud between his neighbors has played out. We have received no communication from the Caliphate on this?”

“Nothing, sir,” confirmed Yazid. “Although the messenger from the Duchess asked specifically for you, and knew that you would be here at Villa Salamah.”

“I see. Well, if we took our company of one hundred soldiers to the Berghein Valley and joined forces with the Duchess, it would certainly boost her fighting capability, but we would still be vastly outnumbered by the armies of the Kingdom of Palara. But then I can’t believe that a woman as clever as the Duchess is planning to engage in a fight that she has no chance of winning. I imagine that she has a few tricks up her sleeve. She always does.” Qutaybah closed his eyes. He appeared to be thinking, or sleeping. Arexos couldn’t really tell.

“What are your orders, sir?” prompted Yazid.

“We will answer the call of the Duchess,” replied Qutaybah firmly, opening his eyes suddenly and startling Arexos. “Gather our men. We will ride at sunrise. Let’s see what Duke Harald has in store for us all.”

47

“Thank you, Ganry,” said Myriam faintly, walking up behind the mercenary and placing a hand gently on his shoulder.

“Why are you thanking me?” Ganry continued to stare into the glowing embers of the fire that he had taken charge of lighting, as they had made camp for the evening. He knelt beside the fire, poking and prodding the logs that were now steadily burning.

“Because I would never have survived without you. I wouldn’t have made it past that first night when Leonidavus smuggled me away from the castle and found you in that inn. Without you, I would have been captured by my uncle Harald, and who knows what would have happened to me. Well, I guess it’s pretty obvious what would have happened to me. I would have been killed.”

“We have had some adventures, haven’t we!” chortled Ganry, turning from the fire to look up at Myriam.

“You know that my grandmother will reward you richly for delivering me safely.”

“I’m not here for the money. Not anymore. I think my mercenary days are behind me.”

“You could leave now if you want?” offered Myriam. “Zander can take me to Castle Locke. If you leave now you will be able to avoid Harald’s troops and make your way to safety.”

“I’m not leaving you now. If anyone is going to deliver you to your grandmother, it will be me.”

“But you have risked so much for me,” protested Myriam. “You have given up everything. You have even lost Bluebell. I owe my life to you.”

“You have already given me something more valuable than all the gold in the kingdom. You have given me hope. You have given me a reason to live… a reason to fight… a reason to believe that the future might be worth sticking around for.”

There was a small polite cough behind them.

“Oh, hello Ghaffar,” said Myriam, turning to see the small monk standing behind them.

“I have come to say farewell,” said Ghaffar.

“Must you go, Ghaffar? Won’t you come with us?”

“My place is here in this forest,” replied the monk, shaking his head.

“But won’t the Lake Men be angry with you?” asked Ganry. “They will know that you have helped us, won’t they?”

“I don’t need to worry about the Lake Men,” smiled Ghaffar. “They fear my knowledge, and they fear the water dragons that protect my temple. You will be safe now. Zander knows the way back to the Berghein Valley from here. Soon your journey will be over.” Myriam embraced the monk warmly before he slipped away into the darkness. Remaining as much a mystery as ever.

“Somehow I don’t feel as if my journey will end when we reach Castle Locke.” Myriam stared off into the darkness that had swallowed the departing Ghaffar. “Somehow I feel that we’re not even at the end of the beginning, if that makes sense.”

“I think I know what you mean. However, I guess the next move depends on what sort of reception we get when we reach your grandmother.”

“How so?”

“Well, your grandmother has always been an ally of the Kingdom of Palara. She may not want to risk upsetting Harald by causing any sort of trouble. She may counsel that you simply accept that you have lost the crown, but be thankful that you have escaped with your life.”

Myriam sat down on the floor next to Ganry. “I see your point, but Harald’s treatment of my family is inexcusable. I have an obligation to the people of Palara to reclaim the throne, no matter what the cost is!”

“I thought you might say that. Why don’t we ask Zander what his understanding of the situation is?”

Ganry and Myriam left the fire and walked across the clearing to where Zander was tending the horses.

“Princess, is everything okay?” asked Zander as they approached.

“Yes, I’m fine thank you, Zander. I was just wanting to ask you about my grandmother.”

“The Duchess? Of course, what would you like to know?”

“Do you know what her intentions are?”

“I’m not sure that I understand you, Princess. What do you mean by ‘her intentions’?”

“I think what Myriam is interested in is whether you have any insight into what support the Duchess might be willing to offer Myriam in order to reclaim the throne of Palara,” added Ganry.

“Oh, I see. To be honest, I’m not really sure. When she sent me on this mission to find you, her primary concern was your safety, and also that of your mother, Alissia. At that stage, I don’t think she’d thought beyond bringing you to Castle Locke. I guess that doesn’t really help you much.”

“That’s okay. Thanks, Zander,” said Myriam. “Getting to Castle Locke is really all that I’ve been able to think of anyway. I’m not sure how I would go about raising an army, or launching some sort of attack on Harald.”

“The Duchess has a lot of experience in how to wield power. She has ruled the Berghein Valley since the death of her father. She has had to defend her people countless times over the years. She won’t be intimidated by any man, let alone by Duke Harald.”

“I am looking forward to meeting the Duchess D’Anjou,” grinned Ganry. “She sounds like quite a woman.”

48

“Explain yourself!” roared Clay, the chief of the Lake Men.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, uncle,” protested Linz.

“Do not take me for a fool!” Clay grabbed Linz roughly by the throat. “I should slice you into little pieces and feed you to the Polopons for your treachery! You have endangered us all! You have endangered the very existence of our people!”

“Brother! Please!” begged Linz’s mother, Lisl, grabbing hold of Clay’s arm and trying to free her son from his grasp.

Clay slapped Lisl away with the back of his hand. “Silence! My men have told me that you took the prisoners from the fishing outpost. And now Myriam is missing. The girl that was to be your wife! Why would you dare to disobey me? To deceive me? To betray me?”

“I didn’t want to marry Myriam. It made no sense. She’s a princess.” Linz was barely able to form the words due to his uncle’s tight grip on his neck.

“What do you mean that you didn’t want to marry her?” demanded the enraged Clay. “What you want or don’t want is irrelevant here! If you are to lead this tribe then you need a wife.”

“But you don’t have a wife.”

“Enough with your insolence!” Clay threw Linz to the floor of the wooden building that was their home. “Our very existence depends on us being invisible to the world beyond this forest, and you have thrown that away just because you don’t want to take a wife. How dare you! How dare you!”

“Clay… please,” sobbed Lisl. “He’s just a boy, he didn’t understand what he was doing. Please don’t hurt him.”

“Maybe it’s time we stopped hiding, uncle? Maybe it’s time that we took our place in this world?”

“Who are you to question our way of life?” glared Clay. “You may as well set a match to our homes or poison the lake on which we live. You know nothing of the struggles of our people, our fight to survive against the greed of the warrior Terrick.”

“You have taught me everything I know. I am the man that you have made me to be.”

“You are no man. You are a willful, impetuous boy. Get out of my sight.” Lisl rushed to Linz to help him stand. “Get out of my sight! Now! Go!” raged Clay.

When they had returned to their own quarters, Lisl tended to the bumps and scrapes that Linz had suffered at the hands of his uncle.

“Why did you disobey him?” chided Lisl. “Why didn’t you simply do as you were told and marry that girl?”

“I couldn’t, mother. It was a silly idea to capture a princess, force her into marriage, and expect no consequences.”

“You didn’t find her attractive? I thought she was quite nice looking?”

“It wasn’t that.” Linz sighed, and shook his head sadly. He knew that he had disappointed his mother. He knew that he had angered his uncle. He knew that he hadn’t been able to live up to their expectations, as ludicrous as they may have been.

“Hey, cheer up,” soothed Lisl, misunderstanding the pain that her son was feeling. Lisl leaned forward and kissed Linz on the forehead. “I’ll speak with your uncle when he has calmed down a little. It’s best that you stay out of sight for a while. Why don’t you hop into bed.”

Leaving her son to rest, Lisl returned to her brother, Clay, who was still pacing and fuming.

“Did I hurt him?” asked Clay, concerned for the well-being of his nephew.

“He’s okay, just a bit confused and upset. Have the scouts found anything?”

“It looks like they’ve had assistance from the old monk who guards the river. They are beyond our reach now.”

“Do you think we are in danger?”

“We are always in danger, but we have just lost the one advantage that we have always had. We are no longer hidden. We may need to leave this lake, head deeper into the forest, build a new home somewhere beyond the reach of the outside world.”

“Perhaps there is another way?” suggested Lisl.

“What do you mean? What would you have me do?”

“Perhaps Linz has a point. Maybe it is time for us to stop hiding? If the girl, Myriam, took the throne of Palara, then she could grant us this lake as our own. It could be a way of protecting our future.”

“But she is on the run from her uncle. She is unlikely to be of any use to us,” dismissed Clay.

“I would like to send Linz to help her.”

“Out of the question. The boy knows nothing of the outside world.”

“He knows enough,” insisted Lisl.

“What if he doesn’t return? What if he never comes back? What then?”

“He is my son. He will come back. Let me take him to see the monk. I have a feeling that Linz could be the key to our future, not the end of our present.”

“You talk in riddles, but I know better than to argue with you, sister. You were always far cleverer than I was.”

“Linz reminds me a lot of you when you were younger,” smiled Lisl.

Clay sighed. “That’s what worries me.”

49

“What secrets do you hold within you?” Myriam hefted her dagger, Harkan, as she admired the sun’s morning light glinting off the stones inlaid on its hilt. She held out her hand on which she wore the ring that also bore the same stonework. Next to each other, they seemed to dazzle in the rays of the sun.

“Zander,” asked Myriam, “can I have the dagger that my grandmother gave to you?”

“Of course, Princess, here it is.” Zander gave a small bow as he handed over the small blade that matched the ring and the dagger already held by Myriam.

Myriam carefully turned it over in her hands, studying the designs and engravings, comparing them, admiring them.

Barnaby approached and spoke softly. “Hendon has a ring just like yours. He wears it around his neck.”

“Really?” said Myriam surprised. “Hendon?” She looked over her shoulder to where Hendon was talking with Artas. “Can I see your ring, please?”

“Of course.” Hendon took off the chain around his neck which held the ring, holding it out towards Myriam as he approached her.

“Stay with me,” she said, taking Hendon’s ring in her hand. “Look at the stones… see how they’re shining?”

“They’re beautiful,” acknowledged Hendon.

“In this light I can see more of the detail, more of the engravings on each piece.” Myriam showed them to Hendon. “See how my ring and dagger have matching symbols? And look… the dagger that Zander was carrying, the one that was sent by my grandmother, it has the same symbols as your ring. Your ring and my grandmother’s dagger are a pair. What do you think that means?”

Hendon studied the rings and daggers that Myriam held. “I don’t know. It belonged to my mother. I don’t know anything else about it.”

“But where was your mother from?” pushed Myriam.

“I don’t know… my father would never tell me anything about her.”

“I can’t believe that we found you that day in the forest just by accident. It’s almost as if the stones were drawing us together, that we were meant to find each other.”

“You know that you two look a bit alike,” said Ganry bluntly, joining their conversation.

“Really?” asked Myriam. “Do you really think so?”

“I didn’t see it at first, but the more time I spend with you, the more obvious it becomes. There’s something about the lines of your face that match each other. Maybe you’re distant relations or something.”

“And what do you think about the stones, Ganry? Have you ever seen anything like them before? Why do you think that they seem to shine brighter when they are close to each other?”

“They are pretty special, aren’t they,” admired Ganry, taking one of the daggers from Myriam’s hand and turning it over carefully, as it caught the light of the morning sun. “They’re not stones that I’ve ever seen before. They seem very old.”

“Do you think that they could be magic?” asked Hendon.

“There’s no such thing as magic, not that I’ve seen. There’s no magic in stones, no magic in forests, no magic in animals, and no magic in water dragons that look like snakes.”

“You seem to be pretty sure of that,” laughed Myriam.

“Trust me,” winked Ganry, “when you get to be as old as I am, you’ll realize that if you want something in life you have to make it happen yourself. Wishing on a star, casting coins into a stream, kissing a rabbit, none of these things will make the slightest bit of difference. The only way that you can change the world around you or alter the course of your fate is if you do something about it.”

“Maybe your problem, Ganry, is that you don’t believe?” suggested Barnaby. “If you don’t believe in magic, then of course you won’t understand its power.”

“Do you believe in magic, Barnaby?” asked Myriam.

“Of course,” nodded the old man. “How else do you explain the fates bringing us together? How else do you explain our escape from the Lake Men? How else do you explain Zander being able to find us in the forest? There are clearly higher powers at work. We might not be able to see them or understand them, but that doesn’t mean that there are not forces out there, guiding us and protecting us.”

“Fair enough. I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree. You believe in magic if you want, I’ll continue to believe in the blade of my sword.”

“Stop bickering, you two!” laughed Myriam. “Hopefully grandmother will be able to shed some light on these mysteries when we get to Castle Locke. Meanwhile, I guess we’d better get moving. Lead on, Zander! The Berghein Valley awaits!”

50

Linz guided the small boat across the calm waters of the lake. “Are you sure that uncle is happy for us to do this?”

Lisl watched the sail as it flapped lazily in the wind. “Trust me, he understands. Take us into the monk’s temple.”

“But what about the water dragons that guard it?”

“We have nothing to fear. We are here as friends. The monk will welcome us. I can see that the lanterns are lit, that means he is at home.”

Linz guided the boat alongside the wooden pier that jutted out into the lake, leaping from the boat in order to secure the moorings tightly.

“Madam Lisl,” greeted Ghaffar warmly as he emerged from the temple. “It is a long time since I have seen you. Are you here on official business?”

“Hello, Ghaffar. Yes, official business. I don’t think you’ve met my son, Linz.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Linz politely.

“Such good manners. You have trained him well, Madam Lisl.”

“My brother would perhaps disagree with you,” Lisl said, as they followed Ghaffar. “My son has proved to be rather rash and disobedient in recent times. I have come to you for help.”

“How intriguing. It’s unlike your brother to ask for help.”

“To be fair, it wasn’t really his idea. He is still quite cross that you helped the foreigners escape from the lake. But in part, that is why we have come to you now. The Princess Myriam is traveling towards Castle Locke. I want you to take my son to join her there.”

“You want me to take Linz away from the lake?” asked Ghaffar incredulously. “Do you expect some sort of union with Myriam?”

“Precisely the opposite,” replied Lisl. “But it is time to end our isolation, and Myriam could be our one chance to maintain our independence. Linz can help her. He can help her claim the throne of Palara.”

“With all due respect, Madam Lisl, I think Myriam needs an army in order to claim the throne of Palara. I’m not sure that one young lake boy is going to make much of a difference.”

“Please Ghaffar,” insisted Lisl. “He has gifts… he has powers.”

“For you, Madam Lisl, anything. If it makes you happy, I will take the boy to Castle Locke. But I won’t be held responsible for any consequences that fall on your people as a result.”

Lisl sailed by herself back to Halawa, the main settlement of the Lake Men. The morning breeze from the water ruffled her long brown hair. There was a chill in the air, but her fur cloak kept her warm. She felt as if a turning point of some kind had been reached. She felt strong. She knew in the heart that she had done the right thing.

As she entered the wooden building where she lived, Clay approached her. “He has gone?”

“Yes.” Lisl calmly picked up some pieces of dried meat and dropped them gently into the pool of water that contained the polopon fish, their sharp teeth quickly tearing the meat apart as they churned the water excitedly.

“So what happens now?” asked Clay, perturbed by his sister’s calmness.

“The monk will take Linz to Castle Locke in the Berghein Valley to meet Myriam. But nothing will change for us until she has been able to reclaim the throne.”

“No sister, you’re wrong,” corrected Clay. “Everything has already changed for us. Everything. We have revealed our existence from those that our people have spent centuries hiding from. I have sent my heir out into their world. We will never be hidden again. There is every chance that the soldiers of Palara will be burning our villages down within a matter of weeks, if not days.”

“Perhaps, but we have to have faith. Faith in Linz, but also faith that the gods will guide events in our favor.”

“Did you make an offering at the monk’s temple while you were there?”

“No, those are not my gods. I sacrificed a dove this morning, as the sun rose over the lake. Linz sat with me and we said the sacred words together.”

“Good,” nodded Clay. “I guess there is nothing more that we can do. Should we tell everyone what we have done?”

“There is no point alarming everyone, not until we hear from Linz. Once he can tell us how he has been received at Castle Locke, then we should tell them. Try not to worry, Clay. Why don’t you take me out in your boat, like we did when we were children?”

Clay’s boat had always been his pride and joy. A small skiff, he had made it when he was thirteen. Their father had helped him to select the trees and prepare the wood. It had taken months of working on it every day to shape and form the hull of the craft. He had never felt prouder than when he had lifted the mast into place.

His father had made a speech when he had taken the boat out onto the water for the first time. He had been nervous, unsure if he had sealed it properly, anxious that the water would begin to seep through the wood that he had so carefully joined together. All of those fears were quickly forgotten as the wind filled the sail and the boat had begun to skim across the water. Every day, when they were growing up, Clay had taken Lisl out in the boat. They had spent hours fishing together or just exploring the edges of the lake.

They had stopped the day that their father had been killed. Clay had had to assume his duties as chief of the tribe. Lisl got married, and they had to grow up.

As the boat sailed across the water, Clay looked across at his sister. He felt like a child again.

51

“We are nearly there, Princess,” declared Zander. “Beyond that border post lies the Berghein Valley!” They had been traveling along the narrow forest trails, concealed by the trees as they made their way steadily west—west to safety.

As they looked down onto the guard post, still within the safety of the trees, they could see that the border was being heavily patrolled by Palaran soldiers.

Myriam was excited to be so close to the end of their long journey, but nervous also that there was still danger ahead. “How are we going to get past the guards?”

“We could create a distraction?” offered Ganry. “Create a skirmish to draw their attention, and that would enable you to push through the border.”

“That’s too dangerous, Ganry. You wouldn’t stand a chance against numbers like this. I won’t lose you now after you have brought me safely this far. There must be another way.”

“Zander, is there not another way across the border?” asked Artas. “What about those cliffs? Is there a way that we could bypass this border post?”

“I imagine that they will have patrols all along the border, but maybe you have a point. We’ve always thought of the cliffs as being too unstable for anyone to use them as a crossing point, but these are desperate times. There are occasionally reports of bandits living in some of the small caves that have formed, and the paths are notoriously prone to collapse and avalanche, so it’s just a question of which dangers we want to face.”

“We’d have to leave the horses, though,” said Ganry. “They’re not going to be able to take those cliff paths.”

“That is true,” agreed Zander, “but there is a farming settlement near the base of the cliffs, and we would be able to commandeer some horses there for the final leg of our journey to Castle Locke.”

“What do you think, Princess?” asked Ganry. Myriam scanned the blue skies that stretched as far as the eye could see. A lone eagle circled high overhead, occasionally calling out a lonesome cry as it searched for prey in the grassland below.

“Let’s tackle the cliffs,” decided Myriam. “Lead on, Zander! If any bandits get in our way, they had better watch out. The stones in my dagger are glowing brightly and I am in no mood for being messed around!”

“She used to be such a sweet girl,” grumbled Ganry to Artas.

“I heard that, Ganry!” shouted Myriam. “I’m going to make you walk in front to test whether the cliff trails will take our weight!”

Ganry took charge of removing the saddles from the horses and setting them loose. Zander and his men repacked their rucksacks, leaving behind anything that was not essential, trying to make their load as light as possible for the climb.

“Are you ready for this, Barnaby?” asked Hendon, concerned that the strenuous ascent might be too much for the old man.

“Don’t you worry about me,” winked Barnaby. “I might be old, but I can keep up with you.”

“We have a short distance from the edge of the tree-line through into that first rocky outcrop. We will be exposed, and it is possible that we will be spotted by their scouts, so we need to make sure that we move as fast as possible,” explained Zander. “I will lead the way. Karam will take the back. Aban, Yasir, and Najid will protect the flanks. If we are detected at all, you have to keep moving and we will engage with the enemy. Ganry, if you stay with Myriam, then you can keep her safe and keep moving forward with her if there is any trouble. If all goes well then we’ll stop and get our bearings once we reach the protection of the rocks. If there is trouble then just keep moving and push as far up into the cliffs as possible. Any questions?”

Ganry approved. “Sounds like a good plan.”

“Right, on my lead, leave a count of two between each other so that we are not tripping over ourselves. Ready… Now!” Zander suddenly leapt forward and was sprinting across the open ground, keeping low to try and avoid attracting any attention from the Palaran scouts. After a count of two, Artas leapt forward and quickly followed in Zander’s footsteps. Next went Aban, Yasir, and Najid to create a protective flank. Then it was Ganry and Myriam, running together. Barnaby was next, then Hendon, and finally Karam brought up the rear.

When they had been scoping out the route to be taken from the safety of the trees, it hadn’t seemed so far, but now, with his heart pumping and his legs moving as fast as possible, Ganry could feel his body straining. Beside him, Myriam was moving smoothly, composed and calm as they quickly covered the open ground. The rocky outcrop was in sight now. They could see that Zander had nearly made it to safety.

“Quickly! Hurry now!” hissed Zander. An arrow suddenly thwacked into the ground close to Ganry’s foot.

“Damn it! They’ve seen us. We have to move faster!” urged Ganry, trying to see which direction the archers might be shooting from so that he could try and protect Myriam. The arrows began to fall increasingly thickly. Ganry could see that Artas had made it to the safety of the rocks and had quickly notched an arrow into his bow, trying to see where they were shooting from, trying to see whether he could take them out and protect the others. Artas loosed several arrows but still the attack came. Eventually, Ganry and Myriam made it to the safety of the rocks.

“Keep moving!” urged Zander. “Don’t wait for us, push higher! Artas can stay with me to try and hold them off.”

“I can’t leave without making sure that everyone is safe!” protested Myriam.

“You have to go now, Princess!” insisted Zander. “Ganry, keep moving, find a defensible position and wait for us if you can. We won’t be far behind. Go!” Garny grabbed Myriam by the arm and almost dragged her onto the trail that was heading higher into the cliffs. Behind them, they could hear the arrows clattering onto the rocks that were sheltering Zander and Artas.

***

“This path is going to get steep pretty quickly.” Ganry cautiously tested the loose rocks that were already feeling like they were shifting beneath his feet.

Myriam looked back over her shoulder to see whether she could see any sign of her companions. “Can we not wait for them here?”

“Not yet, we’re too exposed, we need to keep moving. Come on, a bit further. We can rest in a moment.”

Back down at the rocky outcrop, Zander was becoming increasingly worried as the arrows continued to rain down on them. Hendon and Yasir had only just made it to safety, but Barnaby had been wounded in the leg, and Aban and Najid were trying to carry him the rest of the way. Zander knew that even if they got to the rock that Barnaby wouldn’t be able to cope with the steep narrow cliff paths that lay ahead of them.

“Karam! Karam! Quickly! Get to safety!” shouted Zander. As Karam dived beneath the cover of the rocks, Zander looked out and saw the arrows embedding themselves deep into the bodies of his men. Aban fell first, then Najid. Unprotected, Barnaby also lost his life to the cold stabbing pain of an arrow in the chest.

“No! Barnaby!” wailed Hendon, watching on as his friend fell.

“We need to move now!” ordered Zander. “They will be coming for us!”

“We can’t leave him there!” sobbed Hendon, wrestling against Artas who was trying to restrain him from dashing back out towards Barnaby’s dead body.

“We have to. We have no choice. If we don’t go now we will all be killed. Yasir, quickly, lead the way!”

Yasir began to bound up the steep slope of the cliff, picking his way between the loose rocks. Artas, dragging the bereft Hendon behind him, followed after, with Karam and Zander bringing up the rear.

Up ahead, Ganry had found a small ledge where the cliff path narrowed. Confident that he could overpower anyone who tried to approach, they had decided to wait for the others. Ganry had his trusty sword, WindStorm, guarding the approach, while Myriam stood behind him with her blade, Harkan, drawn—the stones in its hilt shining brightly.

“Ganry! We are approaching!” shouted Yasir, seeing the light reflect off Ganry’s drawn blade.

“They made it!” gasped Myriam, immediately sheathing her dagger. They gathered on the small ledge, quickly trying to catch their breath after the strenuous sprint to safety and the steep ascent that they had had to make. It took a moment for Myriam and Ganry to realize that their numbers were fewer.

“Aban? Najid? Wait… where’s Barnaby? No… No… Please no.” Myriam could see from Hendon’s ashen face that Barnaby hadn’t made it to safety. She wrapped her arms around him and tried to console him.

“We have to keep moving.” Zander’s breathing had steadied, he was ready to continue. “Their arrows won’t be much of a threat now, but they will come after us on foot. They won’t be far behind.”

Ganry shielded his eyes from the sun, and tried to see if he could spot any pursuers. “Should we try and block this path in some way?”

“We could create a landslide without too much difficulty. But I think it’s better if we just focus on moving as quickly as we can. We need to head up towards that peak and then work our way down to the valley floor. Yasir, lead the way. Let’s move.”

Treading carefully but as quickly as they dared, the companions moved in single file along the narrow cliff path, frequently dislodging loose stones beneath their feet that tumbled far down beneath them.

“I see them!” pointed Artas, looking back at the path below them. “There looks to be about ten of them!”

“What’s your aim like with that bow?” asked Zander.

“I’ve never seen better,” said Ganry, with a nod towards Artas.

“See how many you can take out, Artas. It will slow them down at the very least.”

Artas positioned himself on a small outcrop and notched an arrow into his bow, patiently taking aim and waiting for a clear shot at the soldiers that were working their way up the cliff towards them.

Zander and the others continued to push forward, continued to push up. The top of the cliff was in sight and they were beginning to feel that they had a chance at reaching their goal, of reaching safety.

Myriam looked back at the sound of falling rocks and could see one of the soldiers of Palara falling lifelessly down the side of the cliff, snared by one of Artas’ arrows. “Please, can we wait for him?”

“He wouldn’t want us to. He’ll catch us up. He’ll be moving faster than us anyway. Don’t worry, I’ve got a lot of faith in Artas,” replied Ganry.

“We’re nearly at the top,” urged Zander. “We’ll stop there and wait for Artas.”

At the top of the cliff, Myriam gasped in delight as the Berghein Valley was revealed below.

“I can’t believe we’ve made it!” exclaimed Myriam.

“We haven’t made it yet,” cautioned Ganry. “But at least here comes Artas! How many left, Artas?”

“There are at least five still on the path.” Artas panted from his sprint.

“Why don’t we wait here and finish them off?” Ganry was eager for WindStorm to sing.

Zander thought about it for a beat. “Yes, I think you’re right. We can’t risk drawing them down into the village. If there are only five, then we will be able to overpower them, given we have the advantage. Quickly, let’s conceal ourselves and wait for them.”

Myriam could feel her heart pounding as she tried to control her breathing, while they lay in wait for the pursuing soldiers. It seemed like they had been hidden for an eternity, and she began to wonder whether they had perhaps given up the chase and turned back. Just as she was about to say something, she heard the scuffling of feet along the stony path, the clinking of weapons being carried. Myriam clutched Harkan, her knife, tightly, drawing strength from the glowing stones. As the soldiers from Palara rounded the bend at the top of the cliff, there was a deafening roar as Ganry leapt from his hiding place, wielding his sword and shouting.

There was a tremendous clash of metal, screams of dying men, and then an eerie silence. When Myriam emerged from behind the rock where she had been hiding, she saw Ganry standing proudly with the soldiers at his feet. The mercenary had done his work.

52

“What sort of reception do you think we will get at Castle Locke?” asked Yazid, riding beside Qutaybah as they made the journey from Villa Salamah in Vandemland, and across the border into the Berghein Valley.

“She will be pleased to see us, I imagine.”

“Have you met the Duchess before?”

“No, never,” replied Qutaybah, “but I have heard plenty of stories about her.”

“Does she really have powers?”

Qutaybah raised an eyebrow. “What sort of powers do you speak of?”

“You call her a witch… and I have heard others speak of her as being some kind of mystic.”

Arexos was riding behind Qutaybah and Yazid. He remained silent, but he was intensely interested in their conversation—any talk of magic intrigued him.

“You shouldn’t believe fairytales!” laughed Qutaybah. “There is no such thing as magical powers. The Duchess is just a clever woman who knows how to rule. Her power is her mind, and her ability to outwit the foolish men that attempt to control her. Some men see that as witchcraft.”

The border crossing between Vandemland and the Berghein Valley was controlled by small guard-posts on either side. The party of one hundred soldiers on horseback from Vandemland caused some concern at the Berghein Valley guard-post, but Qutaybah had a letter of invitation from the Duchess which quickly secured their safe passage.

It was Captain Versance, the Duchess’s captain of the guard, who rode out to greet the approaching party from Vandemland, escorting them to the barracks that had been assigned to them and arranging for the stable-hands to tend to their horses.

“The Duchess is ready to receive you at your earliest convenience, Master Qutaybah.”

“Excellent. Shall I bring my deputy with me?”

“I think it would be perhaps best if you met with the Duchess alone.”

“Of course, Captain. Please, lead the way. I do not want to keep the Duchess waiting.”

The Duchess received Qutaybah in her study. The light was shining brightly through the windows, illuminating the room and catching the silver thread that was embroidered on the blue dress that she wore. The Duchess stood as Qutaybah was shown into the room.

“Master Qutaybah, welcome,” smiled the Duchess, inclining her head slightly. “I am grateful that you have answered my call for help.”

“Your Excellence, it is indeed an honor to meet you.” Qutaybah bowed respectfully.

“Well, to coin an old phrase, we live in interesting times. Our friends become our enemies and our neighbors become our allies. I’m sure your networks of intelligence gatherers and informers will have kept you abreast of our troubles, but I imagine that you are not exactly sure why I have reached out to you.”

“You are indeed correct, Your Excellence. The turmoil within the Kingdom of Palara is known to me, as are your personal tragedies. I am sorry for the loss of your daughter,” proffered Qutaybah.

“Thank you for your kindness,” acknowledged the Duchess. “The good news is that I believe that my granddaughter is safe. My granddaughter is the rightful heir to the throne of Palara. It is her claim to the throne that is the reason that I have sought your assistance.”

“You intend to attack Duke Harald? You will march on the Kingdom of Palara?”

“Yes. Yes…and no.”

“I’m not quite sure I follow you?”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Duke Harald has amassed a sizeable army, plus he has built an impressive naval fleet. All of this was designed to launch a full-scale assault against the Caliphate of Vandemland, but it seems that he intends first to cut his teeth against the people of the Berghein Valley,” explained the Duchess. “Of course, my small army will be no match for him. His forces will crush us within a matter of days, if not hours.”

“So you will not march against him?” asked Qutaybah, beginning to feel confused.

“I will distract him. I will draw his eye towards the Berghein Valley, towards Castle Locke… and while I draw his eye, I want you to kill him.”

53

The druids’ temple lay in ruins. Duke Harald’s men had been merciless. Zaim, the arms-bearer, had done as instructed and lain waste to the druids and their living quarters, setting fire to the wooden buildings and destroying the stone monuments.

After killing the druids, Zaim’s men had loaded the barrels of fire-powder onto the druids’ wagons to transport them back to Castle Villeroy. The bodies of the men that had been slain lay scattered throughout the temple grounds, across the garden beds where they had grown vegetables, across the altars at which they had prayed, slain while trying to protect the ancient artifacts and relics that were used in their ceremonies and prayers.

As the wagons rolled through the surrounding farmlands, the villagers looked on in stunned silence, unable to comprehend the changing world in which they lived. A world in which the sacred and revered druids could be so brutally cast aside, the gods and temples that had been worshiped so easily desecrated.

“Excellent! This is exactly what we need,” exclaimed Duke Harald as he inspected the barrels that had been forcibly confiscated from the druids.

“Have you used the druid’s fire-powder before, sir?” asked Zaim.

“No, we will need to test it. We need to trial it against something that is of similar thickness to the walls of Castle Locke. We’re going to need to be able to blast that old witch out of her nest.”

“There is the old fort that protects the bridge at Athacar. Of course, it is quite useful as a strategic defense, but it’s the only thing that I can think of with thick walls apart from the castle here.”

“Well, we’re not blowing up Castle Villeroy! We either blow up the fort or we try and tackle Castle Locke without any clue as to how much fire-powder we would need to get the job done. Let’s assemble a small advance party and march towards Athacar with the barrels of fire-powder. The rest of the army can be mobilized to join us when we are ready to launch our attack against Castle Locke.”

It was a party of several hundred soldiers that were tasked with transporting the wagons loaded with fire-powder along the road westward towards the town of Athacar. Harald surveyed the old stone fort—a remnant of the days of Chief Terrick who had united the tribes.

“We’re going to need a point in the wall where we can dig down towards the foundations.” Harald tried to visualize how they would most effectively launch an attack against Castle Locke. “So, we’re going to need to have some sort of protection overhead to enable us to dig. We create a hole at the bottom of the wall, pack it tightly with the barrels of fire-powder, and then light it up. The force of the explosion should be enough to create a breach in the wall that we can then break through and crush their defenses.”

“But how many barrels of fire-powder do we need to use in order to create a big enough explosion?” asked Zaim.

“That’s what we’re here to test out. Let’s start with ten and see what sort of mess that makes.”

Zaim took charge of overseeing the digging operations, while also tasking his men to build several different types of contraptions that could provide some sort of overhead protection. The main concern would be arrows being fired down from the walls, but fire and hot oil were also commonly used by defenders trying to repel a siege. Eventually, Zaim reported back to Harald that they had created a hole at the foundations of the wall of the old fort and packed it with ten barrels of the druids’ fire-powder.

“We can light it with a flaming arrow. That will give us enough time to get our men clear of the explosion.”

“Excellent!” Harald rubbed his palms together in anticipation. “Well, let’s see what happens!”

As the dust slowly cleared, Harald was beaming with delight as he surveyed the ruined wall of the old fort.

“Castle Locke doesn’t stand a chance!” laughed the Duke, surveying the destruction that lay at his feet.

54

“Myriam, my child, you have made it!” The Duchess was waiting at the gates of the castle, immediately hugging Myriam as soon as she had been helped down from the horse that had carried her across the Berghein Valley.

“Grandmother!” gasped Myriam. It felt slightly surreal to be in the arms of this woman, a woman she had met a long time ago when the world had seemed to be a different place, a safer place. “I have so much to ask you, so many questions!”

“Shhh…. there will be time for questions. But first we must care for you. You need food, you need to bathe, you need to rest. Come, go with the maids and I will come and sit with you in a moment.” The Duchess turned to the rest of the waiting party. Ganry could sense a steeliness in her. She was clearly a woman that was in control, a determined woman who knew what needed to be done.

“Zander, you have impressed me yet again. Well done.”

“Thank you, Your Excellence,” bowed Zander deeply.

“Introduce me to the rest of the party.”

“These are my men, Yasir and Karam. This is Ganry and Artas who have traveled with Myriam since her escape from Castle Villeroy, and this is Hendon, who I believe they met in the Cefinon Forest.”

Ganry could feel the Duchess’s eyes fall on each of them, assessing them somehow, processing the information that Zander was providing.

“You each have my utmost gratitude. I can only imagine the hardships that you have suffered together on your escape from Palara. Your commitment to protecting my granddaughter is proof not only of your loyalty, but also your immense courage and bravery. I am sure that we have much to talk about, but I can see that you are all exhausted. Please, follow the household staff and they will help you with food, bathing, and fresh clothes.” The companions gratefully began to move towards the castle doors where food and rest waited for them. “Hendon,” said the Duchess suddenly. “A moment please, I would like just a quick word with you before you join the others.”

***

There was a quiet knock on the door of the sleeping quarters to which Myriam has been assigned.

“May I come in?” asked the Duchess politely.

“Of course, Grandmother! Of course,” beamed Myriam. “I can’t quite believe that I am really here. It all feels a bit unreal at the moment, if that makes sense?”

“It makes perfect sense my dear, you’ve had quite an ordeal.”

“Grandmother, I know that you said that there would be time for questions later. But, please, can I ask… my mother and father… they’re dead aren’t they?”

The Duchess took Myriam in her arms and held her close. “Yes dear… I’m afraid so. I felt it too, as I’m sure you did. And Hendon felt it as well…”

“Hendon,” murmured Myriam. “Yes, Hendon! Who is Hendon? Why do I feel such a connection to him? How does he have a ring that matches the dagger that you sent with Zander?”

“Shhh now,” soothed the Duchess, “don’t get yourself all worked up. All will be revealed in good time. But you need to know that Hendon is a part of me, just as much as you are.”

“But… how can that be?” asked Myriam, looking up at her grandmother.

“Shhh now… all in good time.”

***

After bathing and eating, Artas had gone for a walk out along the walls of the castle, finally feeling as if he was able to breathe, finally, for a moment at least, not looking over his shoulder, waiting for danger at every turn. Artas was staring out across the plains of the Berghein Valley when he heard a voice behind him.

“Hello,” said the voice. Artas turned to see who it was that was talking to him. The face looked familiar, but it was strangely out of context. Artas tried to piece together the puzzle that was before him. A face he knew but somehow didn’t recognize. Finally, it dawned on him.

“Linz? Linz? Is it really you? What are you doing here?” gasped Artas.

“They said that you had gone for a walk, I came to find you.”

“No, I mean, we left you back at the lake… you rescued us… how are you here now at Castle Locke? I thought it was forbidden for you to leave?”

“It’s all been a bit of a blur, to be honest.” Linz shook his head quickly, as though trying to juggle his memories into some sort of order. “After you left, nothing seemed the same. My mother persuaded my uncle to let me come and try and help Myriam regain the throne of Palara.”

“But how did you manage to make the journey to Castle Locke? We’ve only just survived. We lost several of our companions to the arrows of the soldiers,” said Artas sadly.

“I’m sorry for your loss. The monk, Ghaffar, traveled with me. He seems to be able to travel without attracting too much attention to himself.”

“Ghaffar, that old fox!” laughed Artas. “I should have known that we hadn’t seen the last of him. Well… I must say that I am glad to see you again. I feared that we would never have the chance to spend any time together.”

“I’m glad, too,” smiled Linz. “I’m glad, too.”

***

“You asked to see me, Your Excellence?” asked Ganry, cautiously entering the Duchess’s study.

“Ganry, please come in,” instructed the Duchess. “No one seems to know very much about you, but my granddaughter speaks very highly of you and that is all I need to know. I am under no illusion that she would not have been able to survive without your care and attention.”

“It has been my pleasure, Your Excellence.”

“I understand that Leonidavus, Myriam’s tutor, paid you a small fee to transport her here. I am happy to double that. I will have the gold prepared so that you can collect your reward and be released from your obligations.”

“Your Excellence? I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s not enough? You demand more gold?” asked the Duchess.

“No, no, not at all. It’s just that… I don’t really want to be released from my obligations.”

“You are a mercenary, are you not? You have completed your mission and you should be rewarded for that,” pointed out the Duchess.

“I think perhaps that my mercenary days might be over,” said Ganry slowly. “No amount of gold in the world can make me walk away from Myriam now. I need to see this through. I need to help her reclaim the throne of Palara. I need to help her free her people.”

“You haven’t developed some sort of ridiculous romantic attachment to her, have you?” snapped the Duchess.

“No, not at all, quite the contrary,” explained Ganry quickly. “I think of her as a daughter. She reminds me of the daughter that I lost long ago.”

“I see,” nodded the Duchess approvingly. “I can see that she was right to trust you. Good.”

“Good?” asked Ganry, not sure exactly what the Duchess meant by this.

“Yes. Good,” affirmed the Duchess. “We have difficult days ahead. My granddaughter will need all of her friends and allies beside her. I want you to be her personal bodyguard. I want you to promise me that you will protect her.”

“Of course, Your Excellence. I promise to protect her with my life.”

The Duchess walked to a window and stared out across the valley below. “He’s coming for her,” she said quietly, staring into the distance.

“Duke Harald?” asked Ganry, unsure if the statement had been directed towards him, unsure if he was required to give a response.

“Yes… he’s coming for her,” repeated the Duchess. “He will not rest until he has killed her. He will march his armies against us and will crush everything that stands in his way.”

“Should I take her away? Take her somewhere safe?”

“No. There isn’t anywhere. Nowhere is safe. She must remain here. She is the bait that will draw that snake in.”

“You’re using Myriam as bait?” Ganry was not really sure that he had heard the Duchess correctly. “Isn’t that a fairly risky strategy?”

“Ganry,” said the Duchess, turning towards him with a smile, “in this game, the only way to win is to risk it all.”

55

The bells in the towers of Castle Locke sounded the call to arms. Captain Versance had assembled the army of the Berghein Valley. The farmers, the tradesmen—they had trained them as much as possible, they had equipped them with as many weapons as possible, but as Captain Versance surveyed the faces of his men, he knew that it wouldn’t be enough.

“We are no match for what marches towards our borders,” observed Zander Moncrieff, seeing the concern on the captain’s face.

“This is madness,” said the captain.

“I don’t think it would be wise to accuse the Duchess of madness,” chuckled Zander lightly. “At least, not to her face. These walls are built to withstand a siege. We just need to hold them as long as possible.”

“Is that the plan then?” asked Captain Versance. “Try and sit out a siege?”

“I think that is part of the plan, but I have to confess that the Duchess hasn’t taken me fully into her confidence as to how she intends to defeat Duke Harald. I think it’s interesting though that the battalion from Vandemland have moved out.”

“They rode off towards Vandemland,” replied the captain. “I assumed that they were heading home, not prepared to sign up to a lost cause?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s the case at all. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of our friends from Vandemland. We live in interesting times, old friend. We live in very interesting times.”

***

The Duchess sat in her study. On one side of her sat Myriam, on the other side, Hendon. The three of them wore the rings of Berghein, the stones glowing brightly, almost shining as they reflected and amplified the sun’s rays. In front of each of them sat their matching dagger. Myriam reached out and caressed the blade of Harkan—the name of her blade, the name that had been told to her by Leonidavus, her tutor, when he had given it to her.

“Ready?” asked the Duchess quietly, looking at first to Myriam and then Hendon. They both nodded solemnly. The Duchess demonstrated what had to be done. They each took hold of the dagger in front of them and ran the sharp blade across the palm of their left hand. As the blood began to flow from their self-inflicted wounds, the Duchess showed them how to hold their hands over the silver bowl that sat in the middle of the small wooden table. They watched silently as their blood began to drip steadily down into the bowl, collecting and combining as it formed a small crimson pool.

“Close your eyes now,” instructed the Duchess, “and visualize our future. Visualize a future where the Berghein Valley is safe once more. Visualize a future where Duke Harald has been defeated. Visualize a future where Myriam has been crowned as the rightful ruler of the Kingdom of Palara. Now we must visualize the sun setting and rising three times… dusk to dawn… dusk to dawn… dusk to dawn… together we create the future. There… you can open your eyes now.”

“Does it work, Grandmother?” asked Myriam in hushed tones, in awe of the command and control that the Duchess displayed.

Hendon was wide-eyed. “Is it magic?”

“Now Hendon… there’s no such thing as magic,” the Duchess’s eyes twinkled, “but we know that we are stronger together, that when we put our hearts and minds together there is nothing that can stand in our way. We know that our blood comes from an ancient line of kings, and that when we choose to spill our blood for something that we believe in, something we are passionate about, then the earth will tremble before us, and we will reach for the stars.”

Hendon nodded his understanding. “The bells are ringing. What does that mean?”

“It means that a storm is coming. A storm that will change the world for all of us. But we have to have faith that the future that we have visualized is the future that will come to pass.”

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Yes?” said the Duchess. It was Ganry.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Excellence.” Ganry bowed respectfully. “I think it’s time that Myriam and Hendon came with me.”

“You’re quite right, Ganry.”

“But we’re not leaving you, are we, Grandmother?” protested Myriam.

“No child, you’re not leaving me. Remember, we are stronger together. But I have asked Ganry to keep you both safe. No matter what happens, you must listen to him and trust that he is looking after your best interests. Any day now our castle will be under siege. There is a strong chance that our walls will be breached. The castle keep is the most secure part. It will be the last to fall. If all else fails, beneath the keep is a tunnel that will take you away from the castle and then it will be up to Ganry to keep you safe.”

“Grandmother, I’m scared,” whispered Myriam, hugging the Duchess tightly.

“Turn that fear into determination. We must not be bowed, we must not crumble, the old world may fall but the House of Locke must rise from the ashes like a phoenix from the flames. From dusk until dawn, my children!”

As Ganry led Myriam and Hendon out of the Duchess’s study and down towards the keep that would be their stronghold for the duration of the impending battle, the Duchess looked from the window of her study out across the plains of the Berghein Valley.

“A storm is coming,” she said quietly to herself. “A storm is coming.”

Guardian

1

Men were dying in the valley below, and Ganry sat on this stone-screened balcony sipping fruit juice. The juice was sweet and cool, fetched up from the chill undercellar of the fortified castle keep, and served over ice. It was wonderful. He hated it.

Ganry shifted his weight on the elegant chair with a grunt. Glancing over at the two young people seated at the table, he reminded himself why he was not down on the battlefield. He was sworn to protect the princess, Myriam. And Hendon, of course. Ganry was still not entirely clear on the exact details, but Hendon was somehow related to Myriam and her grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue. That meant the lad had to be protected as well, but it was the kind-hearted blonde girl that Ganry cared for most. In the months since they had first met, introduced by her tutor Leonidavus at Castle Villeroy, he had come to care for her very much.

“You wish you were down there, don’t you?”

Ganry started, realizing that his gaze had lingered and become a stare. Myriam had noticed. She set down her own glass of chilled fruit juice and smiled sadly at him. Beside her at the table, Hendon frowned. They had met the boy seemingly by chance, deep in the Cefinon Forest. Ganry thought he must be Myriam’s cousin, or maybe some long-lost half-brother. He was pretty sure Myriam did not know, either, and there was no way he was asking the Duchess. Hendon was a trifle strange, but he had proven himself a good lad in Ganry’s eyes. Though ultimately it didn’t matter. Myriam cared about Hendon. That was enough for Ganry.

It had been a long road indeed which led Ganry de Rosenthorn from his father’s house in Llandaff, on the Mirnee Plains, halfway across the world to ancient Castle Locke, at the head of the Berghein Valley. He’d been a soldier once, a knight in the service of an empire. But that was so long ago and far away, it seemed like a memory of some other man’s life. So much had changed, so much had been taken from him. His father… his wife… his darling Ruby, his baby girl. All gone, along with that long-ago life.

But Ganry was still a warrior. He had been a mercenary, selling his swordarm to those with the coin to pay. He’d been an adventurer, and he had seen more of the world than he had ever expected. But ten years of sleeping rough and guarding other men’s treasures had taken their toll on him. Then he met Myriam. His Ruby would have been just that age, if she had lived. Ganry knew the princess was not his daughter; in truth, Ruby likely would have been nothing like Myriam. Nevertheless, the heiress to the Palaran throne had claimed a piece of the old soldier’s heart that he had thought long dead.

“I do,” he said, answering Myriam’s question after a long hesitation. Hendon’s frown deepened, but the princess just nodded her head. Ganry shrugged. “I feel useless here.”

The balcony projected from a common sitting room at the center of the suite they all shared in the central keep. Scroll-worked stone enclosed the balcony, allowing them to see out but providing protective cover from the elements. Beyond that was the inner bailey of Castle Locke, a courtyard itself surrounded by stone walls high and thick, and more than a thousand years old. And there was another wall beyond that, newer built but just as strong. Ganry felt as though he were a thousand miles from the battle, rather than three or four.

“You’d have to be insane,” said Hendon, shaking his head, “wanting to be out there. It’s a massacre!”

“It’s not a massacre,” countered Myriam sharply.

Ganry bit his tongue. It was not a massacre exactly, but the situation in the valley was dire. The Berghein Valley was protected from the east by sheer cliffs. There were narrow paths here and there, and the entire rock face was riddled with caves, but there was no easy way for an army to enter the valley from that side. That alone had held the Palarans at bay, delaying their march by more than a month while they sought an alternate route into the valley.

Now that they were here, however, it was only a matter of time before Duke Harald’s soldiers overwhelmed Castle Locke’s defenders. The Duchess was a formidable woman, but she was not magical. Her people were loyal to the point of fanaticism, but her realm was small and not very populous. She had been able to muster barely over two thousand soldiers to stand against the might of Palara, the greatest military power south of the Damatine Sea. Everyone knew it was a lost cause, but Ganry could not help but feel that he could make a difference if only he was down on the field.

“You’d have to be insane,” Hendon said again.

Ganry was about to point out that he could do a lot more good down there than he was sitting here sipping juice, but just then there was a commotion inside the suite of rooms. The mercenary-turned-bodyguard exploded from his chair, his delicate crystal juice glass forgotten. It shattered against the tile of the floor as Ganry charged inside. He drew up short and almost laughed when he saw who it was.

“Ganry?” Myriam had come to the door behind him, and Hendon was also peering over her shoulder. Shaking his head, Ganry stepped to one side so they could see.

“It’s just Linz.” Ganry waved the armored guardsman away dismissively. He did not much care for the men the Duchess had assigned to watch their door. For one thing, there wasn’t likely to be much threat to the princess here in the heart of Castle Locke. For another, Ganry never left Myriam’s side. There were three guardsmen, working in shifts, but he could have taken them on all at once without breaking a sweat. Soft they might be, but he had to admit they made up for it in vigilance.

“He’s all right,” Ganry barked at the armsman. “He’s just a kid, anyway.”

“Can’t be too careful, sir,” the man answered. He sounded resentful.

“Of course not.” Ganry refrained, barely, from rolling his eyes. “But it’s all right. You can go stand in the hall again now.”

Ganry thought he caught a sneer twisting the guard’s lips as he turned. Then the man was gone, and Myriam was offering Linz a glass of juice. The boy, who would be the chieftain of the Lake Men one day, cut her off with a headlong rush of words that tumbled so rapidly from his lips that none could follow.

“Whoa, Linz, slow down!” Myriam shook her head. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying!”

Linz trailed off, chest heaving. His eyes were wide and glistening. He looked stricken. Myriam took him by the arm and led him over to a chair, pushing him down into it. Linz was younger than the princess by a couple of years, and scrawny, but he was a brave kid. He’d proven that when he helped Myriam escape from Halawa, the Lake Men’s secret city.

“There, now,” said Myriam, kneeling down in front of the boy once he was seated. “Take a few deep breaths. Hendon, get Linz some of that juice. Relax, Linz. Start at the beginning.” She quickly held up a finger before Linz could launch into another whirlwind of words. “And say it slowly, so we can hear you.”

“It’s the Duchess,” he said, taking care to speak slow and enunciate, despite his obvious, nervous excitement. “She sent me to fetch you, Myriam. And you too, Hendon. And Ganry here as well, I’m pretty sure. She wants you to come to her right away, Myriam, because she says the Palarans will breach the outer walls soon and the castle is no longer safe.”

“What!” Ganry, who had just lowered himself onto a comfortable sofa near one wall, surged back to his feet. His hand flew instinctively to grab Windstorm’s hilt, but the great broadsword hung in its scabbard beside the door. It was this damned room with its damned chilled fruit juice, he thought. Much longer in this place and he’d be as soft as those door guards. Well, it looked like he wouldn’t have to worry about that after all.

“What do you mean?” Ganry crossed the room and grabbed his father’s sword down from the wall, strapping the scabbard to his back where it belonged.

“That’s all she said, sir,” Linz responded. “Please, you’ve all got to hurry. The Duchess wants to see you right away!”

2

Artas loosed another arrow. The shaft flew straight and true and found its mark in the throat of a charging Palaran soldier far below. Elsewhere on the wall, armored men clambered up siege ladders where they had been propped against the ancient stone of Castle Locke. The defenders fought to beat them back, but they would soon be overwhelmed. Reaching for another arrow - his last, he noted - Artas swept his eyes up and down the length of the wall.

In a matter of minutes, he realized, the Palarans would be over the wall. The defenders had kept them at bay for an impressive number of days, but sheer numbers would carry this day. Thirty yards away, a Palaran knight reached the top of the ladder he was climbing and leaped onto the walkway atop the outer wall. Unleashing his sword, the invader swung it in a mighty two-handed grip. Those who stood in his way were knocked aside or torn asunder.

Artas placed his final arrow to his bowstring and drew. In the same swift motion he released. Almost before the arrow flew, Artas had turned and run. There was no need for him to watch his arrow’s flight; Artas never missed a shot. As he reached the nearest stairway leading down into the outer bailey, somewhere behind him a Palaran knight died when the arrow buried itself in his unarmored side.

Taking the steps two at a time, Artas raced to the courtyard. The situation was the same all along the wall. Palaran soldiers poured up the ladders, sweeping aside the outnumbered castle defenders like so many unarmed children. Soon the fighting would spill into the bailey, and then onto the inner wall.

The castle was lost.

Oh, the battle wasn’t over. The fighting would last the rest of this day, at least. The Palarans might not reach the Keep before dawn. But they would reach the Keep, and that would be the end of Castle Locke and an independent Berghein Valley. It would all be annexed by the Kingdom of Palara.

There was still a chance to get the princess out, however. Artas raced across the bailey, teeth clenched tight. There was still time to get the princess away. He did not know where they could go now, of course. Castle Locke had seemed the safest place in the world, once. Artas supposed they would be back on the road, in the wilderness. Ganry would know what to do, surely.

Putting his trust in the big warrior, Artas hurried through a gate in the inner wall. He was about to start across the inner courtyard when he heard a voice calling his name. Spinning on one foot, he caught sight of a tall, dark-haired man hurrying toward him. It was Zander, the Duchess D’Anjue’s chief counselor and most trusted warrior.

“Artas, there you are!” Zander slowed to a stop when he reached the young nobleman. Sweat shone at his temples, but he showed no other outward sign of exertion. Artas was impressed. He knew Zander had not slept in days, maintaining a constant vigil as he organized and commanded the castle defenses. He’d seen his share of the fighting as well, leading two sorties just yesterday. Artas didn’t know how the man was still standing.

“What is it, Zander?”

“You have to come with me, right away,” answered Zander. “The Duchess has given us a mission.”

“Mission?” Artas shook his head, not understanding. “But the castle is under siege. They’ll breach the inner wall within hours, Zander. We have to get Princess Myriam and the Duchess out of here before it’s too late.”

“Duchess D’Anjue has seen to that already,” Zander assured him, placing a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Ganry will see to it. You and I have another task. Our mission is every bit as vital as protecting the princess, Artas. Can I count on you?”

Artas blinked, still uncertain. Where was Myriam? He cast his eyes about the inner courtyard as if he might find the princess amidst the turmoil of rushing soldiers. But that was silly. She would be in the Keep… unless Ganry had spirited her away already. Best if that were the case, thought Artas, though he still felt a pang of disappointment.

Though he was older by a number of years, Artas and Myriam had been playmates when they were both children. Before he encountered her with Ganry in that roadside hostel a few weeks ago, Artas had not seen the princess in many years. Nevertheless, he still harbored intense affection for her. He wanted to stay by Myriam’s side, to make sure she was safe.

“What is this mission?” asked Artas. Zander had said it was vital, but what could be more important than Myriam’s life?

“I cannot tell you now.” Zander waved a hand to stifle any protest. “Listen to me, Artas, there’s no time. I will explain everything, but first we have to get moving. Now. Are you with me?”

Artas hesitated, glancing up at the thick, stone walls of the innermost keep. Was Myriam still within that ancient structure, or had she and her grandmother fled the castle already? He hoped they had, that they were somewhere safe and far from here. He looked back at Zander. This was the Duchess’s most trusted man. Artas sighed.

“I’m with you,” he said.

3

They followed Linz deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Keep. Myriam thought they must have passed the level of the ground outside by now, entering some subterranean portion of the castle she had never visited before. She wondered where Linz was taking them, and why her grandmother had chosen to meet them all the way down here.

“How much further?”

“Nearly there,” mumbled Linz in answer. He turned his head slightly, but did not meet Myriam’s eye. He was a shy young man, despite the fact that his uncle, Clay, was the current chief of the Lake Men. Clay had never married, but his sister Lisl had; one day, Linz would take Clay’s place as the leader of their fabled tribe.

Myriam herself had been guided for leadership all her life. Her royal parents had done everything they could to teach her what she would need to know in order to follow in their footsteps. Her instruction had included lessons in diplomacy and statecraft, but another major facet of her education had been poise and self-assurance. A princess, Queen Alissia had often told her, must always hold up her head and present a confident demeanor.

But the Lake Men, with their hidden society on the water deep within the Cefinon Forest, had different customs from the royal court of Palara. They had no contact with the world beyond their lake. If Myriam and her protectors had not stumbled into that watery domain, Linz might never have met a stranger in all his life.

“This is it,” said Linz.

Myriam saw that they had reached the bottom of the gently spiraling stair they had been descending for the past several minutes. The stairwell opened out onto a tiny room with walls of bare, unworked stone. A low doorway was set into the wall facing the steps, blocked with a heavy, wooden door reinforced with iron bands. Torches burned in sconces to either side of the door, and oily black smoke curled up to stain the ceiling.

As they approached, the door opened inward and Myriam saw her grandmother standing in the middle of a long, narrow corridor holding a flickering lamp in one hand. The Duchess was an imposing, formidable woman but she seemed to have aged three decades in the past three weeks. She stood now stoop-shouldered, with a weary expression on her age-lined face. There were bags beneath her eyes, and the sallow cast to her skin was not merely a trick of the lantern light.

“There you are at last,” she said. “Thank you for fetching them, Linz. Now, all of you, come with me.”

The Duchess turned and started walking down the corridor. Myriam, Ganry, Hendon, and Linz followed. The hallway appeared to be hewn into the bedrock beneath Castle Locke. The walls were rough and damp to the touch. They glistened darkly in the dancing light.

“My castle will soon fall. There is nothing more I can do to stop it. Harald’s soldiers will storm the keep, but they won’t find you there, my dear. No, they will not.” The Duchess glanced at Myriam as she spoke, and the young woman saw a deep sorrow in her grandmother’s eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but the Duchess spoke first. “You have Harkan? Your knife, you have it with you?”

Myriam touched the hilt of the ornate dagger, sheathed at her hip. It had been a gift from the Duchess on the occasion of her twelfth birthday. Its blade was milk-white, the hilt elaborately decorated with gemstones. “I have it.”

“Good.” The Duchess nodded her head as she walked. Abruptly, she stopped. Turning to face them all, the Duchess offered her lantern to Ganry. The big man took it wordlessly. “This is where I must leave you,” she told them. “Follow the corridor to the end. Take the second exit on the left from the chamber beyond. Keep them safe, Ganry.”

“I will, m’lady.”

“Leave us?” Myriam shook her head. “Grandmother, what are you talking about?”

“I must return to the castle.”

“But-”

“I must,” repeated the Duchess firmly. “Hush, child. Don’t fret about me. It’s your death Harald seeks, not mine. I’m no threat to his ambitions. I was never in line for that ridiculous, eagle-backed chair he covets so. My lineage is far older, and far more powerful. As is your own, Myriam. Remember that.”

The old woman stepped closer and drew forth her own dagger, the twin of Myriam’s Harkan. She held it up to the light, running her tired eyes along the milk white blade a final time. Then, her lips set in a firm line, the Duchess held out the dagger to Hendon. “Take it, boy.”

Hendon reached out hesitantly and took the knife. The blade glowed with an inner light that intensified as the lad took hold of it, matching the burning fire which had appeared in the milk-white stone of his ring. Hendon held the blade reverently, as if it were the holiest of relics.

The Duchess, too, had a ring. Now she removed it from her finger and offered it to Myriam. The princess stared at her grandmother. The breath caught in her throat. She did not know what to do or what to say. The moment stretched out between them with a heavy finality which Myriam could not bear.

“What is this?” she asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Take the ring, my child.” The Duchess smiled encouragement and proffered the ring again. Myriam took it, though she did not wish to. “Slip it on your finger, dear. You mustn’t lose it.”

“But why?” Myriam didn’t like this one bit, but she did as the Duchess had asked. The ring was cool on her finger. She could not imagine why the old woman would give up her ring and knife this way, unless… “Grandmother, what’s going to happen?”

“Nothing, child. Nothing.” The Duchess smiled again, shaking her head. There was a sadness to her smile that tore at Myriam’s heart. “Or perhaps… everything. Now, the four of you must go. Remember what I have said. To the end of the corridor. In the chamber beyond, take the second exit on the left.”

Without another word, the Duchess D’Anjue swept past them and started back up the corridor. Myriam spun on her heels, watching her grandmother fade into the shadows leading back to the castle cellar. She had the most terrible feeling that she would never see the old woman again.

4

“Castle Locke has fallen.”

Arexos tried to hide his surprised gasp, but the two men at the table heard him anyway. His master, Qutaybah, shot him a severe frown. Arexos busied himself once more with clearing away the plates from the table, keeping his eyes lowered and his thoughts to himself.

They were in a spacious, private dining room on the second floor of one of the local inns. It was easily as large as the common room in most of the inns Arexos had ever stayed in, and had cost more to hire for a single hour than Arexos might have earned in a year of his former life. His master had handed over the coin with blithe nonchalance.

Qutaybah was a great big bear of a man, with jet black skin and a smooth, hairless head. The Vandemlander was rich, powerful, and short-tempered when it came to his servants. Arexos had belonged to him for only a few short weeks. The slender young man, barely more than a boy, had been born a free subject of Palara.

It seemed like another lifetime, one which Arexos had become resigned to never seeing again. He had been squired to Henrickson, one-time captain of Duke Harald’s guards. The duke had sent Henrickson into Vandemland as a spy, but the smugglers the captain had paid to sneak them over the border had betrayed them both. Arexos didn’t know what had become of Henrickson after that.

Arexos himself had been purchased by a steward from Qutaybah’s household. Soon after, Qutaybah himself had taken a liking to the boy. At least, it often seemed as if the big man liked him. Arexos couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that his master had brought him along on this journey to serve him on the road.

The other man at the table with Qutaybah was an officer in the local garrison, Varton by name. They had reached the port city of Brammanville the night before. Qutaybah had left the soldiers of his retinue, one hundred men in all, camped in a secluded cove further down the coast away from Palara. Bringing only Arexos with him, he had come to Brammanville to seek the latest news and gossip.

“I had not expected the Duchess to hold out forever,” he said now, shaking his massive, bald head. His voice rumbled from deep in his broad chest, but there was a gentle thoughtfulness to it. “But for the castle to fall so soon…”

“That rabble of hers never stood a chance,” countered Varton with a sneer. “Not against trained men of Palara. I’m surprised they managed to hold as long as they did. ‘Twas the old hag herself, I’ll wager. Used her witchcraft to hold our men beyond the wall, she did.”

Qutaybah snorted with derision. “The Duchess D’Anjue has no witchcraft,” he said. “There is no such thing as magic, Varton. An educated man such as yourself must surely know that.”

Varton’s cheeks flushed at the barb, but he did not rise to the bait. He changed the subject instead. “Expect we’ll get orders to clear out the forest soon enough. What with Berghein Valley coming under Palaran rule and all, it’s only right. Can’t have brigands running around them woods between the valley and Castle Villeroy, now can we?”

“The Cefinon Forest?” Qutaybah shook his head slowly with a wry smile. “You think so, eh? Don’t think your Duke Harald has a target farther afield in his sights?”

“Heh? What are you getting at?”

“Why, Vandemland, of course.” Qutaybah leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak alarmingly. He spread his hands wide and grinned. “Why would he waste the most powerful army in the world on a bunch of outlaw woodsmen when there’s a rich and powerful country like Vandemland just the other side of the Damatine Sea?”

Varton narrowed his eyes, sudden suspicion plain on his pinched face. Rather than answering right away, he leaned back in his own seat and scratched his stubbled jaw as if he were thinking it over. Arexos, under cover of refilling the wine goblets, stole a glance at the man and barely repressed a shudder at the cold calculation he saw in Varton’s eyes.

“Vandemland,” Varton said at last, stretching the word out as if testing it out for the first time. “Aye, there’s Vandemland. I hear it’s mostly desert, filled with savages and slave-drivers.”

Arexos held his breath, but Qutaybah showed no sign of taking offense. Best that he did not; Qutaybah had told Varton they hailed from the lands south and west of the Basalt Mountains. That was about as far from Vandemland as one could get, but the scruffy Palaran soldier probably had his suspicions all the same. If he had hoped to have them confirmed by some reaction to his comment, however, he was to be disappointed.

“I have heard much the same,” Qutaybah said, still smiling. “But I wouldn’t know. My trade has never taken me so far from home before.”

“Hm.” Varton sat forward again, leaning over the table. “Be glad of it. Savages and slavers. You went to Vandemland, like as not you’d never come back.”

“All the more reason I’d think your Duke Harald would want to invade. You share a land border with Vandemland as well as the Damatine Sea, is it not so?”

Varton sniffed. “Aye. Maybe so, maybe so. I certainly wouldn’t know anything about it. Alls I know is the Cefinon Forest lies alongside the river Walsall. Bandits in the forest threaten trade on the river. I’d think a man like you would be keen on seeing that threat diminished.”

“Oh, I am,” Qutaybah assured Varton, his smile beaming brighter than ever. “I certainly am.”

Varton eyed the Vandemlander across the table for a long, silent moment. Qutaybah returned the soldier’s gaze with placid calm, and it was Varton who broke eye contact first. The scruffy man looked around the room sourly and pushed back from the table.

“I’d best get back to the barracks,” he announced.

“Of course, my friend.” Qutaybah rose, arms outstretched once more. “It’s been a pleasure dining with you. I do hope you’ll do us the honor of joining us again?”

“To be sure,” said Varton before he left. The moment the man was gone, Qutaybah dropped his arms to his sides. When he turned around, Arexos saw he wore an irritated scowl.

“We must go,” said the Vandemlander. “Now, Arexos.”

“Sir?”

“Come along!” Without waiting for a reply, Qutaybah went to the servant’s door at the back of the room and threw it open. Arexos hastened after his master as the big Vandemlander started down the narrow back stair.

“You think he knows who we are?”

“It matters not,” rumbled Qutaybah, without slowing his rushed descent. “He suspects, and that’s enough. Even if he did not, this is not a particularly good time to be a foreigner on Palaran soil.”

Arexos thought about that, and realized his master was no doubt correct. Under the old King Ludwig, Palara had enjoyed many years of peace and prosperity. The Kingdom had enjoyed good relations with its neighbors, and border crossings had been largely a formality. Since Duke Harald’s coup, however, things had changed. It had begun even before Arexos left Castle Villeroy with Captain Henrickson, and everything he had seen here in Brammanville indicated that the change had only accelerated.

Unlike his brother, Harald was a militaristic nationalist. For years, he had tried to convince Ludwig to take a more expansionist stance, pitting the Kingdom of Palara against its neighbors rather than co-existing in peace. Harald never trusted foreigners. Vandemland, Llandaff, even the hill tribes of Ashfield: the duke had seen them all as potential foes, just waiting for their chance.

Arexos saw that same attitude reflected in the faces of the men and women they passed in Brammanville’s streets. As they came out of the inn’s back entrance, Arexos experienced a creeping, paranoid feeling that eyes were watching them. Shoulders hunching, he peered around the shaded back alley into which they had emerged.

“Run,” said Qutaybah in a quiet voice.

“Master?”

“I said run,” repeated the hulking Vandemlander, drawing his broadsword. “Get back to the men. I’ll join you if I can.”

Arexos turned to run, but saw it was already too late. The mouth of the alley, where it let onto the street running along one side of the inn, was blocked by six men standing side by side. They wore boiled leather armor, and each man carried the flat bladed swords of the Palaran army.

5

Arexos spun in place, thinking to run in the other direction and find another exit from the alley. His hopes were dashed. Six more leather-armored Palaran soldiers had slipped out of the stable situated behind the inn. They brandished their flat-bladed swords as they advanced.

Qutaybah’s great, bald head swiveled from side to side as he took the measure of their attackers. He sank into an easy crouch, broadsword held at a ready angle. Arexos had no sword, only a long dagger at his belt. Before misadventure took him to Vandemland and slavery, he had lived all his life in Castle Villeroy. First as a page, and later as Henrickson’s squire, he had trained at arms near every day. But he had never faced true combat.

Arexos drew his dagger.

“Vandemland!” Qutaybah’s bellowing war cry split the air. The dark man surged forward, broadsword singing and flashing in the sun. For a fraction of a second, their assailants stood frozen in stunned surprise. Then, with a rallying cry of their own, they leaped forth to press their advantage.

It was six against one, but right from the onset it was clear Qutaybah would prevail. He was the superior warrior. These were half-trained men, garrison soldiers stationed in a cushy port town. Even so, they had numbers on their side. Six more of their fellows advanced from behind the hulking Vandemlander.

Only Arexos stood between these six and his master. Hesitation stayed his hand for what seemed an eternity, but was in truth only a moment. The ebony-skinned slaver had treated him well, so far, but so what? Arexos had heard horror stories of beheaded slaves and worse. When he had first been taken, all he could think of for days had been rescue. When it became clear rescue was not forthcoming, he had resigned himself to his fate. Here was something he had not considered: escape.

Qutaybah was a foreigner, in Brammanville under false pretenses. But Arexos was a true-born Palaran, the scion of a minor noble house. He had been raised in Castle Villeroy itself! That was where he belonged. The decision made, Arexos threw down his dagger in the dust and dirt.

“Yield. I yield!” Hands thrust over his head, Arexos fell back from the onrushing soldiers. “I’m not your foe,” he cried, praying the heat of battle would not deafen their ears. “I’m a slave! I’m a prisoner! I am a Palaran!”

“Damned, treacherous dog!” snarled Qutaybah. Hard-pressed by the first six, and with the others advancing from his flank, the huge slaver was unable to quench his rage with his slave’s blood. Instead, he laid into his foes with a vigor renewed by fury. His sword dripped blood as he hacked and slashed, punctuating each savage thrust with a steady stream of curses and epithets.

Two of the Palaran soldiers slowed, approaching the cowering Arexos with their swords at the ready. Their fellows rushed past, intent on joining the struggle against Qutaybah. Arexos sank to his knees in the alley, clasping his hands before him, beseeching the soldiers for mercy.

“Please,” he cried, “I had no chance to escape. Now that you’ve rescued me, you’ll be rewarded. Promoted! I’m a squire in service to the royal house!”

“You’re a damned coward, is what you are!” Qutaybah spun on his heel and drove the thick blade of his broadsword into the guts of a Palaran soldier. Its keen point ripped through the man’s boiled leather and bit flesh. Blood fountained around the blade as Qutaybah drove it deeper and then savagely ripped it out. Wearing an expression of horrified disbelief, the man fell to the ground.

Qutaybah had felled three of the Palarans, but four more came forward to take their place. He stood, nearly surrounded by the seven wary brutes. Keeping their distance, the soldiers sized up the Vandemlander and searched for some opening to strike. Eyes narrowed, Qutaybah glared back at each man in turn. Raw hate flashed in his eyes. Sweat ran down the sides of his face, making his cheeks glisten and shine.

The slaver turned his furious stare on Arexos, still kneeling in the dirt. His lips twisted in a snarl of distaste. Burning eyes seemed to promise some future retribution. But not today. With a wordless roar, Qutaybah turned away and charged the alley mouth.

Startled Palaran soldiers staggered out of the way as the enraged Vandemlander advanced. He shouldered aside one man too slow to move, and then he was free. Startled shouts sounded from the street as the sword-wielding foreigner plunged into the pedestrian crowd.

“Stop him!” cried one of the soldiers, whom Arexos only now recognized as Varton. The officer waved his flat sword over his head and spittle flew from his lips. “Somebody stop that man! In the name of the King!”

But it was too late. Qutaybah was gone.

6

The subterranean corridor ended abruptly before an ancient, stone door.

“This must be it,” said Myriam, gazing up at what blocked their path. It was enormous, its upper reached draped in shadow. “Ganry, hold up the light, please.”

The muscular warrior raised the lantern the Duchess had given him, stepping back from the exit to let the light play across the intricate carving. Rearing taller even than Ganry, a majestic stallion stood frozen in stone, emblazoned across the door. Myriam recognized the emblem from the green and white banners that flew from Castle Locke’s towers. It was the sigil of her grandmother’s house.

“Looks heavy.” Hendon crossed his arms over his chest and ran his eyes up and down the huge door. “And old. Like it’s not been opened for years.”

“Centuries, more like.” Ganry clucked his tongue. “Here, Linz, hold the lamp.”

Linz took the lantern and stepped back. The boy glanced at Ganry, then back to the door. He shook his head doubtfully. Ganry scowled. Stretching his hands out in front of his chest with his fingers interlocked, he cracked his knuckles. The door did indeed look heavy. The lower hinges were caked in grit and dust. There were no handles or knobs, no visible means of opening the portal.

Ganry walked up to the door and placed his palms flat against the stone. Planting his feet firmly and flexing his knees, he pushed. At first there was no effect. As Ganry strained, the cords stood out on his neck, and the muscles of his arms and legs bulged. Sweat shone on his brow and his face flushed red with exertion. Still, the door did not budge.

At last, Ganry gave up. He stepped back from the doorway, breathing heavily as he dusted his hands together. He eyed the stone exit with a disgruntled expression.

“Maybe you’re supposed to pull,” suggested Linz in a quiet voice. Ganry looked back over his shoulder at the boy. Linz shrank back, but Ganry said nothing.

“No,” said Myriam, striding forward to examine the door more closely. “No, I think it’s something else.”

“Myriam, look!” Hendon pointed excitedly at Harkan’s hilt. “Your dagger.”

But Myriam had already seen it, when she raised one hand to run her fingers over the stone. The ring on her finger, the one given her by the Duchess, had begun to glow. She knew before she looked down at her hip that Harkan was similarly alight with the same ghostly luminescence.

“Hendon, come here.” Myriam drew Harkan as she spoke. When she held the milk-white blade up to the stone, the ghost light burned ever brighter. Hendon, too, wore both dagger and ring. He drew his own blade, also a gift from the Duchess, as he strode forward to stand beside the princess.

Ganry shuffled uncomfortably a pace away from the pair. He had already seen the strange properties of Myriam’s knife, of course. That did not mean he could simply take it in stride. Ganry had lived his whole life in a world that, while chaotic, made sense. There was no magic in that world. He knew, of course, that there was some rational explanation for the glowing stones. It was still unnerving to see.

“The Stones of Berghein…” Hendon’s voice was full of wonder. Ganry shook his head and fought the urge to back away from them.

“You’re right.” Myriam bit her lower lip in thought, completely oblivious to her bodyguard’s unease. “They’re reacting to the door… or…”

Still chewing her bottom lip, Myriam ran her eyes rapidly over the door. She looked from side to side, craned her head back to look up, and crouched down to examine the door below eye level. After several minutes, she discovered a series of slots and grooves carved into the stone near the base. Running her finger around the edge of one of these, she murmured thoughtfully.

“What is it, Myriam?” Standing behind the princess and Hendon, Linz leaned forward and peered over Myriam’s shoulder. Ganry shook his head again. He didn’t understand how they could all be so excited about something so… unnatural.

“Perhaps the door will react to the stones,” answered Myriam. Snapping her fingers decisively, she held out her other hand toward Hendon. “Let me borrow your knife. I think we’ll have to use them both.”

“Use them both?” Hendon sounded puzzled, but he handed over his dagger just the same. “For what?”

“For this,” said Myriam, taking the dagger and sliding its blade into one of the narrow grooves at the base of the door. At the same time, she inserted her own dagger into another slot. The princess released the hilts and sat back on her haunches, giving a small flourish of her hands.

Nothing happened. “Hmm.”

“Let me try again,” said Ganry, who felt rested enough to give the door another go.

Ignoring him, Myriam quickly withdrew the two knives from their slots and rammed them home into a different pair. The door remained stubbornly shut. Myriam sat back again and stared at the door, once more chewing on her lip in thought. Ganry cast his eyes up at the ceiling and crossed his arms, wondering how much longer they were going to stand around outside this doorway.

There had been no sign of any pursuit thus far, but that didn’t mean Duke Harald’s men had forgotten about them. Ganry didn’t know if the castle had fallen yet, but that it would was a foregone conclusion. If they hadn’t yet, the Palarans would soon storm the keep. When they did, they would discover the princess was not there. There would be a search. The common soldiers might not care one way or the other, but their officers wouldn’t dare return to Castle Villeroy empty-handed. This corridor would be found eventually.

The mercenary-turned-bodyguard looked back the way they had come, his unease growing. Realistically, it would be hours - if not days - before anyone investigated this subterranean bolthole. Knowing that didn’t make him feel any better. They had passed no other exits on their way to this immobile stone barrier. If they couldn’t get through this door, they would be trapped here in a dead end.

“We have to get this door open,” he said, making a decision. He took a step closer, gently pushing Linz aside. “Hendon, lend me your strength. We’ll do it together.”

“A moment, Ganry.” Hendon held up his hand to stay the bodyguard, never taking his eyes from Myriam’s progress. “I think she’s on to something.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Ganry insisted, starting to feel anxious.

Just then, Myriam slid the knives home in yet another pair of slots. There was a loud click. Ganry, already on edge, leaped back and reached for Windstorm’s hilt. He had slid the dark, Grimlock-forged blade halfway out of its scabbard when another sound reached his ears.

It was a loud, tortured grinding of stone against stone as the massive door ponderously opened. Jumping to her feet, Myriam laughed with giddy excitement and clapped her hands.

7

Zander heeled his horse, Samphire, to a halt on the ridge and looked back over his shoulder to the east. Smoke rose crookedly over the horizon, merging with the distant clouds overhead. Zander gritted his teeth angrily; his knuckles were white where they gripped the reins.

“What is it?” Reining in at Zander’s side, Artas cast his own gaze back the way they had come with undisguised anxiety. “Pursuit?”

“No,” said Zander sadly. “No one rides our trail, Artas of Palara. It is just…”

The other two had caught up by then, reining in their own steeds. Dristan and Ector looked to Zander and then shared a silent glance. Much like their leader, the two rangy young men had served the Duchess D’Anjue for nearly all their lives. They each looked back at the rising smoke once, and then refused to look again.

“We should press on,” said Zander after a long, quiet moment. Yet even then, his eyes remained on the distant plume marking the castle. At length, he tore his gaze away and spurred Samphire back to a trot. They rode in silence for a time after that. No one much felt like talking, least of all Artas.

It was not that he did not still have questions. Zander had yet to fill him in on just what exactly they were supposed to be doing. His curiosity would have to wait a while yet, however. The three men from Castle Locke rode now with downcast eyes and sorrow-burdened shoulders. The Palaran archer felt out of place in their company, the only member of the party for whom that plume of smoke did not represent gut-wrenching loss.

These men had lost their home and, very likely, the woman they served. Artas had lost nothing. At least, so he hoped. Zander swore to him the princess would be safe. Artas did not doubt the Duchess would have done everything in her power to protect Myriam, as would Ganry. Even so, he could not help but worry. It gnawed at him as he rode his borrowed horse in miserable silence.

That night, they made camp in a small glen with a narrow stream burbling through it. They had made a dozen leagues today, and the horses were weary. Artas joined the others in brushing down the mounts and seeing them fed. After the horses were cared for, Ector built a small fire. Though pursuit was unlikely, the man was careful to bank the fire and block its glimmer from the east.

Artas had put his bow to good use on the day’s long ride. Soon after camp was made, the men dined on roast partridge and quail. Dristan complimented Artas on his archery skill. After the meal, Ector banked the fire even closer and then both he and Dristan bedded down for the night. Artas remained seated upright, his back against a log and his eyes locked on Zander over the guttering flame.

“It’s time you told me where we’re headed,” he said.

Zander stared back across the fire and did not answer right away. At length, he brushed back a lock of jet-black hair from his brow and nodded. “Marawi,” he said. “We make for Marawi.”

“Marawi?” Artas blinked in surprise. Of course he knew of Marawi, secluded in the western wastes. The settlement was said to have built at the exact center of the world. The Marawine Druids, who had spread out eastward into the lands of Palara and Mirnee and north into Vandemland, claimed the place was sacred and had once been home to the dragons who ruled the world in the dawn age. Artas did not believe that, but he could not say what the real Marawi was like. No one but the Druids ever went there.

“Why are we going to Marawi?”

“There are several reasons.” Zander picked up a pebble from the ground and turned it over and over in his hand as he explained. “First, you should know that the Duchess received word from Palara three days ago. She learned that Duke Harald ordered his men to storm the druidic castle on the edge of the Cefinon Forest.”

“Storm the…” Artas shook his head. “Why should Duke Harald want to antagonize the druids?”

“To gain their fire-powders,” said Zander. “The fire-powder, you may not know, is said to be made of ground dragonbone. The druids use it for their ceremonies, but Harald had another use in mind. It was the only way his men could bring down the inner wall of Castle Locke. Against any mortal weapon, that wall is impregnable.”

“So when the druids refused to help…”

“You misunderstand,” interrupted Zander. “Harald never asked. He simply ordered his men to raze the castle, slay the druids, and take the fire-powders.”

Artas blinked in surprise. “But that… that’s insane.”

“Your Duke Harald is a most impetuous man. It is unwise to draw the ire of the Marawine Druids. For centuries, ever since the time of Terrick, they have contented themselves to observe and advise the rulers of this world. Many forget that these druids believe they serve a higher power than any mortal nation, a power which once ruled all of creation.”

“The dragons.” Artas cast his eyes heavenward.

“Just so.” Zander tossed aside the pebble he had been toying with. “There is another interesting fact, often misremembered in these times. Duke Harald most certainly forgot.”

“What is that?” asked Artas, leaning forward in curiosity.

“Long before the time of Terrick, when the tribes of Palara were no more civilized than the hill-men of Ashfield, the House of D’Anjou arose in Berghen Valley and led the holy war against the dragons. That is why there was never a druid at Castle Locke, you see, though they infest every other castle and palace in the realm. The ancient enmity is strong and bitter, Artas of Palara.”

Artas was startled. He had never heard any stories about a war against the dragons. He knew that the House of D’Anjou was older than the Kingdom of Palara, but he had never suspected Queen Alissia’s family traced its lineage all the way back to the dawn ages. But…

“Why would they ever help us, then?” Artas sat back in sudden despair.

“The druids have a long memory, it is true,” admitted Zander with a shrug. Then he grinned, white teeth flashing in the firelight. “But that does not mean they ignore the present, or the recent past. Duke Harald destroyed one of their temples and put several dozen druids to the sword. They will be eager to see him punished.”

8

Duke Harald, Regent of the Kingdom of Palara, sat upon the eagle-backed throne that had been his brother’s before him. It was not yet his - technically. So long as his niece remained alive, Harald could not truly become King. He had done what he could about that. Judge Strogen’s head still decorated a spike over the gates of Castle Villeroy. Harald had taken his brother’s crown and named himself king. His ascension had been proclaimed throughout the land.

But in his heart, Harald knew that was not enough.

You will die alone, and your dreams will crumble to dust…

Harald ground his teeth. His hands tightened slowly into fists, and he forced them to relax. A moment later, his fingers clenched again. He could not forget the words, spoken so long ago in a dim room pungent with smoke. Nor could he forget the more recent prophecies of that old charlatan druid in his now-shattered castle.

The stones are drawing together…

What did it mean? There was no power in rocks, of course. Any fool could tell you that. Harald knew that true power was in steel and iron. Swords and pikes and the arms to wield them. Well, he had the steel and the flesh. He controlled the largest army in the world. No rocks would keep him from his destiny.

So why couldn’t his men bring him Myriam, preferably as a corpse? Such a simple task, and yet their failures continued to mount. Castle Locke had fallen. The greatest fortress in the world, its famously impregnable walls had not withstood his assault. But so what? The princess had somehow contrived to escape.

Harald’s lips curled into a poisonous sneer as he glared down from the throne at his captive. The Duchess D’Anjou, taken alive and brought back to Castle Villeroy in shackles and chains. She should have been a broken old woman, slumped in defeat with the hollow eyes of hopelessness. Instead, she gazed back at him with damnable calm, back straight and shoulders proud.

“Where,” said Harald, biting the words off carefully lest he lose his temper before the court, “is my niece?”

“An excellent question.” The Duchess ran her eyes coolly around the throne room, taking in the assembled Palaran nobles, one after another. When her gaze returned to Harald, one delicate eyebrow arched, she smiled. It was a faint thing, barely a tug at the corners of her mouth, but it infuriated the Duke. She smiled at him. How dare she smile, when she stood in fetters? What did this wretched woman have to smile over?

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I mean, my lord duke,” said the Duchess, emphasizing his title. “Well… wherever is the rightful Queen of Palara? Shouldn’t you be trying to find her, so that she can take her place on that… forgive me… that frightfully ugly chair you’ve been keeping warm for her?”

“You expect me to believe Princess Myriam was not in your charge?” Harald shifted his weight on the throne and waved one hand airily. He used the gesture to cover a furtive glance round at the nobles of his court. This would be so much easier if he could simply have them all executed. In time, he promised himself. For now, if the nobles united against him all would be lost. This must be played carefully.

The Duchess smiled as if she were quite aware of Harald’s predicament. It galled the Regent to think that she probably was. With an effort, he unclenched his fists and did his best to match her smile.

“Your men dragged me from my ancestral keep.” The Duchess raised her arms and gave a little shake, causing the chains to rattle. A murmur ran through the noble assemblage. “Last I saw of Castle Locke, they were quite thoroughly ransacking it. I should think that if Queen Myriam were there to be found, they’d have done so.”

“Enough!”

Harald rapped his knuckles against the throne’s armrest. It stung, but he hardly noticed. His rage was like a fever. He felt hot, and he barely kept from trembling. The murmur that had swept round the chamber became a rumble. This interview was turning around on Harald in a way he could not allow. And the Duchess just stood there, gazing at him and waiting. Damn her. Damn her!

“You are obstructing this kingdom’s lawful search for its true ruler,” Harald intoned, rising from the throne. It took every ounce of self-control, but he managed to keep his voice even and calm. “We know the Princess Myriam was brought to Castle Locke by a band of… unsavory men. We know you took them into your fortress, Duchess.”

She shrugged.

“You may think you’re above the laws of this kingdom.” Harald leveled a finger at the old woman. His voice sank to a low, threatening growl. “But I say you are not. I say you have kidnapped the rightful ruler of Palara. And I say you will die for it. Guards, take her away!”

9

Myriam couldn’t sleep. It had been the same each of the three nights since they emerged from the subterranean chamber, miles from Castle Locke. When she did manage to drift off, her slumber was plagued by violent nightmares. When she was awake, her thoughts bounced from what they had learned in that chamber, to her grandmother, and then back again.

She knew the Duchess still lived.

Myriam could not say how she knew, only that she did. She had taken Hendon aside the day before, and he agreed. He, too, could not explain it. But they each accepted it. They had both known it when King Ludwig and Queen Alissia died. Myriam had felt her parents’ death, as surely as if she had seen it with her own eyes. She would know if anything happened to her grandmother.

That left the chamber.

The massive stone door had closed behind them as soon as Myriam withdrew the daggers she had used to open it. She handed Hendon’s knife over, and by the time she had sheathed her own Harkan, the portal was closed once more. Ganry had urged them to move on at once, but Myriam had hesitated.

“Even if my uncle’s men find the corridor,” she had reasoned, “there’s no way they can open this door.”

“I beg to differ, princess.” Ganry had put a hand on her shoulder. It was really most familiar. Myriam had been torn for a moment. On the one hand, his behavior toward her - princess of Castle Villeroy and only true heir to the throne of Palara - was unacceptable. But they had shared so much over the past months. Ganry was more than a bodyguard. In a way, Myriam had come to look at the middle-aged warrior as a kind of uncle. Nonetheless…

“They cannot open the door, no matter how many big men they throw at it,” she told Ganry. “We were only able to get through by using these daggers. You saw the D’Anjue crest on the doors. Look, it’s reproduced on this side as well. I think the only way through is by using the Stones of Berghein.”

“She’s right,” chimed in Hendon. “Ganry, look. We’ll be safe here for a while.”

Ganry scowled, but said nothing. Instead, he took the lantern from Linz and turned from the massive doors to explore the chamber they found themselves in. Hendon and Linz both glanced at Myriam, but she shook her head. They followed the warrior deeper into the cavernous chamber they had entered.

It was enormous. The single lantern they carried could scarcely illuminate the tiniest corner of the cave. And it was a cave. This was no room constructed of stone blocks. It had been excavated from the earth and bedrock, or else it was a naturally occurring cavern the ancient D’Anjues had built around. Not far from the entrance they found a supply of torches. The torches were dry, the oil or pitch that had once soaked the ends long since dried away to nothing.

Ganry considered a moment. “Everyone sit down and be still,” he commanded. They did as he asked, and the big man blew out the lantern. They could hear what he did next, though none could see. There was a gurgling of liquid as he poured some of the lantern’s oil onto one of the torches. Next came the clacking of Ganry’s flint and steel. Light blossomed once more in the midnight blackness of the cave. When the lantern was lit anew, Ganry kindled the torch with its flame.

“Wait here,” he said.

Taking the torch, Ganry headed deeper into the cavern. Myriam, Linz, and Hendon sat in a circle around the lantern looking at each other in silence.

Myriam looked to Hendon. He was her blood, related to her somehow. It was incredible, but there it was. This odd young man who talked to horses and lived his whole life in the forest had the blood of D’Anjue in his veins. She had talked to him quite a bit these past few days in the castle, and Hendon seemed to have never suspected it before. Incredible.

Next, she looked to Linz. He had shown up at Castle Locke a few days after they first arrived, escorted by the mysterious forest monk Ghaffar. Since then, she had seen little of him. She knew the Duchess had spent long hours talking with him, but she did not know why. Nor did she know why Ghaffar had brought him.

“Linz,” she said, figuring now was as good a time as any. “I’ve been wondering.”

The boy’s eyes widened just slightly as he met her gaze. It lasted only a moment before he looked away, casting shy eyes down at the ground. “What about?”

“Why did you come to Castle Locke?”

“My mother sent me.”

“Yes, but why?”

“She thought I could help.” Linz looked up then, meeting her eye and holding her gaze for the first time. There was something new in that look, some fleeting confidence Myriam had not seen from him before. It was brief, gone in a few seconds, but she knew she it had been there.

“I don’t understand,” she said when it became clear Linz didn’t intend to explain further. “Don’t get me wrong, Linz. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your help before.”

Linz flushed, shrinking down even further into himself. He had defied his uncle, chieftain of the lake tribe, by helping them escape. Myriam knew how difficult that choice must have been for him to make. She rushed on, not wishing to make him uncomfortable.

“And we appreciate that you want to help more. But, Linz, I don’t understand. You were safe on the lake. Our troubles are none of your concern. Why did you come?”

For a long moment, she thought he would not answer. His eyes remained locked on the stony floor. His head was pulled down on his neck, shoulders hunched, arms crossed tight. Then, at length, Linz appeared to relax. He still did not raise his eyes, but when he spoke Myriam thought she heard an echo of that confidence she had seen a moment ago.

“I can help,” he said. “I can. I have… ways. To help. Abilities.”

Myriam screwed up her eyes, not understanding. She was about to press him for more information when Ganry came back, crackling torch held aloft as he materialized from the shadows. “I think you’d better see this,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Better if you see it. Come on, all of you.”

10

Thinking about it now, Myriam still could not believe what Ganry had found. The discovery was simply staggering.

The cavern, deep beneath the Berghein Valley, must have been some ancient stronghold of her ancestors. There were relics and artifacts, mostly scattered about in varying states of ruin. The prancing horse of D’Anjue was everywhere, blazoned on the walls and carved on the smallest trinkets.

But the truly amazing part had been the mural.

It started about a hundred feet into the chamber from the entrance. The painting was simultaneously crude and remarkable. As near as they could tell, the mural was centuries - if not millennia - old. Who had created it, they could not say. Likely it had been some long-ago D’Anjue ancestor; or perhaps artists employed by the ancient house.

Using basic shapes and symbolism, expressed with a limited palette of crude pigments, the unknown artist had created a visual history of the D’Anjue line. The mural stretched on and on, covering the wall from the floor to a point perhaps three feet above eye-level.

Geometric shapes linked together to form the suggestion of human figures and other, more arcane creatures. Green triangles headed sinuous lines; surely those were meant to be dragons. Here and there, one of the faded green serpents belched ochre diamonds from its triangular head. Tiny, boxy human figures faced the dragons and, in some cases, appeared to defeat them.

“It’s a record of the dawn age,” breathed Myriam, after she had studied the mural for some time.

“Record?” Ganry shook his head, doubtful. “It’s an illustrated mythology, princess. Nothing more than that.”

Myriam whirled on him. “This is my heritage, Ganry. This is the history of my family.” Turning back to the mural, she moved closer to the wall to examine a minute section of the painted mural. Carved directly into the rock were several tight lines of small, cramped characters. That these were letters, or word symbols, Myriam had no doubt. But it was no language she had ever seen.

“Can anybody read what this says?”

One by one, the party examined the ancient runes. None could decipher them.

“If only Barnaby were here,” said Hendon, “I’ll just bet he could have read what it says.”

But Barnaby was dead. He had given his life helping Myriam and the others reach Castle Locke. Without his sacrifice, Duke Harald’s men might have taken the princess before she ever reached the Berghein Valley. She had mourned for him, and still felt the loss keenly. Now, here was another reminder of what had been lost. Barnaby had been wise and learned, a mysterious, forest-dwelling stranger with arcane knowledge.

“You’re probably right,” Myriam told Hendon. She heard the beginning of a tremble in her voice, and clamped down hard on her emotions. “There’s nothing we can do about it,” she said. “I guess we’ll never know what it says.”

That did not stop them from examining the pictoral aspect of the record, of course. Myriam had already started to think of the mural in that way: as a record. Somehow she knew, with the firmest of convictions, that this mural represented the true history of her mother’s family. The House of D’Anjue was truly ancient, far older than the young Kingdom of Palara. If these images were to be believed, they had waged war against the legendary dragons.

“If only there was some way to reproduce the mural.” It was some time later, an hour perhaps. Myriam had followed the mural along the wall, and the others trailed in her wake. Ganry kept looking over his shoulder with mounting anxiety, but so far had held his tongue.

“It’s much too big for us to copy it down,” he said, his tone making it clear that he would have thought the exercise useless even if there was a way to accomplish it. It was plain that the warrior didn’t believe anything about the mural. He was welcome to his opinion, as far as Myriam was concerned.

The images had progressed, growing more sophisticated as they went. Myriam thought the mural must be the work of many artists. Sections had been added over time to keep up with events, chronicling hundreds of years of now-forgotten history as it transpired. This record was priceless, whatever Ganry thought.

“Look at this!” Hendon had gone ahead a few moments ago when Myriam paused to examine a section of mural that seemed to depict the original construction of Castle Locke. At least, that’s what she thought it was. The painting was damaged here, the paint flaking and the rock wall itself crumbling with damp.

The princess hurried over to where Hendon stood. As she approached, she noticed a tall, arched portal in the stone wall, a few feet further along. The doorway interrupted the mural, which continued on into the shadows well beyond the opening.

Ignoring the arch, Myriam joined Hendon and followed his pointing finger with her eyes. This section of the mural was quite busy, with images crowded together in a seeming jumble. Myriam shook her head and blinked, then looked again. At the top, well above her head, was what appeared to be a map of the world. The right half of the map, at least, looked familiar. She had seen many maps growing up in her father’s castle.

The Damatine Sea was drawn in wavy lines of blue. Vandemland was a swath of ochre; Palara, Ashfield, and Mirnee were short strokes of green crowded together. In the south, sharp-angled chevrons depicted the Basalt Mountains. Between the green lands of the east and the Berghein Valley was a swirling mix of green and brown cut through the middle by a wide, sinuous line of deepest blue.

Below this was some kind of branching diagram, carved with the same runes they had seen earlier. Myriam stared at this diagram for long minutes, puzzled. She had Ganry bring the light closer so she could inspect it, standing with her head so close to the mural that her nose nearly touched the wall.

“It’s a family tree,” said the warrior.

“What?” Startled, Myriam turned to face Ganry. “What’s that?”

“A family tree.” He pointed, his finger tracing the branching diagram from its narrow apex down through increasingly wide, branching lines. “I imagine it’s meant to be the House of D’Anjue.”

“I think you’re right,” said Myriam, turning back to the branching diagram with a growing sense of wonder. She glanced to her left, then, deeper into the chamber. “This must have been painted and carved a thousand years ago,” she said. “Maybe there’s another one, updated, further along.”

“We’ll never know,” said Ganry.

“And why is that?”

The muscular bodyguard pointed to the nearby arch. “There’s our exit,” he explained. “Remember? The Duchess told us, the second exit on the left. That’s the second exit on the left. We’re leaving.”

Myriam frowned. Before she could point out that Ganry was the guard, and she was the princess, Hendon interrupted again.

“I think you missed the important part.” Moving up to stand at Myriam’s side, he tapped a section of the mural near the level of her waist with one finger. “Look here.”

Myriam crouched down to get a better look. For a moment, she didn’t see what Hendon was so excited about. Then it registered, and she gasped. Mouth agape, she turned her head slowly to look up at Linz with growing astonishment.

11

It had been three days since Ganry dragged them out of that subterranean museum. They had emerged in a marshy fen, several miles to the north and west of the Berghein Valley. The sun sank ahead of them. Behind, an ugly red-orange glow underlit the thick, black, overhanging clouds.

They picked their way through the bogs and swampland, not sure where they were headed. Myriam was lost in her thoughts, marveling over the revelation of the mural. With the princess so preoccupied, the party followed Ganry’s lead. He gave no thought to any ultimate destination. First thing was to get out of the swamps.

It was slow, treacherous going. The ground sucked at their feet. Seemingly solid earth gave way to bottomless quagmire without warning. Huge serpents lay coiled in the brackish mirk, ready to seize an unwary traveler and drag him down into the mire. At night, they were forced to sleep in the branches of stunted, warped trees. There was no safe clearing, no solid ground large enough to make camp.

But at last, they had emerged from the bogs. Their three day slog through the fens had carried the party perhaps another ten miles from Castle Locke. Navigating the swamp had been impossible, but Ganry said they had traveled further north while angling back to the east. That suited Myriam just fine. She’d had three days to consider it. She knew where they had to go.

Lying in the shelter of a massive boulder, Myriam made up her mind. With this new determination came a calm she had not felt in weeks. With her churning thoughts settled, Myriam at last drifted off into restful dreaming and did not wake again until morning.

The sharp, tangy scent of roasting rabbit roused her. Myriam sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes. The others were all up already, she saw. Ganry stood several paces beyond the edge of their camp, scanning the horizon slowly in every direction. Closer by, Hendon and Linz knelt by a small, crackling fire. Linz had his hand on the end of a spit hung over the flames, and he spun the skinned rabbit in slow, even turns.

“Myriam.” Hendon noticed her first. Rising from his crouch, he came over to her with a waterskin and offered her a drink. The princess took it gratefully. The water was tepid and brackish, but she drank it down all the same. With any luck, they would find fresher water today.

“Ganry,” she called when she had drunk her fill. The burly warrior turned from his study of the distance and strode to her with an easy, loping gait. The man truly seemed more at ease in this wilderness than he ever had at Castle Locke. Ganry was not a man to be cooped up in castle or barracks. For more than ten years had he wandered the wastes of the world, making his own way and choosing fate as he would. Myriam grinned at the thought.

“You’re in pleasant spirits,” her bodyguard observed as he sank into an easy crouch by her side. Glancing over to the fire, he smiled and nodded to himself. “The first fresh meat we’ve had since leaving the castle. Hendon’s snares be praised.”

“It’s not the rabbit,” said Myriam, still grinning. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking, princess?”

“That you belong out here.” Ganry looked puzzled at that, and Myriam laughed. “Not here, necessarily. I just meant that you’re at home in the wilds, aren’t you?”

“It has been a long time since I remained in any one place,” said Ganry after a lengthy hesitation. “I’ve been a wanderer. A sellsword at times, but always a vagabond.”

“And now you serve me.” Myriam reached out and took his hand. Her own, delicate fingers seemed tiny and fragile when wrapped around his meaty palm. His skin was warm and dry. Myriam felt a flush of affection for the warrior who had protected her through so much. “When I regain my father’s kingdom, I would see you rewarded for your service. You will never have need to sell your sword again, Ganry de Rosenthorn. But I think, perhaps, you might continue to wander just the same.”

Ganry blinked. After a moment, he nodded with a rueful grin. “Maybe you’re right, princess,” he allowed.

They sat like that for a moment, she holding the big man’s hand in hers as they shared a kind of warm understanding. Then, she released him and her face became serious once more. “I’ve made a decision, Ganry.”

“Princess?”

“My grandmother meant for us to see the mural in the cavern. You realize that, don’t you?”

“The Duchess meant for us to escape,” countered Ganry. “She wanted you to get away before your uncle’s men stormed the keep. If they had captured you, you’d likely be dead by now and nothing would stand between Harald and the crown he covets.”

“That is true, but there’s more.” Myriam’s tone was firm and insistent. “Ganry, I know you think those paintings were so much fantasy. You may even be right, in part. Whether dragons truly ruled these lands in the dawn age, I cannot say. But I believe the artists who painted those images meant them as a record of true events. And I believe the genealogy we found to be as true a record as any kept in the ledger-house of Castle Villeroy.”

“Princess…”

“No, Ganry.” Myriam’s voice was firm, with a regal and commanding tone she had learned from her mother. She knew he would not like what she had decided. She fully expected him to try and talk her out of it. But she had made up her mind, and was determined to see it through. “My grandmother said it would be the Stones of Berghein that brought about my Uncle Harald’s defeat and the revitalization of the House of D’Anjue. The stones must all be brought together.”

Ganry looked over at Hendon, who sat in the dirt a few paces away. The young man watched them raptly, making no attempt to disguise his interest. Ganry returned his gaze to Myriam, his expression grim but not yet resigned. “The daggers,” he said. “The rings.”

“And yet we remain fugitives in the wilderness,” said Myriam.

“What do you expect?” Ganry’s voice had taken on a pleading tone. “Princess, merely possessing the stones can do nothing. They are not magical. There is no magic.”

“I’m not so sure,” murmured Myriam. “It matters not.” Myriam drew a deep breath. “It’s simple, Ganry. We need to recover the other stones.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We do not yet possess all of the Stones of Berghein,” said Myriam. “But thanks to the mural, I know where to start looking for them. We make for the Cefinon Forest, Ganry. We have to get back to the country of the Lake Men.”

12

The great western wastes stretched out before the horses in a seemingly limitless expanse of arid sand and rock. The earth here was baked and cracked beneath the punishment of the sweltering sun. Wisps of cloud, emaciated and thin in the dry air, hung listlessly in the bright sky. The wind, when it was not still, was searing hot and dry in the travelers’ lungs.

Artas wiped the sweat from his brow and squinted into the distance. Then he looked back over his shoulder at the way they had come. He could tell no difference in the views.

They had left the lush grasslands west of Castle Locke three days before, entering the vast desert of the west. Marawi still lay somewhere ahead. Artas could not have said how far. To his knowledge, none but the druids had ever reached Marawi. At least, if anyone had, they had not returned to spread the tale.

The grasslands had given way rapidly. The horses picked their way through tufts of dry, bristly grasses. Stunted trees, thick-boled and palm-topped, had grown in profusion. Then there had been fewer. Soon, they had entered a flat gravel plain that had stretched on and on. For a day and a half they had trudged over the stony earth before it, too, gave way.

Now they traipsed through an endless sea of sand. Dunes rose and fell like waves all around them, their ridges seeming to ripple in the heat. Perhaps they did ripple, thought Artas. There was certainly enough grit choking the air. He and the others had taken Zander’s cue, tearing swatches of fabric from their tunics and wrapping these about the lower half of their faces.

Zander, astride Samphire, cantered along a few paces ahead of Artas. Dristan and Ector rode out to either side, swiveling their heads continuously side to side and scanning the terrain. Artas thought that a wasted effort. What enemies could possibly await them here? What foe would brave this nightmare landscape?

Artas lifted the waterskin that hung at his waist to his mouth. A few tepid swallows were all that was left. Feeling uneasy, the archer drank a little. He stuffed the stopper firmly into the mouth of the skin and returned it to his hip. He spurred his horse on, riding up alongside Zander. The slender man glanced over at him curiously.

“Water’s nearly gone,” said Artas. They had all taken to speaking as little as possible in this dry wasteland. Fewer words meant less moisture lost to the wind. Zander only nodded. With one hand, he gently tapped the side of his own waterskin. It hung slack at his side, as nearly depleted as Artas’.

They rode on in silence for a time. Artas wondered what they would do when the water ran out. It was a silly thing to wonder, he reflected. Of course they would die of thirst. In this dry heat, likely it would not take very long.

Zander lifted an arm and pointed ahead. “Oasis,” he said.

Squinting, Artas followed the direction of Zander’s finger. There was a dark smudge on the horizon, swirling in the heat haze. He shook his head and peered again, but the smudge grew no clearer. But as they rode on, and the minutes stretched to hours, the smudge grew into a large, dark blur and then began to take on color. There was greenery. There must be water.

They reached the tiny desert oasis well past mid-day. Zander did not so much call a halt as he grunted. Then, the slender commander slid down off his mount and led Samphire into the sparse growth of the oasis on foot. The others each followed suit.

The oasis was not large. Perhaps a dozen whip-thin palm trees sprang up in a rough circle. Hardy, scrub-like desert grass grew in withered tufts around the bases of the trees. In the center there was a deep depression in the ground. A tiny, bubbling pool of water lay in the depression, fed by some underground spring. The horses went to it and dipped their heads. Zander motioned for the men to wait until the horses were finished.

“We fill the skins,” he said while they waited. “As much as they can hold. We’ll rest here until sundown. From here on, we travel by the moon.”

“How much further is it to Marawi?” asked Artas. Ector laughed harshly. Zander had the grace to look apologetic when he answered.

“Several days,” he said. “We have yet to reach the salt flats.”

“Salt flats?”

“A place that will make the great sand sea seem inviting and hospitable,” said Zander ominously. “But do not trouble yourself with that just yet. The flats lay at least a day ahead of us. If we are lucky, we will find another oasis this night or tomorrow. We will need to replenish out water again before crossing the flats.”

“And then?”

“Marawi lies on the other side, my friend.” Zaner smiled without humor. “Or so I have been given to believe.”

Artas stared blankly for a long moment, his mouth hanging open. “Given to believe?” he echoed, stunned. All this - and worse to come, apparently - and Zander did not even know for sure where they were headed? “What madman’s quest have you led me on?”

Zander came up to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Peace, my friend,” he said. “I have faith in our mission. The Duchess has never led me astray. She would not start now.”

Artas shook his head, unable to reply. By now, the horses had finished drinking. Dristan and Ector had knelt down beside the water. Having filled their skins, they were splashing the cool liquid on their sunburned faces. Zander held the archer’s eye for a long moment, then went to join them. Artas had little choice but to follow.

After they had drunk their fill, and splashed the warm water over their heads to cool them, the men made a small camp at the center of the grove. Ector scaled one of the tall palms and hacked away at the fronds until several fell free. They used these to construct a makeshift awning, under which the four men lay through the heat of the afternoon. Zander and the other two fell into a dozing sleep almost immediately.

Artas lay in the shade for a long time, unable to sleep. It was moderately cooler beneath the shading palm fronds, but still hotter than the hottest day he had ever known. He wondered if they were going to die in this wasteland. He wondered where the princess was, and how she fared. At last, he drifted down into a restless slumber.

He woke to the jabbing butt of a spear. Spluttering awake, Artas sat up in alarm. The others had woken already, he saw. To his dismay, Artas also saw that they were surrounded by burly men in loose-fitting, sand-colored robes that swirled about their bodies. Each man carried a short wooden spear with a gleaming, razor-sharp steel point. They held these points leveled at the travelers, and there was no mistaking the menacing hostility in their angry eyes.

13

Arexos had never expected to see Castle Villeroy again. The sight was wondrous enough that he almost did not mind the chains. Almost.

They had held him at the garrison in Brammanville for several days. He had been beaten and questioned. They had broken three fingers on his left hand and two on his right; his body was sore and bruised from head to toe. When they took him from Brammanville, both his eyes were swollen shut and he could not see where they were taking him.

They had brought him down the river to Athaca, and from there proceeded overland. The journey had been three days, during which there were no further tortures, no questions. Arexos did not know if that meant the soldiers and their officers had finally accepted his story, or if they had simply stopped caring. None of the guards spoke to him on the journey. He did not know what awaited him in the castle. Perhaps he was headed to an execution.

They went in through the main gate. The portcullis was up, the gate guarded by six heavily armored soldiers. Beyond the gate, in the main courtyard, more soldiers ran drills beneath the watchful eyes of battle-hardened veteran officers. The four men escorting Arexos herded him across the yard.

They had nearly reached the inner gate when Arexos spied a familiar face. Near the inner wall, a small raised platform had been erected, with a wooden rail. There were two men standing at the rail, looking down on the drilling soldiers. Arexos had never seen one of them before, but he knew the other one.

“Zaim!” Arexos dragged his feet, and the men at his elbows tugged him forward. Straining against the guards, he shouted again. “Zaim! It’s me! Don’t you know me? It’s Arexos. Zaim, help me!”

Duke Harald’s master at arms turned his head curiously. His eyes fell on Arexos, being dragged bodily through the inner gate. At first he showed no sign of recognition. Then he narrowed his eyes and looked closer. Zaim’s eyes widened as he recognized the man beneath the bruises.

“Hold,” cried Zaim. “Hold, there, men!”

Hopping down from the raised platform, Zaim hurried over. Arexos sagged in relief. Zaim approached with obvious astonishment.

“Arexos? Is it really you?”

“It’s me, Zaim.”

“What’s happened to you?”

Arexos said nothing, but the look he gave his captors spoke volumes. Zaim turned a frown on the men. They fidgeted beneath his steely gaze. Their officer cleared his throat. “He was taken in the company of a Vandemlander spy,” the officer reported.

Zaim’s frown deepened. “This man is a loyal servant of Palara,” he said. “Release him at once.”

The men didn’t hesitate. At once, they let go of Arexos’ arms. He nearly fell over. Zaim caught him, shooting the soldiers another angry stare. The officer cleared his throat again. Zaim shook his head. Turning his back on the soldiers, he guided Arexos through the inner gate.

***

A little over an hour later, they sat in a small antechamber of Zaim’s suite of rooms in the castle. Arexos had been bathed and dressed in fresh clothes. His wounds had been seen to. For the first time in weeks, he felt as if there might be hope for the future.

Zaim sat across from him, concern plain on his face. He had listened patiently while Arexos told him the whole sad tale. Setting out from Castle Villeroy, what seemed like years ago now, with Captain Henrickson. The deal with the Narcs, the smugglers’ betrayal, the slave market, Qutaybah, and finally the brief interlude at Castle Locke and the surreptitious journey to Brammanville.

Now, the master at arms sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over his other knee. Resting his elbows on his leg, Zaim steepled his fingers before his face and appeared to sink deep in thought. Arexos leaned back on the couch he had been given and relaxed. His tale was told. Zaim would know what to do about the information. Arexos himself looked forward to a long recuperation. Eventually, he would resume his duties.

Henrickson was gone, of course. Zaim had already told him his former mentor had never returned from Vandemland. Arexos assumed Henrickson must be dead, or worse. He put the thought from his mind, however. He would take up squiring for some other knight. Perhaps, considering everything he had gone through to bring his story back to Castle Villeroy, the Duke would grant him a knighthood in his own right.

While Arexos pondered that happy possibility, Zaim thought furiously. This Vandemlander slaver, Qutaybah, had one hundred men with him somewhere in the vicinity of Brammanville. By now, of course, they could be anywhere. The master at arms cursed the fool of a garrison commander who had wasted days questioning Arexos. This news should have been brought to the Duke at once. Instead, they had lost nearly a week!

“You rest here,” Zaim said at length to Arexos. “You’ve had a long, trying journey. Sleep, friend. I will leave guards at the door… to ensure you are not disturbed, of course. In the meantime, I must report to his majesty.”

Arexos nodded absently, his thoughts still turned to dreams of knighthood and all the honors and incomes that would come with it. He hardly noticed when, as he left the chamber, Zaim locked the door firmly behind him.

14

Artas rose slowly, holding his hands well out to either side. The man who had jabbed him gestured angrily with his spear, and Artas shrank back from the wicked spearpoint.

“Easy, friends.” Zander likewise held out his hands, palms open. His voice was calm and soothing. “We mean no harm to your tribe.”

The robe-shrouded men exchanged rapid glances. They spoke briefly and pointedly in a language Artas had never heard before. It was a harsh and guttural tongue, which made the words sound angry and fierce. For all he knew, they were discussing the weather; however, it sounded like bloody murder.

Past the circle of men, Artas saw their mounts. They were lean, short-haired horses bred for the arid wastes. They wore neither bridle nor saddle. Instead, small blankets were draped over their backs. The edges of the blankets were decorated with jangling gold rings. Small, sharply curved horsebows hung clipped to loops in the embroidery.

Two of the men began to argue. The others seemed to defer to one or both of these men, and they all took a step back as the debate grew ever more heated. One of the two men was tall and heavily muscled and wore a neatly trimmed beard. The other was shorter, on the stout side, and clean shaven. His eyes flashed with anger as he punctuated his words with vicious jabs of his free hand. In his other hand, this man gripped his spear with white knuckles.

After several minutes of this exchange, the taller man took three quick steps toward his clean-shaven comrade. In one smooth motion he drew back his left hand and struck the stout man across the face. There was a collective indrawn breath from all assembled. The stout man’s eyes flashed again and he made to lunge forward. At the last second, he appeared to think better of it. Bowing his head, he muttered something in the guttural tongue of the tribesmen and stepped back.

The tall, bearded one - apparently the victor of the debate - turned back to face Zander, Artas, and the others. He smiled. In the moonlight, his teeth gleamed against the deep tan of his face. Addressing Zander, he spoke the common tongue with a thick, gruff accent.

“I have told my comrade here that you have made a mistake,” he said. “This must be the explanation. You are lost, yes? You did not mean to trespass in our oasis.”

“Your oasis, is it?” Ector snorted derisively. Zander shot the man an angry glance, motioning for him to be quiet.

“I’m sorry, friend,” Zander said, turning back to the bearded tribesman. “My name is Zander, of the Berghein Valley. My companions are Dristan and Ector, also of Berghein; this is Artas, of the Kingdom of Palara.”

“I am Naavos,” answered the tribesman. He made no move to introduce his armed fellows. Zander, accepting this, bowed his head slightly.

“Well met, Naavos. I fear we must plead ignorance. We had no idea this fertile oasis belonged to your tribe.”

There was some more jabbering in the harsh tongue until the one who had introduced himself as Naavos made a sharp, cutting gesture with one hand and uttered a single, hissing syllable. The others fell quiet, although the stocky one who had faced off with Naavos bristled with anger.

“Water rights,” said Naavos, then he broke off and shook his head. Pivoting his hips, the robed tribesman gestured out into the moonlit wasteland. “This is very important to us here, you understand. Wars have been fought. Men have been killed.” Naavos paused and shrugged. His expression was almost apologetic. “For water.”

“We quite understand,” said Zander.

“This well,” Naavos continued, gesturing at the small pool of water where it lay glistening in the moonlight, “belongs to Rock Eagle Clan.” The bearded clansman tapped his chest with one hand and indicated his companions with the other. “Belongs to us. Our people. Our families. Our children.”

“We do understand,” said Zander again. “But, can your clan not spare just a bit of this water for four weary travelers?”

Naavos appeared to consider. He raised one hand to his chin, fingers scratching idly at his beard. After a moment, he affected a helpless expression and shrugged his shoulders once more. “It has been known,” he admitted. “I do not know this Berghein Valley, nor have I heard of Palara. But this is good. It means Rock Eagle Clan has no quarrel with your clans. This is good. But, my friend, you did not come to us first seeking permission. This means, whether you knew it or not, you have stolen from us. This is very bad.”

“We will pay you for the water,” offered Zander. “For ourselves and our horses.”

“Pay?” Naavos pursed his lips in thought, again scratching at his beard. “We have accepted such arrangements in the past. But it would have been better, friends, had you come to us first. How can you buy something you have already taken? I do not know.”

All this time, Artas had been studying the curved bows hanging from the blankets on the horses of these men. They were small and sturdy, with a sinuous recurved construction. Horsebows, specially designed for firing from horseback at a gallop. The young archer had never seen their like, though he had once heard such a weapon described.

That was back at Castle Villeroy, when he was little more than a boy. His archery instructor, a wizened old man named Talamanes, had told him a little of the clansmen who used such bows. They were fierce, independent tribes who eked out a harsh life on the desert. Remembering what Talamanes had said of these men, Artas had an idea.

“You must understand,” Naavos was saying to Zander, “were it simply up to me, we would have no problem. But there is tradition and custom to think of. Not to mention my brothers, here. I am afraid they will insist. But perhaps we can… mitigate this problem. Not all of you must die, I think.”

“A wager,” said Artas, springing fully upright. Several of the tribesmen jerked their spears around toward him, starting forward with menacing expressions. Naavos barked a command and they froze in place, glowering. Naavos studied Artas with evident interest.

“What are you doing?” hissed Zander, but Artas ignored him.

“A wager?” Naavos wore a faint smile, nearly concealed in the dim light by his bristly beard. He scratched his chin again and nodded slowly. “A wager. Hm. Perhaps. But tell me, young friend, what it is you have in mind?”

“Who among you is most skilled with a bow?” asked Artas. He felt a heady rush of confidence, and hoped he was not being brash.

“That would be Draagos,” said Naavos. His face was grim as he turned to the stout, clean-shaven man who had argued with him before. This man perked up at the sound of his name, peering curiously from Naavos to Artas and back again.

“You wish to pit your skill against his?” Naavos came forward until he stood nose to nose with Artas. “And the stakes, I am correct in thinking, would be the water you and your companions have taken from our well? Should you win, we are to forgive your transgression, yes?”

“That’s right,” said Artas. Then, still feeling brash, he added, “But we’ll also want water for the rest of our journey. The skins we carry, and we’ll need four more, full.”

Naavos stared at Artas for a long moment. Then, abruptly, hearty laughter erupted from the stern tribesman’s smiling mouth. “You are a bold man,” he cried. Then he clapped his hands, all signs of mirth suddenly cut off. “I think this will be acceptable to my brothers, yes. But remember, should you lose the wager, all your lives must be forfeit.”

15

“Artas, what are you doing?”

The tension in Zander’s voice was almost palpable. He gripped the younger man’s shoulder tight, and peered into his eyes as if searching for some outward sign of madness. A pace away, Ector and Dristan exchanged a worried glance. Artas drew a deep breath and told himself to remain calm.

“Trust me, Zander,” he said.

Nearby, the tribesmen had gathered in a tight circle beside their horses. They were speaking rapidly in hushed tones. The stout one, Draagos, occasionally glanced over at the travelers. There was an ugly look of eager anticipation in his eye. He had already unhooked his wickedly curved bow from one of the horses, and now he fingered the bowstring lovingly with one hand.

One of the other tribesmen, at a word from Naavos, detached himself from the group. He came over to where the travelers stood nervously. Eyeing them with grim amusement, the man moved past and shimmied up one of the slender palm trees. At the top, he drew a short, sharply curved dagger from the belt of his robe and began to saw at one of the small coconuts that grew there. After a few seconds, the nut fell to the sandy earth with a soft thud. The tribesman went to work on another coconut.

After a few minutes, he had detached six coconuts. Shimmying back down, he gathered these up and took them over to where his clan brothers waited. Draagos examined the coconuts and nodded his approval. The man who had gathered them leaped astride one of the horses and spurred it to a gallop. He rode for several minutes toward the gradually lightening eastern horizon. Following his progress, Artas was surprised to realize it was nearly dawn.

“I like this not,” muttered Zander.

Though he did not want to show any doubt, Artas felt much the same. It was too late to back out of the bet now. Their lives quite literally hung in the balance. Artas moved over to where he had stowed his belongings and retrieved the longbow he had carried from Castle Locke. He sat down on a large stone and got to work re-stringing the bow. He put doubt from his mind and concentrated on the task at hand.

In the meantime, the tribesman who had ridden out was setting up makeshift targets. He took a small bundle of sticks that had been tied to his horse’s blanket, and began jabbing these vertically into the hard, sandy earth. Then, he placed one coconut atop each stake. He used the hilt of his dagger to hammer the nuts down onto the ends of the stakes. This task completed, he rode back to rejoin the others.

His own task complete, Artas rose and walked out to the edge of the oasis to peer at the distant targets. He frowned as he studied the range. He hardly noticed when Naavos came over to stand beside him, likewise staring toward the rising sun. That would be a problem, thought Artas; but it could hardly be counted as an advantage for Draagos, who would also be firing into the sun.

“Each of you will have three shots,” said Naavos softly. “Then we will judge who has shot better. Draagos has dipped his arrows in red paint, so there will be no problem telling who fired each arrow.”

Artas nodded absently. In his head, he was running through a series of calming exercises to aid his focus. He would need to do his best shooting here. True, this was not the first time life or death had depended on his bow. Artas had fought in the chaos of battle before. In a way, he reflected, that had been easier. There was no time to think, to overthink, to make the critical mistakes that could come from too much concentration.

“Are you ready, my friend?”

“I’m ready,” said Artas.

Naavos looked to Draagos, who gave a sharp nod.

A moment later, the two men stood beside one another with a pace between them. Draagos held his taut-strung, recurved horsebow; Artas gripped his longbow. The tribesman gestured with one hand. Artas understood: he was to begin the contest by taking the first shot.

He set his feet and gauged the distance one last time. He nocked an arrow to his string as he did. Then, in one smooth motion, he raised the bow, drew back the string, and released. There was a deep thrum from the bow, a faint, slicing whistle from the arrow, and then a distant and barely audible thunk as the arrow found its target. Two hundred paces away, one of the coconuts fell from its perch atop the stick.

Artas heard Draagos grunt. Whether it was surprise, anger, or admiration, he couldn’t say. The stout tribesman peered down the range for a long moment, chewing his bottom lip. Then he turned and spat a rapid torrent of speech at Naavos. Naavos responded in the same tongue, his answer brief and sharp. Draagos argued some point, and Naavos cut him off angrily.

“What’s he saying?” asked Artas.

“Draagos compliments you on the impressive range of your weapon,” said Naavos after a brief hesitation.

“Compliments me?” Artas was doubtful. “That didn’t sound very complimentary.”

“I am perhaps being liberal with the translation,” Naavos allowed. “My clan brother has pointed out that your bow and his are not alike.”

Artas started to say that was just too bad, but he caught a glimpse of Zander’s frantic expression of warning and reconsidered. He did not want to give up an advantage on the one hand, on the other, if he pushed his luck with these people too far they might simply kill him and the others. He turned back to Naavos. “Well, what do you suggest?”

Naavos turned and spoke briefly to Draagos, whose response was curt but without the anger of before. Naavos turned back to Artas and translated. “I proposed moving your targets further away. My clan brother did not agree. He insists that you should use one of our bows.”

Artas glanced at the bow in his opponent’s hand. It was a complex affair, not the simple, wooden longbow he had used all his life. It was made of a combination of wood and what appeared to be bone. He had no idea, from that brief inspection, how the weapon’s draw would compare to his own. He had little choice, though.

“All right,” he said. “Tell him I accept.”

While the same tribesman as before galloped out to the targets and reset the coconut Artas had drilled with his first shot, the young Palaran archer took one of the strange, recurved bows from Naavos and examined it more closely. He pulled experimentally at the string. It had a shorter draw, but he found it required more effort to pull.

“My friend.” Naavos reached for the bow. Artas surrendered it. The bearded tribesman turned sideways to him and lifted the bow, drawing it in an easy, practiced motion. Artas noted that Naavos drew the string with his thumb, rather than the first two fingers. Slowly releasing the tension, Naavos handed the bow back to him.

“Thank you,” said Artas, meaning it. He tried the unusual style of draw, finding that it did indeed make the draw easier to manage. He took several of the shorter, thicker arrows used by the tribesmen and stuck them point-first in the earth by his leg. By now, the targets were ready and the range was clear. Artas nodded and gestured to Draagos. “Tell my friend here that, as I have already fired, he should take the first shot.”

Naavos relayed the message. No sooner had the words left his mouth than Draagos snatched one of the three arrows he had driven point-first into the sand beside him, whipped it up and drew and released. The curved bow produced a deeper, more menacing thrum than had Artas’ longbow.

The arrow flew true and hit one of the coconuts dead center.

Artas followed suit. The shot with the unfamiliar bow went wide of the mark. It was difficult to see from this distance, but Artas believed he could not have missed by more than an inch. He cursed softly under his breath as Draagos, laughing, retrieved another arrow from his cache.

The tribesman’s second shot was as accurate as the first. Gritting his teeth, Artas took another arrow and raised the bow. Releasing his breath and willing his body to stillness, he drew and released. This time his arrow found the mark, though it was off-center.

Artas cursed again, dropping his eyes. He saw that he had two arrows remaining from those Naavos had given him. But there was only one shot left in this contest. Whether he made his shot or not, all Draagos need do to beat him was make his own shot. He had not missed his first.

Draagos turned and spoke to him in the guttural language of the tribesmen. Artas did not need to understand the words to get the message. Then, Draagos drew his third and final arrow and let fly. The arrow sailed true, piercing the third coconut and knocking it from its perch.

But even as Draagos shot, Artas burst into impulsive action. Snatching up his final two arrows, he rapidly drew and fried and then redrew and fired again with a slight pivot of his hips. His first arrow thunked into his third coconut a split second before Draagos’ own shot. A split second later his next shot flew home. Draagos’ arrow, still quivering madly in its nut, was split in two by the shot with a loud cracking of wood.

16

“You should not have come back here.”

Clay, chieftain of the Lake Men, did not look well. In fact, he seemed to have aged fifteen years since Myriam last saw him, less than two months ago. She could not understand it. But, regardless of his apparent deterioration, the chief’s voice was strong and firm and laden with anger. His face flushed, Clay shifted his weight in the low chair beside the open hole in the floor of the hut that opened over the lapping waters of the lake. Beside him, his sister Lisl fidgeted with her hands and looked nervously at her son.

Linz stood beside Myriam, head down before the weight of his uncle’s wrath. Ganry and Hendon stood a pace behind them. The Lake Men had been reluctant to allow them to enter, but Linz had faced them down with all the authority of their future chief and commanded they stand aside for the big, musclebound warrior and the nimble former forest dweller.

They had reached Halawa without incident, though the careful journey had taken them nearly a week. The whole time, Ganry had kept trying to persuade Myriam to change her mind. But the princess was adamant. Each evening, she had questioned Linz about his family’s history. Sadly, the boy seemed to know little about his lineage. Apparently, the Lake Men did not place the same importance on bloodlines as the Kingdom of Palara and most of its neighbors. She hoped his mother or his uncle would know more, but she had not been expecting this angry reception.

“My lord,” she began, when it became clear Linz would say nothing. Before she could go on, Clay cut her off.

“We don’t have lords here on the lake, little princess,” he snapped, then broke off as a fit of coughing took him. Lisl lunged forward, extending a large, stained handkerchief to her ailing brother. Myriam’s eyes widened. What had befallen this man, who had been so strong and hale just weeks ago?

The coughing fit subsided. Clay allowed his sister to wipe at his mouth with her rag, glowering all the while at the ragged travelers who stood before him. Their journey had been uneventful, but arduous. There had been Palaran patrols all along the frontier, and many more scoured the Cefinon Forest searching for refugees from Castle Locke. They searched especially for a slender, blonde-haired princess.

Hendon had led them along secret trails in the forest, avoiding the patrols. He had lived most of his life in those woods, and knew many of the forest’s secrets. Many of these trails were tiny things, little more than rabbit runs. The forest was thick with undergrowth, and briars had torn at their clothes and skin. But Hendon had brought them at last to the shores of the hidden lake where Linz’ people had made their home for uncounted generations. From there, it had only been a matter of walking along the shore until they found a boat. Then, it had been simple for Linz to guide them to Halawa.

“You should not have brought her back here,” Clay continued when he had recovered from his coughing fit. His burning eyes glared at Linz, and the lad seemed to shrink down even further. Beside him, Myriam bristled with anger at the way the Lake Men’s chief was treating his nephew.

“I’m sorry, uncle,” murmured Linz, still unable to meet Clay’s eye. He shuffled his feet nervously. Then, as if he had suddenly gathered all his courage, Linz lifted his head and stared back at the old chief. “But why? What’s happened?”

Clay and his sister exchanged a heavy glance. Lisl chewed at her lip. Clay turned back to the travelers before him and shook his head, still angry. His hands balled into fists. Then, with a visible effort, he relaxed them.

“Done is done,” he muttered. He looked down through the hole in the floor and studied the lapping water. Colorful fish darted to and fro beneath the house, which stood on stilts out over the lake like the rest of the hidden city. “You’re here now. Nightfall is nearly upon us. Hm.”

Clay’s eyes turned up to the ceiling. He drew a deep breath and blew it out in a heavy sigh before returning his attention to his guests. “You’ll stay the night. Tomorrow, you will have to leave. Get off the lake as quick as you can. And never, ever come back here. Is that understood?”

“Uncle, I-”

“I said, is that understood?” Clay came halfway up out of his chair, roaring the question. Linz flinched back from the naked rage in his uncle’s outburst. Beside the chief, Lisl fell back a half step, her mouth falling open in evident shock. Then Clay collapsed back in his chair, exhausted. He waved one hand in a gesture of dismissal.

“I’m tired,” said the chief. “I must rest now. Lisl, take your son and these others and see that they have rooms. They’re to stay put tonight. I want them gone at first light. You’ll see to it.”

Lisl bowed her head in acceptance. Clay levered himself up out of his chair and went out of the room without another word. The strange audience was at an end.

***

Lisl led them through the house to a suite of rooms near one of the outer walls. As chief, Clay lived in the largest dwelling in Halawa. It was nothing compared to Castle Villeroy, but among the stilt-huts of the Lake Men, it was a palace. In this suite, there were four rooms arranged around a central, common area with one of the ubiquitous open floors that let down into the lake. Upon letting them into the rooms, Lisl turned as if to go.

“Mother, wait.”

The frail woman froze in place, but she did not turn back around.

“What is it? What has happened here, mother?” There was such a note of pleading in Linz’ voice that Myriam felt her heart lurch. But Lisl refused to turn around. The boy’s mother drew a deep, ragged breath.

“It’s getting late,” she said at last in a trembling voice. “You’ll all need your rest, I expect.”

“Mother…”

“Leave it be, Linz.” With that, she started to leave. Myriam looked to Ganry and made a frantic motion with one hand. The big man stepped between Lisl and the door, blocking her escape. He looked uneasy about it, but stood his ground. Lisl drew up short, staring up at the muscular bodyguard.

There was a long, tense moment. Then Lisl’s shoulders sagged and she turned back to the room. Her tired eyes swept over them each in turn, and then she went and sat on one of the low couches that were around the pool in the middle of the floor. She sat hunched forward with her hands clasped anxiously on top of her knees. She looked down at the lapping water.

Myriam nodded to Ganry, who eased away from the door. Linz had already rushed to his mother’s side, sitting down beside her and putting an arm around her. Myriam took a seat on the adjacent couch. Hendon sat down opposite Linz and his mother. Ganry gravitated to Myriam, remaining on his feet just behind her.

“Mother,” Linz was saying. “Tell us what’s happened. Please.”

Lisl whispered a single word. Myriam barely heard it, but Linz went white as a sheet.

“What?” Hendon, furthest from the Lake Woman, leaned forward. “What did she say?”

“Rooggaru,” repeated Linz when his mother didn’t answer. His face was pale; all the blood had drained out. His lip trembled as he spoke the unfamiliar word. Hendon looked to Myriam, who shrugged back at him. She had no idea what it meant.

“What does that mean?” she asked. “What is… Rooggaru?”

Abruptly, Lisl gave a wail of terror and anguish. She seized her son by the arms and jerked him close to her, until their faces were pressed together. The words spilled from her mouth in a frantic torrent. “You must leave, Linz. The moment the sun rises, you and your friends must go. You must, you must, you must. Promise me!”

“Mother!” Linz struggled in her grasp. “Let go. Ow! You’re hurting me!”

With another wail, Lisl released her hold and leaped to her feet. Before anyone could react, she ran from the room. Myriam sat stunned, staring after the woman. Ganry took a step forward, then subsided. Unless the princess asked him to go after her, he meant to let Lisl go.

“Linz,” said Myriam. “Linz, what’s going on here?”

“Rooggaru,” the boy said again, in a tone hushed with wonder.

“What the hell is a rooggaru?” asked Ganry, impatient.

“Just a legend,” said Linz slowly. He shook his head. There was disbelief in his young eyes. “It’s a myth. I mean… I always thought it was just a story. Something the women tell their children to scare them. I haven’t believed in Rooggaru since I was a baby. It’s just a crazy story.”

“But what is it?” insisted Myriam.

Linz shook his head again. Myriam was reminded that he was, after all, still a kid. Linz might not think so, but it was true. And right now, he looked like nothing so much as a frightened little boy. The princess resisted an urge to go to him and comfort him. She knew he would not appreciate it. Besides, she wanted him to talk. She had a feeling that, whatever this Rooggaru might be, she and the others needed to know.

“It’s a monster,” explained Linz. His voice cracked on the second word, and he paused to lick his lips and swallow before he continued. “Like I said, it’s a legend, a story. Long ago, when our people first came to settle on the lake, the Rooggaru followed us from… well, from wherever our ancestors had lived before. Nobody knows anymore, it’s been so long ago. But the Rooggaru hates the Lake Men. At least, that’s what the old women tell the children.”

“What sort of a monster?” asked Ganry, leaning forward on the back of Myriam’s couch. His eyes had narrowed. Ordinarily, Ganry was a no-nonsense sort of man. He didn’t believe in magic of any kind. But Myriam had heard some of his stories. Many of the “monsters” in the world, Ganry had learned, were real creatures. Not magic, certainly, but still dangerous.

“Rooggaru walks on two legs like a man,” said Linz. It was clear from the way he spoke that he was reciting from memory. “He is taller than any of the Lake Men, taller than any human that ever lived. His skin is green and covered with scales and ragged black hair. His eyes burn red and his claws drip with blood. Rooggaru stalks the swamps and bogs by night. He swims in the lake, lashing his great tail. And he takes the little children who don’t obey their parents, especially those foolish enough to wander out on the lake at night. His favorite time to eat little children is by the light of a full moon.”

It sounded so much like a nasty fairy tale, the sort of thing Myriam’s own nurse might have told her when she was much younger. Another time, the princess might have smiled at the story. It seemed as if parents and nurses all over the world used scary stories to make the children behave. But she did not smile. She had seen the fear in Lisl’s eyes.

“What sort of creature is Rooggaru?” asked Ganry. “You say he walks upright like a man. But it has scales? A tail?”

“It is like the water dragons,” said Linz. Ganry shuddered at the reminder. When they had last visited this lake, they had barely escaped a nasty run-in with one of the big river monsters. “His skin is hard and covered in scales, like the water dragons, and his tail is much like theirs. But he is also like a man, with two legs and two arms.”

“Dragonman,” said Hendon.

“Yes,” agreed Linz. “Rooggaru is a dragonman. But… he’s a myth. Not real. Surely…” Linz broke off, shaking his head in confusion. He, too, had seen his mother’s obvious fear. And what could explain the change that had come over Clay, once powerful and confident? The boy’s face darkened.

“They say Rooggaru drinks blood,” he told the others. “He drags the naughty children under the water and drowns them. Then he carries them back to his lair, to drink the cold blood from their bodies.”

“There are bats in the jungles, far to the south of Llandaff, that drink blood.” Ganry spoke quietly. His eyes were distant, and he paused for a moment as a slight shudder ran through his body. “And slugs,” he added. “Nasty little slugs in the rivers that latch onto a man and bleed him dry if they aren’t peeled off. I never heard of a dragonman, though.”

“Rooggaru is the last of his kind,” said Linz. “At least, that’s what I always heard. Long ago, before our ancestors came here, before we were Lake Men, we fought against Rooggaru’s people and defeated them. That is why he hates our people, why he steals our children and haunts our lake at night. That is why he sends the water dragons.”

“He controls them?” asked Myriam sharply.

“I don’t know.” Linz shrugged helplessly. “It’s just a story.”

“Your mother is no story,” said Ganry. “Your uncle neither. Something has happened here.”

“You’re right,” agreed Linz. “And if it’s the Rooggaru…” The boy paused. Gathering up his courage, he straightened his shoulders and looked Ganry in the eye. The boy was trying so hard to be a man.

“We have to do something about it,” he said. “We have to kill the Rooggaru.”

17

Harald poured the wine himself and offered one of the ornate goblets to Arexos. The young squire took it gratefully, but remembered enough of his manners to wait until the Regent had sipped his own wine before raising the cup to his lips. Harald smiled, a friendly and encouraging smile. He hoped he put the boy at ease. That was why they were alone in the Regent’s private audience chamber.

It was a cosy room with overstuffed couches and a blazing fire in the hearth. Thick carpet covered the cold stone floor. Stained glass decorated the tall, arched windows, depicting triumphant scenes from the history of Palara. The central window held an image of Terrick, accepting the crown of his newly created nation. The crown that Harald himself could still, maddeningly, not truly call his own.

“You’ve served your country well, young man,” Harald said to Arexos, setting aside his goblet of wine. Again the easy smile. Keep the boy at ease. “We are pleased that you have returned to us, and grateful for the intelligence you brought with you from Vandemland. But tell me… Arexos, isn’t it?”

The squire gulped, nearly choking on the wine. His lips opened and closed as he stammered, before managing a strangled reply. “Yes, your grace.”

“Arexos.” Harald maintained his easy smile. The boy was on edge still, but that was understandable after what he’d been through. “Henrickson’s squire, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, your grace.” The answer came quick this time, and more steady. That was good. Arexos was beginning to relax.

Before the squire was brought in, Harald had dusted the bottom of one of the goblets with a powder of ground poppies. That, of course, was the goblet he’d offered Arexos. The powder would do far more to ease the boy’s tensions than Harald’s affectations of friendliness. Even so, the Regent kept up his bright smile and welcoming attitude.

“Well,” he said. “It really is too bad about Henrickson. We must see to getting you reassigned. As a matter of fact, it’s probably worth consideration to go ahead and knight you. Heaven knows, you’ve certainly been through a lot these past months. What do you say to that, eh?”

“Your grace…” Arexos nearly choked on his gratitude. Stammering again, his face flushed and he gulped down more of the drugged wine. Very good. Harald was sure the boy had already thought about a knighthood. What squire wouldn’t have? This was going to be easy. Now the boy was practically tripping over himself with gratitude. “It would be the highest honor, your grace.”

“Of course.” It was an effort to keep up this saccharine facade, but Harald made himself do it all the same. He wanted some answers from this boy. If the honey didn’t work, he could always try the stick. “Now then, I’m afraid I really must ask you to relive parts of your adventures over again. You see, we need to know some things.”

“Of course, your grace. How can I be of help to you?”

“Well,” said Harald. “About this party of Vandemlanders. You told Zaim they were camped out near Brammanville. Of course they’ll have moved on. Too bad their brute of a commander escaped our men in the port. Slaver, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, your grace.”

“Terrible business.” Harald shook his head in mock disgust. “Ah well. These Vandemlanders will have moved on. You’re quite sure their ultimate objective is Castle Villeroy?”

“Absolutely certain, your grace,” answered Arexos at once. His voice began to slur ever so slightly. Harald restrained an urge to frown, hoping he had not used too much of the powder. “Their leader, Qutaybah, is in league with the Duchess D’Anjou.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we have the good duchess in our custody,” said Harald, waving off that particular detail as unimportant. “I’m more concerned with someone we have not been able to secure. Are you quite certain there was not a young woman amongst this company of savages?”

“Young woman, your grace?”

“My niece, you see. I’m afraid the Princess Myriam was abducted by agents of the duchess. Castle Locke has fallen, but there was no sign of the princess there. We can only assume someone spirited her away during the siege, perhaps through some hidden bolthole we have yet to locate. What we are wondering, Arexos my boy, is if this… Qutaybah, you say?”

Arexos nodded.

“Well, might it not have been this Qutaybah who snuck her out and away from her would-be rescuers?”

At that, the boy drew back his head with a puzzled look on his face. Harald cursed inwardly, suddenly wondering how much Henrickson might have told his squire. If the man had shared any details of Harald’s plans - the coup, the executions, the plot to steal the throne for himself - then Henrickson was a fool.

“Rescuers, your grace?” The words came more slurred than ever now. The confusion in the boy’s eyes was not just from the conversation. They had begun to take on a glazed cast.

“Of course,” said Harald. “We must secure my niece so that she may return to the Castle and take her throne.”

“Oh. Yes. Her throne.” Arexos nodded, blinking slowly. “I’m sorry, you grace. She was not among the company of the Vandemlanders.”

“You’re quite certain of this?”

“Absolutely, your grace. I would have seen her.”

Harald nodded, mulling it over. If Arexos was telling the truth - if! - then Myriam was somewhere else. Probably still with that musclebound giant his men had reported seeing in Athaca and on the cliffs over the Berghein Valley before the siege. They could be anywhere by now, but Harald’s instincts told him they would be making their way to him.

Perhaps not immediately. But sooner or later, Myriam would come seeking her crown. He meant to see her dead, preferably in some believable accident, long before she could reach Castle Villeroy. But first he would have to find the rotten little bitch. This scrap of a boy wasn’t going to be much help with that. He could see that much. Worse, Arexos had claimed not to know the path this slaver Qutaybah meant to follow into Palara.

Useless. Worse than useless. Still smiling with insincere warmth, Harald looked over the increasingly drowsy young man and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. A knighthood? Hardly. More likely, this fool Arexos was destined for a date with the royal executioner.

18

The people of Rock Eagle Clan had a permanent encampment two leagues’ distance from the oasis where Artas had made his remarkable double-shot. Over the heated objections of Draagos, Naavos had decreed that the travelers from Berghein Valley would be taken to this encampment as honored guests of the clan.

Although Artas had technically lost the shooting contest, his final shot - which had split his opponents arrow in twain despite Artas having loosed it before Draagos’ arrow even struck the target - had greatly impressed all of the clansmen. Even Draagos had shown reluctant admiration for the shot. And when one of the other tribesman had reminded them that Artas had made his original shot, it was agreed that the contest was at worst a questionable tie.

It was enough for Naavos, who declared the “theft” of the water to be forgiven. The bearded clan leader insisted that Artas, Zander, and the other two accompany him and his clan brothers back to Rock Eagle Clan’s home. That home turned out to be an impressive settlement tucked away in the cool depths of a long, narrow canyon not far off.

So they made their way over the desert as the morning sun rose. Within minutes of dawn, the temperature had begun to soar. But they had plenty of water for the short trek. Ector and Dristan rode close beside and just behind their leader. Zander himself rode abreast with Naavos, and the two men spoke in low tones through most of the journey. As for Artas, he stuck close to Zander as well. Though he did not allow himself to look at Draagos, he felt the angry tribesman’s eyes on his back the whole way.

Following the shoot-off, the other tribesmen were all quite friendly. Naavos had introduced each of them in a curt fashion before the group mounted up and set out for the canyon. There was Beaanor, with the stubbled cheeks and surprising eyes of pale blue. There was Tolemaas, a grizzled oldster with leathery, sun-burnt skin and a hawk nose that had been broken at least half a dozen times in his long, violent life. Then came Esaaradan, the youngest of the tribesman. His cheeks were smooth and supple with youth, his dark eyes bright with interest. Lastly there was Kaandemos, nearly as old as Tolemaas but with light skin and clouded eyes. He was a kind of priest, Artas had learned, although a holy man who had no qualms at wielding a spear like all the rest.

Listening in on Zander’s conversation, Artas had also learned that Naavos was indeed the current chieftain of Rock Eagle Clan. His father had been chief before him. Draagos was a close cousin, and their grandfather had been the first chief of Rock Eagle Clan when the tribe split away from the Desert Eagle Clan more than fifty years ago. Zander seemed fascinated in this history, though Artas thought some of that interest must be feigned.

As they rode, the young archer wondered how long they would have to stay with these people. It was not that he found them unpleasant. Quite the opposite, with the exception of the still fuming Draagos. Well, Kaandemos sort of gave Artas the creeps as well, but the others had all been quite pleasant during the ride. But Artas and his companions had a mission, and the longer it took to complete, then the longer it would be before they could return to the east where they could do some good.

He fervently hoped that, by the time they finally did return to Palara, they would not be too late.

They had been riding for about an hour when the rocks began rising to either side. The slopes were at first gradual, but soon became steep before leveling out. The canyon between was narrow, though mostly straight. The rock was a dark, reddish brown. The path was shaded from the still rising sun by the cliffs, and the ride from there on was blessedly cool.

Ten minutes ride through the canyon brought them to the settlement. Here, the canyon widened out into a broad, open area. The space was a rough oval of bare, stony earth surrounded on all sides by the rearing cliffs of the plateau. The cliff walls were dotted with shadowy caves. Dozens of these openings were further shaded by hide awnings stretched over the mouths. Rough wooden structures clung to the wall beside others.

At the back of the settlement, opposite where the canyon defile entered, was a small spring. The water bubbled up from underground and was trapped in a stone pool the tribesmen had built to contain it. Presumably, the spring had once fed a stream and that was what had slowly worn the canyon passage that allowed people to enter this hidden grotto.

Near the pool, a series of low stone fences divided a large area into a dozen small enclosures where crops grew. Artas saw corn and beans and what looked like winter wheat. Hardy plants, the kind that could survive the hellish dry climate here in the wastes.

Most of the remaining open space was taken up by crude structures of plaster, stone, and dried mud. These were mostly small, no more than a single room. Fabric hangings served as doors and their windows were open circles without glass. In the center of this “town” stood a larger building, constructed in the same poor fashion. Artas saw it was large enough inside to accommodate the entire tribe if necessary, and from the low height of the roof he guessed its floor had been dug down beneath the ground level for added cooling.

Men and women were everywhere, going about their daily routine. A group of rambunctious children ran and played over near the farming paddocks. More children, older than the rowdies below, climbed the encircling cliffs. Adults emerged from the cave mouths, which Artas supposed were their homes. It was still quite early in the day, but no one appeared sleepy or just woken. Already there was work being done.

As Naavos led his party into the settlement, a few heads turned. There was little interest at first, but soon a murmur went up at the sight of strangers in the grotto. Naavos grinned, waving to several men and women as they passed. Soon they reached the large hall in the center of the settlement, and Naavos called the halt and jumped down from his horse.

The other men of his party also dismounted. Beaanor started off toward a handsome woman who had come out of the crowd and waited nearby. He paused after a few steps, looking back. He called to Esaaradan, motioning for the youngster to follow. With a reluctant glance at the travelers, the youth obeyed. Draagos, looking dour, remained beside his horse. Tolemaas and Kaandemos remained as well, though neither of the old men seemed angry.

Naavos turned to face his guests, still grinning. “Welcome, friends,” he said. “Welcome to the home of Rock Eagle Clan.”

***

“And now, my friends,” said Naavos, setting the beautifully painted fired-clay cup down on the bare earth floor in front of his crossed legs, “you must tell us of yourselves and your journey.”

They were seated together on the floor at one end of the settlement’s great hall, the long, low building Artas had seen in the center of the village. The floor was indeed dug down below the outside ground level, as he had suspected. The room was shadowy and cool despite the still rising heat of the day. Light filtered in through the open door, and through narrow slits set into the walls at intervals near the roof.

The meeting room was largely unfurnished. There were rugs piled up against the wall, and Naavos had provided one for each man to spread on the packed earth of the floor. They were seated on these rugs, each man with his legs crossed in front of him. In addition to Naavos, Draagos, Tolemaas and Kaandemos, there were three other men of Rock Eagle Clan facing the travelers. Each was an oldster, apparently the elders of the tribe.

Draagos sat somewhat apart from the older men, and there was a sense that he did not quite belong. However, no objection had been raised to his presence. Kaandemos had raised an eyebrow at the fiery tribesman, but that was all.

The four travelers sat facing the tribesmen. Artas sat beside Zander. Dristan sat to the archer’s other side, and Ector sat to Zander’s right. The two soldiers said nothing, both looking to their commander to speak. Artas decided likewise to let Zander do the talking. His idea of a wager had proved successful, but it had very nearly been the death of them all. He thought it best to keep his mouth shut for the time being.

So it was Zander who told the story. He laid it out simply and without embellishment, but he did not spare the details. He told the tribal elders of the warring kingdoms in the east, of the fall of Castle Locke and the fugitive princess, of the usurper Harald and his lust for ever greater conquest, and finally of their own small part in the conflict. Naavos and his fellows listened intently, occasionally asking questions which Naavos translated.

When Zander had finished the tale, the chief turned to the four oldsters at his side and they conferred briefly in hushed tones. Draagos still sat to one side, watching all of this without comment. The man’s sour, disgruntled expression was comment enough.

“So,” said Naavos when the discussion was ended. He nodded his head once, sharply, as if all was now understood. “You seek the fire worshippers. The path to their stronghold is treacherous, fraught with peril. But this path is known to us.”

“Then you’ll show us the way?” asked Zander hopefully.

Naavos held up a hand, one finger extended. His face turned pensive and he pursed his lips in hesitation. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “A guide can take you as far as the foothills beneath their place of power, yes. But there is first something you must do in return. We are friends, yes? And friends are never in one another’s debt.”

Zander’s face fell, but he quickly schooled his features. He spread his hands and smiled. “Friend, I feel indebted to you already for the gift of shelter from the sun, and the water for ourselves and our horses. We would be happy to help the Rock Eagle Clan in any way we can. Tell me, what is it you require of us?”

The chieftain’s lips twitched with a hint of amusement, but when he spoke there was no humor in his words. His eyes were steady and serious.

“Not far from here lies a strange ruin,” said Naavos. “Made of wood, it is like no dwelling built by any clan. It stands half-buried in the shifting sands. My people call it the mish’an gro, the oasis of ghosts. Each month, when the nightsun reaches full, the ghosts return from the spiritland to stride once more upon the sand. These ghosts trouble my people. Each month, we lose goats and horses and sometimes even young men, foolish young men who seek to prove their bravery by daring the open desert on the night of the full nightsun.”

Artas shifted uncomfortably. Ector and Dristan exchanged a look over their companions’ shoulders. But Zander sat still, listening politely. His face betrayed no reaction to the story. Behind impassive eyes, however, the commander was curious. He did not believe in marauding ghosts, so there must be some natural explanation. Yet Naavos and his fellow tribesmen, though in many ways primitive, did not seem stupid.

They were hard men, and practical as hard men often are. Their way of life was less advanced than that of the eastern kingdoms, but they lived in a harsh wasteland that offered little comfort. Yet they had been fair in their dealings with Zander and his fellows. They were civilized. Even so, as Naavos spoke of these “ghosts,” the other oldsters, and even Draagos, Zander was shocked to see, drew their limbs close against their bodies and made warding signs against evil with their hands.

“My people fear these ghosts,” Naavos admitted. He shrugged his shoulders. “Most of us remain in our settlement when the nightsun reaches full. We herd our goats into the pens and keep them there, so they will not be taken. But still, there are losses. The next day we find tracks, sign of the ghosts. It is a bad business.”

“And you want us to… what, slay these ghosts somehow?” Though he was sure that whatever was stealing the goats was natural - some predatory animal, most likely, or even warriors of a rival clan - Zander was reluctant to pledge assistance.

“The nightsun will be full in two day’s time,” said Naavos. “This evening I will take you to the place called oasis of ghosts. You will see. And tomorrow you will return there as the sun sets, and be ready when these spirits emerge.”

The chieftain sat back, resting his hands on his thighs. He frowned, considering. Then he spoke again. “If you succeed in slaying the ghosts, my people will owe you much. I do not expect this. But you are of the east lands. Your own clans are powerful and wise, are they not? I wish you to see these spirits with your wise eyes, that you may help me understand this danger to my people.”

“That’s it?” Artas clamped his mouth shut almost before the words were out, but all eyes turned to him. He felt his face flush, and stammered to cover his embarrassment. He looked askance at Zander. “I mean, it sounds perfectly simple.”

“That it does,” agreed Zander, though he still had reservations. Naavos had told them that young men died trying to prove their bravery. Still, looking back to the tribal elders, he saw they had little choice if they wanted the clan’s help in reaching Marawi. “Very well,” he said. “We will do this thing, Naavos.”

19

The dungeons of Castle Villeroy were dank and foul.

Water dripped from the ceiling and trickled down the rough stone blocks of the walls. Droplets snaked their way over chain links and under the manacles binding her wrists. Her hair was soaked through, plastered down against her skull. Sodden clumps of white hair hung down her brow to leak rivulets down the sides of the once-proud, aristocratic face.

The Duchess D’Anjou blinked the water from her eyes and gave her head a feeble shake, but the wet hair clung to her forehead and the ache in her shoulders flared in protest. The Duchess gasped, instinctively pulling against the chains from which she hung against the damp wall.

Thick iron manacles chafed at her wrists. An iron band bolted to the stone circled her waist loosely, holding her in if not up. The Duchess’ full weight hung from the chains bolted above, spreading her arms in a Y over her head. Her bare feet dangled a pace off the grimy floor.

Her upper body was a mass of pain, from the tearing burn in the shoulders and underarms to the dull but no less insistent ache spreading through her lower back and upper arms. She sucked down a ragged breath and forced her head up.

The Duchess was in a narrow chamber, fixed to one of the long walls. Five sets of manacled chains hung loose on the opposite wall. A heavy wooden door, reinforced with iron bars, dominated the shorter wall to her right. Torches hung in brackets to either side of the door, unlit.

Now the door opened with shrieking hinges that had not been oiled in years. Light burst into the cell, spilling from the cramped corridor beyond. The Duchess squinted against the glare. There were two shapes in the doorway, dim shadows she could not make out. One of these silhouettes came forward into the cell, holding a burning torch. He touched the flame first to one, and then the other of the torches that hung beside the door. Then he turned and passed the torch to the other shadow. That one retreated and the door closed between them, leaving one man inside the cell and the other without.

Her visitor approached closer and the Duchess recognized him at last. Not that she had harbored much doubt about his identity. Since she had been chained to the wall, none had entered the room. Not even her jailer had appeared to bring nourishment. Like most prisoners in the Villeroy dungeons, the Duchess D’Anjou may as well have died or simply ceased to exist. She fully expected to die here, of starvation or sheer exhaustion.

Even so, she was not surprised that Harald had come. The usurper still had questions. Questions, she knew, which he dared not ask before an assemblage of the royal court. No, for the answers would reveal his duplicity. He would ask his questions here, in the shadows, amidst the foul stench of death and neglect to which he had consigned her.

“Duchess.”

Had there been moisture in her mouth, she would have spat in his face. She felt nothing but disgust for this man who stood before her, peering up at her shackled body with perverse pleasure. It was in his voice as well, a sick joy at seeing her brought low. Yet there was another note in his voice, one of uncertainty and perhaps even fear.

Yes, thought the Duchess. Harald yet knows that his victory is anything but assured.

She took comfort in that fact. Her own death was a certainty, she felt. But the usurper would not prevail. The Duchess clung to her faith in that, and her faith in her family. Myriam was young, but she had persevered this far. Accompanied by that gentle giant Ganry, she had escaped this madman and made her way to Castle Locke. She was free still, the Duchess knew. Else Harald would not be here now.

And Hendon. That young man had been drawn to Myriam, or she to him. It did not matter. At long last, that line had rejoined the family. And Linz. The boy had been a surprise, though not a shock. The Duchess had known Myriam must pass through the forest, and there had always been the possibility of her encountering the Lake Men. It was good that Linz had come after her, joining them at Locke. But had they discovered his heritage? Had Myriam figured out the puzzle of the ancient mural? Would she find what she needed to find?

Faith. The Duchess closed her eyes, turning her head as far away from Harald as she could manage, and clung to her faith. The usurper would be undone. She refused to contemplate any other outcome. Her own death was insignificant. She was an old woman. The D’Anjou line would not end with her. That was enough.

She felt something cool against her lips. The water spilled into her mouth, nearly choking her.

“Drink, witch.” Harald’s voice held no joy now. He had seen her defiance, seen its strength. He recognized her faith, though he could not know its source. How it must vex him. The anger was there, in his voice. “Drink,” he commanded again.

The Duchess allowed the water to wash down her throat. The cold spread down into her body, and she imagined she could feel it pouring into her stomach, trickling into her organs. There was a brief respite of the pain in her parched mouth and throat, but it did not last. She ached but she would not show it. She looked down at the usurper with undisguised contempt. Hanging disheveled and in agony, she faced the man in his rich finery and she sneered at him.

“Whatever you want, usurper,” she rasped, “you’ll not find it here.”

Harald’s smile was cold, almost predatory. His eyes blazed with anger.

“So far,” he told her, “you have not been harmed. Oh, we’ve strung you up to the wall and left you to rot. To be sure. And you’ll die soon, unless I should be convinced to spare you. I wouldn’t hold out much hope on that account, were I you.”

“Death is the ultimate destiny of us all,” said the Duchess. “Only the manner of its coming is uncertain.”

“How right you are.” There was a dangerous undertone in his words now, soft and silken in its menace. He stood very close to her. She could feel the heat of his rage radiating. The Duchess squirmed away, pressing her back to the slime-coated wall.

“Your death,” Harald continued, “may be the result of starvation, thirst, and neglect. Or I might have my jailers beat you to death. They’re quite good at it. They can make it last for days, you know. Days and days of unyielding pain. Does that interest you, witch?”

“Nothing you have to say interests me, usurper.”

Again that cold smile, those burning eyes. “You will tell me what I want to know.”

“I think not.”

“You will tell me where to find my wayward niece.” Harald continued as if he had not heard her denial. “And you will tell me about these cursed stones.”

She could not quite hide her reaction.

“Yes,” said Harald. “I know of the Stones of Berghein. What I don’t know, witch, is the nature of the threat they pose. How your wretched granddaughter expects to use them against me. But you’re going to tell me all I need to know. You think you will not. You think you can resist.”

The usurper rose up on his tiptoes, bringing his grinning face within an inch of her own. His breath was fetid with sour wine. His skin shone under a fine film of sweat, the skin waxen and pale. His lips curled in a disgusting sneer and he stroked the Duchess’ cheek with two fingers of one hand.

“You are mistaken, witch,” he promised. “You are going to talk. And you’re going to talk soon.”

20

Dawn was yet three hours off, and the floating village of the Lake Men was still and quiet. The exterior lanterns had all been extinguished when the last fishing boats returned to dock, and the waning moon cast a pale light over the pilings and boardwalks. A mist had risen off the water, thickening into a foggy shroud around the wooden buildings of Halawa.

Inside those huts and houses, the people of the lake slept. Soon they would wake. Men would rise yawning and stretching, ready for another day in their boats. Their women and the children too young for the boats would start the daily chores. So it had been for uncounted generations, since their distant ancestors sank the first wooden piling deep into the water and the silty bottom beneath. And so, many of these people imagined, would life continue on into a future as vague and misty as the fog which now surrounded their modest city.

The waters of the lake lapped at the pilings with tiny splashes. Occasionally, a louder splash sounded somewhere on the lake as a fish jumped or a water dragon lashed its armored tail. From the distant, muddy shores came the night call of insects and other creatures. And, on the wood plank streets of Halawa, there was another sound. It was a soft clicking, scritching, scratching type of sound, as of nails drumming against a wall or the claws of some creature loping over an unfamiliar and artificial ground.

In their suite of rooms in the chieftain’s house, Myriam and her companions did not hear this sound. The princess was not asleep, and neither was Ganry. Likewise, the boy Linz lay wide awake on his thin mattress. Only Hendon had found slumber this night, and his dreams were restless and fitful. He moaned softly in his sleep and turned over and then back again. In the common room at the center, Ganry sat beside the open pool in the floor and slowly sharpened the great sword Windstorm’s blade.

Elsewhere in the house, the chief of the Lake Men lay abed with sweat on his sleeping brow. Clay’s skin was flushed, his breathing shallow and ragged. Beside the chief’s bed, Clay’s sister Lisl dozed on a cushion. She had not left her brother’s side for several days, ever since he began to weaken. She shifted in her sleep, troubled by an old nightmare.

Unheard by any in the house, an exterior door slid open on its track. A shadow slipped into the chief’s house, shrouded by the seeping mist. It crept through the hall, as it had done each night for the past week.

In the guest quarters, Ganry slid his whetstone down the length of his sword. Windstorm had belonged to his father. The Grimlock-forged blade was all he had left of that life. He cared for the sword the way another might care for his children. Cleaning and maintaining the blade was a kind of peaceful meditation for Ganry, whose vagabond life offered few other avenues of relaxation.

The scrape of stone on steel calmed him. Each motion was precise and mechanical. Ganry likely could have performed the task in his sleep. As he often did, the warrior allowed his thoughts to wander as he worked. Pondering the chain of events which had brought him once more to this hidden place, Ganry did not hear the faint scraping of the door that opened, or the almost inaudible click of claws on wood as a shadow crept down the hall.

But he heard the scream that came a moment later.

Ganry leaped to his feet seconds before Myriam burst in from the adjacent sleeping chamber. Linz came rushing out behind her, his eyes wide with fright. The princess grabbed hold of the young boy. He struggled against her, mindless, his only thought to reach the source of that scream: his mother.

“Linz, wait!”

Ganry threw open the door, leaving Linz to Myriam. Sword in hand, he pounded down the corridor toward the bedchamber of the chief. Rounding a corner, he saw that the door stood open. A massive shadow fell through the door, slanting across the hall. Ganry never slowed down as he charged into Clay’s room.

He took in the scene within at a glance. Lisl stood by the wall, hands clapped to her face, mouth open in a soundless scream. Her terrified, bulging eyes were fixed on the creature standing stooped over the bed.

The creature was as tall as Ganry, perhaps even taller. Its scaly, greenish-gray skin glistened wetly. It stood upright on two thick legs that ended in large, three-toed feet. It had a stiff tail, covered with the same scaly hide and tapering to a point behind it. Its arms bulged with muscle. The clawed hands gripped Clay by the front of the chief’s nightshirt, lifting the limp form bodily from the bed. The monster’s head was a flat, triangular wedge with a gaping maw bristling with jagged teeth. Baleful eyes rolled madly atop the head.

The Rooggaru snarled when it saw Ganry. It released Clay, and the chief flopped lifelessly back on his bed. Ganry had no chance to see if the chief yet lived. The monster turned and rushed him, claws scything through the air.

***

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Hendon shuffled out into the common room and stifled a yawn. His eyes fell on Myriam, still holding the struggling Linz.

“What’s happening?”

“We heard a scream,” the princess told him. “Ganry went to investigate.”

“It was my mother,” cried Linz, wrenching his whole body back and forth in the effort to escape Myriam’s restraining grip. “The Rooggaru! The Rooggaru is attacking my mother! Let me go!”

“Help me, Hendon,” Myriam shouted over the boy. Hendon rushed over, still blinking away sleep. Putting himself between Linz and the still-open door to the hall, he got down on his knees and took the boy by the shoulders.

“Linz,” he said, catching and holding the boy’s eyes and not raising his voice. The lad’s struggles began to subside, though he still pulled half-heartedly. “Linz,” Hendon repeated. “Listen to me. You must calm down. Nothing can be accomplished by rushing blindly into the unknown.”

“But…” Linz was panting with exertion. He drew a deep, shuddering breath. Hendon realized the boy was on the verge of tears. “The Rooggaru … my mother…”

“Ganry will stop… whatever it is,” said Myriam. Her eyes flashed up, catching Hendon’s. He could see the princess was skeptical about this Rooggaru. Still, something was happening. There had been that scream. The princess frowned in thought. “Go after him, Hendon. We’ll stay here.”

Hendon nodded, then returned his attention to Linz. “You will stay here with Myriam?”

Snuffling, Linz said that he would. Pausing only to grab his stout walking staff from where it leaned against a wall, Hendon rushed out into the corridor. Sounds of struggle reached him from around the corner. Hendon hurried toward the sound, frightened of what he might find when he reached Clay’s room.

Just as he rounded the corner, Ganry came backpedaling out of the Lake chief’s bed chamber. The large warrior’s sword flashed in the dim light, cleaving the air in the narrow hall. Snarling and snapping its jaws, a seven foot monster pursued him. It lurched, dodging the swinging sword, and swiping out at Ganry with the fearsome claws of its taloned hand.

Hendon drew up short, jaw dropping open. Like the others, he had been skeptical of Linz’s story of the Rooggaru. Though they had seen many wonders, Hendon simply had not believed there could be such a creature. But here it was, standing before him. It was very much like one of the water dragons that inhabited the lake, though with the longer limbs of a man.

Ganry slashed at the Rooggaru again, and the dragon man ducked the attack. Bent forward almost double, the creature charged. There was no room to retreat or dodge aside in the cramped corridor. Ganry stumbled back, checking his mighty swing and attempting to bring Windstorm down and around in time to check the Rooggaru’s assault.

“Ganry!”

Hendon started forward, but there was little he could do to help his friend. Ganry crashed against the wall. Wood splintered under the impact, but held. Windstorm flashed. The Rooggaru howled in frustration and pain, staggering back from its human prey. The Grimlock blade had bitten reptilian flesh. Thick, black blood dribbled down one of the dragonman’s arms from a shallow cut below the shoulder.

Panting, Ganry sidestepped away from the creature and adjusted his two-handed grip on Windstorm’s hilt. The creature snarled a challenge, opening its triangular jaws wide and snapping them shut with incredible force. Its eyes blazed hatred. Shifting its weight from side to side, it held its scaly arms out to the sides and hissed.

“Stay back, Hendon,” Ganry called over his shoulder. “I’ll handle this beast.”

Hendon shook his head in amazement. “But what is it?”

“It’s Linz’s Rooggaru, I suppose,” answered Ganry. “But whatever manner of beast it is, it bleeds. If it bleeds, it can die!”

So saying, Ganry leapt forward. Windstorm lashed out. The Rooggaru’s sibilant hiss became a shriek. The creature threw itself aside, slamming into the splintered wall where Ganry had hit a moment ago. This time the strained timber gave way beneath the fresh assault, and the Rooggaru broke through.

“Not so fast, beast!” Ganry sprinted to the hole in the wall and jumped through after the creature.

Hendon ran to the place they had disappeared, staring through the splintered aperture. On the other side of the wall was an exterior walkway that circled the house. Beyond the edge of this walkway was open water stretching twenty yards to the next nearest house, almost invisible in the thick fog that filled the night. Just as Hendon reached the opening, he heard a titanic splash. The dark water below swirled turbulently, the only sign that Ganry and the Rooggaru had passed this way.

“Hendon!”

He turned from the ruined wall to see Myriam at the corner, still holding Linz by the shoulders. The boy stood before her, no longer struggling to get free. He was shivering, but with a visible effort the boy got his terror under control.

“It was… it must have been this Rooggaru,” Hendon told Myriam. He shook his head. “Ganry chased it out. I think they went into the lake.”

“The lake!” Linz broke away from Myriam, dashing over to where Hendon stood. He stared out into the misty night, shaking his head in helpless denial.

“Linz!” It was Lisl, standing now in the doorway to Clay’s room. “Oh, Linz, thank the gods you’re unharmed!”

“Lisl, is Clay all right?” Myriam hurried past Hendon and Linz to the shaken woman. Lisl sagged forward into Myriam’s arms, forcing the princess to support her. Looking over Lisl’s shoulder, Myriam saw Clay sprawled half on and half off his bed. The chief’s head lolled back, and his eyes stared upward without seeing.

“He’s dead,” sobbed Lisl. Her hands were like claws, digging into Myriam’s arms. “Oh, gods! My brother is dead!”

Myriam looked back at the others. She did not know what to do or what to say. Hendon shook his head slowly. There wasn’t much they could do. Beside him, the boy Linz was still staring out into the misty night. But now he turned from the shattered wall. His expression was grim.

“Ganry went out after the Rooggaru,” he said in a quiet, flat tone of voice. “They went into the water. I’m sorry, Myriam. I’m so sorry. Ganry is dead.”

21

Though the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, it was still uncomfortably hot. Artas tugged at the loose robe he had been given, trying to get comfortable. He felt Zander’s disapproving gaze and stilled the motion. The evening would cool off rapidly, he knew. He supposed he would just have to wait.

Together with Naavos, the two travelers lay prone atop the crest of a sinuously curving dune. Ector and Dristan had remained behind in the clan’s settlement. This was only a scouting foray. Naavos had brought them to see this “oasis of ghosts” that caused his people such consternation.

“It’s a ship,” said Artas in a tone of wonder.

“It was once,” corrected Zander.

Artas looked again down the sloping dune. They were perched above a low area surrounded by several of the shifting dunes. In the center of this valley of sand lay the ruined remains of a large, ocean-going vessel. The craft lay half buried in the sand, leaning crazily to one side.

The wooden structure was broken. Here a jagged spar jutted up from the rail; there, a gaping hole had been blasted through the hull. In the dry climate of the wastes, the wood had not rotted. Sunlight glinted off brass in blinding reflection. It was impossible to guess how long the hulk had lain here, so far from any body of water.

“It must be ancient,” mused Zander. “More ancient than the desert. At one time, this whole area must have been underwater.”

“It is said that long ago there was much water,” Naavos interjected. “I have never believed that. It is a story for children.”

“It looks like it might be true,” said Zander, gesturing down toward the shipwreck.

Naavos followed Zander’s finger, nodding to himself. The desert tribesman had never seen an ocean. In fact, he had never seen any body of water larger than a small stream. He had no concept of the sea, nor did any of his people. It was little wonder they had never been able to identify this alien structure in their desert.

“That is a… water craft, you say?” asked the chieftain.

“Yes, it’s a ship. Or it was, once, long ago.” Zander frowned. “I don’t recognize the design. But then, why should I? It must be centuries old. It’s a wonder there’s anything left of it after all this time.”

“There’s no moisture to rot the wood,” pointed out Artas.

“Presumably there was at one time, though.” Zander cocked his head thoughtfully to one side. “I wonder what happened? Could an entire ocean vanish so quickly that the ship would be stranded? Or were they wrecked, run aground, maybe, before the water disappeared?”

Artas shrugged. He couldn’t see that it made any difference what had happened so long ago. He looked down at the distant ship. Now that the sun had sunk below the horizon, the brass fittings no longer gleamed with their blinding light and he was able to examine the wreck more closely. He shook his head in slow wonder.

“Come, my friends,” said Naavos, breaking into the young man’s thoughts. “We should return to the settlement before the last light goes.”

“I thought you said it would be safe tonight,” said Zander sharply.

“And safe it should be,” replied Naavos. “The full nightsun is not until tomorrow night. But just the same, I prefer not to linger in this place when night falls.”

Without waiting for a reply, Naavos slid backward down the dune face until he could stand upright without being visible on the other side of the crest. Artas quickly followed suit, but Zander remained where he was. Artas looked back up at him, questioning.

“The two of you go on ahead,” Zander said. “I want to stay a while.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes.” Zander waved them off. “I remember the way back.”

“The sands can be misleading, especially at night,” cautioned Naavos.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way.”

Artas was reluctant to leave Zander behind, but it was clear that Naavos would not stay. He waved farewell and hurried after the tribal chief. It was not a long distance, and they had come on foot rather than ride and risk the horses in the dark. Half an hour after leaving Zander on the dune top, they had returned to the canyon-protected settlement. It was fully dark by then, and the nightfires were burning in the open area.

The whole clan was gathered around the central longhouse, awaiting them. Dristan and Ector came forward as Artas and Naavos approached the bonfire. The pair saw at once that Zander had not returned. Dristan fixed Artas with a sharp, questioning glance.

“Zander wanted to remain behind,” he explained.

The two soldiers gathered in close, pressing Artas for details. He told them what he had seen, but it didn’t amount to much. The oasis of ghosts appeared to be nothing more than some ancient shipwreck, a relic from another age. Ector questioned him closely, but there was little more that Artas could add.

Before long, Zander appeared in the camp. He motioned the others aside, and they joined him some distance from the fire. Artas looked back and saw Naavos watching them from his place with the clan. The young archer was about to turn back to his friends when he caught sight of another man watching them. Draagos, realizing he had been seen, glowered and turned away.

“I saw no ghosts,” Zander was saying, when Artas returned his attention to the commander. “More importantly, I saw no fires lit as the night drew in. Nor was there any sign of horselines, or latrine pits, or any other indication. If there are men camping in the shipwreck, they lit no fires and they keep their camp concealed within the ruin.”

“You think the ‘ghosts’ are just men?” asked Artas, who had not thought of that before.

“It was my first thought,” said Zander. “Raiders from another one of the desert tribes, most likely. But the desert night gets cold very quickly. I would light fires, if it were me camped out in the waste. Still, the tribesfolk must be more accustomed to this climate than we.”

“A ship as large as you describe, perhaps a fire could be hidden. It would difficult to see the smoke rising in the darkness, and the remnants of the hull could block the light.”

“That’s true, Ector,” admitted Zander. Then he shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. But whether it be men or spirits that inhabit that ancient ruin, tomorrow night we’re going to find out.”

22

“I refuse to believe that Ganry is dead.”

Myriam, arms crossed over her chest, stared Hendon in the eye as if daring him to contradict her. The two of them were alone in the common area of the guest chambers. Hendon sat, feeling numb. Myriam had been pacing back and forth before the open pool in the center of the floor. From time to time, she glared down into the water.

Hendon did not have the heart to argue with her. Truth be told, he too could not believe it. Ganry de Rosenthorn was a formidable man and a proven warrior. Moreover, he was a survivor. It was hard to accept that anything could kill the former mercenary. But it had been more than three hours since Ganry and the Rooggaru disappeared into the lake. If their friend was alive, where was he?

“Myriam…”

“He’s alive, Hendon.” The princess stopped pacing and stood facing him, arms still crossed defiantly. She shook her head. “I know it, all right?”

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Myriam considered. “That creature may have carried him off to its lair.”

“Carried him off…? Myriam, listen to yourself. Why would the Rooggaru do something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Myriam said again. She chewed her lip in thought. “Didn’t Linz say the creature fed on the blood of its victims? Think about it. Clay has been wasting away for days, long before we got here. And the Rooggaru came here tonight to finish him off. Apparently it kills its victims slowly, over time. It probably thinks Ganry can be its next meal.”

Hendon sighed, shaking his head. “Don’t you think Ganry would have something to say about that, if he were still alive?”

“Alive doesn’t mean he’s awake, Hendon.” Myriam spun on her heels and stalked toward the door into the hall. Her expression was determined, and Hendon leaped to his feet in alarm.

“Where are you going?”

“To talk to Linz and his mother,” answered the princess, already halfway out the door. “Come on.”

Hurrying after her, Hendon kept his misgivings to himself. He recognized the focus in Myriam’s strides, and knew it would do no good trying to dissuade her. He caught up to her just as she entered the main room of the house, where an ailing Clay had received them the previous evening.

The body was laid out on a bier, hastily erected where the dead chief’s chair had been. A dark shroud covered the corpse. Lisl and her son, dressed in the dark colors of mourning, knelt before the bier with heads bowed and their eyes closed. A small number of Halawans stood nearby, eyes downcast, sharing in the communal sorrow. The people of the hidden city had been filing in and out since dawn to pay their respects to the fallen leader.

The subdued and muted atmosphere gave Hendon pause, but Myriam did not break stride. She crossed the room and stopped behind Linz and his mother. For the first time, the princess appeared to hesitate. Placing one hand on the shoulder of each, she bowed her head for a moment in respect.

Linz opened his eyes, glancing up. His heavy expression altered subtly, but from where he stood Hendon could not guess the boy’s thoughts. Lisl, too, opened her eyes, though she did not raise her head. Her thin lips set into a pale line and she drew a deep, resigned breath.

“I need to speak with you,” said Myriam softly. “I’m very sorry for your loss, both of you, but it is urgent.”

“You should not be here,” hissed Lisl, a flush of anger touching her pale cheeks. She shrugged her shoulder, dislodging Myriam’s hand.

“Mother, don’t,” said Linz.

“My brother was right,” said his mother, ignoring his protest. “When the outsiders first came upon our waters, Clay wanted them executed for their trespass. But you chose to free them, Linz, and I allowed my soft heart to persuade me. I even sent you away to them, thinking your gifts had some purpose in the outside world. Now, look what has befallen our people!”

“Mother, stop!” The boy’s voice was firm and laced with a tightly controlled anger. He reached over to his mother, gripping her by one arm. “This isn’t Myriam’s fault. The Rooggaru killed my uncle. That monster has frightened our people since time immemorial. Its return has nothing to do with my friends.”

Lisl glared at her son but said nothing. Deliberately, and holding his mother’s gaze, Linz rose to his feet. He turned slowly to Myriam and offered a faint smile. “You want to go after the monster,” he said. “You think Ganry might still be alive.”

“Whether he is or not,” said Myriam.

Linz nodded. “Yes.”

“No!”

Lisl bounded to her feet and seized the young boy in her arms, pulling him bodily away from Myriam. Rounding on the princess, the protective mother bared her teeth in a fierce expression. But Linz pulled away from his mother, pushing her back.

“Stop it,” he told her, and there was no mistaking the note of command in his voice. A change had come over the boy in the past few hours. Now that Clay was dead, Linz would be the new chief of the Lake Men. He was young, perhaps too young for such a responsibility. But it was his, and one look at him now was enough to see that he had accepted that burden.

Lisl wilted beneath her son’s commanding scrutiny. She could not fail to note the new poise and confidence he displayed. Where there had once been an uncertain boy, now there stood a bold young man. She found she could not meet his eyes.

“Mother,” said Linz, his tone softening. He stepped close to her, lowering his voice so the other mourners would not hear. “I am chief now. It is not proper for you to tell me what to do, even if you are my mother. And you are, and you always will be, my beloved mother. Never doubt that. But this is something I must do.”

Finished, the new, young chief turned back to Myriam.

“I think I know the way,” he said.

***

Linz guided the boat expertly up to the dock, and Hendon leaned over the side with the rope to tie them up alongside. The sun had risen high in the east, but a heavy mist lay all across the lake. The fog diffused the morning light, turning the world into a gray-white dreamscape.

In that misty morning, the lakeside temple looked much different than it had the last time they passed this way. Myriam sat in the rear of the little boat, looking up at the shadowy edifice of ancient stone that sat alongside the water. It seemed dark and foreboding, and there was a heavy feeling in the air that she was sure was more than just her imagination.

“Ghaffar has not returned,” said Linz, laying his paddle down in the bottom of the boat. Dusting off his hands, he stood studying the mist-shrouded temple where they had met the enigmatic monk. Ghaffar had helped them before, and it had been he who brought Linz to Castle Locke some weeks ago.

When the monk had departed the Berghein Valley, he had given no indication of his destination. Myriam had assumed Ghaffar would return to this temple by the lake. But in truth, there was no reason to believe that. They knew next to nothing about the mysterious man who had helped them. She had only assumed that this place was his home.

Another question took precedence over her curiosity regarding Ghaffar. Turning to Linz, she wore a puzzled frown. “How do you know that?”

Linz looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.

“It’s just a… feeling,” he said. Then he quickly continued. “It has been many years since the Rooggaru plagued my people. No one living now can remember the creature ever appearing before. It has been so long that we began to think the tales were only myth. I believe that it was Ghaffar who kept the beast at bay all this time.”

“That makes a kind of sense,” said Hendon, who had climbed onto the dock and finished securing their boat with a length of rope tied round one of the pilings. “I always suspected there was much more to that man than he let on. Although I don’t know how he could have done it. I only saw that thing for a second, but it certainly put the fear in me.”

“The Rooggaru is fearsome,” agreed Linz. Then he bent down and retrieved the long-hafted spear that had lain in the bottom of the boat. Hefting it, he stood upright with a determined expression. “But I believe it is an animal, flesh and blood. I have seen this night that it is no myth. And only a myth cannot be killed.”

“You’re sure about this, then.” Without waiting for his reply, Myriam smiled encouragingly at Linz and climbed out of the boat. The young Lake chief climbed out after her. “Where to?”

Linz pointed to the temple. “I believe the entrance to the creature’s lair is within,” he explained.

Hendon caught Myriam’s eye, raising his eyebrows in question. Linz seemed to know where they needed to go, but the lad had not offered any explanation for this knowledge. He kept insisting that this Rooggaru had not been seen for generations, that he himself had always thought it was just a story to frighten children. So how did he know where to find its lair?

Myriam shook her head, stilling Hendon’s questions. She had her own suspicions as to the answers. But Linz apparently did not want to talk about that yet. She was willing to respect that for the time being. Right now, tracking the monster was what mattered. That, and rescuing Ganry.

If the warrior was still alive, that is.

“Let’s go, then,” she said.

Hendon caught her arm as Myriam started up the steps leading from the dock to the temple. Her head whipped around. “What?”

“Maybe you should let us go first,” said Hendon. Myriam opened her mouth to object. “Highness, please.”

Myriam swallowed what she had been about to say. She was eager to rescue Ganry. And the threat from the Rooggaru was no greater to her than to either of the others. But Hendon was right. She was the rightful queen of Palara. If she were killed… well, their whole quest wouldn’t have much point. She didn’t have to like it, though.

“All right,” she relented. But she drew the dagger Harkan from her belt, brandishing the milk-white blade in the misty morning light. She was not some fragile little girl, and her companions had better not forget it. Hendon smiled as though he understood.

“I will go first,” said Linz, breaking the moment. The young man led the way up the steps, which were slippery from the mist. In moments, the trio stood before the entrance to the ancient stone temple. Moss hung from above, and creepers clung to the walls where they climbed from the thick, surrounding undergrowth. The oppressive atmosphere had grown heavier with every step.

A massive banyan tree grew near the entrance, its sprawling roots breaking through the centuries-old stone that covered the ground. Its branches hung over the gaping maw of the entryway, throwing deep shadows that enhanced the sense of gloom.

Linz straightened his shoulders and put on a resolute face. Ignoring his fear, he stepped into the temple. Hendon and Myriam, gripping their matched daggers, followed just behind. None of them noticed the great serpent where it lay coiled in concealment amongst the twisting, gnarled roots of the banyan tree.

As the trio passed within the ancient temple, the snake stuck its head out from its lair and tasted their scent with its long, forked tongue. Sensing prey, it slithered out from beneath the tree with a near-silent rasping of scales across wet stone. Foot after foot of its thick, serpentine body uncoiled from the natural den. All in all, the serpent was thirty feet from snout to the tip of its tail.

Hungry, the snake wound its way into the temple in pursuit of its meal.

23

“Linz, wait. We need a light.”

Hendon would have reached out to halt the younger man with a hand on the shoulder, but already he had lost Linz in the darkness. The exit behind them was a faint glow. The heavy mist seemed only to have thickened since they arrived, and it blocked out most of the sun’s light. The interior of the temple was a murky shadow realm that deepened to pitch black lightlessness within paces of the entrance.

“You’re right,” muttered Linz, sounding reluctant. The lad had led them in purposefully, his strides eating up the distance. He was eager. For the newly minted chieftain of the Lake Men, this was about more than rescuing a companion. He had his uncle to avenge. “Wait here.”

“What? Linz, wait-”

But the faint silhouette that was all Hendon could see of the Lake Man had vanished. Hendon squinted against the darkness, but could find no sign of Linz. Grumbling to himself, he turned toward the princess. He had been about to remark on their young friend’s rash haste, but the words died in his throat.

Myriam had been standing a pace behind him, bringing up the rear of their party. The princess had halted when Hendon stopped Linz. Unobserved by any of them, a tremendous serpent had slithered up behind Myriam and now, just as Hendon turned toward her, the monster struck.

The princess let out a yelp of shock and fear as the great snake enveloped her body with its coiling, sinuous length. The creature wrapped itself around and around the young woman, tightening its grip inexorably.

In the shadowy foyer of the ancient temple, Hendon could barely see the unfolding struggle. He started forward, shouting Myriam’s name. But before he could reach her, the serpent jerked the princess off her feet and dragged her away.

Following some instinct, or perhaps acting from sinister intelligence, the great snake dragged Myriam further from the light spilling through the entryway. In an instant, predator and victim had disappeared in the inky blackness of the temple interior.

“Linz!” Hendon spun about wildly, searching the darkness for his companions. “Linz, damn it! We need that light! Now!”

“What’s happening?” The voice came out of the darkness.

“Some kind of monster,” Hendon shouted back. “It’s got Myriam. Quick, the light!”

Hurried footsteps, and then Linz was back. Kneeling next to Hendon, the younger man fumbled with something in the darkness. Hendon shifted his weight from one foot to the other, impatient and anxious.

“Hurry,” he urged.

Linz struck flint and steel, producing a spark. Then again. On the third try, the mostly dry torch he had found caught. The flame was small and weak, but it held. The flickering light spread in a pale pool around the two.

“There!”

Several paces further into the murky temple, they saw the princess struggling with the demon serpent.

***

Myriam flailed about on the temple floor, fighting for her life. The snake encircled her, constricting. As the coils tightened round her, she felt the breath being squeezed out of her body. Her chest filled with fire as her ribs came near to breaking. And still the serpent tightened its implacable grip.

The reptile’s cold, scaly skin scraped against her own and sent shudders of revulsion through her. Myriam held tight to Harkan, struggling to get her hand free so she might stab at the monster. Suddenly its head reared up, the ugly, slitted eyes hanging before her own. The serpent’s glare was hypnotic and devoid of mercy.

Myriam wrenched her body, trying to break free. The snake held her tight. They rolled across the floor, tumbling madly. The beast’s yellow eyes stayed locked on her face. Its jaws broke apart, the lipless slit of its mouth opening wider. The forked tongue flickered in and out, lashing the air before her face. The terrible maw opened wider and wider. It was preparing to swallow her, the horrid jaws waiting to engulf her.

Twisting and squirming, Myriam at last managed to work her arm out from beneath the serpent’s coils. It hissed angrily, the breath fetid with the rotting scent of its last meal. The head drew back. Myriam knew that in a moment it would come forward again, to close around her head. She struck with every ounce of strength, driving the point of her blade into the monster’s throat.

Hissing in pain, the serpent reared up. Myriam was jerked off the floor and raised into the air, still hopelessly caught in the spiraling body of the snake. It shook her violently, constricting even tighter than before. Myriam gasped. She was being crushed. The pain in her torso was unbearable. Flailing madly, she stabbed at the beast again and again with Harkan. Cold black blood splashed into her face, but the snake still gripped her.

Myriam was weakening. Stars exploded in her blurred vision. Her lungs felt as if they would burst, and her ribs were being crushed. Stubborn to the last, she stabbed her tormentor again and again with Harkan’s blade. But her strength was flagging. Where were her friends?

Sensing its prey’s struggles weakening, the serpent drew its wide-stretched jaws closer and prepared to swallow the princess whole. Nearly blinded, on the verge of passing out from the lack of air, Myriam saw the dark maw swelling, blocking out every other sight as if it were swallowing the world. With the last of her defiance, she drove Harkan straight into that gaping pit of death.

The keen blade pierced the roof of the serpent’s mouth and bit deep. Thick blood spurted. The snake convulsed, its entire length going rigid in shock. And then, at last, with Myriam’s dagger buried to the hilt in its reptile brain, the demon reptile finally perished. Its crushing hold on the princess relaxed in death and Myriam tumbled free, coughing and spluttering.

Hendon appeared at her side, gripping her by the arms and turning her over onto her back. Myriam sucked in great, spasming breaths of blessed, cool air. The stars in her eyes faded. Her head spun and her chest heaved. But she was alive. Choking on a mad burst of laughter, she pressed her palms against the cold stone of the temple floor and tried to rise. But the last of her strength fled her body, and she collapsed into merciful darkness.

24

“I think she’s coming around.”

Hendon’s voice was distant and fuzzy around the edges. Somehow, Myriam seized on to the sound as though it were a lifeline and dragged herself up. With a sharply indrawn breath, the princess opened her eyes and sat up. A wave of dizziness swept over her and she nearly collapsed over sideways, but Hendon caught her in his arms and held her steady until her head cleared.

“Easy,” he said, his voice soft and full of concern.

“Is she all right?” Linz crouched nearby, the flickering torch gripped in one hand and his long-handled fishing spear clutched in the other. He peered at Myriam, his eyes bright with the same concern she heard in Hendon’s voice. Myriam scowled and, ignoring the lingering pain in her chest, got her feet underneath her.

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

“Highness,” said Hendon. “We should get you back to Halawa. You need a healer…”

“I said I’ll be fine.”

Hendon’s face registered disapproval. He rose to his feet alongside her, hands still outstretched to offer steadiness. Myriam pushed him gently away and gave him a stern look.

“We should keep moving,” said Linz, also getting to his feet. Without waiting for a reply, he turned away and started deeper into the temple. Hendon glanced after him, the disapproval in his expression deepening. Myriam touched him lightly on the shoulder and shook her head.

“We’re not leaving,” she said, quiet but firm. When he met her eyes, she saw his resistance weakening. “I’m not hurt seriously. Honestly, Hendon, I’ve been through worse. Now come on.”

Repressing a shudder of revulsion, Myriam leaned down to retrieve her dagger from the serpent’s corpse. Even in death, the monster made for a deeply unsettling sight. She knew that she would relive that death struggle in nightmares for many nights to come. But she lived, and the snake was dead. She wiped the black blood from her blade and straightened to follow after Linz.

The youth led the way purposefully, footsteps never faltering. Linz set a rapid pace, and Myriam hastened to catch up. She did not relish the idea of falling behind. Linz carried the only torch. As she trotted along behind him, the princess wondered about his strange certainty. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.

“Linz, have you been inside this temple before?”

“No.” He offered nothing further, and Myriam decided not to press him. Yet. But there was definitely something strange going on.

They penetrated deeper into the temple, following Linz and his guttering torch. The ancient stone walls shone with damp, and here and there a crumbling pillar appeared beneath creeping tendrils of vines and furry carpets of moss. It was altogether eerie in the torchlight, like a haunted tomb.

In fact, realized Myriam, that was precisely what this place was. How many victims had the Rooggaru carried off to this place over the years? This time there was no stopping the shudder that shot down her spine at the thought of the creature and the confrontation that was coming.

“Here,” whispered Linz, pausing at a dark opening in one wall. He cast his eyes back over his shoulder in a warning glance. “We’re close, now. Be ready.”

How could he know that? Again, Myriam held back her questions. She had her suspicions about it, but now was not the time for such a discussion. There would be time enough to interrogate Linz about his unexplained knowledge after they rescued Ganry. Assuming, that was, they all survived the attempt.

Through the doorway, Linz led the way down a gently spiraling stairwell. The stone was smooth and damp beneath their feet, covered over in places with thick moss. The passage narrowed as they descended, and the air grew chilly. They crept down the stairs, keeping close together and straining to move silently. The oppressive atmosphere grew heavier with each step.

Eventually there appeared the faint glow of light ahead and below, around the bending stairwell. Linz paused again, chewing his lip for a moment before he thrust his torch down at the floor to extinguish it against the stone. The weak flame died quickly, and Linz carefully lowered the torch so it would not make a sound. Then, little more than a dim silhouette against the faint illumination, he nodded to his companions.

They crept forward slowly. The light increased as they wound their way down the final levels of the stair. Hendon pushed his way in front of Myriam, giving her a stern glance she could barely see in the weak light. Part of her wanted to protest, but she kept silent.

The stairs terminated in a tiny antechamber with a single doorway directly in front of them. The light spilled through that doorway from a much larger chamber with a vaulted ceiling. The three companions stole up to the entrance, peeking through into the cavernous, subterranean room.

The light emanated from a low, massive stone brazier set in the center of the room. Waist-high, the firepit was more than two paces across. Intermittent tongues of flame leaped and danced over the bed of red-hot coals. The heat was palpable from all the way across the room, and the languid air was redolent with a rich, sickly-sweet smell like some form of incense.

All around the brazier, scattered haphazardly across the floor and piled high against the walls, was the greatest horde of treasure Myriam had ever imagined. Gemstones sparkled and gleamed in hues of red and gold, sapphire and emerald, sprinkled amongst mountains of gold coins and gilded ornaments. Jewelled chests spilled fountains of silks and brocades, or overflowed with coins of gold and silver. There were crowns and great, regal broadswords with gem-crusted hilts. There were plates of hammered gold and fine utensils of delicate ivory. It was an incalculable fortune.

But Myriam quickly forgot the great wealth that lay strewn carelessly about the hall. For there, visible through the shimmering haze of heat rising from the brazier, was a broad stone table with a large figure bound to it with great chains of iron. Flat on his back and strapped tight to the table, Ganry de Rosenthorn was still alive.

25

“Ganry!”

Forgetting herself, forgetting her companions and the danger, forgetting everything but the man strapped to the table, Myriam dashed forward into the treasure room. Cursing, Hendon made a grab for her as she shot past him. The princess evaded him, slipping through his grasp.

“Highness!”

Myriam ignored his shout, rushing to the man who had been her bodyguard and her friend. They had first met, not all that long ago, as strangers. Though her childhood tutor had vouched for the mercenary, Myriam had never met him before the day he spirited her away from Castle Villeroy. But in the short time since, he had become closer to her than any friend she had ever known. He was family. How could she not go to him?

She reached his side in seconds, grabbing for the chains that secured him to the table. Ganry was conscious, but barely. His sodden clothes clung to him, and his shirt had been torn away from his shoulders. There, just below the collar bone, was an angry red wound just beginning to form a scab. His face was bathed in sweat, and the rolling eyes were feverish and confused. They found her, strayed, came back and finally focused.

“Myriam…”

His voice was a harsh rattle in his throat. Ganry stirred, but could not lift his hand or move in any way. The chains bound him too tightly. Myriam searched for some fastening, some way to release him. He moaned softly and closed his eyes, working moisture into his dry throat.

“Myriam,” he said again. “What are you doing?”

“We came to rescue you,” she told him. “What else?”

“No…”

Ignoring his delirious protests, Myriam gave up on the chains and cast her eyes about for something to use, something to smash the fetters with. There! Ganry’s great sword, Windstorm, cast aside amongst the other treasure like so much worthless trash. He had told her of the sword, which had belonged to his father before him and been forged by the legendary Grimlock bladesmiths.

Thrusting Harkan into her belt, Myriam seized Windstorm’s hilt and raised up the dark blade. It was heavier than any weapon she had ever held, and she struggled to hold it up. Wrapping both hands tight round the leather-wrapped hilt, she lifted the sword ponderously over her head and prepared to strike at the chains binding her friend.

Before she could bring down the keen, dark blade, however, a furious shriek tore the air. Myriam whirled to face the direction of the terrible sound, and Windstorm fell heavily from her grip to clatter on the floor. Myriam gasped in shock and fear as she beheld the monstrous beast that had dropped down from above, to land on wide-spread feet between her and her two companions.

The Rooggaru rose from a crouch, its baleful eyes glaring at her full of menace. She had only glimpsed the creature before, when it had invaded Clay’s house in Halawa. Now it stood towering before her in its own lair, massive and powerful. It was enormous, larger even than the warrior Ganry. In the hellish light of the burning brazier, its gray-green scales glistened. The stiff tail swung lazily to and fro behind it, lashing the air.

The flat, triangular wedge of a head tilted back, and the gaping jaws fell open to reveal a savage mouthful of jagged, razor-sharp teeth as the Rooggaru roared again. Its howl was a primal screech out of nightmare. It raised its muscular arms, clenching its three-fingered hands into clawed fists of rage.

Myriam gaped at the monster, frozen in place by irrational terror. She had seen fanciful drawings of mythical dragons before. They had seemed frivolous to her, but no longer. If those legendary creatures had ever truly existed, and if they had somehow bred with humans, this creature before her must surely be the result. It was every inch a demon, a monster out of the darkest pits of hell.

Beyond the howling Rooggaru, Hendon and Linz had started into the room after her. Now they froze, just as Myriam did. The beast’s roar echoed through the hall and it lowered its head again to fix the princess in its grim stare. Her legs trembled beneath her. Windstorm lay forgotten at her feet.

Hendon was the first to break the paralysis. Dagger in hand, he charged forward. Heedless to his own danger, he bellowed a wordless challenge to the monstrous creature that threatened his princess. The Rooggaru pivoted at the hips, snarling at the little man who dared to defy it. Its burning eyes fell upon the dagger in Hendon’s hand and widened slightly. It roared again, almost as if in recognition.

A pace away from his target, Hendon leaped into the air in a diving tackle with his blade held high. The Rooggaru turned to meet him. One massive arm swung, connecting backhanded with the hurtling man. The sound of the crushing blow was terrible. Hendon’s warcry died in his throat as his body went tumbling aside. The dagger flew from limp fingers and Hendon crashed to the floor, rolling and sprawling amongst the loose treasure.

“Hendon!”

The Rooggaru whirled back to face Myriam, but its spell over her had been broken. Bending down, she took hold once more of Windstorm’s hilt. Lifting it up with all her strength, Myriam charged forward with the dark blade leveled like a jousting lance.

One green-scaled arm shot out, batting the heavy blade aside. Off-balance, Myriam stumbled forward under momentum. The Rooggaru’s other arm swung in an arc that raked its savage claws across her chest. Those claws tore gaping rents in the front of her shirt and dug into the unprotected flesh beneath. Myriam cried out in sudden, burning agony. The monster struck again, a backhand blow that caught her on the side of the head.

Dazed, Myriam staggered aside. Hot blood ran down her cheek. More of it soaked the front of her shirt. The Rooggaru advanced on her, raising its claws for a killing blow. It snarled, hot breath washing over her. Myriam fought to bring Windstorm back up to defend herself, but there was no strength left in her. One leg buckled and she fell to her knees before the enraged dragonman.

Releasing Ganry’s sword, she clawed at her belt and ripped Harkan free. She harbored little hope that the slender blade would avail her any better than the Grimlock broadsword, but she refused to die cowering on her knees. She would fight to her last breath, and if she must perish then she would do so with the ancestral blade of her family in her hand. She stared defiantly up at the hulking brute bearing down on her, and raised Harkan in both hands.

The Rooggaru caught sight of the milk-white blade. There was no mistaking the light of recognition in those cold, alien eyes this time. The monster had seen such a blade before. It knew the dagger, knew the brilliantly glowing Berghein Stone at its pommel. It roared again, a titanic bellow of hate and rage and remembered pain. It was right on top of her now. Despite her resolve, Myriam squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of the terrible blow…

That blow never fell. Instead, the dragonman howled again… this time in injured fury.

Myriam opened her eyes in astonishment, looking up at the beast that towered over her. The creature’s wedge-shaped head was lowered as it stared down at its own chest, where a length of bright steel had appeared jutting out from the scaly hide. That steel was the tip of a long fishing spear.

Linz stood behind the Rooggaru, his hands on the haft of his spear and a look of fierce determination warping his face into a mask of vengeance. The Lake Man’s dark eyes smoldered with it, and he wore a grim smile as he wrenched his weapon back and tore the ten-inch blade free of the creature that had plagued his people since time perennial.

Globs of black blood flew from the blade as it tore free of the gaping wound Linz had dealt. Forgetting Myriam for the moment in its pain and rage, the Rooggaru spun in place to face this new threat. It swiped its bloodstained claws for Linz, but the Lake Man danced back and jabbed with his spear. He continued to fall back as the dragonman pursued, its lumbering gait not slowed by the terrible injury.

Myriam could not relish her reprieve. Fighting to her feet, she gripped Harkan all the tighter. Her chest, so recently tortured by the great serpent above, was a mass of fire. She was woozy from the blood loss. But the fight was not over, not by a long shot. Linz was keeping the beast at bay, but for how long?

She cast her eyes about and found Hendon. Shaking himself, the slender man was just now regaining his feet. He lifted his head and took in the scene at a glance. Myriam called out to him and he looked sharply her way. She waved the dagger over her head, hoping he would understand.

“The Stones,” she cried, hoping she was right.

Understanding flashed in his eyes, and he hurriedly searched the floor around himself for his own dropped dagger. Hendon had not failed to note the hint of recognition in the Rooggaru’s reaction to his blade. He thought he knew what Myriam was thinking, and he knew instinctively that she was right. Their family, if the legend was to be believed, had once fought dragons. What was this monster, if not the spawn of dragons?

Linz continued his retreat. He stabbed again and again at the monster. The Rooggaru was wary of the spear at first, having felt its bite. But as the struggle wore on, the dragonman grew bolder. It deflected the spear with its scale-covered arms, turning aside the strikes and suffering only small cuts in the process. Linz gritted his teeth and pressed his attack.

Hendon spied the dagger and dove to retrieve it. Seizing it by the hilt, he sprang back to his feet and turned around. He spotted Linz and the Rooggaru, locked in their struggle alongside the great, smoking brazier. Myriam was nearly on top of them, rushing to help the Lake Man. Throwing his caution aside, Hendon sprinted to join her.

Spying an opening in the dragonman’s defense, Linz lunged forward and heaved his spear with all his might. The steel bit deep into the monster’s hide, impaling it at the shoulder. The Rooggaru was driven back by the force of the impact, howling in rage. Its clawed hands grasped the haft of the spear and it jerked its body sideways, tearing the weapon from Linz’s grasp. As it turned, the powerful tail lashed out and caught the Lake Man full in the chest. The blow knocked the air from his lungs and sent him staggering.

The Rooggaru tugged at the spear, tearing it loose in a great spray of black blood. It cast the weapon aside and started forward. Before it had taken a second step, Myriam crashed into the monster at a dead run. Harkan gripped in both white-knuckled hands, she stabbed with every ounce of strength remaining. The milky blade sank deep in the Rooggaru’s tough hide, and Myriam drove it in to the hilt.

An instant later Hendon was by her side. He stabbed with his own, matching dagger. The dragonman’s eyes widened until it seemed they would fall from their sockets. It howled in pain and, for the first time, what sounded like fear. The stones in the matching daggers’ hilts burned with their ghostly light, pulsing in time with one another.

The Rooggaru staggered backwards, fetching up against the side of the waist high brazier. Seemingly impervious to the raging heat at its back, the dragonman clawed at the twin blades piercing its chest. An unending, keening wail escaped its lipless maw as it fought for its life. Myriam and Hendon fell back, their eyes glued to the struggling beast.

“It isn’t working,” Myriam groaned. “Why isn’t working?”

Then Linz appeared from behind them. He had gotten to his feet almost immediately after his tumble, but had not jumped back to the fight right away. Instead, his eye had caught something familiar among the gathered horde of treasure. Something pale and white.

Gripping the dagger, a third twin to those lodged in the evil creature’s chest, Linz charged past his friends with a primitive scream. Drawing back at the last second, he plunged the milk-white blade straight into the dragonman’s heart. The Rooggaru’s wails cut off suddenly and its struggles went still. Toppling backward, it fell atop the burning coals. In less than a heartbeat, its body burst into flame and burned away to so much ash.

26

Myriam wasted no time in rushing back to Ganry’s side. The big warrior was still conscious, struggling weakly against the chains that bound him. Taking up a hand axe she found piled amongst the treasure, Myriam set to work on the chains. She was too weak, however, and the blows simply rang off the corroded metal.

“Ganry,” she said, sinking down to her knees beside the table. “Ganry…”

Hendon appeared at her side and took the axe from her nearly lifeless fingers. The woodsman made short work of the chains, and soon he was helping Ganry to sit up on the edge of the table. The warrior rubbed his arms, working the circulation back into them. As he did, he gazed curiously at the smoking brazier.

“How did you manage it?” he asked, having been unable to follow the battle from his enforced, horizontal position.

“With these,” said Linz, joining them. Myriam saw the Lake Man had retrieved the daggers from the fire. All three of them. The Stones of Berghein flashed brightly from the hilts, brighter than she had yet seen them. Some of her suspicions, at least were confirmed. There was a third dagger.

Linz held out the blades. Hendon retrieved his, and handed Harkan to Myriam. He paused, studying the final dagger.

“You keep it,” said Myriam to Linz. “It’s yours, after all.”

“What?” Linz appeared stunned. He shook his head, not understanding. “No, Myriam. The blades belong to your family…”

“Yes, they do.” With Hendon’s help, she got back to her feet. “Long ago, Linz, a branch of the D’Anjou line was lost. I first suspected the truth when we saw that mural underneath Castle Locke. Centuries ago, one of your ancestors brought a group of followers to this lake to settle a new tribe. That ancestor was a D’Anjou, Linz. You are a D’Anjou.”

Linz regarded her in open-mouthed disbelief, but Hendon was nodding his head. “Yes,” he said. “It makes sense.”

“That’s how you knew where to lead us,” Myriam explained. “It must be. Linz, you have… power of some kind. I don’t understand it, not fully. It’s not the same as ours, obviously. I could not have found the way to Ganry and the… creature.” She shuddered, deliberately avoiding the dead monster’s name. “But you could. How, Linz? How did you know the way?”

“I just… I don’t know.” Linz shrugged helplessly. “It just seemed right. Like I could sense the way to go.”

Myriam nodded. “Hendon and I were able to sense it when our parents were killed.” She lowered her eyes momentarily, feeling a rush of the sorrow she had still not had time to properly confront. This was still not the time, and she pushed the sadness away. “It’s how I know the Duchess is still alive, as well. But for you, apparently, it’s not quite the same.”

“You think I can sense the right way to go?”

“I think you sensed the monster,” Myriam corrected. “Drawn by the blood of the ancient foes of our house. Blood of the dragon.”

This time, even Hendon was skeptical. But Ganry laughed out loud. When they all turned to look at him curiously, he spread his arms in an expansive shrug. “I’ve always said there’s no magic left in the world,” he told them. “But that was before I got mixed up with the House of D’Anjou.”

Myriam smiled, then her expression turned businesslike. “Ganry, can you stand?”

The big man pushed himself up from the table with a grimace. “I’ll manage,” he said.

“Then let’s get out of here!”

They wasted no time over the treasure. There might be enough wealth in that chamber for each of them to buy their own kingdom somewhere, and forget all about the woes of Palara and D’Anjou, but none of them had a mind for it. Besides, with the Rooggaru dead there was not likely to be anyone else disturbing the trove anytime soon. They could come back for it later if there was any need.

Linz helped Myriam up the stairs, and Hendon lent his support to Ganry. The climb back up was far more arduous than the descent, but before too long they came out in the ground level of the temple. Within minutes they were back on the dock. They climbed into the little boat, and this time Hendon helped Linz with the oars.

They had scarcely left the dock behind when Hendon glanced back, thinking to ask Myriam more about her theory regarding Linz. But he swallowed the question and smiled ruefully when he saw the princess, dead to the world, curled up against an equally unconscious Ganry.

27

Duke Harald, Regent of the Kingdom of Palara, slammed the door behind him and stalked away down the corridor in a fury. That damned witch, the Duchess D’Anjou, had refused to crack under torture for yet another day. The interrogators knew their job, and were the best in the realm at extracting information from unwilling sources, but they were proving unequal to the task. It seemed that no amount of pain would loosen the old woman’s tongue.

She had lost consciousness moments ago. Harald seethed with anger. He had demanded the torturers revive her and keep going, but they advised him that it would only serve to kill her. She was not some strong warrior in the prime of life, after all. They wanted to send her back to her cell to rest and recover. They would try again on the morrow, they said.

Pah!

Harald was stymied, and he hated the sense of impotence he felt. The days continued to slip past with no word of his missing niece, no hint of an end to this miserable state of affairs. The court grew ever more restless as the situation dragged on. Harald did not know for sure how much longer he could stave off their increasingly insistent questions.

This was not how the coup was supposed to go, not at all. If only that musclebound foreigner had not spirited Myriam away in the dead of night, she would be dead along with her mother and Harald’s fool of a brother. Ludwig had never listened to him, never heeded his advice. The old king would have ruined Palara. Couldn’t the nobles see that? Couldn’t they just open their eyes and realize that everything Harald was doing was for the good of the kingdom?

No. Not while Myriam yet lived and wandered free. Until she was found, his throne would never be secure. That old witch, the Duchess, knew where she was hiding, Harald was certain of it. But she wouldn’t speak. He wanted to tear out her tongue. He wanted to see her head on a spike. See if she could sneer at him then!

Harald itched with the need for action. The idea of putting heads on spikes appealed to him. Changing course abruptly, he gave up the notion of returning to his chambers. He would find no rest, not yet. Instead, he went in search of the new royal executioner. He might not be able to have the Duchess’ head, not yet, but there was no shortage of other necks he could have shortened.

That worm Arexos, for instance…

***

Her captors tossed her back into the cell, not bothering to chain her once more to the wall. The door slammed shut in their wake, and she heard the bolt slide home in the lock. The Duchess was alone again. Moaning softly, she rolled over on the filthy straw that covered the floor of her cell and took stock.

Her body was a mass of bruises and burns. They had tortured her thoroughly and efficiently, taking her right up to the brink of madness and death. But she remained unbroken. She had not given that bastard Harald what he wanted. Not that she could have told him just where Myriam was, in any case. It did not work that way.

No, she had no idea where Myriam was. That was the truth. Oh, perhaps the vaguest of ideas. Still somewhere to the east, she thought, although even of that the Duchess could not be certain. It did not matter, in the end. So long as Myriam was still free of Harald’s clutches, still drawing breath.

She knew her granddaughter was alive. Yes, somewhere to the east she thought. And earlier, there had been a sense, vague and unformed at best. Her senses had been dulled by the torments with which her jailers brutalized her body, but there had still been a sense, a taste of triumph from Myriam.

The Duchess thought she knew what it meant, but of course she could not be sure. She had not been sure of the boy, Linz, either. But she suspected. More than that, she dared to hope. Even now, in the dank pit of Harald’s foul dungeon, the Duchess clung to hope. And that brief contact, that distant sense of victory she had drawn over the miles from her granddaughter, strengthened her.

Beaten and battered near unto death, nevertheless the tired old woman in the dungeon smiled to herself.

28

The desert night was still and quiet. Artas lay stretched out on his belly at the dune crest, his bow and quiver of arrows close to hand. There was nothing for him to do now but wait.

Zander and the other two had slipped away perhaps half an hour earlier, melting into the night. Their borrowed robes blended with the shadows, and Artas had lost sight of them almost immediately. Left to his own devices, the young archer tried to stay alert and keep his eyes trained on the expanse of sand before the shipwreck below. But his thoughts wandered as the minutes slipped past.

Ector and Dristan were circling around to approach the wreck from the sides. Zander himself had gone off to the left before heading down the face of the dune. The flickering firelight visible from the wreck emanated from a gaping hole in one side of the hull, and that hole faced the direction from which Zander planned to approach. Zander intended to draw out the bandits, or whomever was waiting within, before Ector and Dristan swept in from the sides in an ambush.

The plan was simple and straightforward. If anything went wrong, of course, Artas would be ready to lend support from the height and distance of this dune. The enemy would be unable to contend with him in these conditions. At least, that was Zander’s assumption.

But Artas still had his doubts about who they would find at the clandestine encampment. The idea of rival tribesmen didn’t sit well with him. He wished Zander had committed to a thorough scout. He could have sent Ector or Dristan, either one, or both of them. One man could sneak into the wreck, possibly from the other side, and scope out what they were about to face. But Zander was confident and impatient.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced Artas became that he was about to witness a disaster.

He should have argued further with Zander. He should have insisted. But the older man was far more experienced with this sort of thing. Ector and Dristan had accepted his instructions as a matter of course. They trusted their commander. Artas had not felt confident enough to push the issue. He wished that he had now.

What was taking them so long?

The young archer glanced up at the moon with a sigh. He was not sure how much time had elapsed. It was impossible for him to gauge the passage of time. Had the moon moved far across the sky?

A flicker of motion below caught his eye. Artas strained to see in the dim light of the moon. A dark, crouching shape moved near the wreckage. It was Zander, creeping forward. Artas looked about but could see no sign of Ector and Dristan. Had they already reached their positions? Without taking his eyes off the ship, Artas reached for his bow. His heart pounded in his chest. He could not dismiss the niggling sense of foreboding he still felt.

Far below, Zander reached the leaning hull of the ancient ship. Pausing to cast off the concealing robes, he moved to the nearest breach in the hull. Artas held his breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

***

The wood was smooth to the touch, almost slick. Centuries of wind-blown sand had scoured and polished the wreck. It was warm, still retaining the latent heat of the day. Zander placed his palms against the hull and rose slowly from his crouch to peer through the breach he had chosen.

Not much remained of the compartment within. Loose sand had blown in, piling up in a deep drift just inside the breach. Beyond that, the canted deck was bare but for a pile of debris off to one side. The slanting of the deck had caused everything to fall or roll that way, landing against what had once been a forward bulkhead. Zander saw shattered cargo barrels and the rusted remains of lanterns, the glass long since shattered. A few wisps of fabric and rotted rope were all that was left of the hammocks that had once been slung from the ceiling. This compartment had been where the crew bunked down.

The firelight was brighter inside, but it was not coming from this compartment. Whoever was using the wreck for a campsite was further within, concealed by the inner bulkhead. It appeared as though the innards of the wreck were largely intact. Zander frowned to himself and retreated a step from the splintered hull.

Still frowning, he glanced over his shoulder to the dune top where Artas waited in concealment. Then he looked to either side at the low mounds against the hull that might have been taken for sand drifts, but which Zander knew were his two men, Ector and Dristan, crouched motionless in wait.

His plan had been to enter the hull and draw out the men within. Zander was certain they were desert tribesmen from some clan feuding with the people of Rock Eagle. He did not expect to face much cunning or tactical experience. They would see an intruder, a stranger alone, and of course they would give chase. Emerging from the wreck, they would be exposed. Zander would then turn, and the other two would join him with blades bared. Artas would give cover from above.

But the interior of the ship looked treacherous. He thought the camp fire was just in the next compartment, but he could not be certain. The slope of the deck, coupled with the loose sand and grit, might make it difficult to maneuver around inside. Especially if he had to move quickly. Silently, he debated with himself.

After a moment, he shook his head. Time was wasting, and he saw little need for caution. It was not as if these were Palaran soldiers waiting in ambush. Tribesmen, he reminded himself. Motioning Ector and Dristan to move closer, he returned to the broken hull and climbed inside.

29

Several minutes had elapsed since Zander disappeared into the wreckage. Dristan and Ector had moved closer to the gaping hole through which their commander had climbed, but they did not follow him inside. Watching from above, Artas felt his tension mounting.

He wanted to signal the others, to ask them what was going on. But Zander had been explicit and insistent that he was to remain concealed. Not that he could do much good up here when the older man was inside the ship. As more time slipped by and there was still no sign of Zander, the young archer wrestled with himself over what to do.

Apparently he was not the only one. After what seemed to Artas like an hour, but could not have been more than fifteen minutes, the two warriors waiting beside the ship leaned closer to one another. The archer could not hear their quiet exchange, but he could guess what passed between them. After a moment, Ector and Dristan shed their loose robes and climbed up into the ship after their leader.

Artas was alone in the desert night.

Though it was cold out, he felt sweat trickle down the sides of his face. His hand ached where it gripped the bow. The fingers of his other hand dug into the loose sand. What was happening down there? The minutes ticked past and his companions did not reappear. Artas cursed under his breath. Something had definitely gone wrong.

Jumping up, he grabbed up his arrows and started down the loose slope. His running steps bit into the face of the dune, feet slipping and sliding as he raced down. Nearly to the bottom, he lost his footing and tumbled the rest of the way. Harsh sand scraped his arms and legs as he rolled to a stop.

Artas scrambled to his feet in a panic. Fitting an arrow to his bowstring, he drew and prepared to release. Turning this way and that, he scanned the night for a target. There was none. Releasing the tension on his string, Artas chided himself for his blind panic. His fall down the dune had not made much noise, and no one had come running out to attack him. Taking several deep breaths, he forced himself to calm down.

The others were still inside, and Artas remained convinced that Zander’s plan had fallen apart. He jogged over to the irregular aperture the others had used to gain entrance to the wreck. Peering inside, he saw an empty compartment with debris piled at one end where the deck was lower than the other. There was no one there.

Artas climbed aboard, setting his feet carefully down on the sand drift within. Crouched low, he moved stealthily deeper into the slanted compartment. The flickering light came from his left. The deck sloped up in that direction, and the footing was treacherous.

Taking great care not to slip or fall, Artas made his way to the inner bulkhead. At the aft end of the compartment was a hatch. That was where the light came from. Artas made his way to the hatch with as little noise as he could manage. Reaching it, he leaned around the edge of the hatch to peek into the next compartment.

This compartment might once have been a mess deck. Artas, who knew little of naval ships, could not tell. It may just as well have been a cargo deck. Whatever the compartment had been in that forgotten long-ago, it was being used now for a very different purpose.

The canted deck was shattered from about the middle of the compartment to the fore bulkhead. Beneath the broken and splintered timbers was bare sand. On the sand, in a broad, circular pit of medium-sized stones, there burned a small bonfire. The barely controlled flames licked at the overhead, snapping and crackling and threatening to overflow the stone pit.

A group of men in cowled gray robes stood in a semi-circle near the broken edges of the deck, their heads bowed. Their voices were raised in a low, harmonious chant. The man in the center, taller than his fellows, held his two hands aloft over his head, clasping a large and ornate dagger with a sinuously curved blade. Its hilt was fashioned into a dragon’s head with tiny garnet stones for the eyes.

The air was thick with the heavy scent of incense. There was another odor that stung the young archer’s nostrils, a scent that was somehow familiar. He wrinkled his nose and tried to place it. The aroma put him in mind of Castle Locke for some reason he could not specify.

Artas spared little thought for the peculiar smell. A far more pressing concern took precedence in his mind. For there before him, unconscious on the deck and bound with thick ropes at wrist and ankle, were his three companions.

He looked again to the hooded men who still stood chanting at their fire. With a shock, he realized who they were. Zander had led them into the western wastes on a quest to find the Druids of Marawi. Here they were.

But what was their purpose here in this ancient wreck?

Artas dared not wait to find out. He disliked the look of that dagger in the druid’s hands. Eyeing the chanting druids, he weighed his chances. He had his bow, but there were too many of them to be felled quickly enough that way. His eyes went back to his unconscious companions.

Slipping the knife from his belt, Artas gauged the distance. If he could creep out without being noticed, he should be able to free the others. But could he wake them, and silently, before any of the druids happened to turn around?

The answer came sooner than he would have hoped. Just as Artas began to inch forward through the hatch, the circled druids turned their backs to the fire in unison. Artas jerked back, hoping he had not been seen.

“Bring that one,” said the druid who held the dagger, gesturing toward Ector. Two of the other druids moved at his command, moving unhurriedly to Ector and lifting the unconscious man by his arms. Dragging him along, they returned to the edge of the broken deck.

Artas peered cautiously round the frame of the hatch where he was concealed. His heartbeat raced. In a flash, he realized what was about to happen. He had to do something to stop it!

He never got the chance. Without preamble, the lead druid reached out and used the sinuous dagger to slit Ector’s throat. The man stepped aside to avoid the first gout of blood. The two who held Ector’s arms shuffled forward and gave the dying man a shove.

Blood still pouring from his ruined throat, Ector tumbled forward and fell straight into the fire. The moment he reached the flames, there was a brilliant flash. Blinded, Artas turned his head away and blinked to clear his eyes. When he turned back, there was no sign of Ector.

No body lay within those flames. There was only ash and thick smoke, and the roar of the fire. The druids had resumed their chanting, and the leader once again held his bloodstained dagger aloft as he led the prayer.

Artas had seen enough. The blood felt hot in his veins, hot with anger. He broke the spell of his astonishment, surging into action. All thoughts of danger to himself were forgotten, abandoned in his moment of outrage. The druids had murdered Ector. They had cut a man’s throat and sacrificed his body to the flames, and for what? Artas had no answer to that, but it didn’t matter. There could be no justification. Nothing could excuse what he had just seen.

Flying around the corner of the hatch, Artas drew and released. He was already fitting the next arrow to his string when the first missile found its mark. With a solid sounding thock of impact, the first arrow buried itself in the back of one of the two men who had thrown Ector’s lifeless body into the flames. Artas fired again. The second druid, caught in the surprised act of turning toward his companion, caught the arrow in the side. Both robed men staggered and fell into the fire.

Artas didn’t stop to watch. Continuing on in a crouching run across the compartment, he whipped another arrow from his quiver. The remaining druids - there were four of them still standing - spun about, shouting in consternation and fury. Their ceremony, whatever it was meant to be, had been disrupted. Their cowled faces twisted in rage. The leader brandished his sinuous dagger. Artas planted the shaft of an arrow in his throat.

Blood welled up in the druid’s mouth and spilled over his chin. He tried to speak and then toppled backward. The sinuous dagger fell from his limp fingers, giving a dull clatter as it bounced on the deck. The druid’s body tumbled over the edge, and the high priest joined his fellows in the fire.

Artas fired again. His arrow struck one of the remaining three druids in the shoulder, spinning the man back but leaving him alive. The other two charged toward him. But by now, Artas had reached his companions. He whipped out his blade and sawed at the ropes binding Zander’s arms. The rope was thick and coarse. He looked up, and saw the druids bearing down on him. There was no time. Gritting his teeth, Artas glanced about.

Zander’s sword lay discarded within reach. Throwing down his bow, Artas took up the sword and spun to face his foes. The third druid, the one with the arrow in his shoulder, was cursing and tugging at the shaft. The others were almost within reach. Artas brandished the blade.

“Back!”

“You fool!” hissed the druid to his right. The one on the left spat at the deck, as if in disgust. “You know not what you’ve done!”

“I said get back,” snarled Artas, slashing at the air with his sword.

Behind him at his feet, Zander moaned as he began to come around. Artas felt his heart surge. At least the man was still alive. He wished he had acted sooner, done something to save Ector. But at least these bastards wouldn’t get the chance to do the same to Zander and Dristan.

“Fool,” the druid said again.

A burst of sparks exploded upward from the bonfire behind the druids. The piled wood shifted and collapsed with a crashing sound, sending up even more sparks. A shared look of fear blanched the features of the two druids facing Artas. One of them, the one who had spoken, turned toward the fire.

“No!” he cried in alarm. “No, it is too soon! The binding…”

Something moved within the flames. Something enormous. Artas narrowed his eyes, wondering what fresh danger the druids had summoned forth with their arcane ritual. Squinting against the burning light, he did not see the other druid move until it was too late. The robed man threw up his hands, casting them forward at Artas as if throwing a ball.

A stream of cold flame shot across the compartment, striking Artas in the chest and knocking him from his feet. The world went black.

30

Parsival threaded his way through the streets of Villeroy town, the castle a looming shadow against the moon at his back. He had bribed a guard at the western gate to let him through the wall without recording it in the log. It would cost him again to get back into the castle without leaving a trail, but he could afford it.

He could not afford what it would cost him if the Mad Regent found out what he was up to this night. Harald would call it treason, and take Parsival’s head.

There had been another execution that afternoon. Some soldier or squire or other, little more than a boy. Arxos, Rexos, something like that. Parsival had never heard of the lad. No charges had been made public. The guards simply marched the boy to the headsman and the axe fell. Harald had assembled the court to bear witness, and another head was added to the spikes.

How many did that make, since the old king died? Parsival had not bothered to count. Counting seemed ghoulish. A lot of things in the kingdom of Palara seemed ghoulish these days. Harald was mad. Maybe he had always been mad.

A sound behind him made Parsival whirl about, one hand flying to the dagger at his belt. Crime was rare in the town that clung to the castle walls, but not unheard of. There were footpads in the night, toughs lurking in alleyways to bust a head and cut a purse. But there was no one behind him. The sound came again. An owl, hooting in the distance. Parsival forced himself to relax. No good jumping at shadows. He’d be as mad as Harald if he kept that up.

Turning back around, the young lord of Ival Hold continued on his way. He took the next turning and there was the tavern, exactly as Leonie had said. It was a low place, the kind of cheap taproom where there would be brawlers, thieves, and slatterns. A low stone building with no glass in the two small windows that flanked the door. Inside, it was much as Parsival had feared from the facade.

One long common room with straw and sawdust on the floor. Mismatched tables and chairs. A few lanterns on the walls, their glass so stained with smoke and soot that Parsival could not tell whether their wicks burned or not. Slouching drunks and lolling strumpets. Two harried serving wenches moving from table to table and back to the solid-looking bar that blocked off the back portion of the room. A fat man sweating behind the bar, pouring ale from barrels and wiping his face with a grimy rag.

This was no place for a man of Parsival’s noble birth. But, as he swept his eyes around the room a second time, he had to admit it suited the purpose. He saw no soldiers here, no navymen from the docks. There were taverns enough for those sorts, he supposed, to drink and dice and swap war stories. This was a watering hole for the poor, and the criminal.

Parsival was certainly not the former, but he supposed he was about to become the latter. He spotted Leonie in the corner, slouching determinedly over a mug of ale at a small table set apart from the others. She had the hood of her cloak raised, hiding her face in shadow. It was a shabby cloak, but still the finest garment this sorry place had likely seen in many a year. Who else could it be?

“Were you followed?” Leonie glanced up without lifting her head as he approached the table. Her voice was pitched low, though she might not have bothered. The tavern was boisterous and loud. There was a lively dice game going in a far corner, and the players shouted and roared with each roll. Here in the back, they were unlikely to be overheard.

“No,” he said, lowering his voice to match hers just the same. Dusting off the bench facing Leonie, he sat. He reached up to cast off the hood of his own cloak, then thought better of it. Instead, he leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. On second thought, he removed them and placed them in his lap. Closer to his dagger. His back had begun to itch, between the shoulders. His back was to the door. He’d never worried about that before in his life.

“You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” he replied, growing impatient. “Where are the others?”

Leonie barked a short laugh. “It’s too dangerous to meet in a group,” she explained. There was something more, left unsaid. After a moment, it came to Parsival. Leonie was the one who’d approached him after the execution. He already knew her involvement. The others, if there truly were any, would want to make sure of him before they revealed themselves.

“All right,” he said. “Well. I’m here.”

Leonie nodded, then craned her head to peer around the grimy tavern room. She was nervous, that much was clear. And who wouldn’t be? It was treason they were plotting, after all. Or near enough as made no difference. That boy today was a commoner, but nobler heads had rolled since Harald took power. The old king himself had decorated a spike. Lords and ladies such as Parsival and Leonie could scarcely expect greater leniency.

Apparently satisfied they were not being watched, Leonie returned her attention to Parsival. She leaned close across the table and spoke in a whisper. He could barely hear her, but the words sent a jolt through him as though she had shouted them from a rooftop.

“The regent must be removed.”

Parsival closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slow. It was no more than he had expected, of course. But hearing the words, spoken aloud, changed everything. This was no longer hypothetical. It was as real as life and death. He opened his eyes and forced himself to nod in agreement.

“I’m with you,” he said softly. “The man is mad. The way he’s been going, it’ll be a wonder if there’s even a court left by the end of the year. But how can we oppose him? Harald-”

Leonie hissed through her teeth. “Careful!” she snapped. Parsival blinked in confusion. “No names,” she instructed, staring wildly around the room again. “No specifics. I don’t think anyone is listening, but we can’t be too careful.”

“All right, then.” Parsival took another breath and started again. “He controls the army. He controls the navy. He controls the palace guard. What do we have? I have four loyal armsmen in the castle. I doubt you, or any of our other friends, have more. He would never allow that.”

“At Ival?”

Parsival blinked. “A few hundred,” he said, shaking his head. “But that does us no good, even if I could be sure of a messenger reaching them.”

“I’ve near a thousand at Ulmet Bay,” Leonie said, then shrugged. “But you’re right. An army at my own castle does us no good here in the capital.”

Parsival nodded. “Even if all the nobles at court, and somehow I doubt you’ve recruited them all to our cause, but even then…”

It was Leonie’s turn to nod, her face taking on a dejected cast. “You’re right. There can’t be more than a hundred armsmen in the castle who aren’t loyal to Harald directly.”

“So what do you plan to do, then?” Parsival shook his head.

Leonie bit her lip. Her eyes searched him. For a moment, Parsival was taken aback. She had come this far. They had both said more than enough to have their heads off if the wrong person heard, so what could make her hesitate now? He was suddenly not sure he wanted to know.

“Excuse me, friends,” said a new voice.

Parsival and Leonie each recoiled from the table as if a venomous serpent had sprouted from the the center of the wood. Leonie’s bench tipped over backward as she leaped to her feet, one hand disappearing inside her cloak as if grabbing for a dagger. Parsival managed not to overturn his own stool, but he too got to his feet and put a hand to his blade. He stopped himself just short of drawing.

The man in the heavy brown cloak had approached their table without either of them noticing. By now, however, they had drawn every eye in the tavern with their startled reaction. Parsival considered the situation. Leonie, for her part, made to leave. The big man was blocking her path.

“Move aside,” she commanded, her tone regal.

The big man chuckled.

Parsival narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He peered into the shadowy hood of the man’s cloak, trying to catch a glimpse of the stranger’s features. He was sure already this was no Palaran footsoldier, and most certainly it was no sailor. Who the man was, Parsival couldn’t guess. But he doubted the stranger was an agent of the Mad Regent.

“Easy, Leonie,” he said. “We’re causing a spectacle.”

“I said no names,” she hissed at him angrily.

“Apologies my lady, my lord.” The man smiled. Light flashed off even, white teeth. Parsival could still not make out his features. “But your friend is quite correct, my lady. We are drawing attention. Perhaps if we were to step out to the street, we might continue this conversation away from prying eyes.”

“I’ve nothing to say to you, stranger.” Leonie drew herself up haughtily. “Now let me pass.”

“Leonie,” said Parsival, his voice low. “I think we should do what he says.”

She glared daggers at him, but only for a moment.

Then she saw the miniature crossbow in the stranger’s hand.

31

Zander fought against the grogginess, struggling to remain conscious. Voices shouted nearby, raised in fear and alarm. He didn’t recognize those voices. Friends or foes? He couldn’t remember for a moment. He’d taken a blow to the head. His thoughts were sluggish.

But his hands were bound. He saw a familiar form on the floor not far from where he lay. The archer. Artas was out cold. The front of the young man’s shirt was singed as if by fire. Fire. That tickled a memory.

Zander sat up and it all came flooding back.

Not the floor, he thought, inanely. The deck.

They were in the ancient shipwreck in the desert. Druids had got the drop on him, knocked him out. There were three of them now, standing at the edge of the broken deck in front of a roaring fire. The men held their hands aloft. They were the ones shouting. The words were strange, unfamiliar. Zander did not know what language they spoke, but there was no mistaking the tone.

The druids were terrified.

Zander tore his eyes from the druids and their fire. Artas lay nearby. Dristan was at his side. Where the hell was Ector? For a moment, he allowed himself hope that the final member of their party was still free. With the druids distracted, Ector could slip in and free them all…

But no, he realized. Artas had been atop the dune. If he was here, then that meant…

Zander cursed under his breath. He worked his arms against each other, straining against the rope binding his wrists. It felt loose. Frayed. He kept at it, casting his eyes about. There. A dagger. Zander scooted over the decking until the dagger was behind his back. His questing fingers found the hilt, and he tilted it up. Balancing the knife as best he could, Zander dragged his bonds against the edge. In moments, his hands were free.

Seizing the dagger, he went to work on his legs. In less than a minute he was up. Crouching over Dristan, he freed the other man. Dristan was still out. Zander turned to Artas. The younger man groaned and opened his eyes.

“What happened?”

Artas shook his head weakly. “Hit me with… something…” He shook his head again. “Fire, but cold.”

Zander frowned. Artas was clearly dazed. It didn’t matter. They could put the pieces together later, once they had escaped. Firelight glinted on metal. His sword. Zander grabbed it up and spun around. The druids still ignored them, focused on their fire. Their upraised hands were clasped, fingers intertwined. Their three voices chanted as one, speaking arcane words in frightened unison.

And something moved in the flames.

“What the hell?”

Artas grabbed his arm, pulling him around. The archer’s eyes were clearer, but he was still unsteady on his feet. The sharp slant of the deck wasn’t helping. Artas shook him. “We should go,” he said. “Get out of here.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Zander turned to look down at Dristan. “Help me with him.”

A new sound rose above the crackle of flames. A trumpeting blast of sound, high and sharp, ear piercing. Zander winced but did his best to block it out as he took hold of Dristan’s shoulder. Artas took the other arm, and together they heaved the dead weight up. Zander led the way, and they shuffled toward the hatch leading out. The trumpeting roar came again.

At the edge of the hatch, Zander glanced back. His eyes bulged wide in disbelief.

“What is it?” Artas started to turn and look.

“Move!” Zander rushed through the hatch, dragging the limp form of Dristan behind him. Artas had no choice but to follow, or drop his share of the load. He followed.

Zander’s foot slipped, sliding on loose sand. He wheeled his free arm in the air for balance, to no avail. Losing his footing, Zander fell and slid all the way down to the far bulkhead. He slammed against it with a jarring impact. Artas had lost hold of Dristan, and the unconscious man came tumbling after. Zander had half a second to see him coming, then the dead weight slammed into him.

“Ooof!”

“Are you all right?” Artas scrambled down after them, barely keeping his own footing. He held out a hand and pulled Zander up.

“I’m fine. Keep moving!”

“What the hell’s happening?”

“I said move!”

Together, they picked up Dristan again and climbed back toward the hull breach that would let them out. The treacherous footing grew easier as they climbed the sand drift beneath the hole. They reached the breach and shoved Dristan through. He fell to the ground outside and rolled a ways down the sand face. Zander pushed Artas through and then leaped out after him. He hit the sand and rolled, digging his fingers into the ground for purchase, and squeezing his eyes shut against the stinging grit.

There was only one thought in Zander’s mind. Get away. Get away now. Put as much distance as they could between them and what he had seen before…

That trumpeting blast of sound tore the air once more. Zander shivered, and it had nothing to do with the bracing cold of night in the deep desert. That horrid sound chilled his blood. Scrambling to his feet in the loose sand, he grabbed at Dristan. Artas was nearby, picking himself up.

“Zander.” The archer broke off, coughing. Must have swallowed some sand. He shook himself, spitting twice before he tried again. “What-”

“Get moving.” Zander pointed to the moonlit dunes. “Just go.”

Without waiting to see if Artas obeyed or not, Zander dropped to his knees beside Dristan. He shook the man gently. No good. Reluctantly, he drew back his arm and slapped Dristan hard across the face. Then he did it again. Finally, Dristan opened his eyes and jerked away. The soldier threw up his arms to ward off another blow, but none came. Zander was already back on his feet.

“Come on.” He grabbed Dristan’s hand to haul him up.

“Zander, what’s going on?” Artas was still there. He hadn’t run, hadn’t listened. He was pointing up the small slope toward the broken hull. “My bow-”

“Damn your bow!” Zander realized he was shouting, verging on panic. “We have to leave-”

It was too late. He had known it was too late already, somehow. Down inside, down deep, he had known. His guts had known, twisting and sinking and roiling inside him. Of course it was already too late.

There was one last ear-splitting trumpet blast, and then a column of fire burst forth from the ancient, ruined ship. Climbing into the sky, it tore open the night and brought unscheduled day with its brilliance.

A heartbeat later, the entire shipwreck went up in an enormous explosion.

32

Myriam sat on top of a barrel at the end of the dock, watching the sun rise.

She was still exhausted, but she could not sleep. She had tried, for an hour or two, but the celebration in Halawa had gone on all night. The drums beat constantly. There was music. Voices raised in joy. The Rooggaru was slain, and would never trouble the Lake Men again. Their new chieftain, barely more than a child, had defeated the monster. This festival might last all week.

“Princess.”

She did not turn around, but she did smile.

“You should be resting, Ganry.”

“You should be resting,” he countered.

Myriam shook her head, the smile turning wry and rueful. “You don’t need rest?” she asked in a teasing tone. “The mighty warrior from the east!”

Shaking her head, Myriam scooted around on the barrel top to face Ganry. He stood a few paces away with his shoulders bowed and his head lowered, peering out from under his brows at her with a grin that, if she didn’t know better, Myriam would have called sheepish.

“You’ve been through a lot,” she told him.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” answered Ganry. “Doesn’t change the fact that we still have a job to do.”

“Is that right?” Myriam raised an eyebrow.

“You know it is, princess.” He stood up a bit straighter, and his expression turned serious.

“Your job was to keep me safe, wasn’t it? Keep me safe and see to it that I reached Castle Locke and the protection of my grandmother. That is what you were hired to do, isn’t it?”

Ganry didn’t answer her, but his frown spoke volumes. He looked away for a moment, turning his eyes toward the rising sun. Other than the distant sounds of the ongoing revelry, there was silence and the gentle lap of the water against the pilings. Ganry sighed heavily and looked back at Myriam.

“You need me,” he said.

“Yes,” Myriam agreed. “I do.”

“Is that why you risked yourself to come after me?”

“No. It’s not. Is it why you’ve risked yourself, sticking by my side even though you delivered me to Castle Locke weeks ago?”

“No.”

Myriam smiled. “I know.”

Ganry grunted but said nothing. The silence stretched out between them again. The grizzled warrior had an awkward look on his face, like he was uncomfortable. He lifted one foot and scuffed it against the dock, for all the world like a nervous little boy. Myriam almost laughed, but managed to hold it back.

“So,” she said. “What’s our next step?”

“Take back your throne.”

This time she couldn’t help but laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”

Ganry shrugged. “I didn’t say it would be easy. But just because it’s… complicated… doesn’t mean it isn’t simple. You are the rightful queen of Palara. Your uncle stole your throne, and you have a duty to reclaim it. I will be at your side. The rest is only detail.”

Myriam thought about that, nodding slowly. He was right. It was that simple, in a way. What needed to be done was simple. Accomplishing it would not be. It was her turn to sigh, and she turned back toward the dawn. “Detail,” she echoed. “I envy you your way of seeing the world sometimes. You’re a soldier at heart. Mercenary, bodyguard, warrior… a man with a sword. I’m the one who has to figure out those details.”

“Would you rather walk away from it?” asked Ganry. His tone made it clear he would never judge her for it if she did. He would go with her, remain by her side, no matter what Myriam decided. She appreciated that, but there was never any question of it. There was only one answer she could give.

“Never.”

“Never?”

“My uncle is a murderer.” She spat, as though there was a foul taste in her mouth. “And a usurper.”

“Doesn’t sound like a man fit to rule a kingdom,” mused Ganry.

“No. That he is not.”

“I have not spent much time in the kingdom of Palara,” Ganry said. “My first visit to your realm was when I came to spirit you out of the Castle Villeroy. I do not know your kingdom, highness. I don’t know its people. But I have been many places, known many peoples. And I know you, Myriam. You give me an idea. Tell me. Does your country enjoy Harald’s rule?”

“Absolutely not.” She realized what he was getting at. Turning back to him, she grinned. “The nobles will side with me. Harald controls the army, but if I had the armsmen of every noble at my back… No. No, it won’t work. Harald will keep the court close, and their retainers at a distance. The nobles are likely all penned up in the castle, while their armsmen languish in the countryside at holdfast and villa.”

“Then we’ll just have to gather them up, won’t we?” Ganry spread his hands. “You are their queen.”

“You’re damn right, I’m the queen,” said Myriam, still grinning.

She had not seen Linz approach, but the young chief was suddenly there at Ganry’s side. “My people are with you, Myriam,” he pledged.

33

Artas ran toward the burgeoning glow of sunrise. Each ragged breath burned in his chest. Sweat poured down the sides of his face despite the lingering chill of night. Soon it would be hot, burning hot. He didn’t know what he would do then, how he would keep running. He only knew that he would.

The broken ship was gone. It must have rested there on the burning sand for hundreds of years, preserved in the arid climate, but now there was nothing left but ash and fire. Zander and Dristan were dead. Zander had been lucky - a spear of wooden shrapnel had impaled him, killing him instantly. Hunks of burning wreckage rained down out of the sky. Dristan had been trapped beneath one, his legs crushed. Artas had been able to hear his screams for over ten minutes.

He’d been running by that point, of course. Because he had seen the thing that was born in the druid’s flames. The creature summoned forth somehow by the ritual. The first sight of it, rising on the billowing thermal updrafts of the explosion, had filled him with blind, screaming terror.

Dragon.

It couldn’t be. He knew there were no dragons. Maybe there had been once upon a time, but if so they had died out or been wiped out long ago. Except now he knew that wasn’t true. Or it was, but the Marawi druids had found a way to bring them back. This was what Ector had died for; to resurrect a dragon.

And now the monster was chasing Artas across the desert.

***

Naavos of the Rock Eagle clan peered over the horizon, his dark eyes narrowed to discern any movement. Two of his men huddled on the shifting sand beside him, four more crouched further below. Hiding at their vantage point, half a mile from the settlement, they had seen the huge explosion where that strange ancient structure stood.

The rising sun behind them pushed the fleeing wisps of darkness further away, giving rise to an early morning mist. It was a strange thing to behold, for mist had never before formed over the harsh sand dunes of their arid homeland.

“Brace yourselves, my brothers,” Naavos cautioned. “I fear our new friends did rankle the ghosts further, instead of quelling them.”

“What are we to do, Naavos,” one of the men, Tolemaas, ventured, “…now that the accursed place appears to have vanished?”

“We wait, we watch,” Naavos replied, running his fingers over his bearded chin.

“Look there,” Draagos cried, his sharp eyes detecting movement in the swirling miasma of dust, smoke, and heat waves.

“Yes, I see him. It is a man,” Naavos whispered through gritted teeth. “One of our new friends.”

“But where are the others? Have the ghosts-”

He couldn’t finish his sentence as something huge and gleaming rose up from behind the man that was running toward them.

“What is that?” Draagos screamed, his eyes wide in terror.

“The strange legends are true… we are undone.” Naavos leapt to his feet. “Flee, we must flee to the settlement. Get everyone into the depths of the caves.”

As one, the seven tribesmen turned and raced down the shifting sand dunes, their feet sinking and sliding as they ran toward their ancestral home. A loud, ear splitting shriek blasted through the air, making their stomachs churn and hearts beat faster. The sound of beating wings grew louder, and a huge shadow fell across them. Some of the men tripped and fell, in their hurry to get to their settlement.

The flying creature shrieked again as it swooped over them, heading in the direction of their home. The wind from its immense wings blew up enough sand to make a little sandstorm, forcing the running men to cover their faces and drop to their knees.

“It is him.” Draagos glared at the lone figure running toward them as he looked back. “The archer.”

“There is no time, my clan brothers. Run to the settlement,” Naavos urged his men. “Get everyone to safety below the caves. I will bring the easterner with me.”

The others raced after the horror that soared toward their homes, as their chieftain turned to face the young man stumbling hard on the shifting sands. The sun broke over the horizon, bathing the desert plains with the pale incandescence of dawn. Naavos knew that it would grow unbearably hot within minutes. He held out his hand towards Artas.

“Make haste, young archer. All is lost.”

“The dragon, the dragon,” Artas babbled, panting furiously.

“No time to talk now. Here, drink and follow me.” The tall chieftain handed Artas a waterskin and turned away, running off toward the settlement.

Artas gratefully emptied the cooling contents of the waterskin, fearing it may be his last drink in this life. He cast the skin aside and watched Naavos crest a dune. He broke into a fast run after the man.

“Keep up, boy.” Naavos looked over his broad shoulder. “And what of your companions?”

“Dead,” he replied, coming up alongside the tribesman. “Slain by that monstrosity.”

Naavos cursed. “Soon, we will all be. Where did this come from?”

“In the ruin of the ship, we found the Marawi druids. They summoned it.”

“That is the work of the fire worshipers?” Naavos sounded skeptical.

“Yes. I killed three at least before the dragon appeared.”

“Have you seen such a thing before?” Naavos topped the final dune that concealed the settlement.

“No, I’ve only heard the legends. They are fairy tales-” Artas’ heart caught in his mouth as Naavos suddenly bellowed in anguish next to him.

Cresting the dune, a sight more horrific than he had ever seen before made him freeze. His limbs felt lifeless and his heart raced frantically. The full view of the dragon in the early morning sunshine was breathtaking and terrifying all at once. Its bronzed, scaly skin gleamed, as its huge wings flapped furiously. Jet streams of fire exploded from its massive angular jaws, bringing death and destruction to the tribesmen below.

Screams of terror and sounds of metal hitting stone echoed all around, as Artas and Naavos ran down the dune. Tribesmen frantically hurled their metal tipped spears and fired arrows at the rampaging behemoth, to no avail. Naavos searched around feverishly for any sign of children and women among the dead or the dying. He sighed in relief as he saw none; most must have already escaped into the deep caves under the grotto.

But his brave tribesmen were falling in large numbers, trying to contain the beast. He joined the attack, hurling a spear with a long chain attached to its butt. It struck the hind leg of the dragon, ripping into its softer underbelly. The spear stuck fast, making the dragon rear back with an ear splitting shriek. Turning its massive head toward Naavos, it shot a stream of red flames from its mouth at the stunned tribesman. Artas threw himself at the desert chieftain, getting him out of the line of fire just in time.

“My thanks,” he gasped, even as Artas sped away, with one of their bows in hand, shooting a flurry of arrows at the mammoth creature.

The dragon landed on the ground, shaking it hard as men scampered around losing their footing. It pushed its snout under its hind leg, trying to get at the heavy spear embedded in there. It was in pain, Artas saw that in its blazing dark eyes. It couldn’t quite reach the spear haft and thrashed its tail on the ground violently, smashing into the mud huts that had served as dwellings for the Rock Eagle clan.

Artas nocked an arrow and took aim. If he could blind the monster, it might become easier to kill. As he drew back, an arrow whizzed past his face. He dropped quickly behind a ruined pillar, spotting Draagos on the other side of the smoking ruins of the town building. He had a malevolent glare in his eyes and a sneer on his face. His bowstring was drawn with a second arrow aimed at Artas’ head.

The slender noble picked up the bow he had dropped and grasped around for an arrow. Even in this hellish predicament, Draagos chose to seek retribution for his humiliation on the archery contest. Finding an arrow, he peered up again. The arrow Draagos released slammed inches from his head, into the remnant base of the pillar he hid under. He rose up, bowstring drawn, arrow nocked, aiming at Draagos, who was himself nocking his third arrow.

Suddenly the man’s eyes went wide, and the next instant his whole body was engulfed in flames. He died with a silent scream escaping his open mouth. Another ear spitting shriek from the dragon reminded Artas that he was far from being safe.

He felt the rest of the building begin to shake and large chunks of it hit the ground around him. Leaping to his feet, the nimble youth darted out into the open. The shadow of the dragon fell upon him. He saw Naavos running for the caves. The dragon lashed out its tail, bringing down the whole town building around them. The chain on the spear butt whipped out, wrapping itself around Artas’ left leg. The links entwined and he felt a sharp snap as the dragon took to the air.

Artas felt the breath rush out of him as his world went upside down. The ground seemed to move further away from him, and the smoking ruins of the Rock Eagle clan settlement became smaller and smaller. He suddenly realized that he was in the air.

The heavy iron chain on the spear that was embedded in the dragon’s underbelly held his ankle fast. He hung upside down as the dragon’s massive wings beat the air, soaring ever higher. Blood rushed to his head as the roar of thumping wings pounded his ears. Blackness overcame him.

His body went limp, buffeting against the large, scaly hind leg of a monster of legend.

34

Harald drew rein, making Thawban rear up. The massive warhorse’s slashing hooves nearly took the crouching man’s head off before him. The regent’s eyes flashed with anger at the man cowering on the pathway. He was just a farmer, arrested for a bit of drunken brawling. Harald stared down at the kneeling peasant with contempt.

“Who is this wretch, and why does he hinder my morning ride?”

“He’s from the southern farmlands, sire.” One of the guardsmen holding a spear bowed low. “You need not concern yourself, we will deal with him.”

“I am the king, am I not?” Harald sneered. “I will concern myself with whomsoever I wish.”

“But of course, your majesty.” The second guardsman, a much older man than the first, bowed even lower.

“What are his crimes?”

The older guard replied. “He was arrested for fighting in the marketplace, after a bout of drinking.”

“Is that so?” Harald cricked his neck. “The penalty for that is death by execution. Bring him to the palace courtyard at noon.”

“The death penalty for drunken brawl-” the younger guard began to speak, but a swift jab in the gut from his colleague’s spear haft shut him up.

“Begging your mercy, sire.” The older guard said, as the younger guard dropped to his knees. “We shall escort the prisoner there before noon.”

Harald nodded, glaring at the younger guard before kicking Thawban into a gallop and riding off in a cloud of dust.

“Are you a fool?” the older guard hissed at his younger colleague. “You’d just as soon have your head on a spike as this drunk’s.”

“He is mad. We are being ruled by a madman.” The youth got off his knees. “He has doubled the executions. At this rate he will be a ruler of the dead before this year is gone.”

“That I agree. King Ludwig has never done such insane things.”

“Palara is doomed with this madman for a king,” snarled the younger guard, as he helped their prisoner to his feet. “I’ve a good mind to set this man free.”

“Then your head will replace his, young fool.” The older guard laughed, a bitter resentful laugh. “And watch your tongue when you speak against the regent. Not all are as lenient as I am.”

***

Harald glanced over his shoulder as he rode into the palace grounds. These early morning rides helped soothe his raging nerves. Thawban, his horse, seemed about the only living thing that did not disappoint him. The magnificent stallion was always ready, always there for him. Riding on his horse freed him from all his troubles and misgivings, and now that he neared the palace, all of those came flooding back into his mind.

He dismounted, tossing the reins to his stable hand. He tried to remember the foolish young guardsman’s face. If required, he would have to make an example of him. Insurrection, no matter how trivial, would not be tolerated, Harald decided, stepping into the empty throne room and taking the wooden throne. This was where he felt his most powerful, seated on the eagle throne, looking down at everyone with contempt and disdain.

The stubborn old woman was yet to crack, and it tore at him like a thorn at his side. He had already executed two of his jailers for failing to make an old woman break down. The other two would share the same fate if the Duchess held out any further. He poured himself some wine and drank it, spilling some on his gilded breastplate and tunic.

“You seem troubled, sire.” A soft voice made him jerk up, spilling more wine.

Harald looked around in anger. He was supposed to be alone. Who would dare enter the throne room without his permission? His anger mingled with perverse glee as he sought out his second victim for execution that day.

“Who said that?” he snarled. “Show yourself, before I call the royal guard.”

“Oh, no need for that.” A small man in a simple brown robe and hood stepped out of the shadows. “I am far from being any of the perils that plague you.”

“What do you know of my perils, stranger?” Harald sat upright, an odd chill going down his spine. “And show me your face. I like to know who I send to the executioner’s block.”

“I am not here to offer my head, sire.” The man removed his hood, revealing a gentle smiling face. “Instead, I offer you the very thing you seek.”

“I seek many things. Which do you speak of?” Harald leaned closer, peering intently at the little man.

“The one thing you seek the most.” His smug face irritated the regent.

Harald raised his voice. “Who are you and how did you get in here?”

“I am simply a traveler in these parts.”

“Are you a Druid? I have little patience for your ilk.”

“I wouldn’t rate myself so highly. I am but a humble monk.” He bowed low for emphasis.

“Then what makes you think you have anything I may need, humble monk,” Harald said dismissively.

“Oh, but you do, Harald, regent of Palara.”

“I am the king.”

“Not as long as the princess lives,” the stranger dared.

Harald sat bolt upright. “What do you know of her?”

“She is of no consequence.” The stranger shook his head. “Not when you accept my offer.”

“Which is what?”

The monk’s voice grew sepulchral. “The stones of Berghein are all that are in your way.”

“I have heard enough of those stones.”

“Pay close heed, my liege,” said the little man. “The stones of Berghein hold great power. There is but one way to thwart them, and whomsoever wields it shall rule all the lands.”

Harald was curious despite himself. “And what is it?”

The monk waited a beat before replying. “The Dragon Stone.”

Harald had heard of this mysterious artifact before, thought to be nothing more than a legend. But then, so were the stones of Berghein. He was starting to feel a little desperate and anxious at finding Myriam. At this point, he would take any advantage he could get, no matter how far fetched it seemed.

“Do you have it?” he asked.

“I have it, yes. But first, I must speak to your prisoner.”

Harald raised an eyebrow. “The duchess?”

“Yes, sire, you are most perceptive.”

“She knows where the stones are, and where the princess is.”

“I do not seek the stones, or the princess.” The smaller man took a step back from the throne. “I only wish to speak to her.”

“A woman who won’t talk is of no use to me. Speak to her all you like. It matters not. But first, where is the Dragon Stone?” Harald’s twitching hand almost grabbed at the stranger’s throat. “What does it do?”

The monk waved with a flourish. “It is the heart of the Dragon Sword, and it gives the wielder power over the dragons.”

“You’re mad, dragons are a myth.”

“If you so believe, but I know that you don’t.”

“Give me the sword,” the regent demanded.

“When I have had words with the Duchess D’Anjue. Sire.”

***

The creaking of the cell door opening woke her. The frail old woman looked up painfully at the flickering light that illuminated the darkness in the rank cell. She felt nauseous. The pain all over her battered body flooded back into her conscious mind. Huddled low on the hard, cold floor, she peered at the shadowy figures standing over her. What more horrors would she have to suffer?

She heard Harald’s hateful voice. “There she is. Have your words with her, monk.”

“I see you have shown her your well-regarded hospitality.” She heard a gentle voice respond to him.

“Be quick about it, and bring me the sword,” Harald barked.

“I need to speak with her at length.”

Harald sneered, slamming the cell door shut and locking it. “When you have what I want, you can ask to be let out, or rot in there with the hag.”

She heard Harald’s heavy footfalls fade as he walked away.

The man in the brown robes knelt down before her. He gently touched her as she looked at his soft features. She didn’t know who he was. It felt like a dream. She sensed the man pour something into her lips from a small vial he fished out from within his robe. It tasted vile and she coughed, painfully.

“Poison!” she thought. Freedom at last from this prison called life.

But instead, her pain began to recede and her mind cleared. She looked at him with a sense of bewilderment in her eyes.

“Duchess D’Anjue,” he said softly. “It is a shame to find such a woman of strength as you brought down to this.”

“I’m sure you haven’t taken all this trouble to just mock me,” she said, eyeing him with suspicion. “Who are you?”

“Who I am is of no consequence, your excellence. What I have to say, is.”

“Then say it. But if this is some trick of Harald’s to get me to speak about-”

“This is no trick of his or anyone’s.” The stranger shook his head. “But the hour of reckoning comes for the House of D’Anjue.”

“You speak of the prophecy,” the old woman gasped. “The return of the dragons.”

“Aye, milady.” He looked her in the eyes and smiled slightly. “And the end of The House of D’Anjue.”

35

“Bluebell!” Ganry’s deep voice had a child-like exuberance as he hugged the neck of his beloved horse. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Myriam smiled at the gentleness she witnessed from her war hardened guardian. Hendon and Linz joined her too, with broad smiles on their faces. They stood on the wooden walkway of the fishing outpost where they had first entered the realm of the Lake Men, several weeks ago.

“Oh, here’s Bartok.” Hendon ran up to the saw backed mare, caressing her brow and nose. The horse whinnied softly at his gentle touch. “My thanks to your men here, Linz, for having kept the horses so well fed and cared for.”

The young chief of the Lake Men smiled, nodding appreciatively.

“And there’s Oaken, and Orton too,” Myriam clapped happily. Then her face suddenly clouded, “Oh, Artas.”

“I hope he’s safe,” Hendon said, looking at Ganry.

The tall former mercenary looked out toward the west and shrugged. “He’s lethal with that bow of his, and swift on his feet. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“But I can’t help feeling he’s in danger,” Myriam said, her large eyes misting.

“We’re all in danger, princess.” Ganry placed his callused palm on her shoulder. “All the time.”

“When I touched Orton,” Hendon said, “I thought of Artas and felt hot and thirsty.”

“I did so too,” Myriam said. “Is he still in the Berghein Valley?”

“Hard to say, princess.” Ganry shook his head. “I doubt Castle Locke is still holding out against the forces of Harald.”

“Then every moment we are here, we waste time,” Linz said suddenly, making them turn around. “You have every able bodied fighter of Halawa at your disposal. More than five thousand, and I will have them ready to march with you.”

“But do they know the ways of the world outside?” Myriam looked doubtful. “Do they know how to fight as an army, as well trained and effective as my wretched uncle’s?”

“I… I don’t think so.” Linz looked unsure. “I don’t think there is anyone here who can lead an army into war.”

Ganry spoke up. “Yes, there is. I can.”

“You?” Myriam was astonished. “I always thought you were a soldier of fortune, a one man army by yourself.”

“I did mention, princess,” Ganry offered a smile, “that I have led the armies of Emperor Fontleroy into battle. And victory.”

“Yes, I do recall that you did, back on the road when we first met Artas.”

Linz looked excitedly at Ganry. “Then you will forge my men into a fighting force worthy of Palara?”

“No, we haven’t the time for that. We must leave tonight, travel light and fast, to the lands held by the nobles, gathering up their armsmen to fight for the kingdom.”

“Then who will-” Linz began.

“You will, young chief,” Ganry smiled encouragingly. “I will show you how.”

***

The light was fading fast, and Loren was yet to gather all the eggs from the hen house. He hurried about amidst the cackling chickens, careful not to drop any. In service at Ival Hold’s castle for almost three generations of its nobility, the seventy something man defied his age, moving around fast enough for someone half that. The armsmen at Ival Hold were strong and well fed, ever ready to defend its walls, mostly because of him. Morning, noon and night, Loren made sure that everyone in the estate had done their chores and had their bellies full. Why, without him the castle would not have even lasted a decade, he thought.

“Ho Loren, what’s for supper this fine night?” a voice called out merrily, as the old man left the chicken coops and headed for the kitchen.

“Hagar, good of you to come by. We’re having sliced meatloaf in egg omelets tonight with black bread and wine,” he answered the captain of the armsmen. “What news from Castle Villeroy? Is the master coming home soon?”

“News is not good, old man.” The captain dismounted, walking his horse over to the stables. “They say the princess is still missing, and the king, or the regent, is executing anyone who even speaks of her.”

“Sad times, Hagar,” Loren sighed. “Do come inside, I’ll have Lysa pour you some wine as I prepare supper.”

“That I will, Loren.”

Loren nodded and walked into the kitchen. Darkness had already engulfed most of the estate, and the torches on the castle walls lit up one by one. The edifice itself was not too large, but it was imposing next to the smaller cottages and farm houses that dotted the countryside. Held for generations by Parsival’s family, Ival Hold was a rich source of farm products and food grain, a definite asset to the kingdom of Palara.

Hagar walked into the kitchen, refreshed after a wash in the cool water outside the stables. He nodded at Loren’s wife, Lysa, and took a seat at the table. The elderly couple reminded him of his parents, who he hadn’t seen in a decade. His life as a captain at Castle Ival Hold didn’t allow him time for much else. Almost forty, he had served the castle since he was a boy.

“Lord Parsival is well,” Hagar smiled, as Loren placed an appetizing bowl of meatloaf and eggs before him. “Four of my best are with him. There is no fear of him doing anything brash.”

“Oh dear,” Lysa shook her head. “If we know our Parsival, he’s sure to do something, and from what we’ve been hearing over the last few weeks, it’s not wise to cross the new king.”

“He isn’t king yet, Lysa,” Loren said, tearing a hunk of black bread and settling down beside Hagar. “Not when Princess Myriam still lives.”

“But where is she?” Hagar said softly.

“She hides; she knows Harald will have her head when he finds her.” Loren looked grim as he chewed on the dense bread.

“The poor child,” Lysa said, pouring the wine. “We were never so poorly treated when King Ludwig was on the throne.”

“Aye, the new taxes have all but made beggars of us,” her husband added. “That is why we fear Parsival may do something we will all regret.”

“Rumor has it that there already is some movement against the mad regent,” Hagar said in hushed tones. “There was some sort of uprising at the Port in Brammanville, a few days ago.”

“Really? What more have you heard?” Lysa leaned in eagerly. She loved all sorts of gossip.

“One of them was executed recently. Some say he was a spy. Some say he was bribed by the enemies of the regent.”

“If there is any truth in this, and the uprising sweeps this way,” Loren looked worriedly at Hagar, “where will we stand?”

“Almost thirty years I have served this castle, since I was a boy of ten, and what a glorious three decades that has been, under the wise rule of King Ludwig and his father before him.” Hagar continued solemnly. “I will side by his heir, the true ruler of Palara, the Princess Myriam.”

“Well said, my boy,” Loren nodded. “Well said.”

***

“The hunters will still be searching the borders of the Berghein Valley, and the maze of trails in the Cifenon forest,” Ganry said, reining Bluebell in. “The roads leading to the farmlands that the nobles hold will not be much guarded.”

“So far we haven’t run into any hunting parties,” Myriam said. “But we may not be so lucky, Ganry, and we don’t have Artas with us this time to shoot down the dogs.”

“As long as we stay away from the Berghein Valley route, we should be safe,” Ganry assured her. “It seems Harald’s army is being reinforced at the border. They still think you might be in the Berghein Valley.”

From high on their vantage point overlooking the road, the three riders sat restlessly on their mounts, with their hoods drawn over their heads. A cohort of Palaran soldiers marched below, heading west.

“Okay, so where are we heading first?” Hendon asked, as the soldiers grew ever smaller before disappearing over the horizon.

“To the south,” Ganry said, studying the little map he had been given by Leonidavus, Myriam’s tutor, when he had first arrived at Palara to spirit her away. “This region, the Ulmet Bay, and then move on up through Crandall country here, and on to Ival hold. If we win the men over in these parts, we will have a strategic position to draw Harald’s forces between us and the Lake Men.”

“And Linz will be ready with his men, within the week’s time you gave him?” Hendon was skeptical.

“Well, I trust that he will. There is something about that boy, something that inspires people.” Ganry scratched his grizzled chin, peering into the southern plains that lay before them. “The sun is about to set, princess. The roads will be less guarded with the army marching off to the west.”

“Let’s be on our way, then.” Myriam eyes shone with determination. “Every moment we wait, another one of my people dies.”

36

The chill in the air made Leonie grip the cloak around her small frame tightly. She pulled the hood down low as she stepped outside onto the street after Parsival. The huge stranger followed them out, just the tip of his crossbow showing under his heavy brown cloak.

“This way, please.” The man waved at a small single horse drawn carriage. It stood under a dimly lit street torch, flickering in the wind.

Leonie’s eyes went wide. She gnashed her teeth and shook her head. “You must be mad to think I’ll get into that carriage with you.”

“We have little time,” the stranger hissed in low tones, gesturing with his crossbow for them to step into the waiting carriage.

“Where do you intend to take us?” Parsival asked, as he helped Leonie up the footboard.

“Just a few rounds of the city, as we talk,” the big man said gruffly, nodding at the somber looking carriage driver to get going.

The carriage moved forward with a lurch as Parsival managed to squeeze himself beside a fuming Leonie. She glared at him as the stranger took the seat opposite them in the tiny cabin. They moved past the dark streets and the castle loomed up ahead. For a moment Parsival thought they were going to be handed over to the guard and thrown in chains, but they passed the castle and moved on. He opened his mouth to speak, but the stranger motioned for silence. He felt his heart beating hard against his chest.

After what seemed like an eternity of slow ponderous movement, with only the creaking of the carriage wheels echoing around them, the stranger cleared his throat. He pushed back his hood a little, but the dimness within the carriage kept his features hidden.

“Let my name yet be unknown, but I am a friend and not a foe to your cause.” His voice was a deep rumble, with a rich accent slightly familiar to Parsival.

“And what do you know of our cause?” Leonie retorted before her companion could stop her.

“I know more than you do, at the moment.” The huge man nodded, his immense bulk taking the entire seat that was made for two.

“You expect us to trust you without knowing anything about you?” she spat back. “Why should we do any such thing?”

“Because the Lords Devein and Lancaster have taken me into confidence.”

“What?” Parsival blurted. He couldn’t believe that the two most prominent lordships in the north would be a part of their little insurgence against the mad regent.

But Leonie did not react, affirming her knowledge of their allegiance. Yet why did they not tell her of this stranger, and what his part was in all this. The stranger deduced that from her grim, thoughtful expression, and laughed.

“The lords of the north have more powerful allies than you do, milady,” he said, his accent enriching her title with a lilt.

The carriage wheel bounced off a small rock, jolting them in the little cabin, effectively hiding Leonie’s sudden gasp. She realized that even she was not entirely trusted in this little endeavor. She hid the sudden disgust that rose in her and looked directly at the stranger.

“What is the purpose of this meeting?” she demanded.

Parsival looked at the stranger in earnest as the huge man leaned back on his seat.

“To kill Harald, the mad regent of Palara.”

***

The Lord Devein was a tall, stately man. His proud and arrogant bearing would suit him well if he had ever considered taking the throne. But he wasn’t a man who lusted for power, and ruling a kingdom was a burden he preferred to leave to men with the back for it. He was interested in wealth, and the comfort it had so far brought him and his family under the peaceful rule of King Ludwig.

And now that blood-thirsty fool, Harald, had destroyed in a month the prosperity his brother had built for over a decade. Devein knew from the moment that Harald took the throne, Palara was doomed as a nation, and its people would suffer in more ways than could be imagined.

He stood in the lavish crenelated terrace of his summer mansion, overlooking the rich lands his family had held for generations. Some of this he would have to sell, if he were to meet the new tax demands of the crown.

“Do you think it was wise to trust someone we barely know?” The slender young man reclining on a lavish divan looked up at Devein, a goblet of wine held lazily in his effeminate hand.

“Parsival is a good lad, my dear Lancaster. Farm stock, but a noble no less. I knew his father well.” Devein smiled down at the languid figure before him.

“I am not concerned about the young Lord of Ival Hold, my friend.” Lancaster sighed loudly. “It’s the dark stranger from beyond our borders that worries me.”

“Cease your fears.” The older man smiled, almost sagely. “Qutaybah of Vandemland comes highly recommended. Added to that, his country has an arrangement with Palara, little known to others. Harald’s reckless rule threatens to destroy everything that has taken years to build, and no one is going to take that too kindly.”

“Who has been so gracious enough to recommend Qutaybah, and how can we trust him?”

“You have seen her, in that mockery of a court held by Harald, a week ago.”

“You mean… the Duchess D’Anjue?”

“None other.” Devein looked pensive. “Though she is in fetters, she stands to gain the most by avenging her daughter’s gruesome murder. And we gain as much, by removing the insane regent and bringing the rightful heir of Ludwig back to Castle Villeroy.”

“True, we do stand to gain much.” Lancaster sipped more wine. “So now this Qutaybah will help our hot-blooded friends to remove Harald from the throne. And how exactly will they achieve this, considering Harald is constantly surrounded by his guardsmen?”

“The plan is for the Vandemlander to cause a distraction outside the castle walls with his retinue of a hundred warriors, while our more energetic allies slip into the regent’s room in the dead of the night.”

Lancaster sat up, slightly amused. “And have him chained in his own dungeon.”

“Chained?” Devein laughed softly. “Oh, no, no, no, my dear friend. They must slay the usurper, and end it all in one fell swoop.”

***

“I don’t trust him,” Leonie said, for the fifth time since they had alighted from the carriage. They stood before the decadent tavern once again.

The stranger had departed from the carriage before it reached the tavern, giving the two enough time to discuss what he had said. Parsival liked the straight forwardness of the man, even though he had never seen his face or got to know his name. But the fact that there were more nobles, especially the more powerful ones, who were against Harald, made him feel a whole lot better than when he had started off earlier that evening.

“But you have to admit, his plan, or whoever’s he is playing out, is one that is practical and possible,” Parsival said, looking over his shoulder.

“It is, and we are the ones who will be risking our necks for it.”

“Would you trust something like this to some paid mercenary or street rabble?” Parsival laughed softly. “No, this is something we must get done with our own hands; the satisfaction of doing this must be experienced intimately, and not heard from some second hand source.”

“Then it will be you who draws the first dagger across his throat,” Leonie said, her eyes shining in the torchlight.

“Agreed,” he nodded. “Now, let us make our way back to the castle before we are missed.”

“You go first. I will follow soon, using another route.” The woman pulled her hood down even lower.

“Yes, we must not be seen together. Lest Harald decides to pair our heads atop matching spikes come the morning.”

37

Artas knew he was in big trouble when he opened his eyes. His whole body was hurting as if he had wrestled with ten men. In fact, hanging upside down, stuck to a dragon, buffeting against its granite hard skin, felt much worse. As he looked around him, the rushing wind and swirling dust were making it hard to keep his eyes open. The horrific sound of giant beating wings made it difficult to get his bearings.

He shielded his eyes and tried to focus. The dragon was flying toward the sun, heading east. His eyes went wide as he realized the dragon’s target destination. It loomed up majestically under them, even in its battered and bombarded condition. The Palaran army held Castle Locke and the keep around it. And every man down there looked up at the horrendous nightmare rushing toward them.

“This is madness,” Artas yelled. “This is all a dream. And if I am not yet dead, I soon will be.”

The lean young man used all his might and energy to push himself up. His belly was on fire as the abdominal muscles tensed. He grasped desperately with his hands at the spear haft that held him imprisoned to the giant creature’s scaly leg. His fingers touched the rough metal chain, but the intense burning pain in his abdomen made him slide back down again.

The dragon was almost upon the castle, and he knew a hail of arrows from below would skewer him before any would even scratch the monster’s impervious hide. He had to get himself free.

With another desperate lunge, ignoring the sharp pain in his gut, Artas reached for the chain linking the spear. This time his fingers curled around the rusted metal. His fingers bled as he pulled his weight up against the chain. Whipping out his dagger with his other hand, he began striking the chain link on the spear butt. Sparks flew out over his face, but he continued relentlessly. The dragon swooped down over the castle walls, and the first few arrows whizzed past the back of Artas’ head.

“For the princess!” Artas roared, and struck at the chain with all his might.

The metal gave in, shattering in a hail of sparks. Suddenly, Artas was free, and he began to slide down the dragon’s leg. The fall from that height would surely kill him. The slim archer desperately clung to the dragon’s hot scaly skin, fingers bleeding, waiting for the right time to jump off. It came within moments.

The dragon banked suddenly in mid-flight, almost dislodging him. It dived down fast, as if it intended to bore its way into the earth below. The ground came rushing up at breathtaking speed, and Artas knew this was the moment. He would either be saved, or die.

The dragon opened its huge maw, sending a jet stream of billowing red flame down on the panic stricken soldiers of Palara. Just as it seemed inevitable that it would hit the ground nose first, the dragon jerked up and streaked along parallel to the blazing ground.

This was his chance, and Artas took it. Using all his remaining strength, he hurled himself away from the speeding behemoth as it banked over the stream that entered the castle walls from the valley.

Artas hit the soft, muddy bank hard, with the breath leaving his body. His head felt like it was split open, and stars filled his vision. The screams of burning and dying men echoed all around him as the gently lapping waters of the stream roused him.

He groggily got to his feet, and climbed out of the water. Before him, the giant structure of Castle Locke was in flames, every part of it. Men were screaming and running, some on horses, most on foot.

A small herd of panicked horses almost ran over him as he made his way toward the castle. He dived at the last horse as it raced past, his sore fingers clinging to its flowing mane, he let himself get dragged along, desperately trying to throw his leg across the fleeing animal’s back as it thundered toward the Palaran border.

38

“Would you like another poached egg, your highness?” Loren fawned over her as she blushed. “It’s not every day I get to serve breakfast to the Queen of Palara, you know.”

“Thank you, Loren,” Myriam smiled at the kind old man.

This was the best home cooked meal she had eaten in days. She glanced across at Ganry and Hendon, who were as happy as she was, wolfing down on the large portions of ham and eggs, toasted rye and cheese, and large mugs of fruit juice.

She hadn’t really expected this kind of a reception as they traveled through the farmlands of her kingdom. It seemed Ganry was right to wonder if the people were loyal to Harald, or to her. Most, if not all, the regions to the south they had traveled through over the last five days, hated Harald’s oppressive rule and his taxes. They feared he would destroy the peace and prosperity that King Ludwig had dedicated his life to.

Ival Hold was a magnificent farmland, and ruled for generations by Lord Parsival’s family. She had met him briefly when her father was still the king. He was a handsome young noble, very decent and well-mannered.

She feared for him, knowing that he was at attendance at Harald’s court. As she sat in the large but simple dining area of his mansion, enjoying Loren and Lysa’s adoring care, Myriam’s hopes of regaining her country soared.

The people of Ulmet Bay, where she had first made a claim of her birthright, displaying her royal seal, ring and dagger, were more than ready to follow her. It seemed the rule of the new regent threatened to affect their lives the most. From then on it was easier, as they went to Crandall Estate and then to the sea-faring region of Ogden. And it was the same here at Parsival’s Ival Hold.

“I must say,” Ganry patted his full belly, “the southern farmlands are quite prosperous.”

“Much gratitude, warrior.” Bertrand, the steely eyed captain of Ulmet Bay, who had accompanied them with his men to Ival Hold, nodded. “But it may not be so for long.”

Loren waved his serving spoon. “Not if we do something about it.”

“And we will.” Marston, the tallest man there, and commander of the forces at the Crandall Estate, said with a grim smile on his thin lips. “For we have gathered here for that very reason.”

Hagar, captain at Ival Hold stood up. “We have pledged our allegiance to you, Queen Myriam, as we had done to your sire, King Ludwig, before you.”

“And I am glad,” Myriam gushed, almost teary eyed. “Glad to know that my people, the strength of my kingdom, will not side with an unjust cruel man. I am forever grateful for this act of selfless support, dear sirs.”

Myriam looked at the faces of the hardened men seated around the simple kitchen table. The four men facing her were commanders, having served in the armies of the Lords and Ladies of Palara for decades. They had each earned their place, and were loyal to their respective regions. She was certain that they would extend that loyalty to her in this hour of need.

“This is all well and good.” Ganry pushed his empty plate away. “Now tell us, captains, how soon before you are ready to take on an entire army?”

Hagar eyed Ganry closely. “We are ready now, depending on the plan.”

“I have some suggestions.” Ganry smiled respectfully, rubbing his wrist in his huge hand.

Bertrand spoke up. “Yes, well, our garrison at Ulmet Bay are ready to fight on a day’s notice. But I must know what you have in mind.”

“Right, Ganry, let us hear what a mercenary of your skills can tell us about organizing a war.” The tall Marston smirked, rubbing his temples.

“Before I begin telling of my strategies, I must inform you that I had a life before I became a sellsword.” The huge man looked each of them in the eyes. “I was commander of Emperor Fontelroy’s armies.”

Hagar looked amused. “Not Fontleroy the Mad.”

“Yes, indeed. Yet he wasn’t always mad.”

“I have faith in you, Ganry,” Myriam said loudly for all to hear. “I trust you with my life. Let me assure you, kind sirs, that I believe this man can help save our kingdom. He will help lead our army and overthrow the usurper once and for all.”

“Your word is as good as King Ludwig’s for me, my Queen.” Bertrand bowed his head. “I will be glad to have sir Ganry’s assistance. We will fight to the gates of hell, if need be.”

“As would I.” Hagar nodded.

“And I.” Marston said solemnly.

“So will the House of Ogden.” The fourth man, grim faced and with a scar running down the left side of his cheek, spoke for the first time.

“Hell is the last place I intend to lead us, if I can help it,” Ganry laughed. “But I do have a plan that may bring hell right to us.”

The great table creaked as the captains leaned forward, facing the large warrior. He looked at each of the expectant faces somberly. They listened closely, and curiously.

***

“It all sounds great,” Hagar said, “but I see a flaw in your plan, Ganry, perhaps an oversight.”

“Pray tell,” Ganry growled. The few hours he spent explaining the elaborate plan of first harrying and raiding Harald’s many border outposts, and then drawing the main army into a trap, had left him weary and irritable. The princess and Hendon had long retired for the night, but he stayed up with the four commanders who had many questions and doubts for him to satisfy.

“When you say we will have them surrounded from the south and west, pushing them up towards Cifenon Forest, how again will we be cornering them against a forest with many paths through it?”

“Yes, they will be cornered, forced back by our companions hidden within Cifenon,” Ganry replied, trying to be patient.

“The mysterious Lake Men you mentioned.” Bertrand looked skeptical. “Except no one has ever seen one. And you say their chief, a mere boy, shows allegiance to Queen Myriam.”

“Yes, precisely.” Ganry’s exasperation could tear the wooden board off the table with his bare hands.

“And what of the men fighting in the regent’s army?” Hagar scratched his chin. “Many of them have families in the farmlands.”

“We will give them a chance to defect and join our just cause,” the tall Marston said, almost disinterestedly.

“Yes, and we will require complete loyalty and commitment for the Queen from everyone.” Ganry rapped his knuckles on the table. “And what have you to say about this, Lord Ogden?”

“The house of Ogden sees merit to your plan, sir Ganry.” The scarred man, the only noble among them, nodded slowly as the first streaks of dawn burst over the horizon outside the window. “We will ride with you.”

39

“Parsival, hurry. Qutaybah’s men have drawn all the guards’ away from their posts,” Leonie hissed, keeping to the shadows under the eastern wall of the castle.

“I am, I am,” the young man whispered. “Where are the others?”

“They will join us from the other side. We have to enter from different directions.”

“And that foreigner?” Parsival eyed the dagger she held, its sharp edge laced with poison. The same as he had. There wasn’t going to be a second chance at this.

“Qutaybah? Yes, he is there.” Leonie crept up the inner stairway. “Now keep your voice down. Let’s do this.”

The chaos outside allowed them to move through the dark halls and corridors of Castle Villeroy undetected. It was easy to sneak out of the nobles’ enclosure. All those guards were easy to bribe. But the ones guarding the regent’s private bedchamber were better trained and loyal to Harald.

Parsival felt his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he followed the gutsy Leonie. They stopped at the corridor that led to the regent’s bed chamber. Braziers hanging from chains overhead lit up the passage, and there was no way of creeping through it unseen. Three heavily armed elite guards kept vigil outside the huge gilt-edged door.

“Now what?” Parsival whispered.

“This is good,” Leonie whispered back. “Usually about a dozen guards patrol these corridors. We have only three to contend with, thanks to the riot outside.”

“Only three? I admire your courage, woman.” Parsival sighed. “Only three of the best killers of Palara.”

“Oh, look.” Leonie squeezed his arm, indicating across the corridor at a young man, and a large warrior. “It’s them. The outlander.”

Silent as panthers, the two men ran down the corridor from the other side, weapons drawn and faces grim with determination. The three guards turned toward them, leaving the door unattended. One of them reached up for the rope that would ring a bell.

A well aimed dagger slamming into his chest stopped that from happening. In a blur of movement, the huge Vandemlander had killed all three guards, and stood wiping his broadsword on a regal tapestry.

“The door, it’s free,” Leonie whispered. “Move. Now.”

Parsival didn’t answer. Instead he ran up to the door and pushed it open. The room inside was large and dim, and in the pale light he could make out another doorway to an inner chamber. Harald’s bedroom. He rushed in, throwing caution to the wind, with Leonie hot on his tail.

“There he sleeps,” she hissed. “Do it now.”

Parsival moved as if in a daze. He knew what he was doing, but it felt like he was watching someone else do it. He grabbed at the sleeping man’s shoulder, turning him around onto his back. With a swift stroke, he ran the dagger across Harald’s throat. There was no cry from the regent. His eyes didn’t even open in pain or surprise.

Leonie pushed Parsival aside and slammed her dagger into Harald’s chest, right to the hilt. The bed groaned but the man on it remained motionless.

“What manner of-” Parsival began, grabbing a dim torch off the wall and holding it over the body.

“This isn’t Harald,” Leonie screeched. “It’s a decoy. A dead body of someone else.”

“We should have known…”

Footsteps running up made them turn around. The young man accompanying the outlander parted the curtains and peered in. “Is it done?”

Before either of them could answer, the young man’s eyes went wide, and blood erupted from his chest, followed by the flat blade of a Palaran infantryman. A large hand grabbed the dying man’s neck and hurled him aside. Harald stepped into the bedchamber, bloody blade in hand. His eyes gleamed with hatred as more guards followed him in, carrying blazing torches.

“Assassins in my own home,” the regent said coldly. “Surrender, or die.”

Parsival dropped his dagger and placed his hands above his head. Leonie looked at him in disbelief and then glared at Harald. He regarded her as if she was rack of lamb ready for the cookhouse. She sighed and dropped her dagger, casting a last glance at the body of the man on the bed, wondering who that hapless victim might have been.

“Take them away,” Harald growled. “And I want the fourth man found. Scour the castle and the grounds, or its all of your heads.”

Qutaybah had escaped, Parsival realized, his respect for the stranger suddenly going up a few notches. The huge foreigner could tell of this to the others. Maybe there was still a chance to end this madman’s rampage, even if he himself would not see another sunrise.

***

“They are coming, milady, to set us free,” the little man said, peering through the bars of the cell. “Everything is falling into place as I had foreseen.”

“Placing such power into the hands of a butchering madman is something I will never condone.” The Duchess D’Anjue shook her head. “Whoever you are, this is a grave mistake you are making.”

“In time, all will make sense.” The monk smiled, drawing his hood back over his head. “Here they come.”

The flickering light of bright torches cast eerie dancing shadows across the dungeon walls. The Duchess could hear Harald’s hateful voice gloating over some other victim he had brought down with him. Cell doors creaked open, the sound of bodies being roughly hurled inside followed, and then the doors clanged shut with rusted keys squeaking in protest as they turned the locks into place.

The torchlight grew brighter as the regent and his jailer approached her cell. Harald stood outside, glaring at her. The jailer opened the door and the little monk stood up.

“You did well, warning me of this attempt on my life, little man,” Harald told him. “Now keep up the other end of our bargain and then I will set the Duchess free.”

“You will let the Duchess come with me now, Harald, regent of Palara, or you will never be king.”

“What consequence is she to you?” the regent snarled, stepping away from the cell door as the monk walked through it.

“None.” He smiled. “I don’t like to see old people suffer.”

“What a waste of effort. Now come, you can have a room in my castle until I get this dragon sword you spoke of.”

“How kind of you, sire.” The monk bowed and then took the Duchess’ hand, leading her out. “Come, milady. You have suffered this indignity enough.”

She took his hand and followed him out of the dank cell, her head held up proudly.

“Duchess?” She heard a weak voice come from one of the cells as she walked past.

It was one of the new prisoners, a young man, bleeding from several cuts and sporting a swollen lip and a black eye. A half naked woman lay by his side, sobbing into the dirt laden floor. She had never seen them before.

40

“Artas!” Myriam’s eyes lit up. “What’s happened to him?”

“He’s hurt,” Ganry said, looking down at the sleeping noble. “His left ankle is swollen, possibly broken, and he’s been pierced by an arrow though the shoulder. Let him rest.”

“Will he be alright?” Hendon was almost in tears. “Where did you find him?”

“A few miles south of the Berghein Valley border. He had ridden his horse almost to death,” Hagar said grimly, standing beside Lord Ogden. “He said he has grave news for the princess, before he fainted.”

“What news?” Myriam asked apprehensively, as Hendon walked over to where a horse was tethered, lazily munching grain.

“We’ll have to wait until he wakes,” Ganry said, “though he did say one word before he passed out.”

The young girl looked up at Ganry. “What was that?”

“Dragon.”

“What? Dragon?” She searched the faces of the three men standing beside her. “What does that mean?”

“That he was delirious with pain and exhaustion, or we’re in more trouble than we can ever fathom,” Ganry replied sourly, turning away.

The last three days, his plan had worked flawlessly. The armsmen, in their hundreds from the four southern nobilities, were well trained and followed his orders to the letter. They were successful in subduing all of the army outposts by sheer weight of numbers.

The two Palaran patrols they had encountered on the road towards the Berghein Valley were also dealt with efficiently, with minor losses to life and limb. Most of the Palaran soldiers agreed to the chance of joining the uprising, as their families populated the southern farms. The few that did not, foolishly standing by the usurper, were slain or imprisoned in the dungeons of various castles around the southern countryside.

But something was wrong, Ganry felt. As they marched onward to the west, instead of finding more of Harald’s men, they found less. The closer they got to the Berghein Valley, the lesser the resistance became. His plan to push the Palaran army back toward Cifenon Forest and entrap them between his forces and the Lake Men seemed less likely with every passing moment.

“Well, I’m glad Artas is back with us.” Hendon’s voice broke Ganry’s train of thought, and he looked at the boy grimly. Hendon continued, “But he is in no condition to fight beside us.”

Ganry glanced back at the young man still sleeping on the cot. “He’s done his best.”

Myriam was holding his hand, a tear running down her cheek. “And he will do so again, but not in this battle.”

“What do you think, Ganry?” Hendon asked with a deep sigh. “About what Artas said.”

“Yes, I heard him clear enough, but I can’t waste time thinking on a delirious ramble.”

“He said the exact word?”

“He said, dragon.”

“What could that mean, especially when the way to Berghein Valley is not as guarded as we thought it would be?”

“We will know when he awakens and can speak,” Ganry said. “Right now we carry on with our mission.”

“But doesn’t this change things?” Hendon pressed. “If the Berghein Valley no longer interests Harald, won’t his army be recalled, while we waste precious time going the wrong way?”

“We don’t know that for sure.”

“But Orcas told me that-”

“Who is Orcas?”

“The horse… that Artas was riding on…” Hendon said with some care. “It belonged to a soldier in the Palaran army. It told me that Castle Locke has been destroyed by a monster, and that the army had retreated back east.”

“I believe in talking horses as much as I do in dragons, young forester.” Ganry laughed and walked outside. “Go and see to the princess. I must check up on the men. Leading an army to war is a heavy burden, even on these broad shoulders.”

Ganry was right, through experience and logic. An army was at its best when it was well fed and strategically equipped. The collective wealth of the nobles sustained the needs of the three thousand men he led, and yet it was an exercise that required constant vigilance.

Everyday the size of their army increased as more men joined the cause, mostly defectors of the regent’s army, and many whose farmlands were in peril from the unjust taxes imposed by the new regime. That meant more gold, food and resources had to be expended.

Ganry chuckled, remembering this as one of the reasons why he had left such a life behind. It all came back to him, but he knew this time it was different. This time he felt a sense of righteousness. This time he was fighting an evil far greater than ever before.

“My lord,” a deep voice interrupted his thoughts.

“I am no lord,” he said angrily, glaring at one of the armsmen bearing the insignia of Ulmet Bay . “What is it?”

“We have detained another rider, coming in from the east.”

“Is he important? Someone from Harald’s court?” Hagar asked, sitting up.

“He’s a foreigner,” the man replied with some concern. “He says he is a trader, but he doesn’t look anything like one. Not with that strange appearance and deadly weapons.”

Bertrand, the steely eyed captain from Ulmet Bay, stepped up beside Ganry. “Bring him before us.”

“Yes, captain.” The man bowed and left.

“Now what new menace is this?” The tallest man there, Marston, joined them on the grassland overlooking the road to the west.

The armsmen returned, guiding a towering, powerfully built man. The soldier’s spear point almost prodding him along.

“I come in peace,” the large man said, his voice deep and rich, hinting of a thick northern accent.

“Who are you?” Ganry asked, never having seen anyone like him before.

The huge man’s bald head gleamed in the morning sun. His dark skin and expensive clothing made him distinctly stand out.

He bowed low. “I am Qutaybah, of Vandemland.”

“And what are you doing in Palara, especially coming from the direction of Castle Villeroy?” Hagar inquired.

Qutaybah grinned, anger briefly flashing across his dark eyes. “I am here on a mission.”

“And what mission is that?” Marston stared at the dark giant in awe, who was almost taller than he was.

“I can reveal it only to the princess.” The Vandemlander’s smile did not reach his eyes.

“You will reveal that to us or die, slaver,” Ganry said with suspicion. “And how did you know you could find the princess here?”

“I have my ways,” Qutaybah said slowly. “And you must be the famous guardian of the princess that everyone is talking about.”

“Are they now?” Ganry grinned. “Then you must have also heard of how I deal with any and all threats to her.”

“Oh, I assure you, kind sir,” Qutaybah grinned back, “I am no threat… to the princess.” He regarded the imposing Ganry cooly, sizing him up, naked challenge in his eyes.

Marston smiled, leaning back. He had seen this kind of posturing many times before. These two were assessing each other like two bulls would, before the inevitable clash of horns. It would be interesting if they actually did draw swords on each other. They looked evenly matched, at least in stature and power. He glanced across at Bertrand and Hagar, and they gave him knowing smiles, thinking of the same thing.

“There’s only one way you get to see the princess, slaver,” Ganry said, his hand griping Windstorm’s hilt. “And that is through me.”

The dark man spread out his large arms. “But I am unarmed.”

“Give him his weapon,” Ganry barked, as Windstorm leapt to his hands, singing sharply as it cut the air around him.

“Is this wise?” Hagar was concerned.

“Of course it is.” Marston grinned. “Two to one odds on Ganry.”

“I’ll take that wager.” Bertrand grinned back as one of the men tossed Qutaybah his massive broadsword.

The two giants circled each other like predatory lions assessing one another’s strengths and weaknesses. Their eyes grimly locked onto one another’s, their lips sealed in a tight line. These were men of war, and they knew each faced a worthy opponent.

Suddenly Ganry lunged, holding Windstorm’s hilt close to his chest, the blade pointed at the giant Vandemlander. At the last instant of his lunge, he extended his arms with a rapid thrust. Qutaybah brought his broadsword up in a blocking arc, twisting the flat blade to make the razor sharp blade of the longsword slide up its surface. Sparks, blue and yellow, showered over their snarling faces.

Qutaybah lunged forward, his thick neck flexing as he lowered his head to smash into Ganry’s approaching face. But the former mercenary ducked at the last moment, dropping low and helping the giant Vandemlander’s momentum flip him over his body and land hard on the ground behind him.

The next instant, Ganry twisted and brought Windstorm down with a flashing arc over the fallen man, only to clash hard against his rising steel. The resonant sting from the clash made both men drop their swords. Qutaybah kicked out, his heavy boot sweeping Ganry off his feet.

He fell hard beside the Vandemlander, and found large dark hands encircling his thick bull neck. Ganry’s hands closed over his assailant’s neck with as much force too, as both bear-like men rolled about furiously on the grass covered ground.

“What’s going on here? Ganry!” Myriam’s shrill voice made the men stop and look in her direction as she walked up from the little tent where Artas lay sleeping. “Who is this strange man you’re fighting?”

“This is Qutaybah, a noble from Vandemland,” Hagar offered, as Ganry quickly rose to his feet and picked up Windstorm from where it had fallen. “He wishes an audience with you, my Queen.”

“Princess Myriam, as lovely as I would have imagined.” Qutaybah bowed low, breathing heavily as he gathered his broadsword and sheathed it.

“What is it that you wish to see me for?” Myriam sounded almost regal, like her mother, the late Queen Alissia.

“A mission that I have been called upon,” the dark giant smiled. “By your grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue.”

Myriam gasped, as Ganry stepped up beside her.

“My gran…” she stammered. “Where is she? How is she?”

“Alas, she is in the dungeons of Castle Villeroy, barely alive, so I have heard, three days ago. Though the last time I met her was at Castle Locke, a half a score days ago.”

“What proofs have you to support such claims?” the steely eyed Bertrand inquired.

“None, save this.” He reached into his expensive robes and produced a letter, handing it to Myriam.

The princess took it and recognized her grandmother’s writing and the royal seal of D’Anjue on the scroll. She gasped as sudden images of the Duchess in pain flashed across her mind. She staggered back into Ganry’s waiting arms.

“We must save her,” she whispered. “We must march upon Castle Villeroy immediately.”

41

“His name was Morel, and he was a loyal soldier of Palara for twenty years,” the small man said, looking up at the brooding regent.

“Who cares for his name? He was the bearer of ill news, and now his head sits perched on a spike, as he deserves,” Harald said with disdain, reclining on the throne.

“Far be it from me to tell you how to rule a kingdom, sire, I am but a humble monk.” The hooded little man standing before him had a smirk on his thin lips. “Yet if a man is to be put to death for bringing you news of how your army fares, it hardly does justice to the morale of the people.”

“As you have rightly said, monk,” Harald waved at him dismissively. “You have no claim over how I should rule my kingdom. My armies are under constant attack, and it seems the princess has found allies in numbers. And add to that, I have lost my hold on the Berghein Valley and Castle Locke, and you admonish me for punishing the ones who failed to do their duty to the kingdom, to Palara, and to me.”

“They hardly had the chance, sire. Their adversary greatly outmatched them.”

Harald stood up and began pacing the room, his eyes red and his fists clenched. “Am I to believe in such nonsense as dragons, the stuff of fantasy and forgotten legends?”

“And yet you do.”

Harald abruptly stopped and pointed at the diminutive figure. “You know more than you have so far allowed, monk. I feel certain that you are somehow instigating all this.”

“But my liege, surely you jest.” The monk bowed low. “I am a man of learning and peace.”

“And where is this fabled Dragon Sword you spoke of?” Harald rounded on the man. “Where is the power of the Dragon Stones that will find the princess for me?”

“Patience, sire. Everything comes in time, and with a price.”

“Price?” Harald roared. “I have already paid with the Duchess.”

“She was never yours to give.”

“Would you like to have your head on a spike next?”

“Patience, my liege. You will have the power soon.”

“Get out,” Harald bellowed. “Get out! Get Out! And don’t come back until you have what I need.”

The monk bowed low and slowly backed away.

“Captain!” Harald yelled. “Fetch the captain of my armies… damn, I miss Henrickson.”

The regent couldn’t have been in a more livid state. All these weeks the princess had eluded him, escaped his best hunters and trackers, and managed to stay just out of reach of his grasp. Even with his armies having taken the impregnable Castle Locke in a matter of days, he was unable to get his hands on the only thing that prevented him from crowning himself king, and continuing on with his grand plans of conquest.

And now, that weak defenseless little girl had amassed an army all of her own, and was harrying his men all over the land. The south was overrun, and so were parts of the west. Only the north and the east remained completely under his rule. But news of raiding parties out of Cifenon Forest had been coming to his ears over the last few days, making it all the more aggravating.

At least he had the satisfaction of arresting a few nobles that were foolish enough to try an assassination attempt on his life. He would take care of the infuriating little princess first, and then the insubordination of his nobles would be aptly dealt with, at leisure. A sharp knock on the door made him look up. The captain of his army was waiting patiently.

“Come in, captain. What more sorry news do you bring this day?”

“Sire, my apologies.” The thin man bowed. “We have lost more ground to the advancing armies of insurgents. Many of our soldiers are defecting to join the princess.”

Harald inhaled deeply and sighed. “Where do we stand now?”

“Our advance forces are amassed at the lands between the port of Brammanville and the mountains of the north. The main army is stationed at the camp a few hours ride from Castle Villeroy.”

“Send messengers to recall all our advance patrols and garrisons. I want all of my armed forces to march as one to the plains of Palara.” Harald rubbed his temples, his eyes ablaze with hatred. “So, the princess wants to fight a war with a motley gathering of farmers and cowardly deserters against my trained elite. I will give her a war she will never forget, and then her pretty little head will adorn a spike on the highest tower of the castle.”

“Recalling our advance forces may weaken our eastern and northern borders, my liege,” the captain said timidly. “There are reports of organized vandals from Cifenon attacking the eastern outposts. Some call them the Lake Men.”

“Lake Men,” Harald laughed. “A mere myth, my captain. I have not built a navy and army for over a decade to have them fight against phantoms and shadows. The lowlife brigands and bandits grow bold with the advent of the princess’ defiance of me. Once I have her head on a pole, I will see that accursed forest burnt to the ground, with all its inhabitants in it.”

“That would be most unwise, sire,” the monk said softly, as he walked into the throne room unannounced.

Harald glared, infuriated at the audacity of the little man. He tolerated the stranger in the monkish robes only because of the warning he had given him about the assassination attempt the day before. He was also yet to keep the promise of the mythical weapon that he claimed to have.

“You return so soon, and without what you offer,” Harald said coldly, his fist clenched tightly.

“Oh, I have what you need, sire, but it is for your eyes only.”

Harald turned to the captain of the guards. “Leave us!”

The man sped away as if the devil himself was on his back. Harald scowled and returned his glare to the monk, questioningly.

“We must travel, sire,” the monk said.

“Where to?”

“To the depths of Castle Villeroy.”

“What, right here?”

“Yes, it seems that the sacred Dragon Stones were hidden here under the castle by Terrick and the Druids to keep them safe, especially for a time like this.”

“You mean the most powerful weapon ever heard of was buried here, under Castle Villeroy all along.” Harald was stupefied. “Then I needn’t have bothered with you at all.”

“And you would have never found it at all either… my liege.” The short man pressed his palms together, as if in prayer.

“Yes, well, that is true.” Harald studied the rings on his finger to hide his embarrassment. “What are we waiting for? Show me where it is.”

“Indeed, your majesty. Come, we must go deep down below, under the castle’s dungeons and beyond.”

“You had better not be taking me on a fool’s errand, monk. Or your bones will be found down there for the next generation of treasure seekers.”

“I have no fear of death, my liege. I will embrace her when she comes.”

Harald sneered. “Why, what are you, if not a man of flesh and blood like any other.”

“Oh, I am a man, sire, just a mere mortal man. This way, my liege.”

After many minutes of walking down the winding stairway that went under the castle, the monk stopped before what looked like a dead end. The large blocks of ancient stone were covered in slime and cobwebs. No one had ever come down so deep in the dungeons for centuries, it seemed.

“There’s no where else to go,” Harald growled, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly, ready to draw at the first sign of treachery. “The passage ends here.”

“So it does.” The monk smiled, reaching for a small crack in the stone. “And so begins another.”

His slender fingers pushed the crack inward, and the block of stone moved slowly. Then suddenly, the interlocking blocks split apart and receded, opening up to a passage leading further down.

“How did you know of this?” Harald said breathlessly, pushing the torch into the opening. The flickering light illuminated the rough hewn stone stairs leading further under the castle.

“As I did mention, sire, I am a man of learning.” The monk led him down to a small circular room. Musty dank air and thick swirls of cobwebs greeted them. “And there is much to be learned when you know where to find it.”

“Where is the sword?” Harald whispered impatiently, brushing the thick overhanging cobwebs away from his face.

“We’re almost there, sire.” The monk pointed with his slender hand. “There sits the guardian of the sacred Dragon Stones.”

“What?” Harald’s eyes went wide and he drew his short flat-bladed sword, holding the torch up high. “Who is that?”

To the far side of the circular room, seated on a large chest made of iron, were the skeletal remains of what was once a man dressed in robes similar to the Druids.

“That is the guardian of the stones, my liege; he gave his life to protect them.”

“What good is he dead?” Harald almost laughed, grabbing at the dust caked robe and yanking the rotted body off the chest. “The Dragon Sword, it is in here?”

“Yes, sire.”

The monk shielded his eyes as Harald’s sword made short work on the heavy rusted locks amidst a shower of blue and white sparks.

42

Bluebell’s hooves hit the ground hard as the horse thundered toward the encampment, with Ganry waving Windstorm in the air. The mercenary-turned-bodyguard had been riding relentlessly for more than an hour, and the horse was in dire need of rest. He leapt off the saddle and threw the reins at an approaching page.

“Bad news, princess,” said Ganry, as he ran up to the large pavilion overlooking the rows of smaller tents dotting the southern hillside. “Harald’s entire army has assembled, half a days ride from here. They outnumber us three to one, and are better trained and armed.”

“How soon can we get word to Linz and the Lake men?” Artas asked, limping up next to Myriam.

“Not soon enough.” Ganry shook his head. “At least a day for a fast rider to cross the forest, and another day to get them all here. And we only have until sundown before the Palaran army is upon us.”

“If I know Linz, he would have already foreseen this, and has been moving his men through the forests as we speak,” Myriam said hopefully.

“Be that it may,” Ganry replied. “That will still take them a full day to be of any help.”

“Can we hold the Palaran army till then?” Artas asked, wincing at the pain in his ankle and shoulder.

Bertrand walked up, placing a hand on the slender man’s arm. “We must. Our men are ready to fight. All of them.”

“I will be forever indebted to them,” Myriam said with sadness in her eyes. “If only we could find some way to reach Linz.”

Hendon looked up from where he was sitting on the grass, playing with some butterflies. “We can, princess.”

“How?” Ganry looked down at him.

“Remember, in the keep of Castle Locke,” he said with some excitement. “When we held up our stone encrusted daggers, we could almost see what each other was doing.”

“Yes, yes…” Myriam clapped. “We can see where he is right now.”

“That is if Linz too is using the dagger and ring,” Ganry mused.

“Oh, he is, he’s smarter than all of us. We’re the ones lagging behind all the time,” said Myriam.

“Come princess, this is a good spot to show Linz where we are.” Hendon took out his dagger and ring. “The Basalt mountain range and the overhead sun will give him a good bearing of our position.”

Ganry almost snorted as Myriam ran up beside the forester. She held her dagger to her forehead as the stones began to glow. Hendon did the same. They stood together, holding hands, the daggers above their heads.

Ganry sat on the ground, amused. He gratefully accepted the bowl of lamb stew and hunk of black bread from Loren and began wolfing it down. He had been out riding and scouting since dawn and hadn’t a morsel since. He shook his head at the antics of the children. When would they ever learn that there was no such thing as magic.

“Oh, look!” Hendon suddenly cried out, his eyes closed and his hand shaking.

“Yes, I see that too.”

“What?” Ganry was beside them in a flash, his mouth full of lamb and bread.

“The road along Cifenon forest,” Hendon said excitedly.

“It’s Linz. We can see what he sees,” Myriam squealed.

“What?” Ganry swallowed the food down. “And where are the Lake Men?”

“There they are, he’s turning around to face them…” Hendon continued. “Oh, and I see them, hundreds of men, armed and ready for war.”

“Then he can see what you see, too,” Artas said. “Look all around you and show him where we are.”

“Yes, yes,” Myriam laughed. “He can see everything we can.”

“How many men does he have?” Bertrand asked, a skeptical look on his face.

“At least five thousand, but he’s not leading them all,” Hendon replied, with his eyes still closed.

“They are moving in clustered regiments, just like I instructed him to,” Ganry said, licking the last few drops of stew from the bowl.

“Can they speak to him?” Bertrand looked at Ganry. “With this magic they’re using?”

“There’s no such thing as magic.” The musclebound former mercenary laughed.

***

“We will keep moving south,” Linz ordered the men following him. “And tonight we won’t camp. This is not another little sortie into a small patrol or garrison. This is the reason we have left the lake. This is war, for justice and peace. We fight to have the rightful ruler of Palara regain her crown, and to preserve our ways as the Lake Men.”

A shout went up from his army, confirming their allegiance to him and the venture he was leading them to. Ganry had taught him well. He knew exactly what to do, absorbing every detail the former commander of Emperor Fontelroy’s legions had instructed him with. His sharp mind had earned him a few good points in Ganry’s book, and the thirteen year old leader of the Lake Men had never felt more proud.

“If only my mother could see me now,” he thought. “And uncle Clay. This is for you, uncle.”

Suddenly he felt the urge to hold the ornamental dagger in his hand. He flipped it out of its sheath and a strange sensation overcame him. He paused, closing his eyes. His intuition about moving south had been right. Images of the southern lands began to fill his mind, and the smiling face of the lovely princess. She was there, in the southwest region, and she was waiting for him. He felt it in his mind and his heart.

He called out to his fastest scouts. “Ride fast, to our other three regiments. Have them ride hard, all through the night, to the Basalt Mountains. Keep to the western rim of the forest. I will lead the rest there myself. The time has come, my brothers. We ride to war.”

***

The last rays of the dying sun disappeared over the western mountains, casting a dark pall of gloom over the land. Hundreds of flickering torches lit up the eastern plains where Harald and his army of ten thousand men waited. The foreboding calm before the storm weighed down on everybody on the western hills, where the camp lay behind the stream.

“They are waiting like demons, ready to fall upon us,” Hagar noted, as his restless horse stamped on the ground.

“They number ten thousand. Easy odds for our three thousand,” Ganry laughed, “except for their longer lances, thicker shields and precision training.”

“Where is that dark outlander?” Marston asked. “He had much to say about his contract with the Duchess, and how his army of twenty thousand would ride with us.”

“Has he fled with his tail between…” Hagar snorted.

“Qutaybah is no coward,” Ganry said grimly. “And it is not an army but a naval fleet that he boasted of. If that slaver does keep his word, then Harald’s navy at the port of Brammanville is in for a rude awakening.”

“Then let’s hope he keeps his word, for if the navy descends upon the western shore, we will find ourselves between the army to the east, and the navy behind us,” Artas offered, holding on to the strong arm of the grim and silent Lord of Ogden.

“You had best retreat to the princess’ tent,” Ganry said to the slender noble. “Your skills with the bow, no matter how lethal, will be of little use in the dark.”

“Do they intend to attack now, or wait till dawn?” Bertrand asked, riding up to the front.

“They are waiting for the regent,” Hagar noted. “They will attack as soon as he arrives.”

“And how soon will these five thousand Lake Men be joining us?” asked Marston.

“As to what the princess says, they will be here after dawn.” Ganry grimly eyed the Palaran army waiting just a few miles away.

“Oho, look out below!” a crier called out from high above a tree top. “Harald approaches, and he looks ready for battle.”

Sure enough, cresting a rise, the regent of Palara came thundering up on his warhorse, Thawban, with his arm raised high, holding aloft a sword that was larger than any Ganry had ever seen. Its blade was flat and wide, and even longer than Windstorm, and on its pommel, a large stone, the size of a man’s fist, shined a fiery red, covering the immense blade in a blood red shimmering glow.

43

As the first few streaks of light illuminated the pink skies of dawn, the horn for a half hour rest sounded. Fighters drew back from conflict, warily eyeing their opponents as they retraced their steps. The dead and the dying were allowed to be retrieved by the healers and pit diggers. Ganry drew rein beside Bertrand.

“This is a stalemate,” Bertrand said. “What does Harald wait for? He hasn’t joined battle in the first three sorties.”

“What would I know of the ways of kings and regents?” Ganry said, wiping the blood off Windstorm. “Perhaps he waits for the princess herself to fight him.”

Ogden spoke up suddenly. “He waits for his navy to beach and have us surrounded.”

Ganry looked at the older man with suspicion. “How would you know that, Lord Ogden?”

“Not everyone close to Harald is as loyal as you are to the princess,” Ogden remarked. “Especially when you know which palm to cross with gold.”

“So there are spies in his own home, who have told you of his plans.”

Ogden flashed a rare smile and kicked his horse into a canter away from the battlefield.

“Come, Ganry, wash your wounds and fill your belly,” Hagar called out. “We will be fighting again soon enough.”

“How many have we lost?” Ganry asked the captain of Ival Hold.

“I’d say about a hundred and eleven, if I counted correctly. More of them, than us.”

“Aye, we hold the high ground, but they are more in number and might,” Bertrand added.

“The Lake Men will be here soon.” Ganry accepted a piece of fruit from Marston.

***

“What do you mean, fool?” Harald yelled. “What prevents your men from crushing them outright?”

“They have the advantage of higher ground, sire, with the stream making a natural barrier against us.” The captain of his army bowed low. “And the one called Ganry, he has killed more than a dozen of our best fighters single handed, with his accursed sword.”

“What sword?”

“The one fabled to be the handiwork of the mysterious Grimlock bladesmiths.” The man trembled. “It is said that the weapon can cut through anything.”

“Is that so?” Harald sneered. “Let us see how it fares against the Dragon Sword.”

Harald hefted the massive weapon with both hands. The blade was glowing red, as if it was on fire. The air around the sword shimmered in the emanating heat.

A messenger stepped up to the regent, bowing low. “Sire, news from the western shore.”

“Ah, my navy has arrived.” Harald stood up. “How soon can they march up behind the princess’ army?”

“Er… the navy… sire…” The man began to perspire.

“What is it, fool?” Harald rounded on him. “Where are they?”

The messenger knelt down. “A massive fleet… from Vandemland, destroyed the entire navy, my lord.”

For a moment Harald stood still like a statue as the ill news sunk in. His face began to redden and he let out a roar. The messenger burst into flames at the touch of the Dragon Sword as Harald spilt his skull with it. He kicked at the burning body and threw back his head, wailing at the brightening sky.

“Sound the horn, we attack them now!” he screamed at the captain. “Every man. Send every man at her. I will burn her alive myself.”

***

Hendon looked out over the battlefield from their tent on the high ground. “The horn is sounded.”

“We must go and help the men,” Myriam cried exasperatedly. “I feel so useless here.”

“Princess, Ganry would have it no other way.” Artas gave her a look of helplessness. “If I could, I would be down there, but my place is here with you.”

“Oh, don’t be foolish, dear Artas,” Myriam chided the young man. “You’ve done more than enough for me since the beginning of this madness. And what have you in return but a broken ankle and pierced shoulder.”

“I will live, dear Myriam, and I will bear my scars proudly.”

“We have to win this war first,” Hendon reminded him. “I sense the regent is up to something.”

“What more can he do?” Myriam asked, wringing her hands in frustration.

“He has acquired an artifact of great power,” the young forester said morosely. “A power that is more ancient than these lands.”

“How can you tell?”

“It is the stones, Myriam, the stones that you and I too have.”

“Look, down there, it’s Ganry,” Artas yelled suddenly.

The huge warrior was moving like a whirlwind, Windstorm in one hand and a broadsword in the other. The Palaran army was too strong for their paltry forces of armsmen. The ranks of highly trained soldiers wore them down, almost a quarter of their fighting men were dead and half again injured. Of the Palarans, only six hundred were down, hardly a handful of the ten thousand strong army.

“We’ve lost Bertrand,” Hagar said as he passed Ganry, fending off arrows that rained down on them from above.

“And Ogden as well, taken down by these accursed arrows,” Ganry snarled, wishing Artas was there with them. His skills with the bow would have been an immense help right then.

“We are being pushed back. If they cross the stream, we are lost,” Hagar warned, as he cut down another Palaran foot soldier.

“Concentrate the attack to the center, I will attack the left flank. Make them cluster for our bowmen,” Ganry shouted above the clangor of steel on steel.

“But you’ll be in the line of fire, too.”

“Ah, but I’m used to it.” Ganry grinned and nudged Bluebell to ride off to the left.

The large horse thundered down the side of the sloping plains, barreling into Palaran foot soldiers, knocking them to the ground. Arrows whizzed past his head, but he ducked and dodged them, swatting a few away with Windstorm.

“Ride hard, Bluebell, like you’ve never ridden before.”

He roared as his sword sang a song of death and sorrow.

***

“Sire, your blade.” The captain looked at Harald. “It is as if it’s alive.”

“Nonsense, it is the taker of life.” Harald grinned, as he sat atop Thawban and watched the battle before him.

“But it pulses and glows like a beacon… as if it summons something.”

“Indeed, captain.” Harald roared, holding the sword up high. “The Dragon Sword summons my righteous victory over all the enemies of Palara.”

“Captain! Captain!” One of the knights came in riding hard from the east. “We are undone. A vast army is headed here, cutting off our supply lines from the east. Looks like over five thousand men, riding hard and fast, bearing many arms.”

“What?” Harald turned to face the man.

“My liege?” The man dropped to his knees, not expecting to see the regent there.

“Who are these men?” Harald grabbed the knight by his cloak. “Who leads them?”

“We know not, sire. Some call them the… Lake Men.”

“Arrgh!” Harald groaned and kicked the kneeling man away. “Is there no end to this? Wasn’t it prophesied that I will take the throne of Palara?”

The captain kept silent, not wishing to further aggravate the regent. He glanced up at the eastern plains. The thunder of distant hooves reached his ears.

“Let them come!” Harald bellowed. “Let them come and burn.”

The infuriated regent held up the glowing sword and hurled a few oaths into the air as the frontlines of the approaching Lake Men burst into the clearing.

***

“They are here,” Myriam exulted, standing high on the southern plain. “The Lake Men, and Linz.”

“But they are riding right into the battle,” Artas said, his keen eyes narrowed.

“Oh, and look there, what is that?” Hendon pointed at the western horizon.

“That… that’s the dragon.” Artas almost choked. “The dragon that destroyed Castle Locke.”

“The dragon?” Myriam repeated in awe.

Hendon felt a shiver run through him. “But what does it want here?”

“Something is drawing it here,” Myriam cried. “Come on, we have to warn them.”

Artas hobbled after her. “But, princess-”

Myriam ran down the grassy slopes with Hendon right behind her, sliding and slipping on her way toward the little stream.

“Ganry!” She yelled. “Ganry!”

“He can’t hear you, princess,” Hendon panted, whipping out his dagger and a wooden club. “The rush of battle fills his ears. Arm yourself, we’ll be in it soon.”

“Stay back!” Hagar yelled, riding towards the onrushing duo.

“Hagar, look to the west. A dragon…” Hendon said, as the captain of Ival Hold reached his side.

“What?” The veteran armsman stared at the west in disbelief. “A d… dragon?”

“Quick, tell Ganry and the others,” Myriam urged the man.

44

The dark shadow falling over the battle field momentarily made the warriors look around them in confusion. The ear-splitting shriek that followed made them look up and tremble. Men from both armies stood transfixed, having never seen such a sight in their short lives.

The enormous bronze dragon, its scaly skin gleaming in the morning sun, swooped down over the gathered men, its piercing shrieks chilling the blood. From its great maw, flaming jets erupted like hellfire, setting the trees and hapless soldiers near it on fire.

“Keep your wits about you, men,” Ganry shouted over the roar of its beating wings. “Lances and arrows. Bring it down!”

“This can’t be real.” Marston was aghast, as men around him ran screaming in flames.

The dragon dived down, flying close to the ground, its great head swiveling from side to side as if it searched for something. Then, with a mighty downward beat of its wings, it soared up high, shrieking at the sun above.

“It’s Harald’s flaming sword that draws the creature here,” Hendon said, running up beside Ganry.

“What?” the large warrior jerked. “What are you doing down here? Where is the princess?”

“I am here, Ganry.” Myriam ran up after Hendon.

“You’ve lost your minds.” Ganry stared wide eyed at the panting youngsters.

“That monster is here for the sword that Harald holds, even he doesn’t know it. But once he does…” Myriam’s eyes roamed the ravaged countryside frantically. The dying screams of men overwhelmed her senses.

“Too late.” Ganry pointed with Windstorm. “Harald already knows.”

The regent stood in a clearing, holding his sword high over his head with both hands, a power hungry leer on his face. The dragon swooped down and circled him twice, and then blasted a deluge of fire down on the laughing regent.

The sword in his hands was aglow and seemingly drew in the flames from the dragon’s assault. It began to glow red hot, rivaling even the morning sun. A strange transformation began to come over Harald. He seemed to grow larger. His arms and legs stretched the armor he wore, and his helm fell off his head. He had a maniacal grin on his face and a sliver of drool down the left side of his chin.

“Princess,” he roared, pointing at her direction. “At long last, I have you.”

He waved the sword at the onrushing troops of Lake Men and the dragon took to the air, turning its attention and fiery breath upon the armies of Linz. The Palaran army, bolstered by a dragon on their side, renewed their assault on the armsmen of the south.

Men fell like hacked saplings under the great Dragon Sword as Harald cut a path towards Myriam. He didn’t care who was in his way, his own men or the enemy. He moved ahead unperturbed. His sole focus on the princess alone.

“Stay back, Myriam,” Ganry barked, stepping before her, Windstorm in hand. “Get on Bluebell and get away, back over the stream.”

“No, not while that monster is killing our allies.” Myriam defiantly stood her ground. “Linz is in danger.”

Hagar rode up. “Don’t be foolish, your highness. Flee back up to the creek and leave the battle to us.”

“I commend your concern for me, sir Hagar.” Myriam gave him a tight smile. “But I am fed up of fleeing. It’s time I faced my fears.”

“Yes, it is,” Hendon added, leaping up on Bluebell.

Myriam took his hand and climbed up on Ganry’s large warhorse. The forester kicked the beast into a furious gallop, not away from, but into, the heart of battle.

“They’ve gone mad!” Hagar yelled.

“Are we any different?” Ganry cursed, breaking into a run after his horse.

He knew he had to get to Harald before the power mad regent could reach Myriam. An arrow bounced off his shoulder, slicing a tear on the leather armor. He ignored the pain, glancing up at the dragon as it roasted the Lake Men army. His eyes went wide as he saw Myriam and Hendon on Bluebell head right under the flying behemoth. But before he could call out to them, something knocked him down from the side. He quickly rolled back up to his feet, Windstorm up in reflex to protect himself.

Harald glared down at him from atop Thawban, the magnificent horse stamped its well shod hooves close to the ground where Ganry had fallen.

“You!” Harald roared. “You are the one who’s been defying me all along. Your head-”

“Is fine where it is, usurper,” Ganry spat, cutting a blazing arc in the air with his longsword.

“You shall pay, outlander.” Harald leapt off his horse and came right at Ganry, Dragon Sword raised high, primed for a killing blow.

Windstorm parried the strike inches from his head, but he felt the jarring impact all the way to his shoulder. Ganry leapt back, slashing Windstorm about in a blur before him. He knew he was on the defensive here, and there was something about Harald, something more powerful than he had ever faced before.

The sneering regent followed him, bearing down the great Dragon Sword on him again and again. Windstorm blocked and swatted aside each blow, but only just, forcing the large former mercenary down on one knee.

“Your Grimlock sword is no match for the legendary Dragon Sword I wield, fool,” Harald’s voice filled his mind. “Forged in the pits of Hell, and that’s where it will send you.”

“Ganry!” Myriam cried out, glancing back at the kneeling warrior. “He’ll be killed…”

“He can take care of himself, princess,” Hendon said with assurance. “And look, there’s Linz.”

“Oh, Linz, thank the heavens.” Myriam exhaled deeply as the young leader of the Lake Men rode up.

“Quick, princess, Hendon,” the boy urged, “we must use the stones, to thwart this menace.”

“How can we…” Hendon began.

“Oh, he knows, he knows. Just like he did with the Rooggaru.” Myriam’s eyes shone with some hope.

“Yes, princess.” Linz nodded. “Now, quickly. As my men force a circle to protect us, we must use the stones together, and locate the fourth stone.”

“The fourth,” Myriam and Hendon chorused.

“Yes, hurry.” Linz whipped out the dagger he had found in the Rooggaru’s treasure horde. Its milky white blade was aglow.

Myriam and Hendon held their daggers high, beside Linz. The rings on their fingers, encrusted with the same stones, were glowing too. A loud shriek from the dragon soaring overhead sent a chill down Myriam’s spine, but she held fast.

The tips of the glowing blades touched and the three closed their eyes. Images flashed before their minds. Horrific images of death and destruction, making them shiver, but they held on. The dragon screeched, flying around in circles above them. It had ceased its assault on the Lake Men, the glowing stones were affecting it somehow. Suddenly Harald’s infuriated face flashed before them. The three youngsters opened their eyes with a jolt. Linz sighed in relief. It was a flash of an image they saw. But how, and why Harald?

They resumed their position, holding aloft the blades and closing their eyes. This time Harald was standing before them, his Dragon Sword blazing in his hands. Another sword rose before their eyes to clash with Harald’s downward stroke.

“It’s Windstorm!” Myriam gasped. “Ganry!”

“Yes, we see what he sees.” Linz sounded confused.

“It’s him. I mean, his sword,” Hendon cried excitedly. “Windstorm holds the fourth stone.”

“This is unbelievable,” Myriam gasped.

“We have the dragon under our control,” Linz announced, holding his dagger up at the screaming dragon above him. “It’s time to turn the tide of this battle.”

Myriam looked at the lad briefly, amazed at the confident and brave young man she now saw. No more was he the shy little heir to the throne of the Lake Men. He began to sound and behave more like his uncle Clay now, but only just.

Linz turned the dragon on the Palaran army. It soared over them, burning and killing, breaking their ranks and making them retreat.

Ganry looked around him in surprise as the battle was turned. He leapt to his feet, but Harald was undeterred. He came at him, Dragon Sword thirsty for blood.

Ganry had never seen his longsword like this before. Windstorm had a strange white glow about itself, and the round stone at the base of the grip was just as milky white as the stones he had seen in the daggers the children had. There’s no such thing as magic, he heard himself say. There is an explanation for everything. But that would have to wait. He had a more pressing matter at hand.

The Dragon Sword came at him with force again, driven hard by Harald’s newly developed sinews. Ancient metal clashed on ancient metal, covering the two duelists in showers of blue and red sparks. Ganry felt the effect of Harald’s blows lessen by a great degree, and for the first time in their battle he didn’t feel pushed back. Instead, he began to move up, forcing Harald on the back foot. Windstorm seemed alive in his hands. It surged ahead to strike the Dragon Sword all by itself.

“He’s winning!” Myriam clapped. “Windstorm is the fourth stone. Who would have thought.”

“Harald is all but finished,” Hendon whispered as the regent fell heavily.

“Yield, murderer.” Ganry offered the regent mercy as the man huffed, down on one knee. “And you shall be judged for your crimes.”

“Never!” Harald leapt to his feet, bringing the mighty sword down in an overhead strike.

Ganry stood his ground. Windstorm rose to meet the descending blade. Bright light, like a lighting blot flashed between the two men, followed by a clap of thunder. The Dragon Sword fell off Harald’s grip, cut neatly in half. Ganry stood as still as a statue, Windstorm still in his hands, thrumming with an eerie energy.

“You have lost, Harald,” Ganry said. “Your army has surrendered, your navy lies decimated, and your elite guard are all dead. You have no other choices but surrender, and death.”

“Die!” Harald screamed, diving past Ganry. Rising up swiftly, a thin bladed dagger in hand, he rushed at Myriam.

The princess screamed as the dull thud of Harald’s head hitting the ground and then rolling to rest near her feet echoed around the still battlefield. Ganry looked at the blood on his blade with disgust, and then wiped it on the still quivering body of the regent.

The dragon shrieked as if in agony, soaring above them. Its scaly skin began to glow, and then it suddenly evaporated in a puff of smoke. Ash and dust blew in the wind where it had soared a moment ago.

“It is done,” Linz said, closing his eyes again, as the dagger in his hand glowed brightly.

“Aye,” Hagar rode up. “The usurper is dead. Long live the Queen!”

The chant rose through the battlefield. “Long Live the Queen!”

45

“How could this be?” Myriam wiped the tears away, but couldn’t stem the flow.

“She still lives,” Hendon said soothingly. “We would have sensed it otherwise.”

“I know, Hendon.” The princess forced a smile. “But to think she was held in those horrible dungeons and tortured, and she endured it all. For me.”

“She was a brave woman, princess.” Ganry nodded. “The bravest I have met, next to you.”

“We have to find her, Ganry,” Myriam sniffed. “Whatever hell she’s been taken to, we have to find her.”

“Yes, we do,” Ganry agreed. “Yet there is much to do for you as the Queen of Palara. Your people expect much from you. They may be happy now that the oppressive rule of Harald is over, but in time they will want to recoup their losses, and then the grumbles against the kingdom will resume.”

“You are wiser than you’ve ever been given credit for,” Myriam laughed.

She knew he was right. She had a lot to do, and the work of her father, the late King Ludwig, had to be carried on, regardless of the damage Harald had brought upon the kingdom. She looked around the throne room, shuddering at the thought of having to sit on the ugly throne before a host of nobles and courtiers.

Linz had returned to the Lake with his army. She knew that she could count on him as an ally, without question. And Artas, the young noble who had given so much to her, had to come home, almost crippled, and find his parents, the Lord and Lady Holstein, murdered. And so it was with people all over Palara. Almost everyone had lost someone dear to them over the last few months. So much loss and much more to be done, she sighed.

“My Queen, Lord Parsival of Ival Hold, rescued from the dungeons, wishes an audience,” a guardsman announced.

“Yes, I sent for him. Please let him enter,” Myriam said, apprehensive of her first official meeting with a noble as the Queen.

The young man stepped into the room. His wounds had been cleaned and bathed, and he bowed with a slight grimace.

“How are you faring, kind sir?” she asked him.

“I am well, your highness,” he said, eyeing her warily. “You had sent for me?”

“Yes, I must apologize for your harrowing experience in the dungeons.” She smiled at him.

“But it was Harald who…” Parsival looked confused.

“Yes, I know…” She closed her eyes, wiping away a tear. “I apologize for asking you to relive those moments. You did say to the guards who let you out that you saw the Duchess leaving the dungeon while you were there.”

“Yes, I did.” He nodded once, glancing at Ganry.

“Was anyone with her?”

“Yes, I recall now… a small man in grey robes of a monk.”

“Did you hear anything about where he might be taking her?” Ganry asked him.

Parsival looked up nervously. “No, but I did hear him say to her who he was.”

“What did he say?” Myriam leaned forward.

“He said he was Ghaffar of the Marawi.”

Warden

1

Queen Myriam was saddened. This should be one of the happier moments of her short life with her ascendancy to the throne, yet all she could do was grieve. She was only just coming to terms with the murder of her parents, King Ludwig and Queen Alissia, murdered by the usurper Duke Harald. She had been numbed to the events unfolding around her, but now, she had to face her losses. Her people were relying on her. Not too long ago she had been a happy princess, living out her life at Castle Villeroy, being trained and prepared for the moment when she would rule. Now, she was the Queen of that castle and all its lands. She had to make the decisions and lead the armies.

Luckily, she did not have to face these difficulties alone. She had a close and trusted entourage who would lay down their lives to keep her safe. Friends who had stood by her side in her darkest hour and helped her overcome the evil tyrant, her uncle. Not only had he beheaded her parents, he had proven to be a cruel man. Her people were looking to her to help them move from the darkness of her uncle’s rule, and into a brighter, better future.

The people might be joyous now, while they celebrate his death and their new Queen’s crowning, but soon they would remember the changes he had enforced and the loved ones they had lost while ruled by his cruel hand. Higher taxes needed to be lowered again, and freedoms he had curtailed restored. The deaths of many during the battles needed to be mourned and losses recompensed. Indeed, she had much to undo that her Uncle Harald had inflicted in his short reign on the people who lived in the Kingdom of Palara.

As if the politics of such times were not enough to concern her, she also worried over the disappearance of her grandmother, the Duchess D’Anjue. Were it not for the Duchess’s bravery, these lands may still be ruled by the cruel usurper.

In the short time she had spent with her grandmother, when she had taken her under her wing at Castle Locke, Myriam had learned what a strong and loving woman her mother’s mother truly was. Despite her own loss at the death of her daughter, Myriam’s mother, she still managed to ensure that her granddaughter had escaped the castle when the usurper’s men came for her.

Myriam had already decided that she must find her grandmother. She knew that she was alive, as the magic of the stones of Berghein linked the D’Anjue bloodline, inexorably. Although the Duchess did not hold one of the stones, they would have told Myriam if her grandmother was gone from this world. Yet no path they followed had yet led to any indication of the Duchess’s whereabouts. Also, the strange little monk, Ghaffar, who had managed to release her grandmother from the dungeons had disappeared as well. There had to be a link.

Queen Myriam went out onto the large balcony of the castle. She had been instructed of her duty to show herself to the gathered people. Myriam knew her responsibilities, what was expected of her, but she did not seek their adulation. She only wanted to rule in their best interests. Her family had much to make up to them.

As she waved and smiled to the cheering crowds, she was not alone. By her side stood Artas, a nobleman who had also lost much. His parents, too, had been beheaded for their loyalty to the King, her father. Artas was her friend and guide and she would need his council over the coming days. His bravery in battle and loyalty to the royal family had earned him a knighthood. He, like many brave soldiers and fighting subjects, were to be rewarded for saving their kingdom.

Myriam had asked Ganry, the former mercenary turned bodyguard, to lead her armies, but he had refused the role. Leading armies was too much a reminder of Ganry’s former life, which ultimately led to pain and sorrow. He felt his talents were now best served at her side, as her personal protector.

This she could not refuse for she had come to rely on him and his strength. He wanted no riches, no lands, only to live in Castle Villeroy. Many call him a retired mercenary, but he would argue that his sword was still active, should anyone ever dare to threaten his Queen.

She had provided for him in the castle, giving him his own quarters and manservant to help, and he was now head of the honored Queen’s Bodyguards. This role he was happy to take, knowing that only those who he had personally chosen could get close to her. The arrangement also suited Myriam. With the loss of her parents she was in need of many who could advise her, and Ganry was one of few who she truly trusted.

Looking out over the castle grounds and the village, she enjoyed all the adornments in an array of beautiful colors. The town had been decorated with hanging streamers of colorful banners and ribbons. The people wished to bring brightness and joy back into the Kingdom of Palara, and they hoped that with the crowning of a new Queen would come prosperous and more peaceful times.

Whenever their Queen looked out of her windows, she would feel uplifted and her grief would ease with the love of her people. King Ludwig had kept peace over the lands for many decades and his people had loved him for it. Now, they had the same hopes in his daughter.

Myriam wanted nothing more than to find peace for her people. Yet first she must find her grandmother, her only living relative. Surely the people would not deny her this small favor.

2

In looking for a solution to find the Duchess, Myriam called a private meeting. She wanted only her most trusted advisors and friends. Being still uncertain of the loyalties of most of the politicians and noblemen, of which many had supported Harald in his reign of terror, she was wary of them.

A week ago, she had contacted Hendon, the forest dweller. She would also liked to have Linz here too, but he was now chief of his tribe and had much work to do there after the ravages of battle.

There was a strange and unknown link in their bloodlines, previously undiscovered, between Myriam, Hendon, and Linz, which they only became aware of as they all gained a skill from the Berghein stones. Only those of the D’Anjue bloodline were blessed with this. These stones also allowed them to visualize each other’s surroundings, even when they were hundreds of miles away from each other. A basic means of communication, but nonetheless, it had proved a useful one.

Hendon had arrived the day before and now sat with the Queen and Ganry in the garden, enjoying a light meal while they awaited for the arrival of Artas. He could soon be seen arriving with a unit of soldiers who made their way towards the stables. Artas saluted to the Queen, and Myriam waved him over, eager to get the meeting started.

Artas joined them at the table, and the discussion began in earnest.

“Hendon was telling us about his new staff,” Myriam said, for the benefit of the new arrival. Turning to Hendon she continued, “You say it has a spirit of the dead within?”

“Upon my return, I found the staff at my home in the forest, so I began to carve it to make it more personal to my needs. As I was finishing, the staff told me that it was glad I’d finally stopped hacking away at it. At first I did not know who spoke to me, in my mind. It wasn’t until the staff floated in the air and knocked me on the head, that I realized it is alive. I’ve yet to work out who it is, but I suspect it is the soul of Barnarby of Bravewood. I do not think we have seen the last of him,” Hendon told her.

“Oh, I do hope so, Hendon.” The thought of Barnaby brought a tear to her eyes. He had hardly known her, yet had given his life to help her escape those wretched soldiers that her uncle had used to hunt her down. “He was an odd character, and I would love to thank him for all the help he gave to my cause.”

Myriam was pleased to learn that Hendon’s special skills were improving. She had been aware that he could communicate with animals, but now he was able to communicate with the trees and the winds and all manner of things.

“You remember Barnaby, whom we thought a wizard?” Myriam said to Ganry, who looked on, skeptical, at Hendon’s tale.

“I still maintain that there is no such thing as magic,” Ganry retorted, knowing full well he had witnessed so many unexplained events during the coup.

“Yes, yes, we know how you feel, Ganry, but Hendon believes that Barnaby has put his soul into this staff. Does that not convince you that there is indeed some elements of magic to the world?” Myriam said, determined that she would get Ganry to come to terms with, what to her, was so very obvious.

“All it convinces me of is that the young master Hendon is a little too familiar with the local hooch.”

That brought a smile to everyone’s lips, even Hendon’s.

“Shall we take this meeting inside? It is after all meant to be a secret gathering,” Ganry suggested.

“Only what we are discussing is secret,” Myriam said. “If we hide away then suspicions will arise. I thought if I meet with my friends out in the open, no one will suspect a thing. Clever, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Ganry said. “I am pleased to see you starting to think like a Queen at last.”

Myriam gave him a look of annoyance, even though she knew his words to be true. It was difficult for her, adapting so quickly, but she knew she had to, and Ganry’s advice was always given out of love and respect.

“Thank you Ganry,” she smiled at him. “It is hard going from a mere princess to bossy Queen. Artas,” she said, attempting to change the course of the subject, “update us on the search for the Duchess.”

“No news, I’m afraid,” Artas informed them. “My men have searched everywhere and questioned many, yet still the Duchess’s whereabouts remain a mystery.”

To any casual onlookers, the group would appear to be nothing more than a group of friends enjoying their reunion. No one could have guessed that they were discussing a quest for the Queen. And a dangerous one at that.

Though Ganry would have liked to have her stay at the castle, Myriam insisted that she go and find her grandmother. It was the least she could do for all the Duchess had done for her, including losing her castle and risking her life. Ganry could find no argument with this, even though he tried to convince her otherwise. She was as stubborn as always.

3

Linz was suffering much the same treatment as Myriam. When his uncle had been killed by the lizard man, he had become Chief of his people, the Lake tribes. No amount of preparation was enough for the huge responsibility and the expectations of this role, even though he had been in training for most of his life.

There seemed to be a never ending amount of disputes amongst the people that he was expected to resolve. The list of tasks for the Chief was endless. He never realized that his uncle had so many responsibilities. The most difficult ones at the moment were the funerals and burials of the brave soldiers they had lost, in the recent battle of the coup at Castle Villeroy.

He had wanted to help Myriam gain back her rightful place on the throne, in the Kingdom of Palara. Historically, his people were always a part of the Kingdom, but his predecessors, including his uncle Chief Clay, had chosen to keep the Lake People hidden from the other races of this land.

Now they were discovered, but with the Queen’s help, they could at long last have rights to the land they had chosen to settle in. They lived deep in the forest of Cefinon, where few from the kingdom ever ventured.

The city of Halawa, with its wooden houses on stilts, was now officially on the map. It was the new Chief’s hopes that trade would bring a little more wealth to his people. Though Chief Linz is young for such responsibilities, he has good advisors, including hand-picked ones sent by the Queen from Castle Villeroy.

He knew his friends were meeting with the Queen, but he had decided not to become involved in the search for the Duchess as he needed to be here for his people. Many had suffered losses in a battle that he had supported. Now, he believed, it would be wrong for him to desert them in this, no matter how much he wanted to go.

He had discussed this at length with his mother, Lisl, who was his most valued and closest advisor. She argued that now would not be a good time to be absent, and he reluctantly agreed with her. His uncle had relied on his mother’s wisdom in difficult and challenging times, and so would he.

He had moved into the Chief’s hut, and his mother had moved in with him. He felt better being surrounded by those who he trusted and could rely upon. Good advisors would help and guide him as he tried to improve the lives of his subjects. They were a simple people, not needing the comforts of luxury, but he wanted to bring education to them and access to travel so they could better understand the world around them. A world that, for most of them until recently, was a mystery.

Myriam had given him books to read, and although his reading skills were basic, he was improving every day. Blowing out the candle as he finished reading of the Holy War, which had involved his ancestors in the D’Anjue bloodline, he sighed at the coming night.

Sleep had been hard to obtain with all his new worries, and many a night he would toss and turn while his mind was filled with the responsibilities of leadership. At fourteen years old, he did not feel ready to take a wife, but he looked forward to the day when he could share his worries with someone he loved.

Before he could sleep, he thought of the monk, Ghaffar, who had lived in the temple on the lake. He wondered at his whereabouts, because he was the last one to be seen with the Duchess D’Anjue. His people watched the temple, but there were no signs of Ghaffar’s return.

Setting his thoughts aside, he closed his eyes to invite sleep, and soon his world was relaxed and he slipped into a light slumber. But not for long. One of the reasons for his restless nights were the dreams, vivid and real.

Tonight, he was stood on a battlefield, surrounded by the dead. Before him was a lizard man, readying his spear to strike him down. He noticed the beast held a human head in its claws. Its scaly fingers entwined with long brown hair. Was it one of his own tribe, as the males all have long hair? It was hard to tell as the hair fell in such a way to obscure the face. The lizard man raised his macabre trophy and the hair fell from the visage, revealing the features of the Duchess, eyes open and staring right at him, accusingly.

“No!” Chief Linz yelled out, suddenly sitting upright. He felt disoriented, but in a few moments he realized he had been dreaming again. Yet, it did not feel like a dream. It felt so real that his body was soaked in sweat and the adrenaline coursed through his veins.

Getting up to take some air, he went out onto the wooden porch that surrounded his hut, beneath which was the lake. The water was rippling even though there was no breeze. Curious as to what was causing the water’s movement, he went to the rail and peered into the murky depths. It took a while before his eyes adjusted, but when they did, he saw that there were at least a hundred water lizards gathered around his hut.

Linz felt a cold shudder run through him. The water lizards had never behaved this way before. This could only be a foretelling of things to come. Desperate for an answer to this puzzle, he ran straight to his mother’s room, shaking her awake and telling her of his dream and the phenomenon in the lake.

“It is a message from the lizard people,” she said, feeling an urgency. “They are calling you, Linz. They want to guide you to their home, but I know not why. My son, I do not think it will be safe. It is trickery, please don’t go,” his mother pleaded with him.

“I have to go see Myriam, mother, it is something to do with the Duchess and I must tell her. Do not forget, our ancestors are one and the same and we share their bloodline. We cannot turn our heads to our own.”

“What will you do, my son? We have lost so many of our people to the Queen’s cause, do we really want to go to battle so soon?”

His mother spoke wise words, but he could not turn his back on the Duchess. She had helped Myriam’s cause and she was clearly in danger.

“Tomorrow, I will travel to see the forest dweller, Hendon. Together we can contact the Queen and I will tell her of my fears. Go to your bed, mother, you will stand in my stead whilst I am gone. I can’t help but feel that our people are involved in the Duchess’s life. I bid you a good night’s sleep for what is remaining of the darkness. Soon I will pack and will be gone before you awaken.”

She hugged her son. Always, she trusted his judgment, just as he trusted her wise words. He had been trained all his life by her brother, Chief Clay. He would make the right choices for his people.

4

Linz took one other person with him as it is not wise to be alone in these forests, even though he had lived here all his life. All manner of dangers lurk in the shadows. If one is injured, then the other can seek help. If both are injured then all they can do is pray.

Wyatt was a brave warrior, tall and strong, and he seemed always to be stuck by Linz’s side. He must have taken it upon himself to guard the new Chief, or his uncle had allocated him the chore before this death. Whatever the reason, Linz liked Wyatt and trusted him to accompany him on this mission.

Soon they were passing the large summer house that belonged to the Stapleton family, on the edge of forest Cefinon, but this time he did approach it. When they had stopped here before, the foreman had not been too friendly.

Their trail then takes them back into the depths of the forest and across a creek. Linz remembered this was the stone bridge where they had first come across Hendon, the strange forest dweller who can talk with nature.

It was not until later that they discovered they were all related via the D’Anjue bloodline, and that was Hendon’s special skill bestowed upon him by the stones of Berghein. Linz’s skill was more subtle, never realizing he had it for most of his life as it seemed so natural. He could sense how to find things or trails that were important, so he knew he would be needed on the quest to search for the Duchess.

His duties to his people would have to wait. His mother, trusted and admired by the Lake people, would rule well in his absence. Hopefully, the quest would be a short one and he could return to resume his duties. The Lake people were learning the history of their ancestral link to the D’Anjue family. Blood ties are always important to his tribe, so he felt certain they would approve of his mission.

A few hours later, they arrived at the log house that was Hendon’s home but there were no signs of anyone there. The door was not locked and the insides looked undisturbed. The bed had not been slept in for a while.

“Maybe he goes to see new Queen,” Wyatt suggested.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking, Wyatt, and if two of us think this, I believe it must be so. We will sleep here tonight and rest the horses.” He was certain that Hendon would not deny them the shelter of his home. “First thing in the morning we will depart for Castle Villeroy. I must relay my news to the Queen before she organizes a wider search for the Duchess.”

***

Hendon sat in his room. He always missed the forest whenever he had to leave his home. The castle gardens were pretty enough, but they did not compare with the tall trees and the wild animals of his home in the Cefinon forest.

He picked up his staff, turning it in his hands, feeling the rough wood under his fingertips. He was faced with a sudden vision of riding his horse, Bartok, out in the hills. This pleased him because he thought his horse magnificent, yet why had Bartok suddenly come into his mind? Hendon believed there was a reason for everything, nothing was coincidence. No one can change the call of nature or of events that happen in one’s life. Each individual plays their part in the game of life and hopes that at the end of their journey, all will be well.

An old man’s gravelly voice came into his head. “Well, go on then. How many times do I have to tell you?” the voice commanded of him.

“Tell me what?” Hendon said aloud. “Who are you and where are you hiding?” His eyes scanned the room for the person whom the voice belonged.

“Do you have to shout?” the voice cried back, inside of his head.

Hendon put his hands to his ears as the unknown voice echoed around in his head.

“Use your mind, boy, don’t yell at me with your mouth,” the voice instructed.

“You mean you really are in my head?” Hendon asked, through his thoughts and not his mouth.

“That’s much better. You take an awful long time to grasp things. I can see I will have my work cut out, training you.”

“I don’t even know who you are?” Hendon said, in his mind.

“Now listen, very carefully, I’m only going to explain this but once to you. Do you hear me, boy?”

Hendon did not reply. He smiled to himself. He had a good idea who he was having a conversation with, in his head.

“You will take me with you wherever you go. I am to be treated like one of your limbs, and also with the utmost of kindness, so no more polishing, it tickles,” the gravelly voice said.

“I know exactly who you are,” Hendon said. “I think you’ve turned into a miserable old man in the spirit world, Barnaby, as you sound very grumpy in death.”

“Hmmph, that’s as may be, but don’t you be getting above your station. This is the only way I can help, now that my body has passed away. I didn’t like the thing anyway, it was full of aches and pains,” the voice said, not denying it was Barnaby.

“To what purpose would you wish to linger on in this world, Barnaby?”

“Until the balance is set again. Now then listen, you must go to the lizard people for two reasons. First, you can rescue the Duchess, whom I happen to have a great fondness for. Then you can set to rights what needs to be done. Now go off and tell the Queen. I need to rest now. I can’t communicate with you for long. Off you go, boy.”

With that he was gone, and Hendon was once again left in peace.

5

There was a commotion outside of Hendon’s rooms, which overlooked the stable’s courtyard. Crossing the room to peer out of the window, he saw that Linz had arrived with one of his tribesmen. He knew that the Queen had not sent for him. She had said she felt he had enough responsibilities with his new role as Chief. So it was a mystery as to why he was here.

He had always liked Linz, strong and determined despite his young years, he instantly felt better knowing he was here. With his exceptional skills at tracking, he would be useful in their quest. Especially now they had a destination. Picking up his staff, he went to greet the new arrival. As Hendon arrived in the courtyard, Linz was still in the stable mounted on his horse, as was his companion.

“Ah, Linz, good to see you, my friend. You have arrived at a good time. You must have known that we needed you,” he said as he approached the young Lake chief who was now dismounting from his horse.

“Hendon,” Linz smiled at the approaching forest dweller. Their hands clasped together in a friendly greeting. “I have news for the Queen,” he told him.

“I will come to see her with you, as I too have news to convey,” he said, dropping his voice to almost a whisper and staring at Linz’s companion who stood close by.

“This is my faithful guard, Wyatt,” Linz introduced his riding partner. “He is also my teacher for I have much to learn in combat. You can trust him. I do, with my life.”

Hendon felt satisfied at this and continued his conversation. “We must go on a journey to the lizard people. Who is better to negotiate with them than the Chief of the Lake people. Indeed, you must have sensed that we needed you.”

Linz was momentarily stunned by Hendon’s words. It seemed the dream was an omen after all. He stepped closer to his friend and recounted his nightmare to him.

“I had a terrible vision one night.” Linz was now also whispering. “I knew it was more than a normal dream. The lizard people had murdered the Duchess. I feel the dream was an omen, and I agree that we need to go on a journey and speak to these people. I do believe that is where the monk Ghaffar has taken her, but I don’t know why.”

Hendon looked on in horror at Linz’s account of the dream. “Surely if the Duchess was dead, Myriam would know?”

“I cannot say, my friend,” Linz replied, unable to offer any comfort. “I’m not sure if what I have seen has happened, or is yet to come to pass.”

They were both so deeply engrossed in their conversation that neither of them had heard Ganry approach.

“So, it seems that Myriam’s perceptions are becoming strong,” a gravelly voice sounded across the stables. Both looked towards the sound of the voice and watched the veteran warrior approach. He had been sent by Myriam to greet Linz as she had felt his presence close by, even though she had no knowledge that he had arrived.

“Let’s not keep the Queen waiting. She is keen to hear your news, Linz, and why you felt it so urgent to leave your people in their time of need,” Ganry stated.

Myriam was so pleased to see Linz that she could not help herself but run to him, and hugged him tightly in her greeting. Ganry looked on and frowned, one day, he thought to himself, she will behave like a Queen, but he said nothing. Myriam had much on her mind and small issues of formalities were the least of her worries.

“I know it hasn’t been long since last we met, but when we’re together I feel such a strong bond,” she explained to all present. “We have much to discuss. I’m sure you have both had a message of sorts with regards to the quest to find my grandmother?” she asked, awaiting an answer.

“I had a terrible dream,” Linz replied first, “and it involved the Rooggaru, or at least his race.”

Myriam shuddered at her memory of their encounter with the large lizard. They were lucky to escape with their lives that day, indeed they almost lost Ganry. The thought of having to face a whole race of those lizard people filled her with dread.

“Legend says that they gave the stones to our ancestors to enable us to battle with their long hated enemy, the dragons,” Myriam said. “It could be just that though, a legend. Truly, I do not know where the Berghein stones came from, though my tutor, Leonidavus, came from Berghein, so I suppose there must be a connection with that area. I do not see how the lizard people owned those stones, other than they may have stolen them. This would not surprise me as I do not trust these creatures. Do you really believe that our quest means we have to deal with this terrible race?”

“I agree with Linz, Myriam. My staff also told me we must journey to the Rooggaru,” Hendon said.

All looked at the staff in his hand, but no one spoke of it. With everything they had experienced recently, a talking staff did not seem so fantastical. Only Ganry looked skeptical.

“I too have had a dream,” Myriam informed them. “My grandmother came to me to let me know that she still lives. She also mentioned the Berghein stones and urged me to keep them close and not give them up because our powers will fade.” She paused, waiting to see if anyone could shed light on her conundrum. When no one spoke she continued, “It’s a real puzzle to me. Why would we give up the stones?”

Still no reply from her friends. She felt that the answer to this question was essential to their success, but it remained a mystery.

“Let’s catch up over dinner,” she suggested. “Linz, you can take the room next to Hendon’s. I think the sooner we all talk together, the better. My grandmother is very precious to this bloodline. As the Queen, I want to thank her for all the help she provided me in gaining back my throne. Go and clean up, Linz, you’ve had a long journey. I will see you both at dinner,” she finished.

All bowed and left the Queen’s chambers, with the exception of Ganry.

“You have a kingdom to run, my Queen. Think wisely before embarking on quests that others can do for you.”

Then he too, bowed and left the room.

6

They all met at dinner where they listened intently to Hendon’s explanation. “I don’t know why none of you can hear him when he’s so clear to me. Though he does speak in riddles and I don’t always understand his words.”

Everyone was gathered around Hendon’s staff because he had told them that Barnaby communicated with him through the strange piece of wood. Barnaby himself, found it all rather amusing but refused to perform at Hendon’s command.

No one else can hear, foolish boy, because I speak in your head. Barnaby thought that if he had a head, he would be shaking it right now.

“I still maintain it’s just a piece of wood with some carvings on it. There is no such thing as magic,” Ganry said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than anything else.

“He tells me that the lizard subterranean city lies in Vandemland,” Hendon continued, ignoring Ganry’s comment. “That is where we must go if we are to save the Duchess.”

“Do you know how big that country is?” Ganry said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Where does your stick suggest we start?”

“I think we should go to Qutaybah,” Myriam suggested. “He proved to be very faithful to my grandmother’s cause. He will help us find her once he knows she is still missing. I’m sure he will.”

“Queen Myriam, I understand your concerns for the Duchess, but I feel I must advise you that this is no quest for a Queen.” Ganry once again made his opposition to this folly be known.

Myriam knew that she really needed to learn to exert herself better with Ganry. He was her protector and she trusted him and his advice, but she was the Queen, she needed to have the final decision in everything.

“This is not just any quest, Ganry, this is my grandmother, who, might I remind you, saved my crown. I cannot leave it to others to find her and bring her home. I owe her too much.”

“She is right, Ganry.” Linz felt he also needed to help the Duchess, despite his responsibilities. “I too should not have left my leadership in another’s hands, but the Duchess is kin. Because of her, the Lake people now own their lands, officially. We no longer need to stay a secret tribe. We owe her much, as does Myriam.”

“Artas, Hendon, have you two any more to add to this argument?” Ganry pleaded with them for their opinions. If he could sway half the group to his view, then perhaps he could get Myriam to remain at the castle and rule her kingdom, as she was meant to.

Artas spoke first. “I lost my parents to that usurper, Duke Harald. I cannot take my revenge out on the false Regent because he is dead. What I can do is honor the one person who made sure that happened. I say the entire kingdom owes the Duchess this favor.”

Ganry knew he could not argue with that because it was true. The Duchess had been the only noble to fight the usurper to start with. Her bravery was probably what encouraged the others to finally make their move. He also realized, and was secretly quite pleased, that Myriam had a steely resolve about her, one that he could not sway. It boded well for her future reign, should she survive this expedition.

“I would not stop you. Your very wish is my command,” Ganry replied, resignedly. “If you are to go, then so shall I, of that I am steadfast.”

An uneasy silence fell on the room while each contemplated the decisions that were being made. It was Hendon who finally broke the stillness.

“There is more I haven’t yet told you.” He waited to be sure he had everyone’s attention before continuing. “I cannot tell you for certain what it is, but there is more to this quest than a simple rescue. Barnaby gave me one of his warnings in a riddle: They want that of which we own, so we must beware.”

“What? What do we own that they want, Hendon? I do not understand these words. Surely if we knew what is was we could deal with this much quicker?”

“That, my Queen, I do not know,” Hendon replied, humbly. “My staff, or rather the spirit within it, speaks in riddles. I sometimes think he is playing games with me.”

“It is clear to me that all immediate members of the D’Anjue bloodline need to be on this journey,” Linz added. “We have all had a message of sorts. I had a dream, Hendon has his voice in a stick, and—”

“A staff, Linz, it is not merely a stick,” Hendon interrupted.

“Through your staff,” Linz corrected, seeing it was important to his friend. “And Myriam has had a message from her grandmother, the Duchess, through a dream. We are destined to follow this path together.”

“It is decided then,” Queen Myriam said, forcibly, ensuring that Ganry was in no doubt of her determination to get her own way on this. “There will be myself, and Ganry to protect me. Linz and his protector, Wyatt. Plus Hendon. We five will travel to Vandemland and return the Duchess safely back to her homeland, though her castle lays in ruins since it was burned to the ground.”

Someone grunted a throaty cough in the background, and all eyes turned in their direction.

“Aren’t you forgetting someone?” Artas spoke up.

“No, Artas, I had not forgotten you, for you will stand in my stead as Regent. You of all the people I know, I can trust.”

“I thought you were going in secret?” Artas pointed out.

“That secret will soon be uncovered when we go. I would need to inform the Heads of State and politicians anyway, and not one of them could be trusted to keep a confidence. No, our absence will soon be noted by the interfering decision makers. This way, should the people find out I go in search of my grandmother, you will be here to keep order. Artas, I know you wish to come along, but equally the kingdom needs an honest leader.” She would not force this upon her personal knight, but he really was the best candidate to hold the fort.

“Yes, my Queen, it will be my honor to care for your kingdom in your absence.” Despite his heavy sadness at not going on the rescue mission, he managed to disguise his disappointment. “Although once my injury is healed, I’m coming along on any other adventures.”

“Absolutely, Artas,” Myriam smiled and hugged him.

“So, that’s decided then.” Myriam was relieved it had all gone her way. She really was going to enjoy being Queen. “We set off as soon as we are fully prepared, and certainly within the next few days.”

All returned to their quarters to rest before the journey began, and each would reflect on their roles in the mission. Ganry was determined that Myriam would return to rule her kingdom, even if that meant he had to lay down his own life to ensure her safe return.

7

The five travelers decided to journey in disguise while they were still in the Kingdom of Palara, each one wearing the simple clothes of merchants. Each would also carry a small supply of silks to reinforce their deception.

Having horses meant they could carry plenty of food supplies and hide their weapons from prying eyes. After much discussion, they agreed that a wagon would slow them down, although Ganry would have preferred one as it would have allowed them to hide the Queen.

Since the coupe, there was now much more trade activity. Myriam’s new advisors had agreed to slacken security on all borders. They hoped this would lead to an increase in trade to help the crown pay for the cost of the war that the usurper had caused. Trade negotiations were just one of many new changes that Myriam had implemented. Trade would bring prosperity back to the people of Palara.

This night they were staying at an inn just a mile from the borders of Vandemland. It was a busy inn due to the borders being overcrowded. The pass between the two kingdoms was set on a narrow road, between high cliffs. Prior to the coup, hardly anyone had used the official posts to cross the border, with smugglers having free reign. Now the borders were better patrolled and most, if not all, goods had to go through the official crossings.

“Getting over the pass isn’t the problem,” Ganry informed the group over their venison dinner. “It’s finding the elusive Qutaybah that is proving difficult. The Duchess had an alliance with him, but no other in the kingdom has such a privilege. I can send word by the Narcs, but this will be costly, and even then they are not trustworthy. They are known as the smugglers, but the opening of the borders has made smuggling useless so they will now be looking for other ways to be making money.”

“I heard of a terrible tale told by the castle guards about the Narcs,” Myriam disclosed. “They sold Captain Henrickson and his squire, Arexos, into slavery. They had gone as spies sent by my uncle. You know, he was planning to invade Vandemland once he had the crown. He was totally mad,” she told the others, but none had known of the usurpers intentions. Ganry had always ignored the nobles and definitely had no time for politicians. “It’s true,” she emphasized with wide eyes. “The worse part of the tale is that Arexos managed to get back to the castle and my uncle had him beheaded. Poor boy. It seems my uncle was murdering people at a fast pace. He would have made a terrible King. I cannot imagine the state of the kingdom with his rule. My father was far too trusting of his brother.”

The Queen’s friends remained silent. Myriam rarely spoke of the coup. They all knew that the grief from losing both parents was still fresh and painful. Ganry felt she never had the chance to grieve her losses, but what did he know of a young girl’s needs. He had lost his own daughter at a similar age to Myriam, so his role at fatherhood had been thwarted. This was all the more reason to rescue the Duchess. Myriam needed a mother figure to help her mature, and to guide her into being a “good and just” Queen for the kingdom.

Everyone in the party slept lightly that night. Tomorrow they would brave the crossing into Vandemland.

They all rose early, whilst the sky was still in darkness, and ate a light breakfast before setting off. Reaching the border crossing just as the sun was rising above the horizon, it seemed that they were not the only ones looking for an early start.

“We could get through the thronging crowd much quicker if we told them who you really are,” Hendon suggested, looking in dismay at the long line of people trying to get over the border. This was going to slow down their progress.

“We cannot let the kingdom know that the Queen endangers herself in foreign lands,” Ganry said. “It’s mad enough that she’s here, but it is essential she remains incognito.”

“On this one, I agree with Ganry,” Myriam put in. “Can we not bribe our way forward? A few coins here and there to push our way to the front of the line?”

“It is a viable option,” Ganry agreed. “We will pose as the Johannson family once again, as we did in the town of Athaca. Myriam can be a sickly daughter that we are keen to get home quickly. Linz and Hendon can choose the people to bribe in the line so we can move forward to the border guards at a quicker pace.”

It did not prove that easy a task. Many of the people in the line were traders, all equally in a rush to sell their goods at local markets. It was easier for Linz and Hendon to offer to buy their wares, as the traders understood this far better than just receiving the money for nothing, which made them uneasy and suspicious.

“I will buy your knife, at a good rate, but only if you let my family have your place in the line,” Linz bartered with a large man standing in front of them.

It was a slow trade but it was moving them down the line quicker. Ganry and Wyatt stayed on their horses, observing for anything suspicious. Ganry had come to like Wyatt. He was much older in years than Linz and a veteran in battle. It seemed all in the line had learned of the family with the weak daughter, and they all expected the trade deals to take place as the Johannson family arrived behind them.

After a few hours, Ganry was the next to be questioned by the border guards. He worried that the guards may have heard of their trickery to get to the front of the line, but it seemed that the tradespeople did not communicate with the guards unless they had to. It seemed to be an accepted opinion of “them” and “us.” The Johannson family were through the border guards in no time, with their purses much lighter and their saddles laden with the bartered goods.

They entered the first town after crossing the border, and Ganry led them to an inn.

“We will be approached by a guide, sent to us from the Narcs. He is to take us to see Qutaybah,” Ganry explained.

They all settled down and awaited the guides arrival. Qutaybah was a mysterious figure to most of them. They had heard he was a rich man, a hardened slaver and mercenary, hiring out his private army to the best payers. What they were certain of though, was that no one should ever cross him. The plains of Vandemland were littered with the graves of those who had dared.

8

Artas was disappointed that he had not been able to go with the Queen on her quest. He was supposed to be her personal knight, an honor he had taken seriously. It seemed this was not a role that was needed all of the time, especially when she had Ganry. However, Ganry was older than him, so he supposed he would be trained to take his place, eventually.

Smiling at that thought, he looked down at the crowd that stood before him. One of his roles in the Queen’s absence was to placate the nobles. He was to convince them that the Queen was unwell and unavailable. There were few who were privy to the fact that she was not even in the castle, but the others must be told that he was Regent, given this role by his Queen.

He understood them to be nervous of a Regent, so soon after the cruel, vindictive self-appointed Harald who had only recently held this position. But they could not compare him to Duke Harald. The man had murdered his parents by beheading them. He could never be a merciless leader, only a just one. He intended on doing a good job while the Queen was absent. She had bestowed much responsibility on him, so he would forget the quest and meet his role head on.

Standing up, he took in a deep breath and then yelled at the top of his voice, surprising himself just how loud he was capable of shouting.

“My Lords, it is time for silence!” he ordered them. “I have been given the task of relaying all your concerns to your Queen. You are given the task of patience, and I see no sign of that amongst any of you today.”

Now he had their attention, he would instruct them of the Queen’s wishes.

“We have just finished a war. Our kingdom is in no hurry to be making rash decisions. The people need peace for a while, not changes. You must understand what your Queen has gone through. Now we must leave her to grieve her parents, let her have a mourning period. I’m sure even the politicians amongst you understand this human need.

“I will act as her representative. All your messages will be relayed to our Queen and all unimportant decisions can wait. I will be announcing to the citizens of the Kingdom of Palara that there is going to be a period of mourning for King Ludwig and Queen Alissia. It is only respectful and proper that we put them in our thoughts, even if only for a short while. That includes nobles and politicians.”

With the end of his speech, he bowed to the frowning faces and made his leave. He would have to face them again the next day, but for the rest of today, he would avoid them like a plague.

The Queen had called upon one of her faithful nobles, the young Lord Parsival of Ival Hold. He had been one of the first to come to her aid and had even attempted to assassinate Harald. For his troubles he had been incarcerated in the castle’s dungeons and no doubt treated with cruelty.

Since his release, once the throne was taken back by the rightful owner, she had come to trust his judgment. Artas also liked Lord Parsival and was glad for his council. Together they would run the Kingdom in the Queen’s absence.

“Bravo, Artas,” Parsival greeted him as he arrived back from his meeting with the nobles and politicians. “I heard your speech, very authoritative. That should placate them for a day or two.”

Artas smiled as he received the liquor that Parsival had poured for him in a beautifully cut glass goblet. It burned his throat and made his toes tingle, but it hit the spot.

“I think we’re going to be needing a few of those over the next few months,” Artas declared.

“Fear not, Artas, for we are not alone,” Parsival assured him. “There are few nobles that the Queen truly trusts, but there are enough of us to carry this deception through for a short while. No harm will come to her Kingdom and she shall rule all the better for having her grandmother by her side. Relax, the first day is over and all has gone as planned.”

Artas sat in a large cushioned chair and remembered his lost friend, Zander, who had been killed by a dragon on their quest to try and rid the land of Harald the usurper. Zander had been Duchess D’Anjue’s Chief Advisor, and he wished he were here now, to advise Artas.

Whilst he knew he had trusted nobles on his side, ultimately all decisions were to be on his head. Myriam must truly trust him to have ordained him Regent, and this thought cheered him. Though they had played together as children, and adventured together as adults, they were yet to spend time together socially.

He looked forward to Myriam’s return once her grandmother was safe. It would be a time for peace and relaxation. That time would come soon. He just needed the patience that he had asked of the nobles.

Lady Leonie walked into the room. She was also one of his loyal advisors. It was a pleasure to watch her enter the room so gracefully, for she was a beautiful and cultured lady.

“How are you both bearing up?” she asked, knowing Parsival would be fine, but also that Artas was still grieving his parents’ death. He rarely showed his grief, but Leonie knew him well and could still see the pain of loss in his eyes.

Leonie too had attempted to assassinate the false Regent, along with Parsival, and like him she had spent a while in the dungeons. It was about that failed attempt that she was here now as she had recently learned of who the betrayer had been on the eve of the assassination attempt.

“I cannot see how the news I have to tell you should affect our temporary running of the Kingdom, but I do believe that Parsival deserves to know who betrayed us.”

This had Parsival’s attention and he stood up. He had often wondered who could have known, other than the loyal nobles involved, and none of them would have sided with the usurper.

“It was the monk, the one that you said was last seen with the Duchess. I found out from one of the guards who was posted with Duke Harald. He was there during one of his conversations with the strange little man,” Leonie finished.

“You mean, Ghaffar?”

Leonie simply nodded.

9

Queen Myriam had only met Qutaybah once, and that had been fleeting. After she had regained her throne, she had never really had the chance to thank him, for she knew he had played a part as he was allied with her grandmother.

He took her hand in greeting as they arrived in one of his many homes. He had specifically chosen this one as it was nearest to the border. His large dark skinned hand encompassed hers, delicate and pale in contrast.

“Any who are aligned to the Duchess D’Anjue are welcome in my home and in my lands. I will provide you with safe passage, Queen Myriam, for I wish to see the Duchess back in her homelands,” he said. “My only regret is that I did not secure her safety before I left your Kingdom. I had not realized that she had been taken.”

“Nor we,” Myriam responded, annoyed at herself for not seeking out her grandmother as soon as she had arrived back at the castle. Though she had probably been long gone by then. “We had word that she had been released from the dungeon and I think we all presumed her safe. The sly monk had slipped her away from under my nose, and I will have her returned at all costs.”

“Please, let us sit and eat,” Qutaybah opened up his arms, welcoming the small party to be seated upon the plush cushions. He gestured at a table where a variety of fruits, cheeses, meats, plus servants, awaited upon their pleasure.

All took a seat with the exception of Ganry. He was always on duty to protect his Queen, even if this Qutaybah was meant to be an ally. Ganry would eat when his Queen slept. For now, he would listen and observe. Later he would learn much information from the gossiping slaves and servants.

“I have heard of this Ghaffar, he is an elusive creature. He dwells in the forbidden lands of the underground dwellers. We call them the Akkedis Mense. My country has many riches under its soils and most of it is mined, but the forbidden lands are never entered by the wise. This is where the Akkedis Mense dwell and none would wish to stir up their nests. Ghaffar is a chameleon. He can disguise himself as many creatures. Your people have seen him as a monk, mine have seen him as a rich merchant. Whatever disguise he wears, he is a reptilian by heart. He is an ambassador of his people, the Akkedis Mense.”

“You have given us much information to ponder, Qutaybah, I thank you for your openness,” Myriam said.

“My people are familiar with a legend of the Rooggaru, which you call Akkedis Mense,” Linz spoke up, remembering what had happened the night he lost his uncle. “Ghaffar had one of these creatures with him whilst he lived at the temple near my home. It was a vile and vicious monster and killed Chief Clay by draining him of his blood. If Ghaffar is a Rooggaru, or Akkedis Mense, then I do not think he can be trusted.”

“We may have something that he wants,” Hendon spoke. “Why else would he take the Duchess other than to lure us there to rescue her?”

“He seemed a kind man when he brought my grandmother’s men to me. They had been searching for me in vain until he showed them the way. I believe whatever he wants must be connected to the D’Anjue bloodline,” Myriam shared her thoughts. “I also believe it must be something we are loathe to give up, otherwise he would have just asked us, surely?” she added.

“Well,” Ganry finally said, wanting this meeting to end, “we won’t know until we meet them in person, and as the journey there is long and perilous, I suggest an early night.”

He hoped this would encourage Myriam to see that there was no more to be learned here, and retire to her rooms. There she would be safely in one place, and he could mingle amongst the household to find out any real secrets. Slaves do not do the bidding of their masters, voluntarily. A few coins in the right direction and he should find out all he needed to know.

He glanced over at Qutaybah. He was fearsome looking, very powerfully built and completely bald. Ganry did not trust him despite his proclamation of friendship to his Queen. Having been a mercenary himself, he knew that his sword had gone to the highest bidder. What if this bald man was playing both sides? What if he was just luring them into a trap? The sooner they were away from here, the happier he would feel.

“I personally cannot guarantee your safety, Queen Myriam,” Qutaybah’s deep, rumbling voice said. “Instead, I will send one of my most trusted guards with you. I would like to introduce you to Perseus. He is to be your guide while you are traveling in this region, and he will take you deep into the forbidden lands where many of my people do not dare to tread.”

Ganry looked at the huge warrior who had just entered the room. He was nearly twice the size of himself. He wondered at how much his role was meant to be as a spy, and how much as a guide. He knew that their guide would be doing Qutaybah’s bidding, and not theirs.

“Perseus is a welcome addition to our group of travelers,” Myriam thanked Qutaybah, for she knew they could not do this quest without his help. “Once again, my family owes you thanks for the kindness that you show us.”

Myriam was not fooled by Qutaybah’s kindness. She knew it would come at a price, but her grandmother could negotiate that once she was free, for this was her ally.

Linz was awed by the huge warrior, Perseus. So much so that he could not resist getting up from his seat to prod him and check if he was real.

“I think with Ganry, Wyatt, and Perseus, we will be unbeatable indeed,” Linz laughed, and he was not without his own skills when it came to battle. He felt secure that Myriam would be safe in the hands of such companions.

Hendon played no part in the amusement of the new group member. Instead, he would be relying on his magic, not his muscles, which could not be compared to the fighters in the group. But nor could any of them talk to the animals and to nature itself. Since accepting the Berghein stones as his bloodline right, his skills had been enhanced to such levels that he would never want to be without his magic ever again.

“That’s settled then,” Queen Myriam announced. “We are now a group of six. My grandmother will be most grateful upon her return.”

With this Myriam stood and said her goodbyes, agreeing that Ganry would organize their departure with Perseus so that they could all leave the next morning.

10

“Has the Duchess been treated badly?” Ghaffar asked, knowing the answer already.

“Ghaffar, you know perfectly well that your people are treating me with the utmost respect. What I’m trying to convey to you is that you have gone about this in the wrong manner.”

“Are you saying that had I asked you for the Berghein stones back, you would have willingly given them, knowing that your magical skills will be weakened?”

“That depends upon your reasoning as to why we must return these stones. Do you have proof that it was your people who gave the stones to the D’Anjue ancestors in the first place?”

The Duchess was always open to reasoning, but Ghaffar had provided none, and she could not know whether he simply coveted the stones for underhand reasons. Besides, descendants of her bloodline had only recently found all the Berghein stones and brought them together. They would not give them up easily, especially as a D’Anjue now served on the throne.

These stones would help prevent any more attempts to unseat the true heir. They would protect Myriam and any heirs she produces. How can this little man, who calls himself a monk, expect her family to simply hand over the stones to them?

“My sources inform me that, indeed, your family are on their way to rescue you. They must love you dearly,” Ghaffar said, and then promptly bowed as he left the room.

“Obnoxious little man,” the Duchess mumbled to herself.

Since she had been brought to this strange place, she had no other company other than her own, so she was inclined to talk to herself. It helped her think things through. There was something he was not telling her but she had yet to find out what it was.

The problem at the moment was her forgetfulness. Although she often associated it with her old age, plus all that she had gone through recently, she also knew she was not usually so bad. She vaguely remembered Ghaffar convincing her to leave with him, but she could not remember why, and now she felt certain that she was being kept here against her will.

The door was locked all the time and she saw no one but the monk. He had treated her well enough and healed the injuries she had received from being tortured, but yet she still felt a sickness deep inside. Something was wrong, but she could not determine exactly what it was. She had endured much pain to allow her granddaughter to escape. Never would she begrudge Myriam her freedom at the price of her torture, but now that she was Queen, she had hoped that Myriam would send someone to her rescue.

Not trusting the monk, Ghaffar, it left her with no one to confide in. All she could do was wait for events to unfold and hope that this would all be resolved soon, as it seemed a party was on its way to her. She hoped that Myriam had stayed in Palara as she felt certain there were dangers here for the Queen should she come herself.

Always, she felt a claustrophobia in this catacomb of a city. The rooms were large and the city was well developed, but at the end of the day there was no fresh air to breath. The only ventilation that lingered was what had managed to filter through the built-in network of airway tunnels. Even lizards needed to breathe air to survive.

Feeling tired as she always seemed to be these days, she lay her head down and was soon in a fitful slumber. In her sleep she tossed and turned, dreaming of her blood seeping away from her body. It was a fitful rest, and she was glad to awaken and find herself still alive.

Yet, it was always the same when she woke up from the dream; she had a sense that she had not been alone. She always sensed that someone had come into her room and had left before she awoke. Why she sensed this, she did not know, but she felt it was a part of the reason as to why she was here.

This time, she knew someone was in the room and when she awakened, they were still there. She saw it was a female lizard. She could just make it out in the shadows and knew it was a female as they smelled more pleasant than the males, who had a distinctly unpleasant sour odor.

The female spoke to another in the room, but the Duchess could not see very well and felt light-headed. Nor could she understand the language of these lizard people.

“She has awoken early,” the female said in her own tongue, knowing that the human would not understand her words. “Shall I drug her some more?”

“No, take what blood you have to our Empress, that will placate her for now,” a voice replied in the same language. She recognized it as belonging to Ghaffar. “I will deal with the consequences,” he assured the female, who was quite concerned she did not have a full cup of blood.

A voice called her name and the Duchess was somewhat confused as to where she was. As of late she was getting weaker, not stronger.

“Duchess D’Anjue,” there was the voice again. “Are you well?”

The Duchess peered into the dim room to see the little monk looming over her. She sat up with a start.

“How long have you been present in my room while I rest?” she demanded.

“Your voice could be heard calling out, so I was sent to check in on your safety. I think you were having a dream, Duchess,” Ghaffar explained. “I have brought you refreshment. You must keep up your strength.”

He passed her a glass containing a warm liquid which she drank gratefully. She was never certain what this cup contained, but he had explained once that it was a mix of local herbs which helped to build strength. Whatever it was, she always felt better after taking it.

She passed him back the glass and laid her head back onto the pillow, her eyes heavy again. She meant to ask him who the other person had been in the room with them, but it did not seem important anymore as a warm feeling swept over her, easing her worries.

Ghaffar smiled as the Duchess slipped back into slumber. He contemplated for a moment calling the servant girl back in to finish the blood draining but decided against it. The Empress would have to make do with less tonight. There would be plenty to come in the future. If his spies were to be believed then the whole remaining bloodline of the D’Anjue were making their way to them.

Yes, soon she would have all the blood she needed to survive her next transformation.

11

The group had traded their horses for camels as this creature was more suited for the new terrain they had to cross. Myriam liked her camel, who was called Al Bikra, because she had not mated yet. She was one of the two humps variety which made riding her more comfortable. Al Bikra was partial to dates, and whoever fed her them would receive her loyalty. With this in mind, Myriam always had a pocket full of the sticky fruit at the ready.

The others in the group were not so lucky. Ganry’s was a seasoned camel but also a little on the feisty side, not always doing what Ganry commanded. Each camel had its own character, just as the horses at home, only camels were proving a little moodier.

Perseus led the train of camels, who seemed happy to walk in single line as they progressed through the dry arid landscape. They were heading towards a large desert area which should take them onto the forbidden lands where the Akkedis Mense ruled.

They passed by many mines where it appeared that the workers were slaves. Myriam’s parents had disapproved of such practices, and after witnessing the cruelty of the poor workers, Myriam vowed she would never allow this in her Kingdom.

It was clear that these people were worked to the death and she wondered if they were perhaps prisoners. She must remember to ask Perseus about slavery and see if it was something her own people could find the power to stop, especially if trade was strong. Maybe they could bring in laws that nothing could be traded if slavery was involved in the process.

Vandemland was famous for its rare and precious gems, so surely it could afford to pay their workers. Myriam felt strongly about this and was determined to do her very best to ensure none of her trading partners used slavery.

“You are deep in your thoughts,” Ganry’s voice interrupted her planning.

“I don’t like to see people used in this way, Ganry. Look at them. Many seem near death. Why do the leaders of this land allow such cruelty?” she quizzed him, knowing he was a man of much experience.

Hendon then rode up by her other side as he had overheard her comments.

“Artas told me that Duke Harald sent over his Captain of the Guard as a spy, but he was sold into slavery. He was put to death at one of the mines for attempting to escape. It did not come to light until after the battle. Border guards had heard tell of the tale from a merchant called Ragnald. He had informed the slave guards of Captain Henrickson’s attempted escape and he was let free for being so loyal. Mind you, I’ve also heard tell that once a slave, you will never be freed. Terrible business,” Hendon concluded.

“You have much to say on this matter, Hendon,” Myriam smiled. “I believe we agree on this and perhaps upon our return we can approach the politicians to put pressure on such practices. If anything, maybe we can improve conditions for these poor people.”

“It would take hundreds of years for such changes to happen,” Ganry said. “It is the way of these people. Concern yourself with your own lands, Myriam, not those beyond your control.”

Queen Myriam said no more on the subject, but she would not forget.

Most nights they camped out but occasionally they arrived at one of Qutaybah’s properties. They were due to stop at one for this night, and Myriam looked forward to sleeping in a real bed. It’s not that she wasn’t used to sleeping outside, she had spent many a rough night on the roads when she was escaping the clutches of her cruel uncle. Still, it did not mean that she could not enjoy the comforts of a soft bed and pillows, and maybe even a means of bathing. These luxuries were all the more enjoyable since she had lived life on the run.

The building was only a single storey, but it was large as it seemed to spread out over the land. Most buildings they had passed in these parts were painted in white because of the heat. This was no different. They arrived into a courtyard where servants received them and relieved them of their burdens. Food was supplied in abundance.

Myriam wondered if these servants were also slaves. If they were, then their lot was much better than the ones she had seen in the mines. These looked healthy and well fed, yet how could anyone live happily if they were not free to choose their own way in life?

Too tired to approach Perseus, she simply ate a light meal and went to her rooms where, luckily, a bath tub full of warm water awaited. Soaking her aching body in such comfort and ridding her skin and hair of road dust, it seemed that all was well with the world. What could possibly go wrong?

12

At dinner that very evening, Myriam brought up the subject of slavery with Perseus.

“I’m curious, Perseus, to know if the people who work for Qutaybah are slaves?”

Perseus had proved to be a man of few words, so she was surprised at the lengthy explanation he gave.

“Are not we all slaves in some way, Queen Myriam? We all try to live our lives as best we can, but we must eat and clothe ourselves and our families. We must have a roof over our heads. We all need these rewards for the work that we perform. I understand the concept may be difficult, but most enter slavery willingly for the security it provides them, and there are other advantages too. In my homeland, slaves are not allowed to wander freely or unaccompanied. This helps in reducing crime. Is this not a good thing?”

Myriam did not answer straight away as he had made some good points. As she ate her food, she contemplated on his words. It would not do to rush at a reply and yet have no reasoning behind her argument.

“Yes, Perseus,” she spoke so all could hear. “In a sense we all must slave to provide the necessities of life, such as food and shelter, but that is not slavery to a master, that is slavery to a system. A slave who is purchased by a cruel master will not care about rewards. Indeed, I do not think those poor people in the mines were hardly even fed.”

“Those in the mines are often the criminals of society, but others do end up there as well, this is true,” Perseus admitted. “My own master rewards his slaves well, but yes, we do belong to him.”

“Wouldn’t you like to travel to other places, yourself, Perseus?”

“I do travel, when my master instructs me, and I do see other places, Queen,” he replied.

She understood Perseus to be loyal to Qutaybah, his master, so she would not question him further, it would not be fair. This was something she had to live with as a Queen of a people who have freedom. It would take many, many years to forge changes, but she hoped her legacy in years to come would be that of the Queen who opposed slavery in all its forms.

For now, she had other matters and events that needed to be dealt with immediately and could not wait.

“Perseus, I appreciate your honesty,” she smiled at him. “Tell me, do you have a family?”

Perseus was uncomfortable with this line of questioning, but he knew she was a Queen and his master had impressed upon him how important the Duchess was to him. So, he must take great care of this granddaughter to the Duchess that his master praised so highly.

“I have no family, Queen, I serve only my master.” With that he stood, bowed, and left the room.

Myriam tried not to look at Ganry immediately. She knew he would be scowling at her. Finally, she lifted her head and forced her eyes over to his battle-hardened features.

“I am a Queen, I have to learn,” she said to him. Then she herself stood and left the room, not giving Ganry the opportunity to reply.

“Our Queen is trying to understand the world around her,” Hendon offered him.

Ganry said nothing. He too hated slavery, but it would take more than an idealist Queen to change the world.

***

Artas was pleased how his session with the merchants had gone. Most were complaining at the opening of the borders as the competition from bordering nations was forcing them to lower their prices. The influx of foreign traders did not sit well with the Palaran merchants, but the people of this nation would benefit from it and it was a masterstroke by Queen Myriam.

With one single decision, the stores were full once again with an abundance of food and the people were beginning to reap the benefits of her rule. As a concession to the local traders, he had agreed to tax imported goods which would increase the price to meet local prices. Artas knew this was not the answer, but equally, it meant he could have a good night’s sleep tonight, with happy local traders not complaining in his ears.

All he had to do was hold the kingdom temporarily. Once Myriam returned with her retinue, she would have many advisors to help her make more permanent decisions about trading. For now, he simply wanted to find temporary solutions and he felt he had achieved this.

When he arrived in the main parlor, both Parsival and Lady Leonie were there already. It was time to catch up on the noble’s gossip. Lady Leonie had already built an intricate network of spies in all levels of Palaran society. Artas thought she would be a great help to the Queen, as she would need such skills to run her kingdom.

“I hear tell the ladies are wanting the Queen to marry as soon as she’s well again,” Leonie informed them.

“Are they indicating who they wish this husband to be?” Artas asked, quite amused at their presumptions.

“Well, some think it should be you,” she smiled at Artas, knowing that would amuse him. “Others say someone from Vandemland, in order to bring the neighbors closer together by the tying of our two great nations with a marital bond. It seems none were interested in the Queen’s wishes. They say it should be a political marriage.”

“From what I know of our new Queen, I don’t think she’ll be that easily persuaded,” Parsival added.

“I would marry Myriam tomorrow if it would make her happy, but I don’t think I’m the one she would chose,” Artas said, a little sadness in his heart. “I’m happy just to be her personal knight. I imagine Ganry will train me for the role, and when he grows older, I will stand in his place.”

“Ganry will never be too old to stand by his Queen. Even in his dying hours he will be at her side,” Parsival said. “I fear you will have a long wait, my friend.”

“Poor, poor Artas.” Lady Leonie kissed his cheek. “I know you feel disappointed that the Queen left you behind, Artas, but I believe it’s only because you don’t have the D’Anjue bloodline. She has come to rely on Ganry, and when he returns he will help you in your training.”

She felt that she had become good friends with Artas and liked him. He was young and brave and turning into a handsome man. She was no match for the Queen, who he clearly had his heart set on, but she believed she had more in common with Artas than Myriam had.

13

After a good night’s rest and a hearty breakfast, Myriam’s party set off into the desert. The journey was hot and laborious. Myriam was thankful they had camels for the journey, otherwise it would have been impossible on foot.

Myriam held a cloth sun parasol over her head. It did not help against the relentless heat of the sun, but it did stop her skin burning from its harsh rays. She wondered how the camels could manage such high temperatures, but they seemingly coped well.

They made good progress despite the heat. The camels really deserved their name of ships of the desert, and all was going to plan until the tremors began. Myriam had heard of earthquakes where the ground rumbled and toppled buildings, but she was sure they did not happen in this land.

She could see Perseus stand upright on his camel, scanning the horizon as if he was looking for something. Ganry rode up next to him and they talked together. She assumed they were discussing the tremors and waited patiently for them to come and inform her of its cause.

“Can you feel it?” Hendon asked as he approached.

“Yes, do you know what it is?” she asked hopefully.

“It’s the desert worms. They move beneath us. I have never seen them but I can hear them communicating with one another. They are oblivious of us. It is not us they seek, but the waters.”

“Yet, my young Hendon, if they come across us they will not hesitate to eat us.” Ganry came up behind them. “I’ve just been asking Perseus. They move in groups and the creatures are huge. They are carnivores and therefore dangerous to us. We should move quickly to a crag near to here. It will take us off course but the sands are dangerous whilst the desert worms are beneath us. We will be safe on the rocks where they will not be able to sense us.”

“Why ever didn’t he mention these dangers to us?” Myriam asked.

“I don’t think we would want to know of all the dangers that lurk out in this desert. Only as, and when, they happen,” Ganry told her.

She knew that Ganry feared nothing. In fact she had never met anyone as brave as her seasoned warrior. He always chose his words carefully, so maybe he was right. It is best not to know all the horrors that may befall them on this journey or they may never keep going forward.

Perseus took the lead and swung the camels away, where they all followed in a single line. He had warned them that they must remain quiet and only talk in whispers. The desert worms could sense noise, and until they were upon the rocks then they were all in peril.

In the distance, Myriam could see the crag. It was a large black outcrop, seemingly in the middle of the desert as though it had been dropped there by some giant. Myriam could sense the tension in Perseus. He was constantly looking back, anxiously, and she realized they were all in mortal danger. She stared longingly at the rocks and wished them closer.

As the crag loomed before them, Myriam was beginning to believe they would all make it. Then suddenly, chaos exploded all around them. The worms had sensed them, and whilst they were actually seeking water, they always craved for meat.

The carnage began.

Wyatt’s camel was the first to fall. A huge worm reared out of the ground as the sands parted. Its high pitched screech was deafening and Wyatt seemed to somersault as his ride was lost. He landed some distance away from the monster.

As Myriam turned in her seat, she saw three hideous creatures rearing out of the sands. The monsters resembled giant worms, but their heads had huge gaping mouths that were filled with row upon row of razor sharp, serrated teeth, clearly well adapted to tearing meat to shreds before swallowing it.

Wyatt’s camel had lost its footing, slipping into the hole that the worm had created when it reared off the ground. The creature hovered above the luckless camel, and in one swoop it darted in a downwards motion, its jaws clamping onto one of the camel’s back legs. As the worm forced its great weight into a backwards motion, the leg ripped away from the body.

Wyatt took out his broad sword and hacked at the side of the worm’s ugly body. A thick, yellow substance spurted in an upwards fountain from the injured beast. The monster cried out, seemingly requesting help, and others came to its aid before it disappeared back into the ground.

The poor camel was still alive and writhing around, emitting a pitiful cry of fear and pain. Maybe it also was crying out for assistance, but unfortunately for the poor beast, none came. All its cries managed to do was alert another monster to its presence.

A worm hole opened up to its side where a huge beast came rushing out, raising at least ten feet into the air, half-in and half-out of the sand. It dropped back down, its gaping jaws burying into the soft flesh of the camel, dragging it underground.

Blood seeped through the sand, turning it a crimson red as the other worms converged on the feast. This did not placate them though. If anything it made them worse. They now had the smell of blood and could sense that there was more to be had.

Perseus and Ganry struck the hind quarters of the remaining camels to speed them up. They had to get to the crag quickly, while the worms were preoccupied with the fallen camel. There were only a few more feet to go, and soon the rest of them were safely on the rocks.

Myriam watched on in horror as she realized that Wyatt had been left behind. She could see him running for his life, but he still had some distance to go.

Ganry turned his camel around, intending to head back out, but one glance and he knew it was hopeless. He noticed the rippling sand and saw the worms were moving too fast. He was never going to make it.

Linz realized that his compatriot was in danger, and he readied his camel to ride out to help him. Ganry reached out and held Linz’s beast in check by the reins.

“You cannot save him,” Ganry said sadly. “To try would mean certain death.”

Linz drew his sword from its scabbard and turned to the former mercenary. “Take your hands off of me.” Linz could not stand by.

Ganry kept a firm grip on the reins. “I do not wish to see you die needlessly. We will need you if we are to be successful in this mission, but if your honor forces you to ride out to your death, then I will not forcibly stop you.”

Myriam watched on, feeling helpless. She too wanted them to save Wyatt, but knew deep inside it was not possible. She laid her hand on Linz’s arm.

“Please, Linz,” she begged. “Please, I do not want to see another death today.”

Linz looked on hopelessly as he saw his friend surrounded by the monsters. He watched as Wyatt turned to him and waved for him to stay there and not to try to be a hero.

Wyatt stood firm as the ground below him opened up, and a desert worm with gaping jaws came rushing in an upwards motion out of the sands, grabbing him by the midriff before dragging him below ground. The other worms screeched in triumph before they too dived back into the sands to feed on their prey.

“Nooo!” Linz screamed out his grief, as his friend was taken by the creatures.

He watched, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him as the final moments of his friend’s life were played out. The yellow tinge to the sand was now mixed with red as Wyatt’s life blood seeped out of the ground. Linz’s whole body was wracked with grief, and he felt the stinging hot tears flooding down his cheeks.

14

That evening was spent in absolute silence upon the coldness of the rocks. Linz sat and stared at the bloodstained sand where his friend had spent his last moments of life. Even in the pitch darkness, his eyes found the spot. He made no attempt to sleep. This night, he would grieve for his protector and trainer. Though he had no plans on how he could kill these beasts, tomorrow was the start of his life when he would plan revenge on every sand worm he was ever to meet.

Myriam slept restlessly. The cold, hard rock surface was uncomfortable, and the visions of Wyatt’s death plagued her dreams. Her mind was in shock and her body exhausted. Losing Wyatt had made her realize just how dangerous this mission was. Despite Wyatt’s death, she was determined more than ever to continue. Wyatt would not die in vain. She would not return to Palara without her grandmother.

Although they stayed upon the crag in absolute silence, the sand worms did not leave. Even the next morning, they could see the sand rippling as the worms circled the crag, as if awaiting their next meal. Perseus was surprised as it was unusual for the desert worms to hunt their prey for any length of time. They are more opportunistic hunters, often finding prey by accident. This behavior was out of character. He sensed there was some other hand at play in keeping them here, although he did not share his thoughts with the others.

The sun was rising high in the sky, and now the rocks were red hot. They had plenty of water and food, but little protection from the sun’s harsh rays. They would not be able to stay here much longer, but the worms would not leave.

New tremors began and could be felt under the ground. For a moment, everyone feared that the desert worms were trying to dig through the rocks. The ground around the crag was a maelstrom of whirling sands, and it was obvious that there was much activity going on below the surface.

It was Hendon who resolved the mystery.

“Fear not everyone. I sense that it is the desert worms who are now under attack. They are fleeing from huge, long snakes or lizards. It seems we are being rescued by the Akkedis, and if you thought the desert worms were big, wait until you see these beasts. These are our allies, Perseus, aren’t they?” he asked, hopefully.

“The Akkedis are no one’s allies. You should never trust them, ever,” Perseus warned them. He knew how devious these creatures could be, and while he was grateful for their help, he knew that there would be a price to pay. The Akkedis do not help anyone unless it was for profit.

Gaping holes appeared in the sands, only this time instead of desert worms, giant serpents slithered out of the holes and onto the rocks. Riding on the backs of them rode smaller lizard creatures.

Soon, the Queen’s party was completely surrounded by the scaly skinned creatures. Ganry put himself by Myriam’s side, hand on sword. He did not draw it just yet as there was no point in antagonizing their rescuers, but he was ready all the same.

Perseus stood at the front of the group and stepped closer to one of the serpents. The rider dismounted and greeted him as he approached. They were in deep discussion as Perseus gesticulated and pointed away at the horizon.

“Do you know what they are saying to each other?” Myriam asked of Hendon.

“Yes, it seems we are to fly away from here on the backs of these creatures. Not only can they burrow through the sands, but they also have wings to take us into the skies.”

Perseus and the creature finished their conversation, and he came over to update them.

“We will each of us ride on the backs of these winged serpents,” he told them as they gathered around him. “We will be accompanied by one of the smaller creatures who will guide us to our destination.”

“What about the camels?” Hendon asked. “Are we to leave them at the mercy of the sand worms?”

“The worms have gone. The Akkedis leader tells me that at least four are dead. They have now fled and will be in no hurry to return.”

Perseus could see that Hendon was still concerned. Being able to speak to animals gives you an insight and an empathy to their plight.

“Camels are used to roaming this desert, my friend,” Perseus assured him. “They know how to make their way home. They will be safe, I promise you.”

That seemed to satisfy Hendon, and he walked over to the camels and spoke softly to them, as if reassuring them. Perseus followed him, as he also loved the desert beasts.

“Perseus?” Hendon said to him. “They tell me that the lizards kept the sand worms here. Why would they do that if they planned to rescue us?”

“I sensed this was so,” Perseus tried to explain. “Never trust the Akkedis. Be wary at all times and stay close to your Queen.”

“Why do you continue to travel with us now that we have new guides?” Hendon asked of Perseus, wondering if he, too, could be trusted.

“My master assigned me with this task. I stay until I am of no more use.” With that answer he turned to leave the young human male, feeling he had answered enough questions. He did not wish to reveal his real reasons.

Myriam felt apprehensive about flying on the backs of these creatures, but she was happy to be seeing the end of this treacherous desert that had already taken the life of one of their party. How many more lives would be lost in the search for her grandmother?

Perseus’s warning about not trusting the Akkedis was fresh in her mind, as was her dream that had shown her grandmother was with the Akkedis, so what choice did they have? At least this way they would reach their destination quickly. She just hoped they weren’t rushing into a trap.

They were strapped into saddles on the back of the flying lizards with a guide at their backs, directing the flight. Each sat apprehensively, and a little puzzled at how such cumbersome creatures could take to the air. As if in response to their uncertainty, huge wings were unfurled from their sides, beautiful and almost transparent, filled with intricate patterns in various colors. They glistened like gossamer. The lizards seemed to furl up slightly before suddenly springing forward at speed, until they shot over the end of the rocks with their huge wings beating a rhythm as they soared into the sky.

Myriam loved the experience of flying. She relished the sensation as the winds rushed by her face. Never had she felt so wonderful as she did high in the skies of the world. If only humans could fly, they would travel their journeys so much quicker, and never be attacked by sand worms.

Ganry, on the other hand, hated it. He was a man who liked to have his feet firmly planted on the ground. He even hated being on a boat. It was not natural, and if the great maker had wanted them to fly he would have given them wings, he reasoned. He had agreed to strap himself on to this giant monster only because Myriam had insisted. The sooner they were back on the ground, the better.

Hendon held up his arms in exhilaration as the winds blew across his face, blowing his hair behind him. He felt like he was experiencing how a bird glided through the skies. Everything below was tiny, even the tallest trees seem to dwarf below them.

Linz felt much like Ganry. This was not where a lake man belonged, and he sat stiffly, gripping his reins as if his life depended on it.

Perseus simply accepted this was a necessary evil. He could not do his duty if he could not enter the city of the Akkedis. He had a task to do, and soon all this would be over.

Hendon felt his staff vibrating and then he sensed the old man laughing.

“Do you like flying, Barnaby?” he asked in his mind.

“I love flying,” Barnaby chuckled in Hendon’s head. “I had heard those blasted worms rumbling the sands around you, but I see you’re safe for now, my boy, so I’ll be off.”

Hendon felt Barnaby leave his mind. Hendon liked Barnaby and wished he’d stay longer as he felt sure that he was an integral part of their mission. He wondered where he went off to when he left him. It did not sound like he stayed upon this world.

Perhaps, when you’re a spirit, you can flit between worlds. As he flew on the back of this creature, with his thoughts on Barnaby, he observed in the distance that there was nothing but sand in every direction.

Yet, the lizards were flying lower as if their journey was coming to an end. He hoped this was not a trick and they were not going to leave them stranded in the desert. He looked over at Perseus who seemed calm and unconcerned, so he decided that all must be well, and as the lizard swooped lower, he awaited the landing with slight trepidation.

15

In the distance they could see a large oasis on the horizon. This must be their destination, thought Myriam, but it looked far too small to be the Kingdom of the Akkedis. Perhaps they were stopping for water?

The lizards, as they approached the oasis started to circle it, each time getting lower and lower until they were almost brushing the tops of the trees. Then in front of them, an avenue appeared. A long stretch that looked like a straight path cutting through the trees. The lizards swooped down into the gap as they flew lower and lower until they were eventually on the ground.

Everyone dismounted their rides and gathered together. Perseus spoke with the leader, and they were told to follow him. He led them between a gathering of tall palm trees, and behind them were many large boulders. A passageway appeared between the boulders, which seemed to get wider as they walked along it. High upon the boulders, Ganry spotted the lookout guards. His warrior senses warned him of danger. He would need to be extra vigilant.

“We could not flee now even if we wanted to, Ganry,” Myriam said to her bodyguard, seeing his discomfort. “If this is to be a trap, then they have lured us in well. All we can do is remain alert. I trust and rely on you, Ganry, to warn me of any impending danger.” She spoke in a quiet voice so only he could hear her words.

He said nothing, but she knew that he had heard her. She too felt uncomfortable in this place.

As the rock walls seemed to get higher, the pathway appeared to be leading in a downwards slope. Soon, they entered an entrance to a cave, and here the guards were numerous. The air was fast becoming cooler, but there was no damp smell that Myriam would normally associate with caves in her lands. The passageway led into a huge cavern, which gave them the option of many other paths. The underground space was well lit and a hive of activity.

Myriam observed as Ganry approached Perseus, and they were soon in a deep discussion. She was glad Ganry was here. If this was a trap, then he more than anyone else would know how they could make their escape.

***

A new guide appeared and led them down one of the many openings. Torches burned in sconces, illuminating the dark passages. They seemed to be walking deeper and deeper as the ground beneath them sloped ever downwards. Often, they passed other passageways that led off in different directions.

Myriam thought the place must be a huge catacomb, and they would never remember their way out of here without a guide. Finally, they arrived on a platform that looked down upon what could only be described as an underground city. As Myriam gazed in astonishment, she could see streets and rooftops, and there was even a market square.

“What an amazing place,” Hendon spoke with wonder in his voice. “Who would have thought there could be such a huge city beneath the sands?”

Ganry viewed the city with different eyes. He did not marvel at its wonders or consider the finer points of how such a city was built. He was a man of action and violence, and they were in a city that held many dangers. His prime focus was on how they could fight their way out, should it become necessary.

Ganry turned to check on Myriam, and from out of the shadows appeared Ghaffar.

“Greetings, Queen Myriam. This is an honor for my people. Never before have we had human royalty as our guests,” he said, bowing down to her.

Myriam smiled, almost relieved to have found the little man at last. Ganry, however, was much more suspicious at the sudden appearance of the little monk.

“Please come this way. I would like to show you where you will be staying on your visit to our humble city.” Ghaffar indicated for them to follow him.

At the bottom of the ramp, which led down from the balcony, they were met by a huge lizard that stood on all fours and had short legs, a long snout, and hard knobbly skin. Its long tail swished from side to side. This creature seemed more like a domesticated animal, or a beast of burden, as it had a huge saddle upon its back.

Ghaffar climbed up the saddle and took a seat, indicating for the others to do likewise. A driver sat upon a smaller saddle attached to its broad neck, and he used a whip to direct the lizard.

“Much like using a horse,” Ghaffar said to Myriam. “The Ingwenya are our means of transport within the city. They can even take us under the water. Quite useful, especially in battle. Such a lot of teeth.”

Myriam was unsure whether he was joking or threatening them, but she sensed nothing aggressive in his tone. Glancing around at the others, she saw that Linz was staring coldly at Ghaffar. He had been present at the death of his uncle, Chief Clay, and held him responsible for that.

She hoped that if revenge was on his mind, it would wait until they had freed her grandmother. Although she wondered if any of them would manage to ever escape from these caves. How long were the Akkedis going to remain courteous towards them? She wanted to let them believe that they had her where they wanted her, which in reality they probably did, though she did have a few tricks up her sleeves.

Would the power of the stones help them to escape should the Akkedis turn on them? Ganry was a powerful warrior, but even he could not fight an entire Akkedis army. Then there was the elusive Perseus. He had been a good guide, but she couldn’t help but feel there was more to him than they knew about. She hoped that they could use that to their benefit should the need arise.

As they moved through the hustle and bustle of an underground city, the air was stifling and the smell was overpowering. Many of the Akkedis stared as they passed them by. They all stood on two legs and dressed in long robes that covered most of their scaly bodies.

All of the Akkedis appeared to be armed. It was most unnerving for Myriam, but she sat upright and showed no sign of fear. Ghaffar seemed to enjoy her discomfort, but she merely smiled at him, showing him nothing but a show of friendship. If this was to be trickery, then she wanted them to make the first move. She would do nothing to antagonize them, but should they show her treachery then she would respond likewise.

“I look forward to seeing my grandmother, Ghaffar. I hope it will be soon?” Myriam smiled at him.

“She has taken a turn for the worse,” Ghaffar told her. “Please be patient and you shall see her after you have eaten and rested.”

“I was unaware that she was ill,” Myriam exclaimed, sitting upright at this dire news.

“Calm yourself, human Queen,” Ghaffar almost hissed. “She needs a good night’s sleep and all will be well. I have informed her of your coming and she asks for rest before she speaks with you. Is that too much to ask after what she has been through for your Kingdom?”

Myriam did not bother to answer the impertinent little man. If only they could leave this place this very day. If only.

16

Myriam was given a room of her own. At either side of her, both Linz and Hendon were accommodated. Opposite her room, Ganry and Perseus were given a room together. Ganry was not happy with this arrangement.

With Ghaffar watching on, he made the changes so that the Akkedis were well aware that the Queen was going to be well guarded. He moved Linz and Hendon into the shared room meant for him and Perseus, and at either side of Myriam he put himself and Perseus. He was pleased that Myriam’s room had adjoining doors to both her protectors on either side.

“But what about Linz and Hendon? They are alone and unprotected,” she said quietly in Ganry’s ear.

“They are not unprotected and they are not alone. They have each other, that is enough for them.”

As she thought about it, she had to agree it was a better arrangement than Ghaffar had made. She nodded her agreement to Ganry, accepting his lead.

Ghaffar said nothing at this stage even though he was a little annoyed at Ganry’s meddling. There was reasoning behind putting the D’Anjue bloodline in the adjoining rooms, but it mattered little. Soon this farce would be over and the pretense done away with.

Of course, he could simply take them all prisoner right here and now, but that would affect the quality of the blood. He needed the three D’Anjue family members to remain calm.

Fear and stress created a chemical reaction in the blood, affecting its quality. Ghaffar simply smiled as the party of humans rearranged themselves. No matter, he could still carry out his duties, and maybe the two male D’Anjue bloodlines would be easier targets housed together.

“I trust you would like to clean up after your long journey. We will meet for dinner, is this acceptable?” Ghaffar asked.

Myriam accepted the invitation to dine. Ghaffar smiled and bid them goodbye, for now.

Once he had gone, Ganry entered Myriam’s room and checked it was secure. He checked the windows and the walls for secret passages.

Myriam looked longingly at the bath of hot soapy water in her room as Ganry carried out his checking of her room. Eventually he seemed satisfied, and using the adjoining door he entered his own room and left her alone.

She quickly stripped and was soon soaking in the hot water. What a luxury. Finally getting to wash some of that sand from her hair and the grime from her skin. She lay there a while, luxuriating on the suds, before she climbed out of the bath, dried herself, and lay on her soft bed to relax.

It seemed that Ghaffar had thought of everything. She slipped into a loose robe that was provided, similar to the ones she had seen the women in these lands wear.

Bathtubs of hot water were set up in all the rooms for the travelers, but only one in the shared room. Linz and Hendon argued over who would go first.

“Pah, I am a Chief of my people, and you are simply a forest dweller!” Linz argued good-naturedly before promptly stripping off his clothing and jumping into the warm tub, splashing half the water all over the floor.

“If the sand at the bottom of that bath scratches at my backside, then I will boil the Chief of the lake people in the waters he bathes in,” Hendon threatened.

He was not really bothered about being last in the water. He was just so relieved to be out of the dreaded desert. Hendon went to lay on his bed, still fully clothed in his dirty traveling garments. He hoped he would not fall asleep before Linz was finished, or that the water was not freezing cold by his turn. They really should have put two tubs in this room.

Ganry bathed in his tub and welcomed the hot soapy water on his weary body. Despite the pleasure the bath gave him, Ganry was quickly out and dressed in the fresh clothes the Akkedis had provided. He put on his cloak before setting out to check on the others.

His first call was to Hendon and Linz. He saw that Linz had already bathed, but Hendon looked like he’d fallen asleep in the tub, so he kicked the side, startling Hendon awake.

“Never be unaware of your surroundings, boy!” Ganry growled at him. “Not unless you wish to lose your head.”

Ganry followed Linz out of the open doorway, leaving a stunned Hendon in a cold bathtub.

Soon, with everyone bathed and rested, they all gathered in Myriam’s room as Ganry had instructed so he could speak to them.

“I have a bad feeling about this place. All is not what it seems and it is important that we do not get separated.” He paused, looking at each of them. “At night, we will have a rotation of guards. This night, I will take first watch. Hendon, you can be next, seeing as you’ve already slept.”

Hendon smiled ruefully as he remembered his rude awakening in the freezing cold bathtub. Had Ganry not woken him up, he would have frozen to death.

Before Ganry could continue, there was a knock at the door and a female Akkedis entered. She was a slender shape and walked on her hind legs with no apparent difficulty. This had been bred into the Akkedis over many centuries. Myriam thought her eyes looked friendly, and she attempted to speak with her.

“My name is Myriam, what shall I call you?’ she asked her, only to receive a hiss of the creatures long, forked tongue.

Myriam spoke no more and followed the female as she had indicated for them to do so, leading them through an array of passageways.

“Keep trying to befriend any that you can,” Ganry whispered quietly in her ear. “We will be in need of allies, sooner or later.”

She smiled back at him. Was he setting her mind at ease or did he just give her an order? Still, he was right, not all the Akkedis would be hostile. Some may be sympathetic to their cause and willing to help once they were facing real danger.

Ganry noticed that Perseus lagged at the back of the group. He was happy to give him this position as he could concentrate on what was to come in the front. Hendon was busy muttering to his staff, but Linz, at least, seemed alert.

They arrived in a large oval room and in the center stood a huge table ladened with food of all varieties. Various meats, spiced vegetables, and colorful fruits were laid out for them. Myriam felt unsure and stopped in her tracks. Linz approached her, wondering what worried her so.

“Myriam, what ails you?” he asked.

“How do we know that none of this contains poison?”

Hendon stood behind them and tapped Linz on the shoulder with his staff. Linz moved aside to allow Hendon into the conversation.

“I have been speaking with Barnaby on such matters and he assures me all is well. He has looked into the food and there are no traces of anything harmful.”

Linz was the first to sit down and eat, and the others soon followed. Even Perseus joined them and ate his fill. He knew he needed some newly stored energy, ahead of the battle to come.

17

The same female Akkedis returned after they had eaten and took them all back to their chambers. Once she had gone, they all gathered in Ganry’s room, with the exception of Perseus who was acting rather strange. Ganry had caught him in his room, appearing in a trance. He had just assumed he was praying to whichever god he believed in.

“You must thank the spirit of Barnaby for assuring us about the food.” Myriam’s voice broke Ganry’s thought. “We would have all gone to bed hungry if it were not for him,” she said to Hendon.

“Actually, I’m beginning to think he’s more than a spirit, Myriam. I suspect he is from another dimension or world. When we talk, it’s as if he’s still alive, but somewhere else.”

“How strange.” Myriam thought about what Hendon had said, but it was too fantastical for her to comprehend.

“Why do you suppose we have not seen my grandmother yet?” she asked, changing the subject to something more earthly.

“I’m not sure,” Ganry replied, “but I feel there is something going on here that we know nothing of. They are keeping something from us.”

“You don’t think my grandmother to be dead, do you?” she dared to ask him.

“If she were, I believe we would sense it,” Linz answered, recalling the strength of the stones and the magic within the D’Anjue bloodline. “I do feel a weariness in this place, but I suppose it’s the lack of fresh air to breath in. The air within the Cefinon Forest is humid, but this place is far worse,” Linz complained.

“Living underground does not seem natural to me,” Hendon agreed. “I’m sure these creatures need air as much as we do, but they don’t seem to mind if it’s not fresh. I would miss the skies and the rivers. I do hope we’re not down here too long.”

“I would leave now if we could, dear Hendon,” Myriam said, also uneasy with being deep underground.

“Being down here is as natural as being on the surface. It’s just meant for different creatures. We are surface creatures and the Akkedis are more at home under the earth.” Ganry joined in the conversation. “Perseus and I will be going for a walk around the immediate corridors. I would like to map out this place a little, get some bearing of where we are.”

“I’m afraid we cannot allow that,” a voice said from the opening doorway.

Ghaffar walked in, leaving a couple of guards outside the door.

“I trust you are much refreshed now that you have bathed and eaten?” he inquired, as if they were here on pleasurable business.

The Queen nodded her affirmation. “Yes Ghaffar, thank you for your hospitality. I hope that my visit will help bring our two nations together in a closer union.”

Ganry smiled to himself. The young Queen was quickly becoming the wise diplomat.

“Now we are rested, I had hoped we could see my grandmother, before I retire.” Myriam emphasized this point to Ghaffar. “I am concerned for her and will not rest easy until I see her.”

“Of course, Queen Myriam.” Ghaffar bowed in an exaggerated manner. “That is the purpose of my visit this evening, to take you to see your grandmother.”

Ganry stood up and walked up to the small frame of Ghaffar’s human looking body. He towered over him but the little man showed no signs of being intimidated by Ganry’s muscular physique.

“I will accompany the Queen to see her grandmother,” he informed him, making it clear this was not a request. “The Queen goes nowhere alone.”

“You are not in a position to make such demands, Ganry the brave. She will not be alone, I will be with her.” Ghaffar sneered at the big human, his address to Ganry, mocking him. Still, Ghaffar did not want to antagonize them just yet. “Very well, you may come along, but you cannot map our corridors. Remember, you are a guest here, and guests act with respect in the homes that they visit. This is the way of humans, is it not?”

“Truly,” Myriam responded on behalf of Ganry before he could speak. “We have every respect for your community. I am truly grateful for the care you have provided to my grandmother. However, we wish for her to return to her own home as soon as possible.”

“Of course, and I shall facilitate that in any way I can, Queen Myriam, when she is well.” Ghaffar bowed again. “For now, she is bedridden, and I am taking the greatest of care for her well being. A woman of the Duchess’ standing deserves nothing but the best treatment that we can provide.”

Myriam seated herself in a chair, a little shocked at this news.

“Are you saying my grandmother is very ill? I thought it just a part of her recovery from the dungeon, not an illness?”

“Please, Queen Myriam, let us go along and visit her,” Ghaffar suggested, as he opened the door and gestured for them to follow him.

Myriam looked over at Ganry, who nodded, indicating that she should go first. Myriam followed Ghaffar out of the door, and Ganry followed his Queen. They walked in procession down an array of corridors cut into the rock, dimly lit by the torches on the walls.

Ganry tried to memorize the way, but he suspected that they were being led in an indirect route. In fact, he was certain that they had been on this current corridor at least once already today, but he could never be certain in this confounded place. If the route taken was meant to confuse them, then it had done its task well.

Finally, Ghaffar turned into a doorway and stepped into a dimly lit room. The entourage followed him in and there Myriam saw her grandmother, lain in bed and unresponsive. Quickly going to her side, she knelt on the floor and took a hold of her grandmother’s hand. It felt cold and clammy to touch, and Myriam feared the worse.

“Do you know what ails her?” she asked of Ghaffar, almost accusingly.

“She suffered much at the hands of the pretender, Harald, and endured much in the dungeons of the castle. I rescued her from there, as soon as I could, but now you see the consequences of that terrible experience,” he explained.

Myriam knew there was truth in the tale. Her grandmother had suffered much physical and mental pain to save her throne. This was her fault, not the Akkedis. As Ghaffar had pointed out, he had been the one to rescue her. She had much to thank him for.

The Duchess appeared unaware of anything happening around her, looking pale and almost lifeless. Her skin was cold, but she did still live. Her heart was still beating, just.

“I can only thank you, Ghaffar, you and your people, for all that you have done for my family. Finding my grandmother is a joyous occasion for my heart. I am just saddened to see her this way. I had hoped to travel home immediately, but I can see now that my grandmother is in no state to be journeying across the desert. We must burden you longer and hope that now I am by her side, that she may begin to recover.”

Ghaffar merely bowed his head, saying nothing. His plan had worked well by letting the Duchess slip into unconsciousness. It had served to keep the D’Anjue family here longer, without having to use any kind of force to do so. His Empress would be pleased with his results and would reward him richly.

18

Artas knew that ruling in Myriam’s absence would be difficult, but he did not realize just how difficult a task it would prove to be. He had hoped to keep a low profile until the Queen returned, but the politicians and merchants were making his life a misery. Their demands to have a private audience with the Queen was a daily occurrence, one he was finding more difficult every day to keep them at bay. Soon they would guess the truth, that Myriam was no longer here, and when they did he was not sure how it would end.

And now to make matters worse, a distant relative of Myriam’s, Lord Josiah, had arrived at the castle with a small private army demanding to see the Queen.

“Should I rouse the soldiers and ride out to meet this Lord?” Artas asked his close advisors, Parsival and Leonie. “I would prefer to battle a hundred dragons than have to face these greedy, conniving individuals,” he declared, totally and utterly defeated.

“Our main concern is not the traders or politicians within the city, it is those who make greater demands of the throne,” Parsival explained. “Josiah is a distant relative of Myriam’s, on her father’s side, and he feels he has claim to lands in this kingdom. And maybe he does, as his lands were lost under the usurper. If we show weakness now then we will be inundated with distant relatives from all over the lands laying their claims. Only Josiah is aware of the Queen’s departure from her kingdom. True, he does have a small army that will cause this town a hardship, but my friend, we need only use delaying tactics on such a toad.”

“The people will soon learn that the Queen does not reside in her castle, that is inevitable,” Leonie said her part. “This is where you need to use your influence, honorary or otherwise. Call in your chiefs, their Queen needs them. Be decisive, Artas, tell these people, don’t ask them.”

***

The Duchess felt herself floating. The blood in her veins was working so hard, it had become depleted and what remained was attempting to keep her heart pumping. Her heart struggled, something evil was infiltrating her veins and taking away the very magic that had kept her healthy for so long in her life. It was not the magic within her blood that failed her, it was more that something was taking the magic out of her very veins.

She had felt the presence of her granddaughter, imaginary or real, she could not tell. Whatever it was, she had tried to reach out to her but she simply did not have the strength to awaken from the deep sleep that had taken over her body.

Myriam, Myriam, I am here. Wake me up if you can for I am still here, she called out in her dreams.

Were they dreams or was she simply dead? She felt no pain, only a need to rest. This shell of a body could function no more. She would have to let it go soon. It was such hard work holding on. She longed for the light of the sun. Why couldn’t she find it?

Her granddaughter’s presence faded and she was once again alone. Then the pain started up again, a drumming noise in her ear, like a pump pounding within her veins. A stinging sensation shivered through her entire body and her muscles seized up tightly as she convulsed on the bed.

The female Akkedis, known by her friends as Arriba, felt sorry for the dying woman. She had seemed such a kindly human. As she replaced the pump back into the woman’s veins, she wondered at how much more this frail human frame could take. The Akkedis Empress was demanding more in her drink or she too could die. This human was her lifeline and she worried that the woman did not have much more liquid left to give. If the Empress was to live, then Ghaffar needed to act quickly, or their world would be in chaos.

***

Myriam was heartbroken at what she had witnessed. She wanted to demand that her grandmother be put in her room, but Ganry had cautioned against this, for now. Why was Ganry advising this? She needed to care for her grandmother, and right now she cared little for anything else.

“Ganry, we have traveled long and hard to find the Duchess. I do not believe my grandmother will be in this world for much longer and yet you tell me not to make demands. Why?” Myriam had always trusted Ganry’s judgment because he had always put her life before his own, yet this did not make any sense.

“Myriam,” he called her by her first name, “I know the Duchess suffers greatly, but I do not believe she is ill. I think there is more to her condition than the injuries caused by Duke Harald. I fear for your life, and as Queen, I must beg you not to put yourself in danger until we can avoid it no more.”

“You believe that the Akkedis are killing my grandmother?” Myriam was unsure if this was what Ganry was implying. Surely not? Ghaffar had rescued the Duchess from the pits of hell within the dungeons of the castle. Then he had gotten her far away from the dangers. Didn’t that make him her savior?

“I too feel that we are all in danger in this city,” Linz offered his advice. “There is something linking the legend of the Rooggaru and Ghaffar, but I have not managed to unravel the mystery. He appeared as a monk in the temple on many occasions, and he was there the night that my uncle was killed. I am wary of him and think he means us harm.”

19

Ganry decided it was time to approach Perseus and see what his part was to be in all of this. If he had a battle on his hands, then he would need Perseus at his side, but he was not sure if he could be trusted.

When he entered Perseus’s room it was empty, with no sign of him anywhere. He had many questions for this elusive Vandemlander, and so took a seat in a chair by the door and waited for Perseus to return. He wondered where he could have gone. None of them were allowed to wander unhindered through the caves. He hoped that he had not come to any harm. He would need his blade if they needed to fight their way out.

A movement on the floor caught his attention and he quickly stood, drawing his sword. A snake, long with a thick body and a scaly skin of many colors writhed out from under the bed. He must have missed it when he entered the room. Had it eaten Perseus? No. He doubted that a warrior of Perseus’s ability would be overcome by a snake, even one as huge as this one.

The snake quickly moved towards Ganry, its tongue slithering in and out of a wide mouth, making hissing noises. Its upper body raised up high, standing upright. The bottom half of its scaled body lay pooled in a circle on the floor.

Its red eyes stared into Ganry’s, as if searching for his soul. The weak could easily become mesmerized by those hypnotic eyes. Ganry lowered his sword, Windstorm, holding it at his side. This ancient piece of weaponry had been forged by Grimlock bladesmiths in the Limestone Mountains. Few would survive its sharp edge, not even the thick scales of a giant snake. Yet he sensed this beast would do him no harm.

What occurred next caused Ganry to doubt his own eyes as he witnessed the snake transforming into Perseus, who bowed his head, his palms together in a greeting.

“I am able to slip and slide within the walls, Ganry, and find out much needed information. I am almost ready to complete my task for my master, Qutaybah.”

Ganry slid Windstorm back into its scabbard and he sat back down in the chair, wondering at what Perseus was really about.

“Something tells me that your mission here was not just to deliver our Queen to her grandmother, am I right, Perseus?” Ganry asked.

The door to the outside corridor opened and Ghaffar stood there. At first he looked annoyed and said nothing. Was he aware of Perseus’s trips within the walls?

“Empress Gishja has requested an audience with Queen Myriam. You are all to attend,” he said curtly, closing the door behind him as he left.

“It seems we are summoned, Perseus. I hope it is nothing to do with your tour of the caves,” Ganry said as he knocked on the adjoining door that led to Myriam’s room.

As he opened it, he saw that Myriam was resting on her bed. Her yellow blonde hair was loose upon her pillow and she looked truly beautiful. Fleetingly, he was reminded of his own of daughter, Ruby, who would have been around the same age as the Queen.

In those dark days after he had lost his wife and daughter, he had cared little for his own life and he had served as a mercenary, taking the most dangerous of commissions. But serving Myriam had given him a reason to live again, and he would serve her until his death. He placed his hand on her shoulder and shook her gently.

“My Queen, we have been summoned by the Akkedis Empress. Would you like to freshen up?”

Myriam sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her sleep on an evening was restless and she often found herself drifting off to sleep during the day, if it was indeed daytime. Who knew so deep underground?

“Gather the others, Ganry, I will ready myself,” she said, automatically seeking out the dagger, Harkan, that she kept under her pillow. Whenever she held it in the hand with the matching ring, it would shine with a white light and then fade out again, almost as if it had charged itself ready for battle.

She pulled at the necklace that Barnaby had given her. Recently, it had felt heavy around her neck and had rubbed at her skin. She looked in the mirror, her hand going to a red mark just under her jawline. It was around two inches long and seemed to rise in an inflamed mound, at its center a puncture mark. How had that got there?

When Barnaby gave her the necklace, he said it had magical properties and would ward off anything harmful, but so far it had done nothing, though it was very pretty. Now that she looked upon it, she recalled a dream she had of the necklace. It had been trying to awaken her because she was choking, but yet she could not awaken. She seemed to be having many strange dreams in this place, dreams that disturbed her, making her sleep fitful.

Linz and Hendon entered her room. She looked at Hendon as he also had an identical necklace, but she could not see it.

“Where is the necklace given to you by Barnaby?” she asked, concerned that he really needed to be wearing it.

“I gave it to Linz because I have the staff now, a direct link with Barnaby who protects me at all times,” he told her.

She looked at Linz and noticed the necklace around his darker skinned neck.

“How are you two sleeping?” she asked of them.

“If you mean does Linz snore loud enough to keep me awake so I cannot sleep, then no, I’m not sleeping well,” Hendon replied.

Linz laughed. “I sleep very well, Myriam. As for Hendon, he’s too busy mumbling to his staff, but I simply shut out his noise and I’m soon in a peaceful slumber.”

“I only ask because I think my necklace is active when I sleep. It awakens me with some sort of warning. Do you think it has caused these marks?” She showed them the single puncture wound on her throat.

***

“The Empress is not pleased, Arriba. Why were you unable to draw blood from the female?” Ghaffar questioned one of his servants. “Have you lost your touch of invisibility?”

“No, Ghaffar, I have not. My magic remains in my blood forever and I will continue to serve the Empress always. The girl wears a necklace and when I punctured her skin to take her juices, the necklace burned me. I then tried to puncture elsewhere on her body, but the necklace kept attacking me with burns. When I grabbed it to try and pull it from her neck, it awoke her, so I had to leave.”

“A necklace?” Ghaffar had not heard of such a thing. “I know of the stones, but these are of Akkedis origin, so we should be able to control their magic. I know nothing of any necklace. We must try to steal this thing away.”

20

A female Akkedis came to take them to the meeting with their Empress, but first they were all led to a chamber with many heated baths. It seemed a custom to bathe before an audience with the Empress. The cavern smelled strongly of sulphur. Guards stood around one empty bath, but the others contained many Akkedis, washing themselves.

“This place stinks.” Hendon was first to speak, though he said it quietly. It would not do to upset all the Akkedis that surrounded them.

“I will explain to them our etiquette with regards to human bathing,” Ganry said to Myriam. “It seems that the Akkedis do not differentiate their females from the males. I will see if I can obtain a private bathing area for you.”

“No, Ganry,” Myriam stopped him. ”I feel this is a test of my resolve. Let us make the most of this hot, bubbling water and bathe together. We are all friends, and I am sure you will divert your eyes at the appropriate moments.” She smiled at Ganry for his thoughtfulness.

The hot spa was refreshing on her naked skin and she felt cleansed. If this was some ploy by Ghaffar, then it had backfired on him. It seemed the little man was becoming more daring. It would only be a matter of time before they would be treated as prisoners and no longer guests. She took her time in the hot spa to think on her present situation. Soon, it would be time to act and make their escape, but could they take the Duchess with them?

***

“Your Queen and all of you are in danger,” Perseus informed Ganry as they bathed in the hot pool.

“I knew that the minute we set off.” Ganry was not surprised at Perseus’s words of warning. “What I do not know is what your part is in this, Perseus, because I do not believe it to be that of a guide.”

“I am sworn to protect your Queen and the Duchess, and I am not your enemy, Ganry, of that you can be certain. But I fear it may be too late for the Duchess.” Perseus did not wish to explain his role. What these humans did not know, they could not repeat. It was better that way.

“Do you know what ails the Duchess?”

Perseus knew very well what ailed the Duchess, but could not divulge this information for fear of jeopardizing his own plans.

“We should ask the Lizard Empress if the Duchess can be moved to her granddaughter’s room. She no longer serves a purpose for the Akkedis in her present state, so I think she will agree to this,” Perseus said. He knew they had almost drained the Duchess dry of her blood juices, and she was very close to death. “Convince the Akkedis Empress that if the Duchess rests with those who she loves, she will make a full recovery and will soon be fit again. This will please the Empress.”

He knew that this would build up her blood supply once again, but the Akkedis seemed unaware that all they needed to do was let the patient rest in between sessions. If he could get them to convey this message to the Akkedis, it may buy the Duchess some time.

“Whatever do you mean, Perseus?” Myriam had been slowly moving over towards the men, hiding her modesty beneath the water. “Are you saying that my grandmother was serving some sort of purpose for the Akkedis?” Myriam was confused at his words.

“Blood!” Linz whispered as he waded through the water in their direction. “The Rooggaru fed from my uncle’s blood. That is how the Akkedis feed.”

“Are you saying that Ghaffar is taking my grandmother’s blood?” Myriam gasped.

“That puts us all in danger then. We’ve all got a good supply,” Hendon said as he also moved closer to the group.

Ganry pointed out the obvious. “In case you have not already noticed, my dear Hendon, we are already in danger and have been ever since we came to this city.”

“That’s what I dreamed about, I remember now,” Myriam recalled. “My necklace stopped them from taking my blood, that’s why it burned at my skin, to warn me.”

“You mean they were in your room?” Ganry was angry with the Akkedis, but more angry with himself as he had checked that room for secret passages. “They did not enter through the door, so there must be another way into your chamber. Tonight, we swap rooms. I’ll be interested to see who’s paying you a visit in your sleep.”

The female Akkedis, Arriba, appeared at the edge of the pool. She again was allocated to the humans.

“It is time,” she said to them. “The Empress is ready to receive you.” She bowed her head.

“Listen,” Ganry addressed the group. “We must not let them know we are aware of this. We are not yet ready to face them down.”

Despite his calm words, Ganry was furious with the Akkedis, angry that they had kidnapped the Duchess, but even more angry that they threatened Myriam. He may be urging caution now, but one day in the not too distant future, these lizards would pay a heavy price for their treachery, and Ganry would personally see to it.

They all nodded their agreement before leaving the baths.

None of the menfolk seemed to be aware that they had climbed from the pool naked, but Myriam stayed in the water. Whilst she had managed to get into the pool, she was now suddenly self-conscious of her nakedness. Linz approached the edge of the water with a towel, grateful that these creatures used such things.

“It seems the Akkedis Empress wants us cleaned up before she eats us for dinner,” Linz joked.

Myriam could not see the funny side of his jest. It was just a little too close to the truth.

21

The Queen’s party were led into a new area of the caves, one that they had not seen before. Though it was hard to tell one stone passageway from another, this new area was better lit and had fresher air to breathe.

Led into a huge chamber, they all stared in wonder at the glittering walls of crystals. Many rare stones came from these regions so it was not a surprise to see them, but the wall was covered in a shimmering glow of twinkling rainbow colors. It was magnificent.

The tall vaulted ceiling rose so high above them that they could not see where the walls ended. In the center of the chamber on a raised bejeweled dais, sat the Akkedis ruler, Empress Gishja, overlooking her subjects.

This truly was a royal chamber, Myriam thought, and the Empress was a frightening sight for any human. Her scaled body shone with an almost luminous green. The form of her body was eerily human shaped, only more that of a bent old person with a permanently misshaped backbone. The lumpy bone was clearly visible through her thick scaled skin before it merged into a thick, long snake-like tail.

Her feet and hands were adorned with long sharp claws. But it was the face that unnerved Myriam the most. It looked cruel and unfriendly, with wide yellow eyes that never seemed to blink. Her head had high protruding cheekbones adorned with wiry hair, plaited into straight vertical lines. The little pointed chin mimicked a human face, a cruel face, one that had never shown any mercy.

Ghaffar appeared at the side of his Empress and spoke to the new arrivals. “Empress Gishja welcomes the humans into her city and hopes that they will repay her kindness of saving the human Duchess. What do you offer our Empress for such generosity?” he asked, directing his look at Myriam.

“I cannot know what riches the great Empress Gishja is in need of,” Myriam replied. “If my grandmother is allowed to come and share my chamber, where I can care for her, she will soon recover fully and we will not burden the Akkedis Empress with our presence much longer. When I return to my Kingdom, I can send forth any payment the Empress would consider suitable.”

“What if the payment I require is more than you can afford, human Queen?” Gishja hissed.

“You cannot know this until you name your price, Empress Gishja.” Myriam would show no fear, as this she had been well trained for. “I value my grandmother dearly and I am willing to reward you richly for your help in caring for her and keeping her safe.”

“I need no riches, human girl.” Gishja spoke with the hiss of a snake, if a snake could speak.

“Then let us burden you no longer and be off on our way,” Myriam suggested.

“You take my hospitality and run, what sort of a gratitude is that?”

“I will send you a hundred horses so your people may roam the desert lands with comfort.” Myriam stood her ground, staring the Akkedis Empress right into her yellow mesmerizing eyes.

“We have no need of such creatures. We do not eat that which you call meat,” Gishja replied, almost laughing.

“What is it that Empress Gishja requires from the human lands as a reward for her kindness?” Myriam asked.

“I require blood,” Gishja spat out loudly, showing a long forked, black-red tongue. “Can you supply me with this?”

“Indeed I can, Empress Gishja. We have an abundance of livestock in our lands. There are many full bred cattle, pigs, and sheep. If this is important to your people, then yes, I can supply such creatures that will give you sustenance.”

“You insult me, human. Animal blood is not the requirement of Akkedis royalty!” Gishja filled the room with her anger, her voice echoing around the vast chamber.

All was silent, not even a breath could be heard.

“Royalty requires royal blood, human, can you fill my cup with that?”

Myriam knew what was coming, but it still rocked her to her very core. They were in desperate danger now, and she was left in no doubt that the Empress was threatening her very life. The time had come. They were no longer guests, but prisoners of the Akkedis people.

“No!” Myriam shouted out for all to hear. “I cannot provide such a price. I can feed your people, as I have promised, but I cannot fulfill your personal requirements, Empress Gishja.”

Myriam had hoped that some of those who would overhear her would be sympathetic to their plight. There must be many Akkedis who were unhappy being ruled by such a treacherous Empress. A union between the two people would have many advantages for both their nations, and she was certain that some here would see the benefit in that. Yet, this Empress was blatantly making the human’s her enemy.

“Then you do not value the life of your grandmother very well, do you, human?” Gishja’s voice filled the chamber once again. “Guards, take them all prisoner. Keep them together, it will make my feasting so much easier,” the Akkedis Empress instructed, no longer willing to keep up the charade of the welcoming host.

“So much for rescuing the Duchess, Ghaffar, only to murder her entire family,” Ganry cried out above the noise of the approaching guards. “I salute you for your trickery. I look forward to removing your head from your shoulders in repayment.”

Ghaffar bowed low to him. He had done well and his Empress would reward him greatly. Soon she would be healthy again with her new supply of D’Anjue blood flowing into her cup.

22

Ganry’s anger rose as he stared at the slimy Ghaffar. He drew his sword and swept it in a wide arc to keep the guards at bay. Perseus had mirrored his actions on the other side of their small circle. Myriam and the others shielded between the two veteran warriors.

Ganry looked around and witnessed more Akkedis guards heading in their direction at speed.

“How many do you think we could kill, Perseus, before we are overcome? I believe I could take at least a score, maybe more.”

“Between us, double that,” Perseus laughed.

“Let’s make the Akkedis regret the day they double crossed us.”

In between swings of his sword, Ganry saw the Akkedis Empress was being led out of the chamber surrounded by her royal guards. Ghaffar, though, did not warrant such protection and Ganry managed to throw a small dagger that grazed Ghaffar’s cheek, causing blood to flow, before embedding in the wall behind him.

“Hah!” Ganry chortled. “Next time it will be your throat, little creature.”

“Filthy Palaran!” Ghaffar shouted at him. “You will pay for this, dearly.”

“I want them alive,” the Lizard Empress instructed as she was hurriedly pushed through the door and out of the chamber.

Ghaffar quickly followed her, his hand over the wound on his cheek, cursing the human as he fled. That fool would regret the day that he had marked him. He would personally make him suffer, Ghaffar promised to himself. By the time he had finished with him, he will have wished he had died here today.

With the Akkedis Empress and Ghaffar gone, Ganry turned his attention to the lizard creatures that were surrounding them. Myriam seemed in no immediate danger. She stood tall and proud, her face impassive. If they were to ever get out of this alive, she would make a wonderful Queen of Palara.

“Well my friend,” Perseus said, “shall we do battle? Make them pay for their treachery?”

With those words, he leapt high into the air, sword drawn before landing between two large lizards and embedding it into the throat of one of them, before he quickly spun on the balls of his feet and removed the head from the shoulders of the other.

“The skin is tough, Perseus, but it holds little resistance to a sharp blade,” Ganry cried, his sword hacking and slashing at their tough skins.

Ganry found himself facing three guards, their swords extended in front of them as they cautiously tried to engage him, wary of his weapon. They had seen a number of their colleagues fall and were in no rush to join them.

Suddenly, one of them raised the courage to attack and lunged at Ganry with a cry of victory in its throat. This soon turned into a death rattle as Ganry’s sword speared through its neck, the fabled blade slipping through the scales before protruding out of its back. The creature fell to the floor in a crumple, its blood staining the sandy ground of the royal chamber.

One of the remaining lizards spun around quickly, its tail whipping against Ganry’s legs, sending him tumbling to the ground. Two Akkedis lizards were soon on him, pinning him to the floor.

Ganry managed to raise another of his daggers and plunge it into one of the lizard’s ear, pressing it all the way in until the hilt stopped it from going any deeper. The creature screamed out its agony, with hot, sticky blood gushing out onto Ganry as it slumped dead on top of him. Before he could kill the other, more lizards were on him, pinning his arms to the ground. Looking across to his right, he could see that Perseus was in the same situation. He, too, was pinned down by a number of the Akkedis guards.

Breathless, Ganry had no regrets that he had chosen to attack the enemy. They needed to know that they would not give up without a fight. He worried for Myriam and the plans these scaly creatures had for her. Right now, he was powerless to help her.

“It was good to have you by my side, Ganry,” Perseus said to him as they lay trapped beneath the heavy Akkedis that held them down.

He nodded his acknowledgment. Ganry relaxed and stopped struggling under the weight of the Akkedis who practically sat on top of him. They were soon dragged to their feet.

Ganry smiled at Perseus who had also been pulled up. He looked a mess, and Ganry was certain that he must look the same, clothing disheveled and torn, blood, most of it their enemies, covering them. He had some satisfaction knowing that some Akkedis had paid part of the price for their treachery.

Dragged from the chamber, they were led into a procession of tunnels. Every now and then, one of the Akkedis guards would strike them with their heavy-scaled fists. They had been instructed not to kill them, but it was clear that they were determined to make them suffer for the colleagues they had lost in the chamber. By the time they reached the dungeons, both were bruised and bloody from the blows.

With hands and feet chained together, they were strapped to the walls, the chains pulling tight so that their feet only just touched the ground. As they hung there, a female Akkedis approached them with a bucket before throwing freezing cold water all over them.

Ganry cried out at the shock of the water on his bruised body.

“You do well to remain quiet, human,” the female said to him.

He looked at her. She was familiar, and he realized she had served them in the rooms.

“You do well, Arriba, to stay away, in case I get loose,” he answered her back with viciousness.

She hissed and walked out of the chamber, leaving the two males hanging in their chains.

23

“Do not treat me like a fool, boy,” Lord Josiah spat. He was so close to Artas that spittle showered his face. “I demand to see the Queen, and we all know that you cannot meet such a request because she has abandoned her people, is that not so, sir?”

Artas remained calm. He, too, had a noble upbringing and followed the etiquette that any situation dictated. This one was forcing him to remain civilized in the face of revolt.

“Our Queen is on a mission to save this Kingdom, Lord Josiah. That does not mean that the Kingdom is in jeopardy. Indeed, Queen Myriam is busy making this Kingdom stronger.” Artas would not divulge the whole tale, not to this minor royal from the outlands.

Standing in the middle of open ground on the outskirts of the castle was not an ideal place to have such a discussion. Many townsfolk were gathering to witness the confrontation. Rumor had spread that there was to be another coup, and this was not news the citizens of Palara wanted to hear.

“You say she is on some dangerous mission, yet she does not take her army,” the Duke spat back. “Putting herself in danger. For all we know, she may be dead already and the throne stands vacant.” He pauses for his words to take effect with the surrounding throng of people. If they thought she was dead, then they would be more accepting to a member of her family, such as him, taking up the crown. “So, it is good that I am here, on hand, to take over the throne while she is absent. I will be Regent until she returns.”

“That will not be necessary,” Lord Parsival interrupted his fellow Lord as he stood by the side of Artas. “We have a Regent, and I suggest you bow down to him, Lord Josiah. He was put in place by our own Queen, through all the official channels. You, sir, would simply be another usurper, and this Kingdom has had its fair share of them.” Parsival did not intend on allowing this arrogant Lord to overthrow their present Regent.

“How can this foolish boy be the Kingdom’s Regent? He does not even carry one drop of royal blood within his veins. This is an absolute insult to the people of this Kingdom. I will take charge immediately, and any who stand in my way will suffer my wrath,” Lord Josiah threatened.

Lady Leonie now joined in the affray. “Sir, we have documentation to support Regent Artas Holstein, whose family have served the royal bloodline for many years. Indeed, they died with the King. They have earned this badge. Our Queen would not have chosen him had she not trusted him.”

“For all we know these papers could be falsified,” the Lord intimated. “You three could have killed our Queen and taken the power of her seat for yourselves.” He gripped his sword hilt and took a menacing step closer towards them. It was obvious that the minor lord was looking for a fight, and Artas would either have to back down, or call his bluff.

“This has gone far enough, Lord Josiah,” Artas finally retaliated. “I am placing you under arrest as a threat to the throne. You will remain imprisoned within the castle walls until the return of Queen Myriam, who can then decide your fate.”

With that, a very red faced Lord Josiah huffed in indignation, his eyes bulging. He drew his sword from its scabbard, pointing it threateningly at Artas.

“How dare you threaten me, you fool! My armies will overrun this place in an instant. It will be you, sir, who will languish in the dungeons.” Turning to his men, he rallied them to his aid. “Take your up your arms. We are overrunning the castle. Kill all of those who stand in your way!” he yelled at his men.

Lord Josiah’s men were unsure exactly what they were being ordered to do. There were not enough of them in number to overrun a castle. They were a simple traveling bodyguard, and the castle would be very well defended by a much larger army. Still, if their Lord ordered such action, they were obliged to comply. As one, they all drew their arms and confronted the castle guards.

The gathered citizens gasped at the turn of events. Soldiers confronting the castle defenders and all readying to engage in combat. They had only just recovered from the last coup, one that had caused much hardship and loss of life, and they certainly did not want another usurper ruling them.

Later, when discussing that day in the bars and taverns of the castle, no one could be certain who made the first move, who had made that rallying cry. But, as one, they had all taken up arms to protect their castle from the offending soldiers. Armed with pitchforks and scythes, they stood side by side with the castle guards in solidarity.

Artas looked upon the people in amazement. Though his army far outnumbered Lord Josiah’s, he was grateful that Myriam had the support of her citizens. All they needed now was the return of their Queen.

“I suggest you lay down your arms, Lord Josiah. The people of the Kingdom have spoken. You will not rule here in the Queen’s absence.” Artas spread his arms, emphasizing the actions of the citizens.

The Duke had not noticed that the townsfolk were threatening his own small force. All he was interested in was getting into the throne room and taking charge of the seat of power. He looked around, and for the first time, he realized the numbers of the castle’s army. Some had remained hidden behind the huge castle gates, but now they marched forward, surrounding his own men.

Plus, the imbeciles of this town thought they could threaten him with their meager tools. This was an outrage, an absolute insult to his family. For now he would concede, as he had no choice, but he promised to himself that this was not to be the end of his rebellion. He would demand to be treated as was fitting of his bloodline.

“And what do you intend on doing with me and my men?” he demanded to know.

“I have a room awaiting your arrival,” Artas informed him. “Your men will be sent marching to your own lands. You, sir, will be treated as a guest of the castle until the Queen arrives home.”

Despite his fury, Lord Josiah could see that this would work to his advantage. Once he was on the inside of the castle, he just needed to await his opportunity and he would murder these upstarts in their beds. They were all that stood in his way to power. Once the Regent was dead and the Queen still absent, the army and people would soon fall into line. He was, after all, a member of the royal family, albeit distant.

24

“I demand to see my friends! That’s the least you can allow me,” Myriam shouted at Ghaffar.

“Of course, I assure you that they have not been harmed in any way. I also have good news for you.” He was quite pleased with himself at how well this was all going. Four of the D’Anjue bloodline to feed his Empress would keep her alive for years to come. “Your grandmother is recovering, slightly, so we will arrange for her to share your room. How kind of our Empress to allow that, do you not agree?”

“If you think I will kneel to the likes of you, traitor, then think again,” Myriam spat at him. She would personally take off this creature’s head, if only she had a weapon. “I want answers about Ganry. Why have you taken him prisoner?”

“Come now, Queen Myriam, you know full well why. His and Perseus’s actions in the royal chamber highlight the need to keep them restrained,” Ghaffar replied, quite content with his reasoning. “We cannot be having any disturbances once we get started.”

“Start what? What is it that you are about to start?” Myriam quizzed. “Why exactly have you tricked us to come to this wretched place?”

“This is my home, and it is where you and your family will live out your days, so I’d advise you to get used to it. If you behave, we will keep you comfortable and allow you some freedom. All we ask in return is that you supply my Empress with your royal blood. Not too difficult a task, now that there are four of you.”

As he finished speaking the door opened. Linz and Hendon walked in, with guards behind them pushing them on. Myriam ran to them both and hugged each one.

“I’m so glad you’re both safe,” she cried, tears now involuntarily running down her cheeks.

Linz wiped a tear away and looked into her eyes. It was not sadness that he saw in Myriam’s face but determination.

“I’m so sorry, Linz, that I brought you to this gruesome place,” she sobbed onto his shoulder.

“I will leave you to console one another,” Ghaffar spoke. “You should be grateful that my Empress is so generous to allow you all to converse.” With that, he quickly turned and marched out of the room.

Myriam stopped her false tears. “I swear I will personally kill that creature,” she promised. “We were right, they are wanting to feed from our bloodline. It must be what keeps the Empress alive. They intend to keep us for her for as long as possible, by taking a small amount from each of us in turn so we stay healthy. They must have bled my poor grandmother dry,” she said, her anger boiling.

“I could find a weapon and ambush them as they come into the room, Myriam,” Linz offered. “You never know, the confusion might open up an opportunity for us to escape and take our chances in the city.”

“Linz, you are such a brave one, but no. I do believe that Perseus may be our way out of this place. I don’t know why, but I feel he came here for another reason and not just to bring me to my grandmother.”

“It’s a pity they took our daggers and rings,” Linz said. “If we put the Berghein stones together, we might have been strong enough to make an escape attempt.”

“No,” Hendon joined in the conversation. “Barnaby informs me that they are the keepers of these stones. They gave them to our ancestors in their hatred of the dragons. Then they cowardly sat back while our ancestors battled with the dragons. The Akkedis Empress allowed our family to keep these stones so she could spy on us through them. She has been kept alive by the lake men. Ghaffar, along with the Rooggaru, has been siphoning blood from our people to bring back to her.”

Hendon cocked his head sideways, holding the staff close to his ear as though it were actually speaking to him physically. He nodded and muttered something unintelligible before continuing. “Barnaby also says that once all the stones were found and put together, this increased the power of the D’Anjue family and eroded the magic of the Akkedis Empress. She is weakened to a point of no return, and so she is dying. The only way to keep her alive now is with the untainted D’Anjue blood. The lake men’s blood has become too weak for her needs. We are still linked to the royal family bloodline, so our blood is stronger and will keep her alive longer. For now, she does not need much, but it will get worse. She will require more and more as time goes by. Once we die, so will she.”

“How does Barnaby know all this?” Myriam questioned.

“He tells me he has access to vast knowledge, more than he ever had. He looks things up, like we do in our library, or maybe even like a crystal ball, I’m not sure,” Hendon tried to explain this strange information as best he could, but he did not fully understand it himself. Most of the time, Barnaby spoke in riddles, using words he was unfamiliar with.

This was a revelation to them all and gave them renewed hope. With information like this, it might just be the head start they needed over the Akkedis. They now knew their dark secrets.

“Excellent Hendon, you should thank Barnaby for me the next time you speak together. But, a word of caution. I would refrain from speaking to Ganry of this, you know what he is like on matters of magic and such. He would simply think you have lost your mind!”

25

Ganry’s body ached with a vengeance. This was not the first time he had been fastened in chains and hung on a wall, but it had not happened to him in many years. Every muscle and every joint cried out for release.

Perseus was faring much better. Not only was he younger, but as soon as the guards left the room he shifted his body shape to that of the snake, allowing him to escape from his chains. Once he changed back into his human form, he released Ganry for a short period.

“We cannot stay free for too long,” Perseus warned. “They will be suspicious if we do not cry out in pain.”

Once free of the chains, Ganry collapsed onto the floor in a heap. Free of his restraints he was sure the place stank even worse than it did when he was chained. An overpowering odor of urine, feces, and dampness assaulted his senses. And to compound matters further, the air was so thick it was hardly breathable.

“I’m leaving this room for a short while to find water,” Perseus told him. “I will be quick.” And with that he was gone.

Ganry had no idea how he had managed to get out of the room as he had not been looking. He was busy regulating his breathing, taking in as much air in as possible. This truly was a dungeon, deep in the bowels of the earth.

As he sat up, leaning his aching back against the hard stone wall, he noticed a huge hole in the floor. Now he knew how Perseus had slithered out of the room. The shape-shifter could dig tunnels, just like the sand worms. He hoped Perseus had an idea how to fill this tunnel in when he returned. As he sat there pondering the problem, the snake’s head appeared in the hole.

The huge snake slithered back into the room and used its tail to replace a mound of earth back into the tunnel. Then, altered into that of a human male, handed Ganry a pouch of water.

Ganry guzzled half, though he knew he should not drink so fast. But caution was the last thing on his mind. Handing the rest of the water back to Perseus, he was feeling much better already.

Perseus drank slower, not needing as much refreshment as the human.

“Are you going to tell me your tale then, Perseus?” he asked of his companion.

“My master is Qutaybah, I have not anymore to tell,” he replied, clearly not over willing to reveal his history.

Ganry tried a different line of questioning. “What kind of creature are you?”

“I am a Suggizon. My master saved me from being devoured, so I owe him my life.”

“And? The story is?” Ganry was determined he would have some explanation.

Perseus sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “My people live in the mountains of Vandemland,” he began. “We are a rarity and considered quite a delicacy in our reptile form. I was captured when I was quite young and traded on the slave market. I refused to Change from human, so the slavers beat me. When we are angry, we cannot stop the Change. Once changed I caused havoc in the market place, killing a number of slave traders. After I was recaptured I was to be beheaded, but Master Qutaybah offered them a price they could not refuse. I have been with him since, and I serve him loyally.”

“These are strange lands indeed,” Ganry commented, his voice hoarse from the thick, stinking air.

“I hear footsteps approaching. I must tie you back up again,” Perseus said, standing up quickly.

As soon as Ganry was back in position, Perseus changed form and wriggled into his own chains. Seconds later they heard keys rattling in the lock and in walked Ghaffar.

“I bear good news for you, Ganry,” Ghaffar said. The former mercenary lifted up his chin that had been dangling to touch his chest. “My wonderful and benevolent Empress is allowing the Duchess to share a room with your Queen.”

“Forgive me if I cannot smile,” he replied, gruffly. “Your Empress amazes me with her kindness.”

“Indeed!” Ghaffar agreed, knowing full well what Ganry’s caustic comments meant. “I am here to ask of you some small questions,” Ghaffar continued. “I am sure you will be glad to keep your Queen safe and so will be willing to answer honestly.”

There was an empty silence hanging in the air as no one spoke. Ganry would not waste his small amount of energy on this fiend.

“When you set off on your quest, exactly who was aware that you were visiting with the Akkedis?” Ghaffar asked.

Ganry did not reply. Instead, he laughed quietly until his laugh echoed loudly around the stone wall chamber.

“You fear an attack, my little friend?” Ganry asked, when he had finished laughing. “Oh, I assure you, you will get one,” Ganry promised.

Ghaffar smiled and then stood aside, allowing a tall female Akkedis into the cell. She was dressed in a light tunic which had many woven pouches. Within the pouches, Ganry could see moving dark shapes.

“This is Sileta, she is the keeper of the kewers,” Ghaffar said, with a smirk of satisfaction in his features. “Our kewers are a special creature which only Sileta can control. Have you heard of a kewer, human?”

Ganry did not reply. He simply stared fiercely into the eyes of the little man.

“I will take your silence as ignorance and I will explain this insect in its simplicity,” Ghaffar answered to the silent Ganry. “It is such a tiny thing, with a long piercing snout, and, like the Akkedis, feeds from blood. But this creature digs into its host and makes its way to the heart, and once there it will feed until the heart ceases to pump. Then it will leave the host and find another. You see, the kewers like their blood warm and straight from the source. Now, Sileta here, she can talk to her pets and she can call them to come back to her, and they do as she asks, even if they are just about to feed on the pumping heart. She is a good mother to them and cares that they are fed with only the best, and they are loyal to her.”

Sileta then gave Ganry an exhibition of her pets. She called to them by singing a light melody, and in moments her entire body was covered with a sheen of shimmering blue and green luster. It appeared that her skin was moving as they slithered along, running around their keeper’s body.

“I would like Sileta to introduce her pets to your heart, Ganry, where they would feed until it stops, unless you feel you can answer my questions before this happens?” Ghaffar announced. “But first, perhaps a little demonstration will help loosen your tongue.”

He turned to the female Akkedis. “Sileta, if you will?”

Sileta hummed her tune louder and danced lightly. As she increased the tempo of her dancing and humming, the kewers began to make clicking sounds which grew louder and louder. She danced closer to Ganry and draped an arm over his shoulder, releasing some of the kewers onto his naked skin.

As soon as they landed on him, he felt a sharp pinch as they buried themselves under his skin. The pain was excruciating as he could feel the pathway that they took on their journey in his body, and the stinging sensation felt like his body was burning from within.

Sileta moved her arms away and finished her dance, making strange noises. Ganry could hardly open his eyes to watch her. She had left her pets running riot inside his body. He shivered with a cold sweat, his entire body felt like a raw nerve that was being tugged upon and twisted. Finally, he succumbed to the pain and cried out in agony.

Sileta changed her tune slightly and the small bugs appeared upon Ganry’s skin. They fell to the floor and scampered back to their keeper, disappointed that they had not been allowed to feast. Sileta left the room.

“I leave you to rest, human. I’m sure that Sileta’s little pets will have worn you out.” Ghaffar smiled as he spoke. “I will bring her with me to visit you again, only next time, if you do not have the answers that I require then your Queen may no longer have her gallant bodyguard.”

Ghaffar quickly turned and left the room.

Ganry and Perseus were alone, once again.

26

Myriam awoke feeling quite refreshed. The female Akkedis servant, Arriba, was in her room, putting out a fresh jug of water and a bowl for her to wash before breakfast.

“How do you know when it’s night or day down here in your city, Arriba?” Myriam asked, trying to strike up a conversation. She had tried many times to befriend Arriba, but none had been successful.

“We can tell by the air vents,” she replied.

Myriam was surprised to have an answer, so she pushed her luck even further.

“Is my door locked? I would like to visit with my friends,” she asked the Akkedis servant.

“Friends? They are your family, are they not?” Arriba responded.

Myriam laughed at the thought of Linz and Hendon being her brothers.

“We are of the same bloodline, yes, but I suspect we are far removed from being direct relations,” Myriam answered, and the Akkedis was puzzled.

“I have heard of humans having families. My people do not have such things. I would have no idea who has my blood,” Arriba said quietly, as if she did not want to be heard saying such a thing.

Arriba was being quite talkative today and Myriam encouraged her to continue.

“Once we are born and we hatch from our eggs, we stay in the nursery until we can join society and become a productive worker. We do not know who parented us. We know of loyalty to our leaders, but not of this love that humans have.”

“Then you have done well to understand the concept of a human family, Arriba,” Myriam remarked.

“We are all schooled to understand the world around us,” Arriba explained.

“Do the Akkedis not fall in love, as in a male and a female?” Myriam asked, thinking they still had to mate to produce the eggs.

“I cannot answer that.” Arriba’s attitude changed at that question. She seemed upset and slammed the door as she left the room.

Myriam was left wondering what she had said to upset her.

Quickly she washed and dressed. The Akkedis had provided some basic tunics for day and night knowing that humans liked to change, which was something they did not practice much themselves. She appreciated that in some respects, the Akkedis were trying to make them comfortable. They supplied them good food and clean clothing, easing their imprisonment somewhat. This reminded her of Ganry, and she wondered how he fared. She doubted they would kill him or Perseus, and today she intended on demanding a visit with them.

Knocking on the door of Linz and Hendon, there was no reply. Whilst she was allowed freedom within the shared corridor that led to all of their rooms, the guards still manned it and watched her closely. She wondered at what the guards must think she was about. It was not as if she could run and escape this hell hole. No matter, she simply turned the handle and entered the room.

It was dark inside with no means of lighting whatsoever. She went to the pots that held the crystals which shone with light and removed the covers. The brightness soon reflected around the room, and now she could see that her friends were still asleep.

“I thought we were going to make some demands today,” she said in an extra loud voice, yet still they did not stir. “You’re both going to have to wake up!” she yelled even louder this time.

For all her efforts, both the young men simply groaned and turned over in their beds. Linz pulled his cover over his head because of the light.

“Whatever is the matter?” she asked as she yanked the cover from his head.

“They started to take our blood and it makes us tired,” he replied, hoping this would mean that Myriam would leave them alone.

“We have to fight this, to stay strong. I think we will need some training, of sorts, to keep our strength up,” she suggested.

“Easy for you to say.” Hendon’s voice came from under his blankets. “They haven’t started to eat you yet. I think you must be dessert,” he finished, a light muffled laugh coming from beneath his covers.

“I’m going to tell Ghaffar that if they want us to stay strong, to provide blood for his glorious Empress, then we need Ganry to keep us fighting fit,” she told them both.

“I do hope to keep you healthy, but not fighting,” a different voice came from the doorway that Myriam had left slightly ajar.

She knew whose voice it was without even turning around. Ghaffar was becoming a permanent feature in their daily lives. There he stood, his billowing cape and his ugly face. Determined to have her way, she approached him at speed, until she was talking almost into his face.

“We must have Ganry returned to us, Ghaffar,” she said, facing the little man as close as she wanted to put herself. He stank of some unsavory aroma. “He is the only one who can keep us healthy.”

“I have better news than that for you, human Queen.” Ghaffar looked pleased with himself. “If you care to go your own room, you have a visitor.”

Myriam guessed who it was and rushed across the corridor back to her room. There, sat in a large armchair still looking quite frail, was her grandmother.

“Grandmother, I am so pleased to see you looking well,” she said, as she knelt at the Duchess’ feet and hugged her legs.

“Oh, my dear, do be careful,” the Duchess said quietly, wondering if her frail body could withstand a young woman hugging her so tightly. “You have a strong grip, so at least they have not harmed you yet,” she said, relieved.

“No,” Myriam said sadly as she pulled away. “They started on my dear friends first. Hendon says I am to be dessert.”

The Duchess was amused by this and laughed for the first time in such a long while.

“Dear, dear girl, it gladdens my heart to be with you. They say I can stay, so I should be up and about in no time,” the Duchess assured her.

Myriam smiled, watching the Duchess as she crooked her finger, beckoning Myriam to come closer.

“You must tell me everything. Together we will create a plan for your escape,” she whispered in her granddaughter’s ear.

“Grandmother, there is plenty of time for that. I intend on keeping us all healthy. This must please the Akkedis Empress as it means we’ll live longer. There will be time soon enough to plan our escape.” She whispered the last part. “Once I have Ganry returned to me.”

27

Lord Josiah was quite enjoying his imprisonment. Though he could not leave the castle, he did have the freedom of its walls. He was provided with many luxuries consisting of an apartment of rooms and quality food and drink. All along with a manservant. It would do, for now, while he plotted and planned his next move.

Sitting on a veranda that overlooked a lake, he feasted on a fine breakfast. With his army gone, he laughed to himself, thinking that he did not need them to rid him of this supposed Regent. All he needed to do was await his closest advisors to visit him, and then he could implement a plot to rid the kingdom of this upstart.

A knock at his door pulled him from his conspiratorial thoughts, but he did not get up to answer it. Why should he, that was a servant’s job. He remained out on the veranda, enjoying the sun and the food, when he became overshadowed by the arrival of a group of people.

Turning around to see who has come to bother him, he relaxed at the sight of his advisers. Now the time had come. At last he could speak his thoughts with others, and see what ideas they have come up with in plotting the demise of the young man who calls himself a Regent.

“Come, come,” he says, “let us not waste time. We must have a plan and quickly. I want to be sat upon that throne within days. Have you thought of any solutions yet, Lexx? I’m relying on your expertise to deal with this situation quickly,” he asked of his closest advisor.

“The people are nervous, Lord, you should tread carefully,” Lexx warned him, cautiously. “They do not forget the last usurper and the damage he did to the Kingdom.”

“Pah!” Lord Josiah exclaimed. “The only usurper around here is that upstart, Artas. The Queen had no right to place an outsider in such a position. I will run this Kingdom until her return. If I can prevent her return, then all the better. We need to be discovering exactly what madness had overtaken her to cause her to leave the throne so unprotected. This Kingdom needs a powerful leader, such as myself, not a frivolous slip of a girl.”

“If you are seen to be grasping the throne by force, it will be considered as an act of war against the Queen’s wishes, and she has many allies,” his advisor said, wisely. “You would do better to befriend this boy first, find out where the Queen has gone. As you say, maybe once we know where she is then we can ensure she never returns.”

“Hmm, as always you make a point,” Josiah conceded with a laugh. “Your mind is even more twisted than my own. That’s why I like you, Lexx. We are of the same mind you and I, but you always have a clearer head.”

Lexx bowed to his Lord, knowing that one day he would out maneuver him and take over his entire estate, or even his Kingdom, if they can pull this off.

“I suggest you apologize, sire,” Lexx advised, knowing that Josiah was an expert at groveling. “Make the boy think you regret your actions and then stay on in the castle and befriend him. Try and join his circle of elite advisors. Once we know where Myriam is, we can put your plans into action. The boy could have a tragic accident, and you would rule in his place. Awaiting a Queen who would never return. Within six months the Kingdom could be yours.”

“Yes, yes, I will make my apologies this very day, and take our first steps to the throne of Palara.”

***

“Well, I don’t trust him,” Leonie said, as they discussed Lord Josiah’s official apology. “Why would he wish to stay on in the castle?”

“Ever the interrogator,” Artas laughed at her.

He had been somewhat surprised that Josiah had pulled out of his attempt to take over the throne, but it was sensible. His advisors had probably forced his hand.

“We cannot simply turn him out, he is a relative of the Queen, after all,” Parsival stated. “I’m afraid we’re stuck with him for as long as he wishes to stay.”

“Well, do not seat him with me for dinner,” Leonie remarked. “I refuse to have anything to do with the little weasel. What I will be doing, though, is keeping a very close eye on him. I simply do not trust him or that advisor of his.”

“You mean Lexx Farrow?” Artas knew the man to be nothing but an accountant. “I don’t suppose you go from counting money to advising the one who provides the money by being dishonest. Surely he can be trusted?”

“No one who has anything to do with Lord Josiah, is ever to be trusted in my eyes,” Leonie said. “Fear not, Artas, I will have my spies watching their every move.”

28

“That is all she asked me to tell you,” Arriba informed Ganry, readying herself to throw the bucket of cold water over his body.

“I appreciate your daily cleansing methods, Arriba,” Ganry told her, smiling, “but this is more important. If you are able to let me know how my companions are, I would appreciate that even more.”

“I have just told you,” she said, becoming impatient with the human. “I do not understand what more you require of me?”

“Are you taking her blood yet?” he dared to ask. He hoped this would not put her off speaking with him. It had already come as a surprise when she informed him that she had news from the Queen.

“Only the two men provide blood for my Empress at the moment. Ghaffar’s plan is to leave Queen Myriam until the last, hoping that under her care the Duchess will thrive again and once more provide another source of blood.”

Arriba was fast becoming nervous, glancing around the cell and listening at the door to hear if the two guards were near, but they paid her no attention. If Ghaffar was to learn that she was sending secret communications between the human Queen and her soldier, he would have her killed, of this she was certain.

“And the men, Linz and Hendon, are they well?” he asked.

“They sleep a lot. My Empress cannot keep her strength up with their blood alone though. I fear that she will demand the purer supply soon. If the Duchess is not well enough, then it will come from your Queen. I should say no more. Please, if I am found to be speaking with you, I will be put to my death for treason.”

Ganry nodded his head and smiled at Arriba, and thanked her for the information. This was a worrying turn of events. They would need to find a way out of here soon, before Myriam was too weak to leave.

His body suddenly shook in shock as the cold water rained down on him. Arriba had done her duty of drenching his battered body and cleansing his wounds. It may have been his imagination, but he felt that the water was a little warmer today.

Arriba repeated her task with Perseus and then left the cell.

Perseus shook his head to rid himself of the excess water in his long hair. He also appreciated the water and the information.

“Can you not do something to go and check on them?” Ganry knew he asked much, but the daily torture of the kewers was causing him to weaken. If he was not out of this cell soon, then he would be no use to Myriam at all.

“Could you not tell them what you know, Ganry, or simply tell them a lie?” Perseus asked. “Ease your suffering, my friend. I fear you cannot withstand this torture much longer.”

He would die before he would give any information to the Akkedis that might give them an advantage. Perseus was helping all he could, for now, by finding him extra food and water, and releasing him from his shackles every time he had endured the torment of the insects.

It was obvious what Ghaffar was wanting. He needed confirmation that the humans in the Kingdom were not aware that their Queen had visited the Akkedis city. This could bring war between the two cities and that would ruin any chances of their survival.

Ganry was not allowing the Akkedis the luxury of such peace of mind. In fact, many knew that they had come here, though not all, but certainly Qutaybah was aware. Ganry could only hope that sooner or later, Qutaybah may come in search of his slave, Perseus. Perseus, on his part, would give him no information on whether his master might follow him or not.

“Yes, the thought of lying had crossed my mind, but I hate to give that creature any satisfaction whatsoever. And besides, I fear our death may follow such a confession.”

Perseus nodded his agreement. He knew that Ganry was correct. It was the search of information that kept them both alive. Once they had no use for them, they would be surplus to requirements and quickly dispatched. As much as it pained Perseus to see Ganry suffer so, it was to his advantage. The longer he could hold out, the more he could discover about the caves in this city.

Perseus could not tell Ganry all that he knew, as he was sworn by his master not to reveal his real mission with anyone. Qutaybah, his master, was an outlaw with an army of mercenaries, but he was a good man in his heart. He had saved Perseus from death and had always treated him with respect in the years he had been with him. This was his opportunity to pay back that kindness.

Whilst his mission was to aid Queen Myriam in her quest, he had also a secret task for his master. Qutaybah was aware of the vast riches the Akkedis had in their mines, riches they jealously guarded and shared with no one. It was his master’s intention to take those mines for himself, and Perseus was here to facilitate that.

“I am ready to take you to visit your Queen,” he told Ganry. “Then maybe you will stop all your complaining.”

“Complaining? I am a warrior, I do not complain, I merely tell you of my opinions.”

“I must warn you, Ganry, we can only be free a short while and must return to these shackles. It is not yet time for our escape. I take you only because you are in need of encouragement. I see you flagging every time those cursed insects enter your body. You just need to hold on a little more. Soon we will be free and you can extract your revenge on the Akkedis.”

29

Ganry awoke with a start as he felt his shackles being removed.

“It is only me, Ganry. It is time, if you still wish to visit your Queen,” Perseus said while loosening his chains. Once free he slumped to the floor, his legs temporarily unable to support him.

“How do you do that?” Ganry asked. “Are you some magic being? You shake off your shackles easily and you can shape shift into a giant snake. I’m glad you’re my ally and not my foe.”

Perseus smiled at him. “You haven’t seen me eat a body yet,” he said, a wicked twinkle in his eye.

Ganry knew he was not joking. He’d seen the giant snake and it was more than capable of swallowing a body whole.

“Come, we do not have much time.” Perseus rushed Ganry once he was able to stand. “I do not wish to alarm the Akkedis too soon. I will transform back into the snake and you must hold onto my tail as I make my way through the tunnel. I have already burrowed while you rested. It is very dark and there’s little room in there. You will feel enclosed within a tiny confinement but it will only be for a few moments. Are you ready?”

Ganry nodded and watched in awe as Persues Changed from a tall muscular man into a huge snake, right before his eyes. The transformation was instantaneous. The snake’s body was wider than the thickness of a human, and its length was at least ten feet.

It slithered about the floor before gathering up in a coil, its scales shimmering in the candlelight. It raised up to Ganry’s height, putting its face level with his, and hissed at him. A forked tongue slipped in and out of its mouth before it quickly turned and dived into the tunnels. It moved so fast that Ganry almost missed the tail, but he lunged just at the last moment and was dragged into the darkness of the earthy hole.

It seemed an age to Ganry that they were twisting and turning through the ground with him clinging on desperately to the snake’s tail. The tunnel was only just wide enough to accommodate his body, and the walls bumped and rubbed against his skin as they quickly passed through the tunnel. Eventually, he could see light up ahead as they both exited the end. He realized that they had arrived into Perseus’s room, the one he had occupied before they were imprisoned. It was the same one where he had met the snake under the bed.

Ganry clambered out of the hole and under the bed, then stood up and brushed off the dirt from his body. The snake turned back into its human form.

“It has taken me much adventuring to find the best way. I have spent many a night wandering through tunnels looking for options of the safest route for both of us,” Perseus whispered.

“I wish you would share with me exactly what your intentions are, Perseus. Perhaps I can aid you.” He tried his luck, though he knew it was pointless.

“In time, all will be revealed, but the less you know the better. Then you cannot tell our mutual enemy anything as he tortures your body.”

Ganry had to admit that was probably a good idea. Ghaffar never relented in finding any excuse to put those creatures underneath his skin. The fact that he was still alive was making him believe that Ghaffar was actually enjoying watching his personal agony far too much.

“I will have my revenge on that monster,” he assured Perseus.

“We will all have our revenge when the time is right. For now, we have other things on our minds. The Duchess sleeps in your room, and Linz and Hendon are still sharing. We will enter the Queen’s room. Are you ready, Ganry?”

“Indeed, I am,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief that at last he could talk to Myriam and know she was fighting fit.

They stood at the other side of Myriam’s door in Perseus’s old room, listening. The Duchess slept soundly in her bed in Ganry’s old room. Once they were certain that Myriam was alone, Ganry slowly opened the door and glanced in.

He could see Myriam sitting up in her bed with her bedside light still shining. Looking closer, he could see that she had fallen asleep in that position, her body supported by a pile of pillows. He looked upon her innocent face. It seemed strained and pale. She probably slept like this every night, on guard and nervous.

He quietly entered her room and quickly crossed to the bed, but she did not stir. He gently shook her shoulder and she moaned in her sleep. He had expected her to awaken with a start. It seemed a shame to wake her up when she slept so deeply.

“My Queen,” he whispered as he leaned down to her ear. “It is me, Ganry. Wake up, I need to speak with you.”

She mumbled his name, but she was still in a slumber. As her arm fell forward he noticed the puncture marks on her skin. The bastards had started on her already. This sleep was not a natural one but induced upon her as they drained her blood. His anger quickly rose. Had Ghaffar been present now, he would gladly have killed him with his bare hands, regardless of the consequences. Finally, she opened her eyes and upon seeing Ganry, she smiled.

“Ganry, is it really you or am I dreaming?” she asked, sleepily.

“Perseus has managed to find a way to get me here,” he kept his voice low, not wanting any of the guards to hear anything.

He stroked her pale skin, once again remembering his own daughter, Ruby. His love for his Queen was purely paternal, and he hated that the lizards of this city were hurting her.

She shot up, suddenly realizing it was all real.

“Oh, Ganry, Ganry, it really is you?” she said in a loud whisper.

“Yes, I am here, you are not alone in this,” he assured her. “Hang on in there. Soon, I promise, all this will be over,” he tried to reassure her, but inside himself he was unsure how it would all end. He had confidence in Perseus, but would they all live through this, he was not too sure.

“How are Linz and Hendon baring up?” he asked her.

“They are constantly tired, and now the Akkedis Empress is demanding my blood every other day. Arriba tells me she takes two measures of their blood one day, and then one measure of mine, the next. I tire very quickly on the days that they drain me. They were here earlier today.”

“And the Duchess?” Ganry asked.

“The Duchess is probably healthier than any of her rescuers,” a female voice said behind him.

He rose up from his knees beside Myriam and looked upon the old lady. She was quite right, she looked in far better health than when he had last seen her in her own room.

“I’m glad that they’re leaving you alone for now,” he said, but with a little regret, for in his heart he wished they would not feed upon Myriam. “You must keep yourselves as healthy as you can and stay ready, for soon we shall have our revenge upon these reptiles.”

“You have a plan?” Myriam asked, still whispering, for fear of alerting the guards.

“My friend here is the one with the plan,” Ganry turned to Perseus, who was bowing down to the Duchess.

What happened next shocked Ganry. The Duchess approached Perseus and embraced him.

“Perseus, my dear, dear friend. I knew Qutaybah would not let me down,” she said to him, a tear in her eye.

30

Lord Josiah was unaware that he was being watched. He never thought for one moment that the boy, Artas, would have a spy network up and running. He assumed he was quite safe going about with his plotting and scheming, with little or no caution.

Already he had managed to find some information in that the girl had gone searching for her grandmother. She had taken her closest bodyguard, who was a seasoned and respected mercenary, so she must have had a destination. It is doubtful that she went wandering around endlessly in her search. He now needed to find out where this journey had taken her.

Rumors in his own network of spies indicated that she had been seen in disguise at the borders, awaiting to cross into Vandemland. Most had been fooled, but there had been one sly merchant who knew exactly who she was, and he had sold his information at a high cost to the Lord’s spy.

Queen Myriam was somewhere in Vandemland. It would only be a matter of time before he knew of her ultimate destination.

Meanwhile, he would play the fool, let this boy think he was regretful over his actions and stayed on only to make amends. The boy had foolishly allowed him more freedom, saying he was welcome to stay at the castle as long as he liked. Either the boy was totally incompetent or too merciful for his own good. Whatever the reasons for his kindness, Lord Josiah would take the fullest advantage of it.

Sat on his balcony that overlooked a lake, he was about to enjoy the luxuries of an expensive tobacco in his pipe when Lexx burst through the door to his apartment.

“We have her, sire, we know exactly where she has gone,” he cried out, shutting the door behind him so none would hear their secrets.

“Well, go on then, man. What is so urgent that you burst into my chambers and give your Lord such a stir?” Lord Josiah asked, keen to hear the news.

“She has gone to the Akkedis city, Lord Josiah,” his man informed him, as if this was the answer to everything.

“Good god, man, why is that good? I have no idea where those stinking creatures live,” Josiah replied, disappointed at the information.

“I have not told you all yet, sire,” Lexx burst forth in excitement, once again. “Word is out that Ghaffar of the Lizards, is seeking connections with those in Palara who hold some influence and would benefit from the Queen never returning. I paid a high price for this information, Lord, and it could be to your best advantage to be the first to respond. There is no more Lord as deserving as you, sire,” he finished.

“I’ve met that slimy creature before and he is not to be trusted,” Josiah responded. “How are we to contact him? I will not go to that stinking place of Vandemland.”

“I am way ahead of you, sire,” Lexx bragged.

“Yes, yes, man, get on with it then.” Josiah was becoming impatient with the amount of time it was taking to get all the information out of his man today.

“I have set communications in motion to pass word to this Ghaffar that we are interested in his proposition. Now we know where the Queen is, that gives us an advantage, but we must be quick to act. There are others in Palara who would be happy to deal with Ghaffar.”

Lexx made himself comfortable on a chair opposite Lord Josiah, looking smug at his achievements.

“Well, get on with it then, man!” Lord Josiah shouted at him. “You don’t have time to dally smoking my tobacco. Go and ensure our success, we do not want any others jumping in front of us. Who knows what part of my family will be seeking to take the throne from this child. I want a deal sealed with this lizard man as soon as possible. Off you go.”

Lexx jumped up and saluted his Lord, although a little disappointed that he was not celebrating in praise. Of course, Lord Josiah was quite correct, a deal needed to be secured and once his Lord was King, he would yield many benefits for all his efforts.

“I may need some gold, sire, if I am to do business with the Narcs,” he said.

“I pay you well. Use your own gold and if all turns out, I will compensate you tenfold,” his Lord commanded.

Lexx was not too keen on paying with his own purse. If it all fell through he would be heavily out of pocket. Still, if it all worked as he planned, soon he would be the right hand man of a King.

31

Qutaybah was relaxing on cushions and drinking his favorite tea. It had been a long hard day, attending many meetings with his network of smugglers and traders, and there should be only one more matter to see to.

He had agreed to see a mercenary who had come out of the desert requesting a meeting. His personal interest in the desert people meant that he would not refuse. Many of them worked for him, transporting his goods all over Vandemland. One of his best men, Perseus, was on a very important mission there. He hoped the news was not about Perseus as he had no news of him for a few days, and this was concerning.

The flaps of his tent were pushed to one side and a tall tan skinned man entered his temporary abode.

“Dramand, my friend, I had not realized it was you.” Qutaybah smiled, always pleased to see old acquaintances who have done much work for him in the past. “What brings you to my part of the world? Surely we have far too much rain for you here,” he laughed.

“Well, at this time of the seasons, I know I will stay dry, Qutaybah.” He grinned back and sat down on the cushions opposite.

Qutaybah personally poured him some orange tea, happy to spend time with a good man.

“I do not know if you presently have ongoing business with the Akkedis, Qutaybah?” he began, and noted Qutaybah’s features take on a seriousness. “I hear that one of the leaders, known as Ghaffar, is seeking intelligence in the human underworld with regards to Queen Myriam. I know of your fondness for the Duchess D’Anjue, who is related to the royal family, so wondered if it was wise to seek your advice?”

“It is always wise to seek my advice in all matters, Dramand, but, yes, I do have a personal interest in this and a particular fondness in this family. Tell me more.” Qutaybah wondered why he had not yet had this information already. His spy network was second to none.

“The message is aimed at influential humans who may wish to see the Queen come to harm. With my curiosity piqued, I sent in one of my men to dig a little deeper.” He paused for breath and Qutaybah leaned closer to him, not wanting to miss anything.

“For some reason they wish to spread a message that Queen Myriam has died in an accident in Vandemland. My sources tell me that the Queen is actually away from the castle, but this information has only just been publicly announced. I have to wonder why the Akkedis would be interested in the humans, let alone the Queen?”

“It is indeed a conundrum,” Qutaybah replied. “I’m glad you have a man in this as we can use him to filter out this Ghaffar. He is one who I would wish to be rid of, once and for all. Tell me, has anyone responded to this request from the Kingdom, do you know?”

“Yes, I just received word today that a Lord Josiah is willing to do business with Ghaffar.” Dramand stopped, and smiled. “Strangely, rumors are abound regarding a group of humans and a scuffle in the Akkedis Empress’ chambers. Now, under normal circumstances I would have thought that unlikely as outsiders never gain access to the Akkedis city, let alone a human.” He shook his head as if agreeing that this was indeed an impossibility. “But now I see you are involved, perhaps it is not so unlikely after all?”

“Ahhh.” Qutaybah put up his hands, palms outwards as if to admit it was all his fault. “That would be my doing.”

“Surely, even the great Qutaybah cannot possibly infiltrate the Akkedis Empress’ city, let alone her chambers?” Dramand knew that Qutaybah’s reach was long, but this far?

“I have my methods, Dramand. You, more than any other, should know that. We go back a long way. Will you help me to squash these irritants?” Qutaybah asked. “This Lord Josiah needs teaching a lesson or two as well, especially if he threatens the human royal family who I consider my allies. And, as for the elusive Ghaffar, he needs to be eliminated once and for all. Long has he caused mischief in Vandemland, and yet he always manages to slip through my fingers. It is high time those gems were spread about Vandemland more equally, do you not agree?”

“I have no love for the Akkedis,” Dramand admitted. “However, I have an immense fondness of everything that sparkles, especially of the valuable type.”

Both men laughed at this. “You and me both, Dramand,” Qutaybah said. “We can agree upon this.”

Qutaybah could not be happier. He had planned to march onto the Akkedis city the very next day with a good portion of his army of mercenaries. With Dramand’s men too, they would be a formidable force, and it would greatly increase his chances of success.

“So, great leader of great mercenaries, what is it you are plotting that I have missed, so far?” Dramand asked, realizing that Qutaybah was already knee deep in this tale.

“Well, how about the opening of the Akkedis mines? I understand they are full of precious gems, but the Akkedis keep it all to themselves. Many emissaries I have sent to negotiate a trade agreement, and many an emissary has never returned. If we could take those mines, we would be richer than our wildest dreams.”

Dramand clapped his hands together as he could not contain his excitement at such news.

“You would go on such an adventure without me?” he asked.

“My friend, it is not just for wealth I take this action. I have a personal involvement in the human royal family and would like to see them returned safely,” Qutaybah admitted, honestly. “I have also sent one of my best men in there in the hope that he may get an opportunity to strike at the Akkedis Empress.”

“Your personal involvements are mine too,” Dramand informed him. “Together we will see your allies released and our purses bulging. When do we start?”

“I go tomorrow. The Akkedis have ruled that part of the desert long enough. It is time we showed them that, in this land, we share.”

Both men raised their glasses in salute, and drank to their partnership and their upcoming venture.

32

Myriam was forever tired, although they were now taking blood from the Duchess too, which provided her with some respite. She wasn’t happy that they were starting on the Duchess again, but her grandmother insisted. “We need you at full strength” is all she would say on the matter.

Linz and Hendon were still being used, but they had large amounts taken and not very often. Between the four of them, they were managing to feed the Akkedis Empress, for now.

“This cannot go on forever, grandmother,” she complained to the Duchess.

“Oh, it will not need to, dear, you just need to be patient. Our rescuers will arrive soon.” The Duchess was adamant that all would be well in the end.

“Well, I hope it is before one of us dies. I have no idea how Ganry and Perseus are doing. They haven’t visited for a while and that makes me worry all the more. I have no idea why Ghaffar keeps them alive, and if I did, I may have some leverage in their keep. I have threatened to stop allowing my blood to be taken, but they simply say they’ll force me anyway. The servant girl, Arriba, hasn’t been around for a long time either. I can’t help but feel that this is all very foreboding.”

“You should try and do something to take your mind off of all of this. You could sew with me.” The Duchess lifted the tapestry off her knee that she was mindlessly creating. “I find it relaxes my tensions.”

“No, I don’t think it would help, grandmother. I was never any good at crafts,” she admitted. “The last time I spoke with Ganry and Perseus, we agreed to discuss an escape plan, but they have not been back since. Perhaps they were caught escaping their cell. I do believe that Perseus could escape from this place single handedly. I don’t know how he does it, but he seems to be very talented at the art of escape,” Myriam finished, her thoughts now wandering off to Perseus.

“He is a Suggizon,” the Duchess informed her.

“A what? What is that? I suppose it must be a tribe of warriors within Vandemland, is it?”

“Come and sit by my side, Myriam, and listen to me,” the Duchess suggested. “I don’t wish to shout to you across the chamber.”

Myriam sat in a comfortable chair, thinking that it must have been brought into the city for the humans only, as an Akkedis would not fit in it. Then she wondered the same about the beds and other furniture.

“Your mind is wandering, Myriam, and I need you to concentrate on what I tell you,” the Duchess said quietly.

Myriam looked at her grandmother, who had been such a formidable woman in her youth, and indeed not so long ago during the coup of the royal family. Now, she was looking old and weak.

“Myriam!” she heard the Duchess’s voice shout her name, and jumped with surprise. “Your mind wanders, child. It is the lack of blood in your brain, I’m sure of it. Now listen to me. Perseus is from a rare breed of snake men. He can shape shift into a giant snake. I know of this because he works for Qutaybah, as you know.”

“Yes,” Myriam said, listening to her grandmother’s words. “I have a vague memory of the Suggizon from my history lessons, now I think of it. I thought them legends, not real?” she questioned.

“I have seen him change with my own eyes. He is very real, though there were not many of his kind left. Those that survived were secreted far away by Qutaybah so they could be left in peace to breed. Hopefully, he has saved the species. The few that are caught these days are eaten as a rare dish, would you believe, by barbarians.” The Duchess was clearly angry at the very thought. “I knew that Qutaybah was trying to increase the population but that was years ago. I must admit I never queried over the progress of that project.”

“I thought Qutaybah was a slaver and leader of mercenaries?”

“He is not a man to be double crossed, that’s for sure,” the Duchess replied. “If he sent you here, then there will be more to the plan. Otherwise he would have come himself. I doubt he would have known that the Empress wanted our family blood for her own personal supply. When I can talk to Perseus again, I will find out why he is here. If he was meant simply to be your guide, he would have left you at the stones you told me of, the ones where the sand worms attacked you. There was no reason for him to go any further. You had the Akkedis to show you the way.”

“I do believe you are correct, grandmother,” Myriam agreed, thinking her grandmother to be very clever. “You think that Qutaybah had another objective in mind?”

“Indeed, he has other investments in this project, I guarantee you that, which is good because it should align with our interests,” Duchess D’Anjue said reassuringly. “We just need to survive long enough.”

33

The temporary camp was busily packing away. They had been told that a long journey lay ahead and the troops were readying themselves to cross the desert. Pans clanged, hammers banged on wooden poles, and voices chattered. Women folded the washed-and-dried clothes from the previous day and packed up the food rations. Everyone seemingly had a task to do or they would not have been required to join the troops. Qutaybah kept his slaves busy. There was no time for leisure and no time to waste.

“I know this is the way, Dramand, because I was the one who led them here many years ago,” he told his desert friend.

“Those are not easy mountains to be crossing. It could take us all year.”

“We do not need to go all the way as we have arranged a small holding here,” he said, pointing his finger to a place in the desert on the map. “We built a village so that the Suggizon would know of anyone attempting to cross the mountain pass that hides their people. This village consists of humans, mainly. There should be a Suggizon on duty, so they can send a message fast to the town hidden in the mountains. For all I know, it could be a city now. I have not visited in many years and Perseus tells me, very proudly, that it has grown.”

“I think we had better stop talking and get moving. We have a long way to go. Though why you insist on these people being involved is beyond me,” Dramand complained as he rolled up the large scrolled maps.

“I promised Perseus that if he killed the Akkedis Empress it would make his people rich. They will have a part of the gem mines.”

“By the time you have given all the parts of the gem mines away, there will be none left for those of us doing all the work,” Dramand complained again.

“Bah, there is plenty to go around. These people need to find a trade to enhance their population. Did you know they were almost extinct when I found Perseus?” Qutaybah exclaimed.

“Your heart is too soft,” Dramand laughed, knowing it to be true. Qutaybah was a hard, but fair man. He was not seen as cruel, but those who crossed him would soon feel his wrath.

“If the plan is to drive the Akkedis out of their city, then we will need more men than we have here,” Qutaybah informed Dramand. “I have already dispatched riders to Palara. They will warn the Regent of the betrayal and plotting between Ghaffar and Lord Josiah. I am also hoping as a result of this news, he will send some of his best troops to help in the rescue of his Queen, and join us in battle at the Akkedis city. With our men combined, humans and the mighty Suggizon, I am certain victory will be ours. Do you agree, my friend, that are we going to make ourselves rich?”

Qutaybah did not wait for an answer. He climbed onto the seat of his camel and instructed the caravan to get moving. They could not battle the Akkedis without the Suggizon. He had promised Perseus. Besides, he felt they were the perfect race to take over the running of the lizards’ gem mines.

It was time for them to come out of hiding and for the Akkedis to disappear. He never had any love for the lizard people. They were bad business dealers, greedy and never caring about anyone, not even their own. A selfish nation of creatures that deserved to be vanquished.

The caravan of over a hundred mounted troops set off into the desert, called Saraba. The trek across Saraba is a dangerous one, even for seasoned troops like these.

The heat is relentless, making it almost impossible to travel during daylight, especially when the sun is fully up. The sand worms are a constant threat, with routes having to be plotted that take into account solid rock formations for refuge. This can often double the time it takes to get from one place to another.

Not only are the sand worms a problem, the desert has many tribes, some friendly, others not. Whilst they were well equipped for trouble, they needed to complete this part of their journey with as little distractions as possible.

Qutaybah had ensured there were gifts a plenty to bribe those who could make their passage easier. Arms for some tribes, food for other ones, clothing for another and even gems and gold for some. All would be appeased so this caravan could continue its journey unhindered.

They traveled for almost twelve hours and as they ascended a huge sand dune, an oasis came into view. A small patch of ground with a pool of water and a number of palms that offered shade from the ravages of the midday sun. The caravan headed towards it and in no time, the soldiers and beasts were refreshed by the cool clear liquid. All rested under shade.

“It would be much quicker to go south following the dry river bed, rather than climbing the two huge dunes that stand between us and our destination,” Dramand said to Qutaybah.

“Indeed, but I would not wish to go too close to the Akkedis just yet. Besides, we have yet to meet up with the Suggizon. They are crucial to the success of my plan.”

Hours of riding had made his back ache, and Qutaybah rubbed at it absentmindedly. “For now, Dramand, enjoy this beautiful oasis. It is the last one on our route. This is my favorite. For some strange reason, a single coconut tree fruits here every time I arrive. No matter what time of year, it always provides me with this refreshing drink of coconut milk. I think it is a magical tree and bears a good omen. I go out of my way to talk to it whenever I am passing.”

“Pffff, you talk to a coconut tree?” Dramand scorned good-naturedly.

“Indeed I do. A warrior should always make time for the little things in life. Things that may not seem important, but who knows how anything might change your future, eh?” Qutaybah took a long sip of the drink in the coconut cup.

“Talking to trees, my friend, can only be a sign of desert madness,” Dramand warned him. “I fail to see how a coconut tree can be of any use in your life.”

“See, it provides me with nutrition, right here in the middle of nowhere, how can that be?”

The debate over the lonely coconut tree went on well into the night, as the two friends discussed the mundane subject. This eased the strain of travel, as friends are meant to do.

The next day would find them approaching the village that guarded the pass to the Suggizon. Arriving with an army of men would cause consternation, and tensions would be high.

34

Myriam was restless, as always, though she had not provided blood for a few days. She found she could not sleep in this place. There were no windows to open, no fresh breeze to cool her skin. Just the same stuffy air that kept recycling itself, stale and damp.

Something was bothering her, something niggling at the back of her mind. She had not seen Linz or Hendon for days as the guards had stopped her leaving the room. Luckily, she still had the company of her grandmother. Though now she thought about it, the Akkedis had not taken any blood from the Duchess either. That could only mean they were bleeding the young men dry.

With a sudden start, she jumped up from her bed. Concern over her companions was causing her to pace the floor anxiously. What if they were to go too far and kill Linz and Hendon? She would demand the very next day that she be allowed to see her compatriots. Just as she was composing a speech in her head, she heard a door slowly open. It was the door to the empty room. Why hadn’t they put the boys in there? she wondered.

As the door opened, she was unsure who to expect, friend or foe. Could it be the Akkedis servant girl, Arriba, whom she had not seen her for a while? Could it be one of the boys, though why would they come that way? All these thoughts quickly scanned through her mind and she felt relief flood over her when she saw the figure move into the light.

“Perseus, it is so good to see you,” she said, approaching him. “I was worried you had both been murdered.”

“I come with grave news, Queen Myriam.” He spoke with a resigned sadness and would not look her in the eye.

Myriam sat down, her legs trembling, readying herself for the bad news.

“Please do not tell me that Ganry is dead?”

When he did not reply, she choked, not wanting to hear those words.

Perseus took her delicate hand, trying to offer some comfort.

“No, but he is close, and there is little I can do,” he told her. “That creature, Ghaffar, he tortures him with insects, every day. He puts those vile creatures inside his body and stands there watching as Ganry writhes around in agony. Every day it takes a part of his strength away. If I were to kill Ghaffar, I would be showing my hand too soon. I bring extra food and liquids for Ganry’s strength, but even that is helping less and less.”

Perseus covered his face with his large hands, rubbing at his skin. It was clear to Myriam that he and Ganry had become close on this expedition. The loss of Ganry would hit him hard.

“Perseus, keep doing all you can for him. I will speak to the others and see if we can come up with some solution. I have a plan, something the Akkedis servant girl let slip about why they drug us before taking the blood. It seems that if we are restful, the blood is of better quality. Well, I think it’s time to change all that. We will refuse to cooperate and make them fight for our blood, make things harder, so to speak. That way Ghaffar will need to put his attentions elsewhere, at least for a while.”

Perseus did not linger. He wished to hurry back to Ganry and try to ease his wounds. It was his intention to sneak into the medical area and steal some medicines to give him strength. He was not sure they would work on Ganry, as Akkedis physiology is so very different, but anything that might lend Ganry some time would be welcome. He knew there was little hope of Ghaffar holding off the torture, but if he had other urgencies to attend to, as Myriam had planned, then perhaps he could build up Ganry’s strength once again.

***

Myriam stuck to her plan and the next day she made such a fuss at not seeing her two friends, who were only in the room opposite, that the guards had to go and find Ghaffar.

“I will not eat, I refuse to drink, and I hope your Empress dies in agony,” she yelled at the Akkedis who brought her breakfast in.

“My dear, whatever is this about?” the Duchess asked as she came into Myriam’s room to share breakfast, as they did daily.

“It is time to stop this charade, grandmother. Ganry is in danger and I have not seen Linz or Hendon for days. I will not be treated like this!” Myriam yelled at her grandmother so all the guards could hear her words. Nor did she care if they understood or not, she just needed to get Ghaffar’s attention for a few days.

The door was left open and she pushed her way past the guards who seemed unsure of what to do. Moving quickly into the young men’s room, she soon saw that they were both sleeping in their cots.

“Wake up, wake up!” she cried. “I want you in my rooms and we will not be parted any more. It is time to lay down a few rules ourselves. Now, boys, wake yourselves, you are needed. I have much to discuss with you.”

She pitied them as it was obvious by the darkness of their eyes and the paleness of their skin, that the greedy Akkedis Empress had been feeding from them in large quantities. They needed to be together from now on, protecting one another. Four heads were better than one. It was time to get together and make plans to be free of this dreadful place.

35

Artas was enjoying his morning ride on his grey dappled horse, Orton. He had not had a moment alone in such a long time. The air was invigorating as the horse cantered along, and they both enjoyed the open space of the meadow. Artas missed being able to do just as he wanted. As Regent, everyone seemed to know his every move. He had even refused Lady Leonie joining him on his ride this morning as he simply wanted to be alone.

As they jogged to the top of a steep hill, Artas could see a group of riders moving fast towards him. He could not recognize them from so far away, and decided to keep his distance until he had identified them better. They drew closer and he could now see that one of the riders carried the banner of Qutaybah. Spurring his horse on, he rode down to meet them.

They came to a stop and surrounded him in a circle, eying him warily.

“Do not hinder us,” the leader said, sternly, hand hovering over his sword hilt. “We ride for the castle. I have grave news for the Regent.”

“That is me, Artas, Regent of Palara. I’d rather hear your message here, away from prying eyes and eavesdroppers.”

The leader was a lean man, well muscled with a hardened look about him. He was clearly a veteran of many battles. Always cautious, he looked at the young man before him more closely. His master had described the Regent named Artas to him, and this nobleman fit the description perfectly, even down to the injured leg.

“My name is Jacayb, and I am here with great urgency with regards to your Queen Myriam.”

Artas felt a heavy cloud hang over him. This was not what he wanted to hear. Though he was in a rush to know the news, he did not rush the rider who had come so far.

“You have a traitor among your people. He is known as Lord Josiah. That is the only name we have. He is dealing with Ghaffar of the Akkedis to ensure that your Queen does not return,” Jacayb finished.

“The Queen still lives then?” Artas asked, hope in his voice.

“Yes, she lives still. As we speak, Qutaybah is rushing to her aid in the Akkedis city. He implores you to send men to help in his mission.”

Artas nodded, but said nothing. He turned his horse and led the riders towards the castle.

“Please, you are my guests for as long as you need,” he said to Jacayb.

“We can hold up only one night. Then we must return to our own lands for we are needed in battle. Will you be joining us?”

“Alas, not me,” Artas said, feeling as if he was always the one to miss out on the adventures. “The Queen has appointed me her Regent, so I must deal with Lord Josiah and hold the castle for her until she returns. But, I will be sending our elite troops. You can take a hundred of my best men back with you and I’ll send word to the Lakemen. The Chief of the Lakemen is journeying with our Queen, and they will wish to be involved if their Chief is in danger. If you need more, the army of this Kingdom is at your service.”

With this news, Jacayb smiled, relieved to have delivered his master’s message and to be taking back strong reinforcements. “My master asked only for your best. We do not need numbers, just seasoned soldiers.”

“And, my good man, you shall have them at your disposal. I would prefer to take all the army we have to rescue our Queen, but this would not be diplomatic. I shall trust this in the hands of Qutaybah, as I know he is allied to the Duchess and will do all he can to ensure her safety.”

The group rode towards the castle, and Artas sent the five men to an inn so that Lord Josiah would not suspect anything should he see them arrive.

When Artas reached his rooms, he called for Leonie and Parsival, informing them of the news he had just received.

Leonie gasped. “I knew he was up to something, but I had not realized his treachery was so deep. What are your intentions for yet another usurper? I could have him disposed of this very evening. My spies have been keeping a close eye on him, and I have reliable men ready to take action at a moment’s notice.”

The Regent smiled at how prepared and efficient she was. They discussed the implications and possible solutions to dealing with Josiah well into the night.

Artas made his decision the next day.

Lord Josiah was instantly arrested, along with his men that had remained with him. Keeping them all separate, it did not take long for Lady Leonie and her spies to get the right information from them.

She met with the Regent to give him the good news.

“How do you do it, Leonie?” Parsival said, delighted that his Leonie had come on so well. “You are such a delicate creature that, had I not known it to be true, I would never have believed you to be in charge of spies and torture.”

Artas trusted her and knew this intelligence was vital for the banishment of this Lord. Though he would not make the final decision and would leave that up to Myriam.

Until then, Lord Josiah and his loyal men were now imprisoned within the dungeons, all their comforts gone.

36

The villagers lined up with their weapons, wary that the approaching army were mercenaries. Sampson had been sent for as he was their leader and would know how to deal with these men.

Qutaybah stayed on his camel behind Dramand. He did not want to show himself too soon. First he needed to be certain that a Suggizon still resided in the village. He watched closely as a large man arrived among the villagers and moved out from the throng, making his way towards them.

“What can we do for you?” Sampson asked, giving away no mood whatsoever.

“It is more what we can do you for you, Suggizon,” Dramand replied.

An instant murmur buzzed among the villagers. Only few knew that this village was connected to the shape-shifters.

“You have me at an advantage, sir.” The leader stood tall and firm, showing no fear just because this man had shown that he knew privileged information. “My name is Sampson, and may I know yours?”

Qutaybah moved from behind Dramand. “I am Qutaybah, a friend of the Suggizon,” he said, dismounting from his camel.

Sampson’s face lit up with joy as he recognized him. “Qutaybah, my friend, it has been far too long,” Sampson said, approaching him. “I thought you had abandoned us, once you knew we were safe.”

“Never.” Qutaybah laughed as the two large men hugged in friendship. “I come to bring you wealth, as I promised my man, Perseus.”

“Perseus still serves you?” Sampson asked, clearly pleased to hear that name. “I also thought my brother had abandoned his family. He is an uncle of three now, whereas there was only one when he left.”

The two men parted in their welcoming hug and Sampson turned to the villagers, informing them there was nothing to fear. They began to disperse and go back to their toil.

It was agreed that the mercenaries could camp around the village, and that the residents would make a feast in honor of their guests. The villagers were not short of supplies, and quickly the tables were ladened with food, fine wines, and ales.

A celebratory atmosphere was soon thriving and musicians played as a hog was put to roast. The lingering smell of the meat was a welcoming aroma and the soldiers were quick to mingle with the villagers, enjoying their welcoming hospitality.

Qutaybah was taken to Sampson’s house where they could talk further in peace and quiet.

“Thank you for such a welcome,” Qutaybah thanked Sampson. “The trek across the desert is a difficult one, ladened with dangers. This will help the men relax.”

“Why have you come so far?” Sampson questioned. “I fear it must only be with grave news.” A frown knitted in his brow.

“We are here to liberate the gem mines that the Akkedis so jealously guard. We wish to drive them out of this land. I feel it only right that your people, together with my guidance, should rule in their place,” Qutaybah explained, accepting a mug of beer from a pretty girl.

“We have grown greatly in numbers, all thanks to you, Qutaybah.” Sampson clinked his tankard on his companions, in a toast of this good news. “As always agreed, our people are at your disposal. It seems that yet again you offer us a new life, a new opportunity, one I believe we are just about ready for. At the moment we are surviving, getting by, but the gems will help feed our children and build an army to keep those away that wish us harm. Again, my friend, you honor us with hope.”

“We have to do this as discretely as possible. We do not want to attract any unwanted attention. Once your people are firmly installed in place, I feel we could rebuff any attempts to take from us what is rightfully yours. Until then, we need to be cautious,” Qutaybah said. “I also have another personal problem to resolve with the Akkedis Empress, but that does not need to involve you, though Perseus is helping me with that matter.”

“Anything that my brother deems important is also important to his people. We will help with your personal matter also. But tonight, we must celebrate your return. You are the one to save our race from extinction. You will always hold a place of honor within our community. Please, let us go join in the celebrations, and tomorrow I will go personally to our city and bring back forces.”

“A city now, eh?” Qutaybah questioned, surprised they had grown so quickly.

“We breed constantly,” Sampson smiled at providing this information. “From the ravaged population that you rescued, we are now thriving in numbers. Most of our people are young, but they are taught the importance of survival. Fighting is now our utmost priority, as well as breeding, of course.”

Qutaybah laughed, he had always liked the sense of humor of the Suggizon. They had struggled for survival and this had made them appreciate life all the more. He considered himself lucky to have known them. Even more, he was glad to have made them his allies. With the right situation, they will be a formidable race and the perfect partners for attacking the Akkedis with whom they had a personal quarrel.

There was no love lost between the Akkedis and the Suggizon. It was the Akkedis that had brought about their downfall. They were once a powerful race in Vandemland, and a union between their races was arranged through a marriage. The Akkedis Empress’ daughter and one of the Suggizon princes were to make this bond. But the union was a trick, its purpose to allow the Akkedis to rule the Suggizon and take their lands.

In the resulting battles many of the princes’ people were killed, which devastated their population. Some revenge was extracted when the Suggizon prince managed to kill his Akkedis wife.

To compound matters further, certain tribes in Vandemland saw the Suggizon as a delicacy when in snake form, and a thriving black market trade had grown in selling their flesh. The Akkedis promoted this, even trading Suggizon slaves on the black market. The Suggizon people would welcome the opportunity to avenge their kind.

37

Ghaffar knew that the only way to move the young male humans was going to be by force, and he had hoped to avoid that, just yet. There would time enough to cause plenty of discomfort for these annoying humans soon. He was surprised just how compliant the human Queen had been, and the quality of her blood had been excellent. He would not want to jeopardize that. He might as well go along with their demands.

Just as he was about to go to the dungeon and observe the human Ganry being tortured with the kewers, he had been called upon. This annoyed him, as it gave him great pleasure to watch this strong human cry out in such pain, each day that he was weakening.

It would be easy to simply allow Sileta to instruct the insects to finish him, but where was the fun in that. It would be over in seconds. This way he got to see a human in agony for hours, every single day. It was very satisfying.

Today though, he had been called away from his preferred entertainment. The human Queen was refusing admittance into her room, and she was holding all the other humans in there with her. Her demands were easy enough to comply with. She simply requested that the young male humans be put in the adjoining room to hers instead of the one opposite. She wanted the humans to be together. Of course, he would refuse to start with. He needed to make them suffer his wrath first.

“My lady, just open up your door so we can discuss this in a more reasonable manner,” Ghaffar said.

“I am not opening this door until you guarantee that I can see Ganry,” Myriam shouted back at him. “You can fight for your blood, Akkedis traitor, because it will not be provided voluntarily anymore.”

“Do you think this wise?” Hendon asked of Myriam, unsure of her motives in causing this commotion.

“I’m only playing for time,” she explained to Hendon and Linz. They both looked completely exhausted, and she felt she had taken this action just in time. “We must think of a way to stop the torture that Ghaffar does to Ganry with those disgusting insects. He puts him through agony on a daily basis and I have to do something. Perseus came to tell me that Ganry will not last out much longer.”

“My granddaughter speaks the truth,” the Duchess joined in. “Once Ganry and Perseus are dead, you two shall be next. We will be saved until last because the Akkedis Empress needs the strength supplied within our blood. It is time for us to make our first stand, if only to delay things.”

“Now I understand my dream last night,” Hendon told them. “Barnaby showed me a tiny worm which he said is a deadly predator of the beetle. I did not know why he was telling me this, but it all makes sense now. I do wish he would not communicate in riddles.”

“This is good news, indeed!” Myriam proclaimed, her heart lightened at the thought that Ganry could yet be saved.

“The keeper of the kewers will have a number of these worms as they are needed to control the blood sucking insects used on Ganry,” Hendon explained. “Do you think that Perseus could manage to get some?”

“He is to come to me this very evening. We can speak to him and tell him what to look for. This will begin our rebellion, even if it gets us nowhere.”

“Fear not, my granddaughter, we only have to delay things for a short while,” her grandmother said. “Plus, we need to do all we can to make sure we all stay alive, including Ganry and Perseus.”

All had gone quiet in the corridor, but Myriam’s door and all the other doors to the adjoining rooms remained locked from the inside. They were not allowing the Akkedis in, and they would have to physically break down the doors. Myriam knew she would need to relent soon, but for this day and night, the Akkedis could remain outside of their rooms.

***

Ghaffar made his way slowly to report to his Empress, a meeting he was not looking forward to. She will be furious that he is empty handed of her food. He’ll need to calm her and assure her that this situation is only temporary, and all will be back to normal the very next day.

Ghaffar knew that this supply could not last forever, but for now, he simply needed to make these humans go back to allowing their blood to be taken. It would be so much harder should they need to be forced. The power of the red juice would not be the same if the humans were put under duress. He must go back to the human Queen and agree to her demands, if that is what it was going to take.

He returned and knocked upon Queen Myriam’s door, promising to listen to all she had to say.

38

Parsival had agreed to lead the elite force that was to venture into Vandemland to help free Queen Myriam. It had been arranged for him to meet with the Lakemen at the border. Jacayb, Qutaybah’s man, had shown him their secret way to get through the border with little danger, and then he had drawn a map of the route to the Akkedis city.

He sat alone now in his small camp, awaiting the arrival of Linz’s tribe. They would only send the best to save their Chief, so he was confident that he would be guiding a group of brave warriors.

Parsival was surprised when Artas had asked him to lead the rescue party, but he had willingly accepted. The Kingdom of Palara had suffered much over the last few years from the usurper Harald. It needed its right and proper Queen returned to the throne.

Whilst he waited, he reflected on the moment he and Lady Leonie had attempted to assassinate Duke Harald, the old king’s brother. A failed attempt that almost cost them their lives. Harald had murdered the king, and most of his loyal followers, so he could become Regent. Only Princess Myriam, the rightful heir, was stopping him from becoming a king. Eventually, many other nobles rose against him and he was overthrown and killed in battle, leaving Myriam as Queen.

They had thought their troubles to be ended, at least for a while, but alas not. Again the royal family of Palara were in trouble. He was fond of Queen Myriam and felt she would do much good for the Kingdom.

When she had insisted in participating on a quest to save her grandmother, the Duchess of D’Anjue, who had withstood Harald’s torturers by refusing to reveal Myriam’s whereabouts, he understood her loyalty. At first no one knew what had happened to the Duchess. It was a great relief when they discovered she had been saved by Ghaffar, but it soon became clear that she was not safe.

Recently, Regent Artas had received word that Myriam, her grandmother, Chief Linz of the Lake people, and Hendon, a forest dweller, had all become prisoners of the Akkedis. Artas had organized their rescue immediately, and had tasked Parsival with leading the mission, a role that Artas would have preferred to have taken himself. Alas this could not be though because Myriam had left him in charge as Regent, and that meant he had to stay in the kingdom.

Parsival had become good friends with Artas, and he worried how he would fare in his absence. Knowing that Lady Leonie remained a close adviser, helped. The three of them had become quite a team running the kingdom while Queen Myriam was away. They were all loyal to the Queen and each would give up their lives to save her.

As Parsival sat in the darkness, pondering over his present situation, a large hand grabbed at his mouth and a strong arm around his throat. Believing he had been taken by bandits, he feared he may not be able to do Artas’s work after all, as surely this must mean his death. Bandits on the borders were notoriously evil, killing anyone they could steal from.

Someone kneeled in front of him and spoke, but he could not understand the dialect. He wished he had paid more attention in his younger days in lessons of other languages. Then the male voice spoke in his Queen’s language.

“Are you Parsival?” the voice asked.

He nodded his head, relief flooding his emotions.

“We could not be sure, but we meant no harm,” the lake man said to him apologetically.

They were well known for their lack of etiquette, having been separate from the rest of Palara for a long time. They still needed much adjustment in their social skills. Though he had met their Chief, Linz, who was much more civilized in his behavior.

“No matter,” Parsival said, rubbing at his throat from the heavy-handed soldier who had nearly throttled him. “We must continue our journey immediately, as we need to get through the border by dawn. He knew they would have traveled hard already to have got here so quickly, but it was important that they cover as much ground as possible before they rested.

It was agreed and they set off at once. The lake people were experienced at keeping themselves unseen, in a world that did not even know of their existence. It was Princess Myriam who had discovered them in her travels to escape Duke Harald.

“First we will travel on foot,” Parsival told the leader. “There are camels awaiting us in Vandemland to help us traverse the desert. We need to avoid being followed. To do this we need to blend in and dress as Vandemlanders. I have the funds to purchase the required clothing for your men. Are you agreeable to this?”

“For our Chief, we will do everything for his safety,” the leader replied.

“Good. Then let us get started. We have a long journey ahead and the lives of our leaders may very well depend on our haste.”

39

When Perseus arrived later that night, Hendon took him aside and instructed him on what he needed. Perseus was happy to help in any way he could, as he could see that Ganry was deteriorating every day.

“Hendon, how does Barnaby say this will work?” Myriam asked him, wondering if Barnaby was a figment of Hendon’s imagination.

“It’s a natural predator of the insects that they are using to torture Ganry,” Hendon described. “It will need to be inserted into Ganry’s body and it will attack and kill the kewers. It will not harm Ganry in any way, or so Barnaby promises me.”

“Are you certain about this, Hendon? Placing a live bug into a weakened Ganry, will it be safe?” Myriam questioned him further. She feared for her protector and would not want to do anything that might harm him.

“It is no bigger than my smallest finger nail, so I hardly think it can hurt Ganry any more than he’s already being hurt. The kewers are bigger, from what Perseus tells us. We need to act quickly. Ganry is to swallow the creature, and it spits out a deadly silk at the kewers. Eventually, it will leave the host as it cannot feed in the human body.”

Perseus left immediately to try and obtain the worm that Hendon had described, leaving the others to discuss their own plan of action.

“We cannot hold off Ghaffar any longer,” Myriam said. “Yesterday, I agreed to allow the food in and asked for one more day of rest. Today, when I met with him, I had to agree that all could go back to normal so long as you and Linz can stay in the room that adjoins mine, where Ganry stayed. I feel so much safer knowing we can all contact each other. Though it may all be in vain. The Lizard Empress is determined to drain us dry.”

The Duchess came to Myriam’s side and hugged her. “My dear, you are doing all that you can, and your delaying tactics will prove useful. They will be here soon, I know it.”

“Grandmother, I appreciate your optimism, but how can Qutaybah infiltrate an entire city of Akkedis? It would take a large army, and that would need the permission of the King of Vandemland. I doubt even he would allow a whole race to be attacked.”

“The King of Vandemland is a fool,” Duchess D’Anjue announced. “If he were to find out that you were prisoner here, he would probably invade your kingdom while you were away. All he cares about are his taxes, and I would imagine that Empress Gishja pays more than her fair share. The King of Vandemland would not wish to antagonize her for fear of losing income.”

Linz had said very little throughout the lock-in. He felt that the last blood collecting session had made him very weary. His body would not take many more sessions, but he did not wish to tell anyone as they had their own worries. He was sad for his people, as this would mean they would have lost two chiefs, very close together.

They had gained so much with Queen Myriam. Their own land, freedom to show themselves and feel safe. Yet, that could all be taken away if she were to die here. Feeling so useless that he could not save her, he felt shame at his weakness.

How could he return to his people and take his rightful place as a chief? He was never strong enough for that role. With his friend, Wyatt, by his side, he had felt capable, but since his death he felt lost and alone. The sad loss of his trainer and friend had been hard to accept, and now he felt that death might be a welcome end.

“You must have faith,” he heard Hendon say to him, as if he was reading his mind. “Linz, you must believe that we are going to get away from this place.”

“I would like to believe that I played a part in our rescue, but this will not be,” Linz replied, feeling utterly miserable. “I don’t even fear those ugly creatures anymore. Let the Rooggaru take me, I will injure it as it finishes me off.”

The adjoining door squeaked as it opened, and surprisingly, Perseus entered the room. Linz rose in greeting, but his weakened legs buckled under the strain and he almost collapsed to the floor. Hendon was soon at hand and helped his friend to sit back down.

“You do well to rest, for now, young Chief,” Perseus said, approaching him. “Soon your strength will return and you will have your revenge on the Akkedis.”

Linz doubted such words. “I will die in this place,” he said to Perseus.

“No, Chief Linz, you will not.” Perseus gave him soothing words. “You only need to be strong for a little while longer, trust me.”

“Linz is not himself,” Myriam explained to Perseus. “I think we are all weakening, and the thought of Ganry leaving us unprotected gives us nothing but sadness.”

“Perseus,” Hendon said, “you have returned quicker than I expected. Have you located the creature?”

“I have it here.” Perseus took a small wooden box from his pocket and passed it to Hendon.

Hendon carefully opened the box and peered inside. There was a small white worm curling up at the bottom of the box, trying to avoid the light. It was mostly white, but its back glinted with a hint of grey. It looked too small to do anything any harm.

“You’re never going to put that inside of Ganry?” Myriam gasped, looking at the slimy worm over Hendon’s shoulder.

“This will save him, Barnaby assures me. Besides,” Hendon continued, pessimistically, “what other choices do we have?”

He handed the box back to Perseus. Perseus took the box and looked at Hendon with misgivings.

“Have faith,” Hendon said, hoping that Perseus would not let him down. “Ganry must swallow it as it needs to get into his system. Promise me you will deliver it to him, and stress the urgency?”

Perseus nodded his head and left the room, leaving the party to watch after him and wonder how this would all end.

40

When Sampson returned from the city of the Suggizon, he came with a troop of thirty soldiers. These were fine men and women, well trained in the art of combat. Qutaybah’s confidence rose as he studied them. They were all fine Suggizon specimens and appeared strong and healthy.

“If this is an example of your nation, then you are ready to face the world head on and take your rightful place back in society,” Qutaybah said to Sampson.

“Thank you, we are indeed ready to take our rightful place back again. We are a good and gentle people, but we will act with the utmost violence against those who would mean us harm. We learned much from our previous encounter with the Akkedis. Though our leaders do not condone the annihilation of the lizards, they are prepared to help save your allies. I am instructed only to take control of the mines but to spare the Akkedis, banish them if necessary, or offer them work. We are not prepared to commit genocide and annihilate another race. We have come too close to that ourselves.”

Qutaybah bowed his head in respect. He could understand why the Suggizon felt this way, but Qutaybah did not agree. The Empress of the Akkedis had made a mistake in threatening those that were close to him, a mistake she would soon regret. Long enough had the Akkedis owned the gem mines and become a greedy people. It was time to share out their spoils and for them to find another land to live in. Despite Sampson’s desire, he would see that the Akkedis Empress would die, and that the Akkedis people were driven out.

He looked upon the thirty Suggizon that would be following his lead, and he felt good that his force was made up of different races. Yesterday, Jacayb had sent word that he had arrived at the agreed meeting point with one hundred Palaran soldiers, and another fifty Lakemen had joined him there.

The Akkedis would have more in numbers, but Qutaybah would have the element of surprise and well trained elite fighters. His spies had told him that the Akkedis soldiers were demoralized and unprepared to fight. Much discontent was in the Akkedis camp with many turning to drink and drugs and no order whatsoever. All of this was an advantage to Qutaybah and his force. Of course, the death of the Empress was of the utmost importance, but all he could do was pray that Perseus could succeed with the task set before him.

The next day saw Qutaybah leaving behind the small village and taking his army across the desert. For now, they would be safe, as the this part of Vandemland was uninhabitable. Soon they would come across areas where the nomadic tribes wandered. He was not concerned about them. He was friendly with most of their leaders, but they needed to stay away from the cities and any area that the King’s army patrolled.

Should the King discover Qutaybah’s plans, he would not be pleased. Yet once victory was achieved, the King would care little on who ruled the mines, so long as the taxes were paid as usual.

***

Parsival had found his way to the meeting point using the map that was provided by Jacayb. Once there, they laid low for a while, awaiting the arrival of the mercenaries. He did not have long to wait and soon Jacayb arrived with his men.

Jacayb led them to a set of caves, and here they would hide until the arrival of Qutaybah. There were food supplies aplenty, already stored within the chambers of this subterranean system. Plus an underground river that helped with the bathing of soldiers.

“Will we be traveling a long way once the rest of the army arrives?” Parsival was curious how far they had to go to get to this elusive lizard city.

“Some will travel within the tunnels, and some will go in the secret entrance, but all will arrive at the underground city ready for battle,” Jacayb explained. “We will keep the camels herded here for when we are done.”

The news of an underground city surprised Parsival, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He kept his thoughts to himself. He did not wish the men to be openly discussing the inevitable battle. They were presently enjoying the rest and relaxation after days of hard trekking. The fighting would be here all too soon, so it was good that they had other things to occupy their minds.

41

Perseus had freed Ganry from his shackles as he had done every day since they had been captured, but it helped less and less. The muscular warrior was truly exhausted from his daily torture of those insects that drained him.

Perseus looked forward to receiving the sign that his master was close and he could kill the Akkedis Empress, exacting his revenge on these lizards. Ghaffar would be one of the first to die. He would take great pleasure in this, for all the pain he had caused, not only for Ganry, but for the Queen and her family. Qutaybah had stressed to him that not only was he to kill the Lizard Empress, but he was also there to protect the Duchess and her family.

Perseus liked his master. He was fair and treated him with respect. He knew that though there was personal gain for Qutaybah in this, it was also for the benefit of the Suggizon nation, to help them progress in a world that had given them up for dead.

He put Ganry’s head on his lap and slowly fed him water.

“Come, my friend, it is nearly over and I need your strength once more,” Perseus said.

“You mean I’m nearly dead?” Ganry managed to grumble, in a deep hoarse voice. “Hah. If you think I’m helping you when I’m a ghost, you can think again, you snake slithering, sneaky…” his words were interrupted as his body was wracked with a deep chesty coughing. Blood spots appeared on the hand that he covered his mouth with.

“Save your strength.” Perseus ignored Ganry’s insults. “Hendon has sent you a life saving gift.” He opened up his hand to show Ganry a strange creature that scuttled about on his palm.

“And what do I do with that, eat it?” Ganry meant his words as a joke, but one look at Perseus’s face told him that was exactly what he had to do.

“Are you mad, Perseus? Do I not suffer enough with the creatures that odious little man puts into my body, you want me to take another? Please, just leave me to die.”

“I need you, Ganry, and your Queen needs you. Once we are free of this place then you are welcome to die as you wish. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and take this creature. This is not going to be easy, but you must swallow it with this water.”

Ganry waved his had in one movement, indicating this was all nonsense. “What manner of magic is this meant to be then?” he asked, with no faith whatsoever in Hendon’s gift.

“Hendon assures me that this creature will kill the insects that Ghaffar tortures you with. You must trust me, and trust Hendon. Your Queen commands it of you.”

“My daughter was just as bossy as Myriam, do you know that?” Ganry was feverish and probably hallucinating. “These women, they tell us what to do our whole lives, as sisters and daughters, as mothers and as wives.”

“Put this on your tongue,” Perseus instructed the rambling warrior. “Now swallow a whole cup of water to wash it down,” he said, tipping the clay cup between Ganry’s lips. “Is it gone yet?”

“Is what gone?” Ganry questioned, unsure where he was as he sweated hot and shivered cold. These days he could not remember very much. He seemed to think his daughter was in danger but he could not remember why.

Perseus put Ganry back into his shackles so he hung from the cave wall. Putting himself back into his own chains, just in time, he heard the lock turning and in walked Ghaffar.

“Greetings,” he said in a jolly voice as he entered the room, with the female Sileta following him through the door. “How you must have missed me yesterday, but I had other important appointments. However, today I thought we would finish our little game. Sileta here will be placing every single one of her lovely pets inside of your body, Ganry, and then we shall say our goodbyes. It has been fun while it lasted, but now I must concentrate my mind on other matters.”

Ganry could hear talking in the distance, but he could make no sense of the words. His mind was whirring, someone was in danger, someone close to him, but he could not quite grasp who it was.

A shiver ran through his body as a strange woman stood in front of him. She looked odd, shimmering, her skin seemed to crawl. Somewhere in his mind, he realized that she was covered in insects, and soon those insects would be inside him, tormenting him until he could take it no more.

He tried to squirm his body away from her as she approached him. He felt, rather than saw, the insects as they burrowed into his skin, causing him to cry out in pain.

Over the days of torture, Ghaffar had instructed Sileta not to let the insects close to Ganry’s heart. Instead he wanted Ganry to suffer in agonizing pain as he slowly died. He enjoyed seeing him squirm and scream as the insects burrowed through his body. Long ago was the pretense of torturing him for information done away with. But today it was time to end the fun.

“Let us finish him, Sileta,” Ghaffar said with finality. “Let your creatures have the prize they so desire, while it still barely beats.”

Sileta murmured some words that Ganry could not comprehend. Gently she rubbed her hands along his torso. Ganry could feel little tremors where she touched him. Those tremors gave the kewers their entry point. In a frenzy they made their way to the victim’s heart.

It was not just the kewers that felt the tremors, unbeknown to Ghaffar and Sileta, the insects were already dying as quickly as they entered. The tremors had alerted the creature that Ganry had swallowed, and it was squirming around his blood stream, shooting out its acid silk and killing the kewers at a very fast rate.

Sileta faltered and pulled her hands away from Ganry. She screamed out, as if in terrible pain.

“Quickly, instruct them to go to the heart,” Ghaffar shouted at her, worried something was amiss.

“I cannot,” she cried out, falling onto the floor and curling up in a ball as if in agony. “My pets are dying, what is he doing to them?” she screamed, before passing out unconscious on the hard stone floor.

Ganry became aware of a woman falling down. He stared at a small man, or what resembled a man, but he was not sure if it was really human. His skin seemed to shift before his eyes, one moment it was smooth and then it appeared hard and scaly.

As each kewer was killed within him, his own strength returned. He felt a power coursing through him, invigorating him. Suddenly, he was conscious of his shackles, and he pulled on them, straining at them with his revitalized muscles. He had to escape these bonds, his daughter, nay, his Queen needed him.

At that moment, Perseus changed into a giant snake, falling free from his shackles and slithering straight towards Ghaffar. The little lizard man stood shaking, shock written on his features as he watched the events unfold before him.

All control was gone. The female, Sileta, looked dead. The human, Ganry, who only moments ago looked close to death, was now seemingly full of strength. But worse, what he thought was a human, Perseus, was in fact one of those dreaded Suggizon creatures, and it was heading towards him with malice in its eyes.

Ghaffar’s survival instincts took over, and he found his feet. He pushed the guard behind him out of his way and into the path of the advancing Suggizon. Perseus lunged at the escaping Ghaffar but the guard blocked his way.

Ghaffar was quickly out of the door and heading deep into the caves. He knew these tunnels better than any other and he soon made his escape. Should he run to the Empress and let her know that she was in danger? Perhaps, but for a short while he would do better to hide. Who knows what calamity might be in these corridors, now that sickening creature was loose? He doubted there was more than one of them. It may be advantageous to stay hidden and make his escape when the commotion stopped.

42

Myriam, in exchange for allowing Linz and Hendon to occupy the adjoining empty room, had promised Ghaffar she would provide double quantity of her blood. She wanted them close, but also their room was how Perseus came to them, from a tunnel under one of the beds. She felt it safer, with less chance of being discovered if they occupied the room. They had only recently finished taking her blood and she was exhausted. She hoped that Empress Gishja choked on it.

A loud noise coming from the boy’s room startled her. She did not have the strength to go and investigate. Instead she waited patiently, knowing the commotion would come to her eventually. And, it did exactly that, but it was not from the room that events started to unfold.

The main door leading out to the corridor flew open. It was Arriba, looking disheveled and distressed.

“Queen Myriam, your man has escaped and he has freed me too. Ghaffar had me locked away because he suspected that I’d helped you.” Arriba came into the room and fell at Myriam’s feet. “Now, my lady, I want to help you get away from here and back to your own people. It is wrong what we have done.”

“Oh, Arriba, I’m so glad they haven’t harmed you, I was worried and…”

Linz suddenly burst through the adjoining door and into Myriam’s room, interrupting her reply to the Akkedis female. He looked excited and agitated, all at once.

“Myriam, look, it has begun…” he moved aside to allow the person behind him to enter her room.

“Ganry!” Myriam cried. She found the strength to stand and greet him. “Oh Ganry, I have so missed you. What is happening?”

Ganry stepped into the room and Perseus quickly followed him. He had changed back into his human form.

“My Queen, thanks to my friends, I have survived the torture of that odious little man and I am here to help. But we must act quickly,” Ganry replied.

He turned to Linz and Hendon. “You two, quickly, block all the doorways that lead to the passageways. Every piece of furniture needs to be used in making a barrier. Here, we will finally make our stand.”

Linz and Hendon got to work instantly, with the help of Perseus, all furniture was pushed and carried to block the three doorways, one in each room.

“I trust you have a plan, Perseus?” the Duchess questioned.

“My only plan was to save Ganry,” he replied as he moved the last piece of heavy furniture in front of Myriam’s door. “I have not yet had a sign from my master, but I sense my people are not far. This could mean that they are in the tunnels. I am going to make my way to the outer tunnels and see if I can find out more. Once I’m sure that Qutaybah is here, I will make my move to the Akkedis Empress.”

“She is a fierce foe,” the Duchess replied. “You should not take her on alone.”

“He is not alone, Duchess,” Ganry joined the conversation. “I will have his back.”

“And I,” Linz added. “It is time we drew some blood of our own.”

“I fear even with you three warriors, she will be difficult to overcome. She has just fed from the strongest of royal blood,” the Duchess reminded them.

“She is not as strong as she used to be,” Hendon said. “She is old and much weakened. I feel our blood does not increase her strength, but only allows her to live.”

“Let us hope so,” Perseus said, patting Hendon on the shoulders in encouragement. “I go now. I must search the outer tunnels. I will return in a few hours.”

“Ghaffar fled in terror of his life,” Ganry told them. “Somehow, I doubt he’ll go to his Empress with such dire news of our escape. This may give us a slight advantage, for while she is unaware of what has happened, we can stay ahead of the game. My fingers are itching for revenge.”

Perseus changed into his snake form in front of them. Only Arriba shrunk back in fear. The others all knew this creature was not a danger to them. He quickly left by the tunnel under the bed.

“I must leave,” Arriba said to the humans, realizing the dangers of her being found in the room with them. Should she be discovered here, this would surely lead to her death.

“What will they do to you though, Arriba, when they find out you have escaped?”

“It will not matter because Ghaffar is the one who was punishing me. If he is in hiding, then I will be safe. It is better this way. I may find a way to help you by being among my own people. I will watch closely and do all I can to delay your capture and help with your escape. But I cannot stay here and be seen as a traitor to my people.”

“Of course, you are quite right, child,” the Duchess was the first to agree. “She can help us far better from the outside. Let us get her out of these rooms. I suggest she goes through the tunnel that Perseus has left. That way she will escape the attention of the guards.”

Arriba stepped into the adjoining room with Linz and Hendon, staring at the tunnel with a good deal of apprehension. She knew that this was where the Suggizon had gone. She had always been told, from being a young child, that the snake creatures were their mortal enemies. Evil monsters that fed on the babies of the Akkedis. This one did not seem like that. It was friendly, and these humans trusted it. Arriba was beginning to think a lot of what she had been taught was wrong.

Linz and Hendon helped her climb down the tunnel. None knew where it would take her, but she was willing to risk this. She knew she could help the humans better if she were to mingle with her own kind. There was nothing she could do to help if she stayed here, cowering from Ghaffar. Myriam grabbed a hold of her hand before she disappeared down the tunnel. “Thank you, Arriba. Even if you cannot help, I thank you for being a friend.”

Arriba just nodded her head. She had every intention on helping, somehow. She did not wish to hurt her Empress, but she hated Ghaffar and would gladly see his reign end.

***

Arriba followed the narrow passageway, hoping it did not collapse on her, though it looked well used. Perseus must have been visiting with the humans for some time now.

Finally, she came to its end and breathed a sigh of relief to find herself in a wine cellar. A large empty barrel covered the hole to the tunnel. She moved it aside and climbed out of the hole, making sure to replace the barrel before leaving the cellar. It would be a good way for the humans to leave their rooms, when the time was right.

For now, she needed to find out what was happening. Did her Empress know of this incident yet? Had Ghaffar come out of hiding?

A female Akkedis left the wine cellar carrying a barrel of ale. This was not an unusual sight, and no one noticed her. The bar was full of male Akkedis, gambling and shouting loudly at the tables. None noticed Arriba leaving the inn. She had placed her barrel by the bar and simply walked out onto the streets of the Akkedis underground city. There she would try and find help for the imprisoned human Queen and her comrades. She felt she owed them that, at least.

43

Qutaybah had taken the humans, on foot, towards the tunnels that enter the Akkedis city. He had a contact that was to show them a way that they could enter the city unnoticed. The treacherous guard would also get word to Perseus to begin his own battle within the city.

Jacayb was the only one to approach the entrance, so he could meet the contact who was guarding on the outer perimeter of the city. He had no idea what Qutaybah had promised this individual, but he was surprised that such a large Akkedis would betray his own Empress.

He knew that Akkedis were a greedy people and in most cases everyone had their price, but he was still surprised at his betrayal. The Akkedis guard passed him a map that they were to follow. When he returned to the human soldiers who were hiding behind rocky crags, Jacayb told Qutaybah that he did not trust the Akkedis, fearing this could be a trap.

“Not for what I’m paying him, believe me,” Qutaybah tried to reassure Jacayb. “He is well and truly bought. He is a greedy swine who cares only about his own self.”

***

The Suggizon changed into their snake form and dug through the underground tunnels. They would enter the city first. Sampson was in the lead, and hoped to find his brother, Perseus. They did not need a map as they could sense their way through the ground and knew exactly where they were tunneling to.

It did not take them long to enter the city, arriving under a bridge that crossed over a large underground river. They stayed within their own tunnel network, making their way around the city, so that when the humans arrived they were ready to attack from the inside.

***

Perseus felt it. He knew that not only were his people close at hand, but also was his brother. Qutaybah had kept his part of the bargain, bringing in his brethren to share in the spoils. Now everything was in motion and taking down the Akkedis Empress was his first priority.

Before meeting with his people, he would first return to the humans and help them out of the chambers they were imprisoned within. He knew that Ganry would want to be by his side when he confronts the Empress Gishja.

***

The entrance for the humans was through the waterways that led into the city. The stench was appalling. All the men waded ankle deep in the water rushing through the tunnels, which emptied into an underground river.

Despite the stench, Parsival was impressed with the clever plumbing. At least it proved the Akkedis were not all fools. Parsival placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, expecting any moment to come across the lizards.

It turned out that they had a long walk as the entrance was some way from the inner city. As they walked the narrow tunnels, they could tell they were getting deeper underground. The air grew thicker and staler until it was almost unbreathable. Yet, every now and then, an outlet allowed a rush of fresh air. It seemed that the Akkedis had built a ventilation system, again proving that they were not all simple.

The troops marched onwards, eventually arriving at a large wooden gateway. At the other side of the gate flowed an underground river. This could prove a great difficulty, as not all the men would be capable of swimming.

Qutaybah made his way to the front of the men to inspect the gate. He was glad he had done so as he spotted a man in a boat, waving over to them. He instantly recognized the man as a Suggizon. The boat, leading other boats, made its way over to the gateway.

“We sensed your arrival,” the Suggizon said. “We are spread throughout the city and will take your men to the strategic points. Sampson awaits you eagerly. He only needs your word and we go in to attack.”

“We are fortunate that you have managed to organize yourselves so quickly,” Qutaybah said to the Suggizon, who helped him into the awaiting boat as it bobbed up and down on the river’s flow. “I knew your people would naturally fit into this environment, and I was right. I think this place was built just for you, and you will thrive and prosper here.”

44

Perseus quickly made his way back to the chambers where his companions were held. He arrived through the tunnel to find them armed with the swords he had provided earlier, and ready for battle. The Akkedis guards were furiously banging on the doors trying to gain entry.

“Ganry,” Perseus called out, “it is time for you all to move before the guards break down that door. My master has arrived, and his attack is imminent.”

Linz and Hendon stood with sword and staff, respectively, ready to confront the attacking Akkedis at the other side of the door. The young men grinned, neither of them were seasoned warriors but they were both keen to be free of this place and mete out some justice on the treacherous Akkedis.

“The tunnel is ready. I have secured it so we can all pass through safely. Come, Ganry, you should go first with your sword at the ready, followed by the Queen and the Duchess,” he suggested to Queen Myriam’s protector.

“This is it. The battle is upon us and our friend here has not let us down.” Ganry placed his hand upon Perseus’s strong shoulders.

“I thank you, Perseus,” Myriam said to him directly. “For all that you have done for us.”

“I would not let Ganry miss the Akkedis Empress’ death. He would never forgive me.” Perseus grinned back at big seasoned warrior.

Within moments they each crawled down the narrow tunnel that Perseus had been using as his entrance. He had made it wider each time and more secure. Although it was still a tight fit for most of them, it was passable. They emerged in what appeared to be a wine cellar, and there they found Arriba.

“I was just coming back for the Queen and Duchess,” she said. “I have a safe place for them to take refuge. Will you trust me?” she asked them.

“My dear,” the Duchess was the one to reply, “of course we do. You have a good heart and you have our friendship.”

In the distance, the sounds of battle could be heard. Now they knew for certain that the attack had started on the city. Arriba silently crept into the bar. Luckily it was empty, as all the Akkedis were in the street investigating the commotion. No Akkedis male likes to miss out on a street brawl.

“Quickly, now is the time to flee. Do you men have a strategy?” Arriba asked of Ganry.

“Indeed we do, and thank you Arriba, for taking care of our Queen,” Ganry replied.

Arriba bowed her head slightly in acceptance, watching as the male humans fled the inn. She grabbed the wrists of each female and they fled also, though in a different direction.

“We cannot stay in the streets for too long,” Arriba said as they moved quickly through the streets of the city. “The Akkedis are suspicious and will notice you sooner or later. My hiding place is in a public location, but there is a part of it that you can hide in safely.”

Arriba led them quietly through the streets, occasionally stopping to take cover from the Akkedis soldiers that passed close by. Eventually they reached a large building and Arriba took them to the rear, where they entered in through a back door.

Myriam stood admiring the grand building and mused that in better times she would love to study the Akkedis architecture, when suddenly and unceremoniously, her arm was yanked and she was dragged further into the building.

“Sorry, my Lady,” Arriba apologized, “but we must keep moving. It is not safe for you near the streets.”

Myriam merely nodded her understanding and followed after Arriba, who led them through a procession of corridors and then down a number of stone stairways.

“This is our public library, the best loved municipal building. We Akkedis love to read. You will be in the basement where there is a tunnel that leads to an underground river,” Arriba explained, panting as she spoke.

“There is an underground river in the middle of the desert?” Myriam questioned.

“Yes. Our city is built on it. This river has provided us with water for hundreds of years. Without it we would not be able to stay here.”

Arriba took them deeper and deeper into the earth, and soon they could hear the river. She opened up a wooden door and led them into a large chamber, lighting the sconces on the wall.

“This room is a few feet above the river, but still remains dry,” Arriba told them. “I have chosen it as it is not in use.”

“Will you be staying with us, Arriba?” Myriam asked.

“If you wish, my Lady, but for now I must go get some supplies. Please stay here and keep quiet. I will return soon with bedding and food, but this is as safe a place as any.”

With those words Arriba was gone and the female humans were left alone.

45

The streets of the Akkedis city were filled with the sounds of clashing swords as Qutaybah’s men fought with the defending Akkedis soldiers. Most Akkedis males had run into the streets to join the battle and defend their city. What the Akkedis citizens confronted turned their blood to ice. Engaged in battle with their army were the Suggizon, huge snake like creatures, the sworn enemy of the Akkedis.

The battle was in full flow and the advancing humans and Suggizon were making progress into the city. Sampson was leading a party of his own people, some in their human form and others changed into snakes. It was the snake form that inspired most fear in the Akkedis. Many fled at the sheer sight of them, only to be run down as the giant snakes wrapped themselves around their thick skinned bodies, crushing them until they breathed no more. Many were brave and stood their ground, only to be slaughtered by the sharp blades of the warriors or the slow constricting death of the snakes.

Sampson spotted a small group of Suggizon that were cornered, having been set upon by a group of Akkedis. From the makeshift weapons the Akkedis yielded, he assumed they were untrained men, simply fighting to save their city. They improvised with anything they could grab, such as axes, shovels, forks and other implements and tools.

Sampson, upon seeing his men overrun, joined in the affray, thrusting his sword deep into the belly of the largest and most aggressive of the Akkedis who was swinging a large axe. Despite the fatal wound caused by Sampson’s sword that had completely run through the lizard’s body, the strength of the Akkedis continued.

The creature swung its axe with momentum and came at them in a downwards arc. The large Akkedis blew with such a force that when it struck Sampson, it knocked him to the floor. Blood gashed out from the wound he received and the Akkedis raised the axe again, readying to deliver the coup de grâce and finish the Suggizon leader off.

Sampson raised his sword to defend himself, but he knew it would not be enough. Gritting himself for the blow, the Akkedis suddenly stumbled to its knees, the axe dropping harmlessly as it fell face forward onto the ground. Standing behind the fallen Akkedis with his bloodied sword in hand stood Qutaybah, a wry smile on his face.

“Come, my friend,” Qutaybah said, reaching forward to help Sampson back to his feet. “The battle is still to be won.”

The Suggizon fought on. They battled a whole city of Akkedis, showing no sign of weakness. Yet, the Akkedis would not yield willingly and they fought with real ire. In them was a burning fire that can only come from defending your own home.

The streets were littered with the dead and wounded, both Suggizon and Akkedis. Qutaybah knew that the battle was not going to be easy and final victory would hinge on whether Perseus could kill the Lizard Empress. Facing the rising death toll, he hoped that would be soon.

Lord Parsival led the human contingent of the attack forces and had entered the city at the Northern side, close to where the royal structure was situated. His priority was to release the Queen and her party. He was also instructed to help Persues, if necessary, in killing the Lizard Empress. Qutaybah had inferred that this was paramount to the success of this war. With the Akkedis Empress dead, the Lizard army would capitulate, of this he was certain.

As Parsival surveyed the huge numbers of Akkedis laid out before them and ready to defend their city, he hoped Qutaybah was correct, otherwise this day might not end as they had hoped.

***

Myriam waited patiently for Arriba to return. Fleetingly, she worried that they may have been betrayed, but she reassured herself with the knowledge that if it had not been for Arriba, they would probably have been captured once again. Not all Akkedis must be bad, of this she was sure. Maybe, after this was all over, they could restart diplomatic relations with the new Akkedis ruler.

The hiding place that Arriba had taken them to was indeed dry, but it still smelt damp and dank. Whilst sconces lit the walls, they gave off little light, barely illuminating the dark corners of the room.

Stacked around the room were a number of boxes. Curious to what they might hold, Myriam wandered over to them to investigate. Arriba had told them that this was a library, and they were hidden a store room. Perhaps the boxes contained books? Approaching a stack of boxes, she heard a scuffling noise. Assuming it to be some rodent or other critter, she ignored it. Rats had never bothered her. Opening one of the boxes she peered in, seeing that it was indeed full of books.

The Duchess saw Myriam’s face light up with a huge smile.

“What have you discovered there?” she called out to her.

“Books, grandmother, some of them written in our language. It seems the Akkedis are not just treacherous and ignorant.”

The Duchess approached her granddaughter, intrigued with Myriam’s find, as books were always a passion of hers. Suddenly, a number of boxes were pushed to one side and a shadowy figure emerged from behind them.

Grabbing the Duchess around the throat, the figure pinned her body close to its own. Scared and panicked eyes stared out from a nervous face as the attacker scanned the people in the room. Myriam gasped as she recognized the one holding her grandmother.

“Ghaffar! I wondered where you had got yourself to.”

46

Ghaffar was feeling pretty pleased with himself. The situation had looked hopeless. The human Queen’s protector was free, as was that cursed snake Perseus. He knew that if they caught him there would be no mercy. Hiding until an opportunity to escape presented itself to him seemed the best plan. When he heard female human voices, he could not believe his luck.

“At last, I have found a use for you both other than draining your blood,” he said to them, menace in his tone. “I will allow you to sit on that box, Duchess, but I will be right behind you with a very sharp dagger, so I would not advise you to make any wrong moves as you will be first to go.”

The Duchess did as she was instructed and sure enough, she could feel the cold body of a lizard man pressing on her back. This particular lizard man she hated very much. He had been the cause of all her recent troubles.

“Ghaffar, should you not be protecting your Empress?” she asked of him.

“You know only too well, if I go to my Empress then I shall only meet my death. I can hear what is happening on the streets. We are under attack, and no doubt from stinking humans. You are a wretched species, untrustworthy and dishonorable,” he spat at her.

“Strange, those were my thoughts exactly,” the Duchess replied, very calmly, “whenever I thought of you, Ghaffar. You betray your people by not helping to save of your Empress, surely?”

“I have been loyal, securing her the supply of blood that she needed for survival, and where did it get me? Nowhere!” he shouted, his voice echoing around the small chamber. “I should be running all of the mines by now, she promised me that, but no, I had to stay and babysit the human prisoners. Make sure their blood was not stressed, as it did not taste right if it was. Her precious supply. I should not even have been in this city had she stuck to her promises. Empty promises. It has all been for nothing.”

“It appears you have much to be angry for, Ghaffar,” the Duchess teased him. “I’m surprised you didn’t take the opportunity to remove the Empress and rule in her place. Surely you have an army of soldiers?”

“An army of imbeciles more like. Yes, that was my plan, to become her confidante, her right hand man, eventually, with me making all the decisions as she slipped into her dotage. But now, you have ruined all of that, you and your kind, savages. Still, perhaps I have a use for you yet. As my hostage you will take me from this city and to freedom.”

“Is that not my dagger?” Myriam shouted out as she recognized Harkan, the knife that contained the stones of Berghein, the source of her family’s magic powers. “You wear my ring too, you greedy little reptile. I will have them all returned, immediately,” she demanded, knowing full well that Ghaffar would not comply.

“Sorry, Queen Myriam, these gems are my ticket out of here,” he told her with great satisfaction. “But I promise you this, this dagger will be the death of your grandmother if you don’t do as I tell you. When Arriba returns, I will begin my plan to flee this place, so wait patiently and you will not be harmed. Not yet, anyway.”

It seemed a long wait for Arriba. Myriam was beginning to think she would not return, maybe she had been captured by the invading army or even worse, was dead. It was some relief when the door opened and Arriba entered, carrying a bag full of food and blankets. She dropped her bag onto the floor at the sight of Ghaffar, and gasped.

“Come in, Arriba,” Ghaffar demanded. “I have errands that you shall run for me. I am rescuing the human Queen and the Duchess, is that not kind of me?”

Arriba knew this not to be true. Ghaffar would do nothing that did not directly benefit him. She would go along with it so she could stay close to the female humans.

“Before I came in here,” he said, “I overheard the humans instructing their soldiers not to kill the women and children. They always were a sentimental race,” Ghaffar sniggered. “I want you to go find me a female Akkedis outfit. We will be a party of women, running through the streets. The Duchess and her granddaughter will wear cloaks, to disguise themselves. Now go, Arriba, come back with a female tunic and cloaks, quickly.”

Arriba rushed out. She did not wish to leave the humans on their own with Ghaffar for too long. She had learned his true nature as she had witnessed him torturing Ganry with those dreadful insects. He was not to be trusted in any way and she must find a way to save the human Queen and Duchess.

47

Ganry let Perseus lead their small group. He knew this part of the Akkedis Empress’ chambers better than he did, having explored it as a snake when they were supposedly kept in chains.

Perseus briefed them on all that was happening. The city was under attack from humans and the Suzzigon, Perseus’s kin. He told Linz that a troop of lakemen were also among the attackers, as were soldiers from the kingdom. This cheered everyone, boosting their confidence for the task that lay ahead.

They followed Perseus’s lead through the dark passageways of the underground city. They were surprised not to have come across any Akkedis guards, as they’d expected fierce opposition.

“Surely it will not be this deserted all the way to the Empress’ chamber?” Ganry queried.

Perseus just shrugged and continued on.

They found the throne room, unaccosted, the same room where Perseus and Ganry had their last battle and where the treachery of Ghaffar had been fully uncovered. It seemed an age ago since that day, when in fact, it had been only been weeks. The chamber was completely empty so they followed the route they had seen the Akkedis Empress take the last time they were here. It led directly to a set of large double doors.

***

Empress Gishja, ruler of the Lizard lands had feared the worse. All her guards had deserted her. Personal servants had left too, and she was alone and at the mercies of whatever vile creatures invaded her city. When this was all over, her people would pay a very high price for their cowardice.

She was not sure as to what was happening. Ghaffar had not been to her all day. Normally he came to update her on the state of affairs in her city and the mines. She had become intolerably weak these last few months, her great age finally taking its toll, but Ghaffar had promised to restore her health and extend her existence. All she needed to do was drink the blood of the D’Anjue family and her strength would slowly be restored.

It had seemed so easy when Ghaffar had brought her the old Duchess. It had worked. D’Anjue blood restored her health, but when the old female could provide no more, her own condition had soon deteriorated. Drinking the blood, it seemed, was a double edged sword. It did work, but when it stopped she rapidly declined. That’s when Ghaffar had the idea to lure the rest of the D’Anjue family to the lizard city.

When they had captured the four members of the D’Anjue family, she had blood aplenty and again it restored her, but her body needed more and more every day. Without the thick red juices, her condition quickly worsened, and now she had not had any for two days. Her body was weak and frail. Curse Ghaffar for this. She could have seen out her reign with dignity, or died fighting the invaders. Instead, he had reduced her to a weak, feeble and broken Empress.

She could hear the sounds of battle in the city, but she had no way of knowing who would be the victor. The Akkedis soldiers would fight well to protect their city. She just hoped that it would be enough. Gishja cursed her weak body, confining her to this bed. If she was to die, she wanted to die with her people, fighting the invaders.

She heard someone approach, before the doors burst open. Sensing they were foes, she knew her time had come. There would be no begging for her life. She would die proud, smiling her defiance.

***

All four of them drew their swords as they pushed open the doors to her chamber. The room seemed completely deserted, no soldiers, no servants, nothing. In the center of the room stood a large bed, and in the dim light of the chamber they could just make out the shape of a prone body. As they drew closer they each recognized the Akkedis Empress. Bereft of her blood supply for the last few days, she had declined quickly. Surrounding her, they realized that she was close to death.

The Empress watched them keenly as they approached. “So, it has come to this, has it?” she said, staring Ganry in the eye. “I am to die at the hands of humans. How humiliating,” she laughed.

“No, Akkedis Empress, you are to die at the hands of a Suggizon,” Perseus told her.

She looked at him, her courage wavered for just a second. She knew the Suggizon were capable of killing a victim very slowly, by crushing it and swallowing it whole, gradually digesting it. That process could last for days.

“I have no intention of consuming your evil body,” he mocked her. “The risk of contamination would be too high.”

“This is to be my end then? The end of my glorious reign, at the hands of a filthy Suggizon. Do your worst, I fear you not. You are far beneath me, snake man, and I have no fear of you or your people. You deserved to be extinct. There cannot be many of you left.”

“You think wrong, Gishja,” Perseus said, smiling. “We are many and we attack your city as we speak. Your soldiers litter the streets with their bodies and soon the mines, and your homes, will be ours. We will take those who survive and treat them as slaves.”

Ganry, Linz and Hendon, all raised their swords up above the Empress.

“It is time,” Perseus nodded at his companions.

“For my Queen, and the Duchess,” Ganry proclaimed.

“For my Uncle, Chief Clay, and all the lakelanders’ whose blood you have stolen,” Linz added.

Hendon was the last to speak.

“I seek my own personal revenge on you, for the malice you have inflicted on me, though I would not seek it on your people, for they have done me no harm.”

With that, all three plunged their swords into the chest of the Akkedis Empress. She did not cry out or attempt to protect herself as the blades easily pierced her scaly skin.

She lay there, still alive, breath escaping her mouth in short rasping gasps.

Perseus raised up his sword in two hands, above the Empress’ prone body. “For the Suggizon, who you almost killed to extinction.”

In one clean stroke, Perseus brought his sword down, the sharp edge cutting across her neck and separating her head from her body.

It was done, all life had left the decrepit body. Empress Gishja’s cruel reign was at an end.

48

At the other side of the city to where Sampson led the Suggizon, the humans, commanded by Lord Parsival, were making progress into the Akkedis defenses. The Akkedis had fought hard but now they were losing ground.

A separate force to Parsival’s, the lakemen, were attacking in unison, but these were less disciplined troops and answered to no commander. They were fierce warriors and had a grudge to bear against the Akkedis, built up over years of the Rooggaru feeding from their people and killing their great Chief Clay. They had not yet managed to find their new Chief, Linz, and as far as they were aware, he could already be dead. This made their mood even worse.

They cut through the Akkedis with no mercy, not seeing their victims as living beings, only as the enemy. Kill or be killed was their mantra in this battle. Until they found their chief, they would murder everyone in their path, male, female, or child, no questions asked. They went from home to home, leaving no stone unturned in their frenzy.

Bachov, a Kingdom soldier, had been attached to a Lakeland troop. He would not be party to the slaughter of innocents, and hated the random killing of everything. Killing Akkedis soldiers he had no problem with. A soldier knows of the chances of dying by the sword, but women and children? The lakelanders were killing indiscriminately, even putting young babies to the sword. These actions sickened him.

He kicked open a door to an Akkedis home and quickly scanned the room. It appeared empty. As he was about to leave, he heard a muffled cry from a store cupboard. With his sword extended in front of him, he slowly advanced on the source of the noise.

One hand on the store cupboard door, and his sword raised in his other, he quickly pulled open the door, readying himself to strike. He lowered his sword and his face softened as he saw a female Akkedis with a very young one, cowering in the cupboard.

Bachov put his fingers to his mouth, indicating that they should be quiet. He had no qualms disobeying the order to kill everything living. It came from the lakelanders, so he did not have to follow it. Slowly, he closed the doors, just as a lakeman charged into the room.

“All clear,” he said, walking away from the cupboard.

“You lie,” the lakeman sneered. “I can see it in your face!” He pushed Bachov to one side and opened the cupboard doors.

“Ha!” he cried as he spotted the Akkedis mother and child, raising his sword ready to strike. “They need to die.”

Bachov reacted quickly. He could not watch on as this cruel lakelander slaughtered this woman and child. Bringing the hilt of his sword down onto the back of the attacker’s head, he knocked him unconscious.

“I’m not sure if you understand me, but you must stay hidden,” Bachov instructed her, before closing the cupboard door.

He grabbed hold of the lakelander under his arms and dragged him out of the home before leaving him in the street. Hopefully when he awoke, he would have no recollection of these events and even if he did, they may both be dead before the day was over.

49

Ghaffar was pleased his disguise was working well. It fooled both the Akkedis and the attacking forces. He had forced Arriba to lead the group from the front, with him at the rear. If they were to come across anyone, she was to show herself. Whoever stopped them would think they were a simple group of females trying to escape the slaughter. The motivation for Arriba was the fact that she was aware Ghaffar held a knife at the Duchess’s back, and one wrong move and she would be dead.

His plan was to make his way to the bridge by the river. This is a good way out of the city, if he could just avoid capture by the Suggizon. He had not decided what to do with the hostages, as much depended on what happened during his escape from the city. It was difficult keeping hold of both the Duchess’s arm, and pressing the dagger into her back. Necessary though, for the human Queen would only do as he bid while he threatened the life of her grandmother.

Already he could see the bridge. They did not have far to go now. Having hostages would prove useful and guarantee him safe passage. Once free of the city, he would kill Arriba and the old woman, and use Myriam as ransom to help him set up a new life.

Killing Arriba could prove difficult, as she was a strong, young Akkedis female. In a face to face battle she could probably overcome him, so he would need to be sly when he murdered her. He was puzzled as to why she was helping the humans anyway. Akkedis are taught that self preservation is the only trait to foster. Pity and empathy has no place in an Akkedis’s life.

At last they arrived at the bridge, unhindered. This could not have gone any better, and he felt his luck was turning just in time. The ransom for the human Queen would help satisfy his need for funds. His initial intention had been to reach the mines, but it was now far too risky. Instead, the Kingdom would pay a handsome price for the safe return of their monarch.

“On to the bridge, Arriba, do as I say!” he shouted up to her as she began to climb the steps that led there.

They paused at the top of the stairs while Ghaffar scanned the bridge for hostiles. He spotted a group of humans and Suggizon, recognizing two of the men.

“Hendon, Hendon, we’re over here!” he heard Myriam’s voice shout out.

So over confident in how his escape plan was going, he had been too lapse with her. He struck her hard across the face and she stumbled back, falling onto the ground.

“Keep quiet,” he hissed at her, “or I will gut the Duchess, and then you.”

He turned to Arriba who was still in the lead, and ordered her to keep moving.

Arriba had also spotted the two human males who had been part of Myriam’s party. She was unsure if they had heard Myriam’s cry for help and was considering shouting out, when she saw them move towards the bridge. She smiled to herself. Ghaffar hissed at her to get moving, but she refused, standing stock still and awaiting for the arrival of the soldiers.

Hendon was first on the scene. He was puzzled at first. He thought he had heard Myriam shout out, but these were a group of Akkedis females. As he looked at the one on the ground, she pulled back her hood, revealing herself.

“Myriam, is that you?” Hendon said, shocked. “Are you hurt?” he asked, noticing blood trickling from her nose.

He turned to the female who had struck her and instantly recognized that it was Ghaffar, dressed as the opposite gender. Furious with Ghaffar for striking Myriam down, he looked at him fiercely.

“You odious little beast!” he yelled into Ghaffar’s face, spittle spraying from his mouth. “Your time has come. You have caused enough trouble for my family name.”

Linz looked on in surprise at Hendon’s outburst. He had known him some time now, and they had faced many adversities together, but in all that time he had never known Hendon to lose control.

Myriam and the females moved away from Ghaffar, to stand behind Linz and Hendon.

“I challenge you to the death, Ghaffar,” Hendon thundered. “Your days on this world are numbered!”

Ghaffar almost chuckled. He had become quite familiar with the humans and this one, of them all, was the weakest and most naive. He would be easy to beat, even in combat.

“Very well, Hendon, but when I kill you, I will be allowed to walk free, yes?” Ghaffar demanded his prize at the onset.

“Do not concern yourself with such matters, Ghaffar,” Hendon replied. “You will not walk free from this. I will slay you down, and no one will mourn your passing.”

“No, don’t let this happen,” Myriam cried out. “He will kill you, Hendon. He is far too crafty for your gentle nature.”

Hendon put up his palm and held out his arm towards Myriam, indicating that he did not care to listen to her.

“The deal is set,” Ghaffar laughed. “To the death it is then, human. Prepare to meet your maker.”

50

Perseus stood on the balcony of the Empress’ residence, her gruesome head in his hands as he surveyed the battle below him. The Akkedis were in retreat, but still they had fought fiercely. The streets of the city strewn with corpses and rivers of blood ran in the gutters.

The Akkedis army was beaten, but they had given no ground without fighting. This was their city and they had been determined to fight until the very last one of them was left standing. They owed it to their families, they owed it to their Empress.

Perseus had asked Ganry to climb up to the bell tower that rose above the royal residence, and on his signal to sound the bells. As they peeled out across the city, everyone paused and looked up. Perseus held out the head of the Akkedis Empress before him, her sightless eyes staring over her subjects.

“Enough!” he cried out at the top of his voice. “Empress Gishja is dead. The battle is lost. Lay down your arms and you will be spared.”

With that he threw her head down onto the street below. It hit the ground with a thud and bounced once, before rolling to the feet of the Akkedis soldiers.

“All is lost,” the leader of the group wailed. “Our Empress is dead!”

A murmur rose from the Akkedis soldiers as they stared at the head of their dead ruler. For a moment, Perseus was uncertain if his plan had worked. It seemed that the Akkedis soldiers would keep on fighting. But eventually, one by one, they threw down their arms and retreated from the battle. Soon, word had spread to other Akkedis soldiers in other parts of the city, and they too surrendered.

The battle was over. A heavy price had been paid by both sides, but the city was now in Suggizon hands.

***

The defeated army were massed in groups and kept in open spaces, guarded by a few soldiers. Now the Empress was dead, the Akkedis showed no signs of retaliation.

Few Akkedis would mourn the death of Gishja. She had lived for over three hundred years, and two hundred of those as Empress. After murdering her father, she ruled with an iron fist. Some thought her a cruel leader, hard on her people, but they had thrived under her leadership. The gem mines had been in full productivity and the wealth they brought had made the underground city as beautiful as any in the world.

Still, for most Akkedis it was a hard life, working the mines. Even the children, once old enough, would be made to dig for gems. For those who did not work the mines, every other Akkedis had a job to do, daily tasks to perform for the running of the city.

Now the Akkedis had no Empress, they had no leader. Their army, although brave and fearless, were poorly trained. Gishja never cared for such things, believing they were safe from attack in their underground city. She had the army doubling up as guards at the mines, so most of the time they were out of the city. A poor judgment on this day, her last. Now her people were cowed and beaten, and feared for their own future.

Perseus and the Suggizons had gained much from the Empress’ death, and the defeat of the Akkedis.

Qutaybah, who had financed this expedition, had made a great return on his investment now that the gem mines were in his control. Another of his motivations was to see the Suggizon, a race he greatly admired, in a permanent home at last. Qutaybah felt this was only fair and just, as it had been Empress Gishja who had overseen the almost complete annihilation of the Suggizon race. Whilst he did feel some sympathy for the Akkedis, he believed they would be well cared for, even as slaves.

***

Sampson stood at a distance as he watched a human on the bridge confronting what looked like a group of Akkedis females. He could not ignore the situation. He had heard how some of the humans were slaughtering the woman and children, so he had to act. He headed towards the bridge to intervene, but something tugged at his senses and caused him to pause. He sensed something he had not felt for a while. He could feel the presence of his brother.

A strong pat on his back nearly knocked him over and he quickly spun around to confront his attacker.

“Now then, dear brother, if I had been an Akkedis, you would be dead,” Perseus chided him.

“Perseus!” he yelled with elation, even among all this death and destruction there was joy to be felt.

They embraced, happy to hold the other in their arms.

“It has been too long, Perseus,” Sampson said as he pulled away, reluctantly. It had been years since he had seen his younger sibling.

“You have grown,” he said to his little brother.

“And you, have shrunk, I’m sure,” Perseus joked back.

“Well, that’s what comes of being a parent to three.” Sampson was keen to share the good news of his family.

“I’m an uncle to three? Sampson, you have been busy procreating, I see.”

Sampson noticed that Perseus was looking over at the events on the bridge.

“You know him?” he asked.

“I do, and we should not interfere. The humans have their own reasons for this battle, just as we do.” Perseus wondered at what Hendon was up to. He was the more reserved of the group and was the last one he expected to see confronting Ghaffar.

“You know I cannot allow this human to kill an Akkedis female in front of our people,” Sampson tried to explain. “We need to learn compassion.”

“That is not a female that he confronts. It is a cowardly Akkedis male, Ghaffar, who has been the cause of many troubles for the humans. The others with him on the bridge, are the human Queen Myriam and the Duchess D’Anjue. Whilst it seems out of character for Hendon to behave in this manner, there must be reasoning behind his actions. Please leave this to me, brother. The events may seem strange to you, but all shall be resolved in the end.”

His brother nodded in agreement and Perseus headed for Linz, who had not gone on to the bridge.

“Perseus, we got lost and found ourselves with your people instead of mine,” Linz said as he spotted the shape-shifters arrival.

“Why does Hendon put himself in danger?” Perseus asked the young chief, knowing it would normally be Linz who did the fighting.

“Hendon heard Myriam call out his name, and he saw Ghaffar strike her down. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was to stand down. I believe he has one of his tricks to play out.”

“Tricks?” Perseus was confused, he knew nothing of such things.

“He’s up to something, but I’m not sure what it is. I think he wants to play his part in this war and rid the world of Ghaffar. I’ll only interfere if he does something stupid,” Linz said, making no effort to go to the bridge.

“As will I,” Perseus agreed, even though all his instincts urged him to go and assist the human Queen and Duchess as he had promised Qutaybah.

Yet, something about Hendon, who stood on that bridge, told his senses that there was more to him than meets the eye. Despite his weakened appearance, he needed no assistance. He would watch and wait, as Linz had suggested, and only interfere if needed.

51

When Ganry found Parsival, they had just finished rounding up the surrendered Akkedis in that part of the city. He was also in a fierce argument with a lakelander.

“No more. I will not let you slaughter surrendered troops, do you understand?” Parsival was almost shouting at the lakelander.

The lakeman reluctantly shrugged his agreement, ordering his men to stand down.

“We will do as you ask for now, Lord Parsival, but mark my words, if Chief Linz has died at their hands, we will not leave a single Akkedis alive in this city.”

Ganry approached the lakeman speaker. “Your Chief lives my friend, or at least he did a few hours ago. I last saw him with Hendon, the forest dweller.”

Ganry’s words brought great rejoicing from the lakelanders. They set off in search of their missing chief.

“You give them good news, Ganry,” the young Lord said, relieved. “It has been difficult trying to contain their bloodlust. They are fierce fighters and spare no-one, not even the women and children.”

“I left Myriam with a female Akkedis. She will be heartbroken if anything happens to her Akkedis friends,” Ganry said, more to himself than aloud.

“You have news on Queen Myriam and the Duchess too, are they safe?” Parsival asked, hopeful.

“They were, Lord Parsival, but I’ve not seen her for a few hours. She was hidden by an Akkedis female, but I don’t know where,” Ganry explained.

The underground streets were deathly quiet, now that the fighting was finished.

“Who’s leading the armies?” Ganry asked.

Parsival advised Ganry on the chain of command for the attack. “Qutaybah and his mercenaries have been fighting together with the Suggizon leader, Sampson. I have been leading the Kingdom men, but the lakelanders are a force unto themselves and take no orders from anyone.”

“Can you lead me to Qutaybah? I must see if Queen Myriam is with him.”

Parsival nodded agreement and with a few chosen men, he escorted Ganry through the streets of the city. The dead Akkedis still lay where they had fallen, covered in fallen dust and sand.

“They will need to start clearing the dead soon. Disease will spread like wild fire down here,” Ganry said to Parsival as he followed him through the mess. “We need to gather our troops and get out of here.”

“I could not agree more,” the Lord replied, turning around to nod his head. “As soon as we get to the Suggizon, I’ll find Qutaybah and inform him that we’re retrieving our own troops. The sooner we are out of here the better. Humans are not meant to live underground, it is too stifling and constricting. Give me the open air and the wide fields of the Kingdom, any day.”

They continued their journey in silence, maybe from respect of the scattered dead, or simply from exhaustion. As they entered a new area of the city, Parsival spotted one of the Suggizon soldiers.

The Lord stopped Ganry where he stood, and approached the Suggizon soldier himself to find out where his leader was situated. Armed with the information, he called over to Ganry and they continued in their trek. They did not have far to go and soon came upon a whole group of Suggizon clustered in a crowd. It seemed they were stood watching something. Ganry and Parsival made their way through them, grateful that at least the fighting was over in this part of the city as well.

It was soon obvious what was drawing in the crowd. Ganry looked over at a bridge and spotted Hendon, confronting what looked like Ghaffar. His protective nature willed him to rush over to the young man’s assistance, especially when he spotted Myriam and the Duchess at the other side of Ghaffar. Perseus appeared by his side, and stopped him.

“This is Hendon’s call, leave him to it, Ganry, or at least give him a chance,” he pleaded.

Ganry was unsure at first, but then he saw Linz, who was also only observing.

“What is that light that comes from Hendon’s staff?” Ganry asked.

“We don’t know yet, it happened only seconds ago,” Perseus shrugged. “I suspect Hendon is about to show us, so hold tight, for a short while anyway.”

52

Ghaffar circled Hendon with Harkan, Myriam’s dagger, held out in front of him. He thought the idiot boy only to be armed with a staff, and this was going to be easier than he thought. Ghaffar was confident that he could easily kill this young fool and be free of the city. He thrust his dagger towards Hendon, not really attempting to stab him, more to let him know that he meant business.

He noted that a crowd was drawing close, and many had come to see what was happening. This made Ghaffar nervous. A deal had been made and freedom promised, but if the mob was to rule, who knew what might happen. Promises could easily be broken. Enough of this fooling around. Ghaffar decided now was the time to end this charade. With the dagger firmly gripped in his hand, he advanced on his opponent.

***

Hendon was not really sure why he had challenged Ghaffar to a duel. Something inside his head had urged him to do so. Now that they were facing each other off, he was beginning to think this was a mistake. He was no fighter, he was a man of words, a man of reasoning.

As Ghaffar circled him, Hendon kept a close eye on his opponent. The Akkedis made a few half hearted attempts to thrust the dagger in Hendon’s general direction, but he had so far easily avoided all his efforts. Now, Hendon saw a different look to Ghaffar’s features, a hard glint in his eye. This was it. He could see Ghaffar readying himself to strike, and Hendon had no idea what he was going to do.

Suddenly, the staff began to vibrate in Hendon’s hand and a bright light burst from the tip of the shaft.

The beam grew bigger and before everybody’s eyes, an image of a man appeared in the haze of light, a man dressed in long blue robes and carrying a staff of his own. Hendon, Myriam, Ganry and Linz instantly recognized it as Barnaby.

“Ahh, Ghaffar, we meet at last,” the image spoke. “Shame this will be the first and the last time.”

Barnaby pointed his own staff at Ghaffar and a bolt of blue lightening shot from the end, striking the Akkedis in the chest. The long blue glowing bolt flowed into Ghaffar, shaking him violently as the current coursed through his body. The convulsing body began to smoke, and a few seconds later, it burst into flames. Screaming in agony as he fell to the floor, the fire consumed him. Within moments, Ghaffar fell still and silent.

The Akkedis traitor was dead.

“There,” Barnaby said, turning to Hendon, “that should do it, that one always does the trick.”

“Is he dead?” Hendon asked.

“Oh yes, Ghaffar is no more,” Barnaby replied. “I must be off now. And so must you,” Barnaby turned to Myriam. “Your Kingdom needs you, Myriam, and you too, Duchess.”

“Barnaby, you have helped us so much,” Myriam replied, still puzzled at the events. “I’m glad to have the opportunity to thank you in person,” she finished, as she walked towards him. “Can you not stay and help us rebuild the Kingdom?”

“No, my time here is done now, but I will pass on much that I know to my apprentice, Hendon.” He smiled, looking over at the forest dweller.

Barnaby’s image began to fade and flicker, as though he were a reflection on water.

“Now then, where’s Ganry?” Barnaby asked, scanning the crowd of people gathered.

Ganry heard his name and came forward, heading towards the bridge.

“I’m here, old man!” he shouted over.

“Ah, just want to tell you that you are quite right. There is no such thing as magic, not if you don’t believe it!” Barnaby said, as if that should explain everything. “Oh dear,” he exclaimed. “It seems I’m fading fast.”

Barnaby’s image wavered before their eyes and had almost faded from view.

“Oh, one last thing, Hendon.”

Hendon turned, wondering what pearls of wisdom Barnaby had for him before he left.

“On your way back through the desert there is an oasis. There you will find a coconut tree I planted many years ago. It’s perfect for the hot and thirsty traveler, providing shade and refreshment. Please, don’t forget to visit it, and talk to it nicely. I do worry it will get rather lonely. I wish I’d planted two now… Hmm now there’s an idea. I’ll send you some seeds, look under your pillow tonight, my boy.”

With those strange words, his image began to fade, and soon he was gone.

53

Perseus led the group through the dark tunnels to the outside world.

“I asked Perseus to show us the quickest way out,” Ganry explained to the party as they neared the exit. “At the moment the city isn’t safe. There are still a few pockets of resistance fighting, and with the risk of disease and the possibility of walls collapsing around us, I felt we’d be better out here.”

At last, Ganry spotted light up ahead. The way out was only a few yards in front of them. They all quickened their pace, after so long below ground, they were eager to breathe fresh air and see the sunshine once again.

Ganry was the first to step into the bright sunlight and breathe deeply. No one spoke, they simply enjoyed the cool breeze on their faces. Although the desert was a hot place to be, after the stifling heat down in the city, the air up here felt fresh and breathable.

“Oh, Ganry, it was worth coming out just to feel the air on our skin,” Myriam laughed, opening up her arms wide as if to embrace the very elements. “This is glorious. I never thought we would see the sky or the sun ever again. Thank you, Perseus. We will never be able to repay our gratitude to you.”

The Duchess was the last out of the cave, supported by Arriba. She was still weak after her trial of the last few months, but she was determined to see her homeland once again. She leaned on Arriba, who had stayed with her, nursing her to health. The Duchess thought she probably felt guilty at what her people had done to them, not that any blamed her personally, even though she was the one that bled them to feed her Empress.

The immediate area following the tunnel was banked by high stone walls and natural rocks that hid the main entrance of the city. A city that was now to be rebuilt for a different race.

They decided to make camp here. It was close to the tunnels and they wanted to be nearby for when the rest of the human armies came out. Arriba made a makeshift den for the human Queen and Duchess, and they laid down in the shade. The pure luxury of fresh air to breath was intoxicating. They lay on their capes, in Arriba’s den, and soaked up the feeling of being once again free and out in the open.

They didn’t have long to wait before the invading forces started to emerge from the tunnel. Linz led his own tribe, the lake people, with Hendon by his side. Lord Parsival led the Kingdom army with Qutaybah and his men just behind. Soon tents were erected and fires burned, as the forces settled down for the night, preparing for the long journey home across the Saraba desert.

“My dear,” the Duchess asked of Arriba, “will you go to Qutaybah and lead him to me? I would go myself but I fear my legs would not carry me.”

“Of course, Duchess, I will help you in any way I can,” Arriba replied, honestly. “You must rest and I will bring him to you.”

Arriba set off through the camp in search. The camps had a large number of wounded soldiers, clearly the battle had been a bloody one. She wondered how many of her own had survived. The human soldiers gave her a cold stare as she made her way through, especially the lakelanders, some of whom jeered and spat at her as she passed them by. She was beginning to fear for her safety when Ganry was suddenly by her side, taking her by the arm.

“It’s not safe for you here, Arriba. Not everyone knows that you have helped the Queen and Duchess escape.”

“I am on an errand for the Duchess. She wishes for Qutaybah to call on her,” she nervously explained.

“Let me escort you then,” he suggested, and she was quietly relieved.

Soon they were in the right camp and speaking to Qutaybah. He returned immediately with Arriba.

As they entered the shelter where the Duchess was resting, she started to rise.

“No, no, Duchess,” Qutaybah said, rushing to her side and sitting down next to her in the shaded sands. “You have been through too much already,” he said, taking her delicate hands into his large, strong ones. “We have many camels, and you will ride in comfort from hereon. It’s important that you recover to be the strong woman I know.”

“Oh, you flatter me, desert man,” she laughed back at him, a clear fondness in her face.

Qutaybah stayed a while to chat with the Duchess. They had much to talk about and their discussion went on long into the night.

“Rest now, my Lady,” Qutaybah finally said. “Tomorrow we travel across the desert, and you will need all your strength for that.”

Qutaybah left the Duchess to rest and began organizing the caravan for tomorrow’s trek across the Saraba. Keen to get home and sleep in a real bed, he was getting too old for these adventures, he told himself.

***

Arriba slept little that night. She sat by the camp fire and watched the lakelanders with a seething hatred in her heart. She especially watched every move that Linz made.

She had not realized whilst he was imprisoned in the rooms that he was a lakelander, and the leader no less. She knew it was these people who had killed many female Akkedis and children. They were all murdered in cold blood while they cowered in fear.

She realized now that the lakemen were the true monsters. A blood price must be paid, and vengeance exacted. She would do this final task for her people. The lakeland leader still lived. But he would not for long. She closed her eyes and planned to mete out justice.

54

With the underground city secured enough for the Suggizon to begin their work, it was time for the humans to leave. Those Akkedis who had survived were given a choice, either banishment in the far reaches of the desert, or slavery. Most chose the desert, but some remained to be servants of the Suggizon.

Arriba had agreed to join the Duchess’s party. She would go to the Kingdom and live her life in a human castle, serving the royal family. Myriam was a little reluctant, though Arriba had more than proven her worth. She was an Akkedis and surely would still have loyalties to that race, but her grandmother had become fond of her. With Duchess D’Anjue still weakened, Myriam had relented and hoped that Arriba could be happy away from her own people.

The caravan set off in the late hours of the afternoon when the sun was going down. Qutaybah was in in the lead, followed by the lakemen and Chief Linz, and then the Kingdom soldiers with their Queen and Duchess. It had grown in size as they had all joined together. There would be plenty of stop off points to gain more supplies, so Qutaybah did not worry over small details.

Myriam was pleased to learn from Ganry that the Suggizon, and Perseus, would remain in the employ of Qutaybah. He had been offered freedom to help his people and stay with his brother to build up their new city, but he declined. His heart was with his master, Qutaybah, who had done much for him and his race. He promised his brother he would visit frequently, if only to keep an eye on him.

The journey progressed well, the sun was setting and the night ushered in a welcome coolness. Myriam could see little through the curtained window of her small box that perched between the humps of a camel. She thought it a strange contraption and would have preferred to have traveled by simply riding a saddle, the way she had journeyed here.

Qutaybah had insisted on the Queen and Duchess traveling in some comfort. He told them it befitted their status. Myriam had to agree that these travel arrangements would suit her grandmother as she was still too weak to travel by saddle.

They stopped as the sun began to rise and cast its yellow glow over the desert sands. It was the oasis that Barnaby had mentioned, the one with the coconut tree. It seemed to have an abundance of fruit and the whole party enjoyed the milk and sweet flesh. As Myriam wandered around, she came across Hendon. He had dug a little hole close to the coconut tree and was putting something in the ground.

Hendon, hearing her approach, turned to greet her.

“I awoke this morning with a small pouch on my pillow, and lo and behold, inside were these seeds,” he smiled, remembering his discovery. “Barnaby’s doing, of that I am certain. So here I am planting a seed by this tree, so one day, it will have a companion, just as Barnaby wished. It is my intention to plant seeds, two at a time so they don’t get lonely, at every oasis we stop at on our journey.”

“You’ll be glad to be back in your forest, instead of these dry lands, won’t you?” she asked, knowing the answer without hearing it. Hendon only smiled his agreement. Myriam continued, “I too will be glad to leave these lands and return to the castle. I miss my home and I’ve not had chance to settle in since I lost my mother and father. I still haven’t officially mourned their passing, so I intend on setting aside some time for the city to mourn them too.”

“Time goes by quickly,” another voice chimed, as Chief Linz approached his dear friends. “We passed those rocks not so far back where we were attacked by the sand worms, and I lost my mentor, Wyatt. I too intend on taking time for mourning. He was a good, brave man.”

“That he was, Linz,” Myriam agreed. “We have had no time to reflect on our losses. It seems we staggered from one disaster to another. Now, hopefully, we can grow old in peace.”

“I’m glad to see the Duchess so happy,” Ganry said as he joined their conversation. “She is growing stronger every day.”

Myriam smiled at Ganry as he approached the small group.

“What are you all doing among these trees?” Ganry asked. “The night draws in fast, you don’t need to be in the shade.”

“We’re watching the growth of the magic coconut tree,” Hendon replied.

“Ah, now there you go again,” Ganry gestured with his arms in the air. “You heard Barnaby, he said there is no real magic, it’s all in your head… or whatever it was he said.”

“I don’t believe that to be true, Ganry,” Myriam said. “Otherwise how can Hendon talk to the animals, that is magic if ever I saw it?”

“Perhaps,” was all Ganry would commit to.

“Dinner is served,” Arriba called over to them.

“Wonderful, I’m starving,” Linz replied. “I’m a growing young man and I have a lot of meat to put back on my bones,” he said, as they all laughed heartily at him.

There was a happy and relaxed atmosphere at dinner. Qutaybah and the Duchess joined them, providing the refreshment of a keg of ale.

Arriba served the meals to each and every one of them, paying particular attention to Linz’s dish.

About The Author

Jon Kiln writes heroic fantasy.

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Continue the story in the final two books, Blade Asunder Books 4-5, available now on Amazon.

Books by Jon Kiln

Blade Asunder Series

Mercenary

Guardian

Warden

Champion

Sentinel

Honor Bound Series

Forsaken

Betrayal

Dominion

Veiled Dagger Series

Assassin’s Quest

Assassin’s Shadow

Assassin’s Winter

Champion of the Gods Series

Gladiator

Swordsman’s Gift Series

The Wandering Knight