Dark Enchantment

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Dark Enchantment Chapter One

“Dreah!” “Dreah!” The swirling mist clouded Dreah’s home from view. Good. At least this way her mother wouldn’t know she heard her. She had left her chores undone, but that couldn’t be helped. She had to get away before Craille set her to work in the fields. Dreah stepped forward gingerly. Her feet sank deep into the freshly plowed field. It was soft and cold on her toes and gobbed onto the edges and bottoms of her shoes as she went. It weighed her down like iron mallets on her feet. She hurried to the edge of the field. Her eyes scanned the line of trees at the far end. The others would be planting today, and she was supposed to help, but she hated field work. Craille was the overseer who ran the work field and he was not fond of Dreah, which was probably because she shirked her duties as often as possible and complained regularly. Dreah shrugged. Craille would report her to Master Callum, and she would get another thrashing. Bubbling sounds filtered through the woods from the brook. The dark tree trunks took on a pale grey cast in the mist. Briars tangled below them in the undergrowth. This was Broken Sword Forest, forbidden to all except nobles and priests. She glanced back behind her to make sure no one saw her enter the foggy woods. She might get away with a beating for shirking her duties, but someone of her social standing entering the forest was a serious offense. She took a seat on a damp, moss-covered log and used a stick to remove clumps of muddy soil that clung to the bottoms of her soft leather shoes. A big toe poked out of a hole in her left shoe. Her feet grew fast, but only to keep up with the rest of her. At fourteen, Dreah

stood five-foot-six, as tall as many full-grown village men, and she was still growing. She sighed and got up off the log and wandered into the misty forest. The undergrowth grew thick along the edge of the woods, but thinned out as she went deeper into the forest. She walked beneath the web of leafless branches that snaked overhead until she came to the crux in the woods where two splashing springs came together to form a swift brook. The undergrowth was thicker here. The heavy fog could conceal just about anything. She shivered. “Dane,” she called softly, hoping she didn’t scare any faerie that might be lurking nearby. The fae folk had powerful magic given to them by the goddess Terusa, the most powerful deity in all of the world of Kavadeen. The mist hung heavily over the brook and swirled above it with the movement of its bubbling surface. The water tinkled musically over rocks and splashed violently against the bank. Darkened recesses surrounded her. Dane had said he would be here. She sat down on a damp rock and played absently with the lavender flowers growing out of the moss. She waited until the sky had grown to a bright shade of blue. The two suns Sheran and Sulamon had risen, but their golden rays didn’t reach down into the misty forest. They never did. The hours passed and she grew bored and began to wish she had stayed back to plant fields instead. By the time the afternoon came, she was beginning to give up on her friend. Her stomach ached with hunger, and in a few more hours it would be dark and the holm dogs and serpents would come out. Soon she would have to go back home and take her punishment, but she figured it was just as well. She was tired now and cold. What had

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started out as a day of anticipating fun and adventure had turned into a one great bore. A twig snapped behind her. She turned sharply. “Dane,” she said warily, frightened by her musings about the creatures of the night. “Is that you?” Memories of some of the things people in the village had said about the woods haunted her. Then she saw a figure moving along the mossy embankment. The mist was so heavy she could scarcely see her own feet, much less clearly make out a shape among the spindly branches overhanging the creek. “It’s me,” Dane said. “Don’t make such a racket, or we will never catch one.” “Where have you been?” she hissed, the wake of her fear making her irritated. “Master Schlemek had work for me. I couldn’t get away.” He half stumbled on the uneven ground and caught himself on a branch then rubbed his misshapen arm. “It’s so cold here,” he said, a cloud of vapor rising from each word. She shivered. The air was frigid and damp, especially since the twin suns had long since peaked and were now dipping low in the sky. It was early spring with the buds on the tree branches only beginning to swell with tiny chartreuse leaves. “The cold always hurts old injuries. That’s what my da says,” she said, grabbing his arm and pressing it close to her warmth for a moment. Dane was familiar with the physical contact between them. No one else dared to touch him like she did, and to be fair, he would never have allowed it. Most thought he was possessed by demons or a fae

changeling. The townspeople knew that as an infant, his drunken father had thrown him against the wall, and he had healed badly with a misshapen arm and leg. Still, they stared at his disfigurement with suspicion. His right shoulder protruded high on his back. His golden blond hair fell over the side of his face where a scar cut deep into his cheek. Young children were afraid of him; adults avoided him, and this suited his aloof personality perfectly. Dreah was the only person in the world he trusted. He trained his lime green eyes on her. “Have you seen any yet?” he asked, as he leaned heavily on his walking stick for support, letting her rub his limbs. His golden hair clung to his head in wet ringlets. A tattered tunic hung from his bent frame, soaked at the sleeves and blotched with blood in a few places where he had carelessly stumbled into a briar patch. “We can only hope what you learned from Master Schlemek’s book is right. Otherwise, I’m going to get a beating for nothing,” she teased, thinking it would probably be better if they left now and sought out warmth by the fire. “Of course the book is right,” he said then wavered a little. “I think– It was in the volume he keeps locked. There are powerful magic secrets kept in it.” Dane pulled out a pale silver disk. “What’s that?” she asked. “This is the faerie moon. It’s what we will use to lure it to us,” he said. “How do you know it will work?” He shrugged. “It has to work.”

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“Hmm, It does look real.” She paused, hoping that it didn’t take him long to tire of the adventure. She was stiff from waiting, and he was cold. She knew his arm and leg were aching terribly in the damp afternoon chill. Master Callum would have her skin when she returned as it was. “How many wishes will it grant us to gain its freedom?” she asked playing along. “Three,” he said without hesitation. She smiled laughing lightly. “How do you know it’s three and not four?” He looked up at her face. He would have been taller than her, but his bent-over frame didn’t allow him to stand and face her levelly as he might have. Still his imperious mannerisms made him seem like he was towering above her. “You are never serious,” he admonished, his pale green eyes boring into her with an intensity that unnerved her. “Okay, tell me how you know. Display yet again your superior knowledge,” she prompted, trying to keep her tone playful. Dane was smart, much smarter than she was. He was sixteen and had learned how to read. Imagine that! A crippled, bound servant, who could read. But despite his knowledge she seriously doubted if he knew how to catch a faerie. She breathed easier with that thought. “Three is a magic number,” he said flatly. “How do you know?” She crossed her arms stubbornly across her chest and tapped one of her feet as she often did whenever she challenged something that he said. He smiled crookedly, and his skin pulled on the long scar on his left cheek. If not for that scar, or maybe even with it, he was handsome. “You would know the answer to that if you ever listened to the temple priests and didn’t fidget around during the ceremony all the time.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she said airily. “The ceremony is so tedious and Master Schlemek does like to go on so. Besides the nobles don’t even care about Terusa’s precepts, so why should we?” He sighed patiently. “I worship her because she is the goddess who favors mages. I worship her for the magic. Anyway this is all off the subject; the number three comes from the Three Pillars of Terusa.” Dreah stood there a moment in silence. “Okay, yet again prove my ignorance and enlighten me.” “The three mother stars Zenima, Infiness and Fanadree. Three, get it?” he said, placing his thumb tips to one another and touching his index fingers together, forming a triangle. It was the sign of the three pillars, and a common greeting among folks of like social standing. The three large red stars or small red moons, however one looked at it, made up the sacred Triad of Terusa. “Oh gee, you’re right,” she said playfully. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He sighed. “You are having fun at my expense and wasting our time,” he said tightly. She scrutinized the heaviest scar that cut into his cheek. It always went white when he made a face. “Don’t you worry that we will make the faerie angry if we trap it and force it to give up some of it’s magic? It’s against the law you know. The temple priests forbid it. Master Schlemek says that Terusa will call a plague down on those who attempt it.” Dane was uncertain for a moment. “I thought you never paid any attention during the ceremony,” he said running the long thin fingers of his good hand through his golden hair.

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“I have paid attention often enough to know that. Anyway I knew about the pillars. I just wanted to see how stupid you thought I was.” She shrugged. “Come on, it was fun to plan all of this out, but you never really thought we would actually catch a faerie, did you? Deep down you know it’s wrong to even try,” she argued. He narrowed his eyes and sighed. “How can it be wrong to deal with the faerie? Anyway, why would the goddess give them the magic, if she didn’t want them to have it to share around? Consider this, if Terusa doesn’t want us to have the magic, then she will keep us from catching one. If she does want us to have the magic, then we will. Whatever way you look at it, we are not wronging the precepts.” “Oh stop it!” she said throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Stop what?” he asked, looking innocent, except for the mischievous glint in his lime green eyes. “Shh,” Dane put his fingers up to his mouth. “Look at this.” Dreah stopped what she was doing and peered at the silver faerie moon in his grasp. It glowed softly. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “I don’t think we should do this. Let’s go Dane.” “What? Don’t tell me you’re afraid. I won’t believe it! You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life.” “I’m not afraid exactly.” She protested this slight against her character. “I just feel like something is wrong. This magic, it can be either good or bad. We don’t know anything Dane. We’re just a couple of bound servants messing with stuff we shouldn’t.” Dane sighed exasperated. “Dreah, we have been talking about this for months. Tonight is the convergence, and it won’t happen again for several years. Don’t go all squeamish on me now.”

“I’m not squeamish,” she said angrily. Any other village kid would be sitting in a heap of mud for that insult, but not Dane. It wasn’t just because he was a cripple that she never struck him as she did other boys. Dane was different. There was something inside him, a sense of power. He was driven, sometimes to the point it scared her. Magic fascinated him, and he wanted to become a mage. Sometimes when he spoke about things that he had learned from the books and scrolls at the temple, she saw the strange light of magic in his eyes. He wanted to become a magic user so he could gain power and independence from others. The people of Duidine feared mages and the faerie magic that bound them to the ethereal forces of the world. With all of that in mind, she worried about what Dane wanted to do. He wanted to be a mage, a user of magic, but what would he do with the power once he got it? He was the weakest of all the village children now, but most of them would have died of the injuries that he survived. They said that the faerie had changed him. Sometimes Dreah wondered if he were a changeling, but she never said it. She knew her mother had saved him, and had worked a miracle in doing it. It was likely that Terusa herself had intervened to save him. Dane smiled. His lips were unscarred and attractively full and she had noticed this a little too often lately. She looked away from him. “Don’t lose your nerve now. Why settle for being a bound servant when you could be a mage or a castle noble with a single wish?” he urged. He wouldn’t give in to her, and she knew it. He would do this with or without her. She sighed undecided for a moment. They were best friends, and she had agreed to this, even if it had gone further than she had originally thought it would.

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“You could be legitimate, a noblewoman,” he continued. She sighed. All her life, they had reminded her that she didn’t belong in the village, that she was different. She was a bastard, but not just any bastard, the bastard of the lord of Darkstone Keep. She was an abomination. Even in the lowest class of society, bastards were reviled. She gave a tug on her long raven braid. Her alabaster skin set off by hair as black as midnight and eyes the color of a cloudy sky was an unusual combination, and it tied her unmistakably to Lord Farlair. Most of the people of southern Duidine were fair with yellow or red hair. Her resemblance to Lord Farlair made it impossible for her mother to hide the truth. The lord of Darkstone Keep had been liberal in spreading his seed among the commoners. She sighed. “Lead on.” His smile deepened. “I knew you would say that. Now, let’s move around and watch the faerie moon. If a faerie comes in range, the faerie moon will draw it. It won’t be able to stray far from it.” They followed the stone as they walked through the forest. It glowed softly at first but appeared to grow a little brighter as they went. Was that just a trick of the afternoon light? No. It was glowing brighter. She was sure of it. The suns were descending, yet the object was growing brighter. “Did you see that?” asked Dane. “No! What?” she said nervously, glancing around them into the misty undergrowth. When she turned her eyes back to Dane, it was to see he was stifling a laugh. “Why you rotten– ” “Wait! Did you see that?” he asked excitedly. “Hah! Nice try,” she said. “But you won’t fool me again.”

“I’m serious; look over behind the rock,” he said, pointing at a mosscovered stone near the edge of the creek. “You had better not be joking,” said Dreah, getting down on all fours. She crawled toward to the rock. The pungent rich smell of wet moss filled her nostrils, and moisture soaked through the front of her tunic. She was going to kill him, absolutely stomp him into the ground if he were kidding her again. Just a few more feet. She inched forward, and droplets of water fell from the small branches of a bush as it brushed her head. Moisture rolled down her face and she caught some water on her tongue; it tasted of sweet bark. As she inched closer, something leaped from behind the rock, landing in some brushes that overhung the creek. They would have to somehow climb onto the main branch to get to it. “This is crazy Dane!” she hissed as she scooted back out of the undergrowth. “It’s probably a frog or a bird or something.” She sat up on her heels and brought her cold wet fingers up to her mouth and blew on them for warmth. Her warm breath created a cloud around her head in the dimming light. “No, it’s not,” he protested, holding up the faerie moon. It was glowing intensely now. It was no trick of the fading afternoon light. It could only be magic. “We will have to climb out on that branch to get it,” she said. “If it is the faerie, it could be luring us out there. It could be a trap.” “I see it,” he said softly, his voice was smooth and determined. She knew he wouldn’t give up the idea now, not with one so near. She would have to climb onto the branch of a fallen tree that overhung the brook. She closed her eyes for a second, sending up a silent prayer that the faerie had gotten away so she could go back home where it was

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warm. She blew her hot breath onto her cold fingers again. At this point even a beating from Master Callum would be acceptable if he administered it somewhere near a fireplace. Then she shivered, thinking about the lock house, an unheated shed he sometimes used as punishment for misdeeds or laziness. A night in that and she would probably be dead. When she opened her eyes, it was to see Dane climbing out onto the limb himself. “Dane let me do it,” she whispered fiercely, hating the sick feeling she had as she watched his twisted form move along the bowing branch. The water rushed below him in a dizzying white blur. “I think I have it,” he said as his good hand closed over something white and glowing. Suddenly the branch snapped beneath his weight with a loud crack, and Dane plunged into the river. The faerie moon went flying from his grasp into the churning water. “Dane!” Dreah screamed, as her friend was carried away by the current. She leaped to her feet and tore her way along the embankment. She got ahead of him and reached frantically for him. She caught his bad hand, but he was unable to grip back. His bad arm did not have the strength needed to aid her in pulling him out of the water. “Give me your other hand,” she cried. “But the faerie,” he protested. “Rot the faerie! Let it go! Give me your other hand!” Dreah’s fingers slipped in their hold on his fingers. “Please!” she shrieked, struggling to maintain both her hold on Dane and her hold on the vine she was using as support. The current nearly suspended her above the water. She strained to drag him in, but her fingers lost their hold on his. In a frantic grab she caught hold of his shirt sleeve, but the fabric was old and

rotten and gave way, ripping easily under the current’s power. Dane swirled away from her. Dreah took off again along the embankment, racing through the forest. She needed to make it to Langhurst Bridge before he did. Briars tore at her skin, and her torn shoe ripped completely, nearly tripping her. She tore it off and kept running, not caring that the briars tore at the sole of her foot as she went. Langhurst Bridge. She had to make it. She had to be there or Dane would die. Foolish boy! Folly! All of it folly! She had known. She had felt like something bad was going to happen and it did. Her feet moved swift and sure as she flew through the woods in leaping strides. Dane was her one true friend, the only person in the world who understood her loneliness, her sense of displacement in the world. They needed each other; they always had. She had to save him. The wooden bridge emerged through the mist. The bridge stretched over the river about a foot above the water. More often than not in the spring, the rain-swollen river would cover it. The floods had washed it away many times in her own lifetime, but the villagers kept rebuilding it because it led to prime pasture land. The castle nobles had to have their share of the livestock, and what better to fatten them up than the fresh grass that grew on the other side of the river. She ran to the center of the bridge, peering first up then down the river. “Dane,” she called, but only the rushing sound of water and the cry of a lone hawk greeted her. “Dane!” The mist danced and swirled above the water. Terusa help her; she was too late. Her heart pounded. The heavy thumping in her chest turned her stomach over. She bent over nearly succumbing to a wave of

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nausea when she caught sight of Dane fighting the current, headed her way. Vomiting would have to wait. She quickly linked her legs onto a rail post and leaned over the side of the bridge in Dane’s path. This time she grabbed him around the waist. Laboriously, using all of her strength, she pulled him upward. He used his good leg to hook onto the rail, and helped her pull him the rest of the way out of the water. She climbed up after him, gasping. “Pillars of Terusa!” she cursed. “Why didn’t you grab my hand back there?” She was kneeling in front of him on the slimy bridge, breathing hard. She noted the blue tinge to his face and hands. His lips trembled, and he closed his eyes. “You will freeze to death!” she said, peeling off her cape. She wrapped it around his shoulders, rubbing him vigorously. “The faerie?” He managed as she helped him to a sitting position in front of her. “You could have been killed!” “What would that matter when I would only have to live on as I am now? I would rather die than spend the rest of my life like this,” he said fiercely, looking down at his deformed foot and the mangled fingers and arm on his left side. Dreah paused. “Come home with me, and I will get you warm and dry, and you can sleep with me up there in the loft, like old times before Master Schlemek took you in. He isn’t so bad. If I tell him you fell in the river and spent the night with us, he will believe me. At least you will be spared the whip.” “Don’t you get it?” he said desperately, through blue lips and chattering teeth. “I lost the faerie moon. Master Schlemek doesn’t have another. I want more, Dreah. I want more for myself than this life. The

faerie is my only hope. I will not live my life groveling and reaching for handouts.” She sighed. “Your life isn’t so bad with Master Schlemek. Let it go, Dane!” “Let it go?” he asked resentfully. “I will never let the magic go Dreah! Not now, not ever, and especially not when I have it right here in the palm of my hand.” “What do you mean?” “The faerie. I have it still. I lost the faerie moon, but I have the faerie. I cannot catch it again without the artifact. I would do many things for you Dreah, but I can’t let this go; I can’t let this chance pass, not even for you.” “The faerie,” she swallowed, looking down at his closed fist. “Set it free Dane!” she pleaded fearfully. “There’s something wrong. I can feel it. We will regret it if you don’t.” Dane looked at her sharply. It was one of those times when she felt the strange power emanating from his eyes. Then he smiled and the look was gone. “I will not let it go until it has granted three wishes.” Dane opened his hand and there the faerie popped up to stand no more than a few inches tall. It had bright silvery wings that hummed and fluttered behind it, but it made no attempt to fly away. He had possessed the faerie moon to bring it under his power. Now it was bound to him by the force of his will. Dreah was stunned speechless at the sight of it. Dane was not likewise paralyzed. He was in control of himself as usual and he controlled the faerie. “You make the first wish Dreah.”

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She looked at the small creature for a moment. Its amber eyes flashed with anger. She could almost feel it’s malevolence. “I don’t want a wish Dane.” He sighed. “There must be something you want in this life. Dreah this chance will never come again.” “Fine,” she said mutinously.“Faerie of the woods, subject of Terusa grant me this one wish. I wish that my parents no longer live in poverty.” Nothing happened. The faerie just stood there quietly, looking up at Dreah. “You will grant Dreah her wish. She wishes that her parents no longer live in poverty,” said Dane. The glow around the faerie, burned a bright red. “You are a fool mortal,” the faerie said, speaking in a voice that seemed to emanate from the surrounding woods. “I will give you this one chance to free me of the bond and make no requests of me and my magic.” Dane shook his head. “I can’t grant you that request. I know how this works. You must grant me the wishes.” She was silent for a second. Her eyes flashing first gold, then orange and finally red. “So be it, I will grant your wishes, but do not look to find happiness in your life because of it.” Dane made a face. He hesitated for a few breaths. The wind blew over the bridge. His hands were white and painful from the cold. “Listen to her Dane,” said Dreah. “I retract my wish. Just tell her not to grant it, and we can be on our way.” “No Dreah! It will be okay; you will see,” he said and then to the faerie. “You will grant her wish and this wish as well. I wish to be the most powerful mage the world has ever known, powerful enough to restore myself to perfect health.”

Dreah blanched. He had asked for unimaginable power. “You take the last wish,” Dane said, holding the faerie out toward her. “Tell it what you want, and I will command it to obey. Ask for something for yourself.” Dreah scooted back some and shook her head. Dane raised a brow. “Fine, if you are not selfish enough to wish it then I will wish it for you. I wish that Dreah be the legitimate heir to Darkstone Keep.” “No!” cried Dreah. Too late! The faerie rose high above them and suddenly grew in size until she was about twice as large as a full-grown woman. “When the suns rise on the morrow, your wishes will come true, but every full moon will remind you of what you have lost. Some day the convergence will occur again, and when it does, we will meet.” Her voice, fell to a hollow whisper. “Yes, we will meet again,” she said then faded into a pale translucent shadow of her former self until finally she dissipated to blend with the water vanishing into the mist. The two of them stood there in silence for a moment, just staring at each other. Dane’s lips were turning blue from the cold. “Come,” she said, “Let us go home to my hearth.” Suddenly Dane appeared drained and completely defeated. She wondered if he doubted, like she did, if their wishes would come true. He shook his head. “We should go to mine. Like you said, Master Schlemek isn’t likely to give out any beatings. You can tell him that I fell into the river, like you said,” he suggested. Dreah didn’t argue with him. He leaned on her heavily, his crippled foot dragging. She led him back over the muddy road toward the temple. Daylight evanesced and the full moon rose as they climbed the

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hill to where the large white marble structure stood jutting out of the surrounding green of the forest. The three mother stars shone bright red and full in the sky as they moved upward. Sometime in the night they would perfectly frame the full moon. They walked in silence. Neither of them spoke about their wishes. Sheran and Sulamon were already starting to set. The farther they got from the woods, the less the magic was on her mind, and the more her current reality came back to her. It was all an illusion. The faerie was only trying to scare them off. Tomorrow she would laugh about it. Well, maybe after Master Callum finished beating her, and her parents finished lecturing her, she would laugh about it. They skirted around the side of the imposing temple. The moved down a path bordered on either side with heavy briars until they reached the small wooden door that materialized out of a tangle of vines. Overgrowing briars covered the priest’s small home. Dreah knocked on the faded wooden door. Master Schlemek opened it. He was an old man with gray hair, wearing the long plain blue robes that marked him as a servant of Terusa. His dark brown eyes fell on Dane. “Terusa preserve us. Bring him inside out of the cold,” he said. Master Schlemek put his arm around Dane, and together they brought him into the common room in front of a softly burning fire. Several large leather bound volumes sat in haphazard stacks around the room while golden firelight softened the shadows. Dreah quickly blurted out their story, leaving out everything about the faerie. “Playing in the woods boy,” said Master Schlemek. “How often do I need to tell you to stay out of them?” Dane didn’t answer, but sipped the offered tea.

Dreah grew uncomfortable when she noticed Master Schlemek’s eyes scrutinizing her. She didn’t say anything for a long time, as she wolfed down several pieces of bread, keeping her eyes averted from his. Meanwhile Dane sat in silence. Master Schlemek brought a bowl of water and doctored Dreah’s foot, wrapping it in fresh bandages then tying an old leather shoe over it. He gave her a matching one for the other foot. “One of the gardeners sons grew out of these. You can keep them,” he said. Dreah thanked him then got up. “I should be going now,” she said. “Not so fast,” said the priest. Dreah froze looking down at her new set of shoes. He lifted her chin, forcing her eyes up. He looked deep into them, and she felt like he saw right through her into her soul. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Somehow he knew. “What mischief has this day brought?” he asked ponderously, not expecting an answer and not receiving one. He let go of her chin. His eyes filled with sadness, and he turned away. She looked down at Dane, his green eyes glittering in the firelight. “I didn’t want it, any of it,” she whispered and then realizing she had said too much, she looked back at the priest. He didn’t say anything. She looked at Dane again. Their eyes caught and held. She felt for a moment like she was resting in the cool moss of his gaze; there was something different in him or was it something in herself? She wasn’t sure but she felt like she might be looking at him for the last time. Then she shook herself and turned away. She walked out the door and into the cool night.

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Chapter Two Lady Brianna welcomed the crisp air filtering through the window flap as she held it open for momentary respite. Behind her, the fire in the hearth blazed in a low roar, crackling and spitting sparks onto the ceramic tile floor. The air was thick with the smell of medicine and death. On the great bed, lying on fine linen and covered with fur, was her son, Lander. He was as pale as the gleaming silver moon and as cold as stone. Mynarika, his nursemaid, was wiping his brow with an herbal remedy. Brianna wanted to scream that it was no use; her son was going to die. A surge of desperation coursed its way through her limbs. Her stomach roiled in sickening waves. She was tired, exhausted, utterly defeated. Lander’s breaths came in fits accompanied by gurgling sounds. His midnight black hair clung to his head limp and damp. His pale gray eyes were mere slits. If not for the sickness, he was the image of his father, Lord Farlair d’Avar. His father! Fear shook her. What would he do when he returned to find his son, his only legitimate heir, dead? She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. She was past her childbearing years. The good-for-nothing savage who was her husband would surely cast her aside, possibly even kill her if their son died. Terusa herself had cursed their union. Now the only living issue from their marriage lay dying. He had been sickly since the day of his birth and had spent most of his wretched sixteen years in bed. He was half the size of his bastard siblings his age, and there were plenty examples from which to choose. A thick fog had rolled into the valley. A foreshadowing of death. Yes her son would be dead before nightfall. She felt no sadness for the

loss of his life because he was born of her husband therefore, he was also the enemy. That he was her son too, was meaningless to her. She bore him no love, nor even pity. The only emotion she could dredge up for the boy in these last few hours of his life was anger that he had to be such a weakling and die, leaving her at d’Avar’s mercy. She shivered and let the flap fall back into place over the window. She then turned to approach the bed where Lander lay. “My Lady,” he rasped, barely audible. She didn’t answer him, but stared down at his pathetic form with cold blue eyes. The years had worn away much of her beauty, but the hard lines on her features were more a result of her bitterness than time. “Has my father returned?” he asked, faint hope in his voice. “No, he has not, nor would it matter if he had,” she said coldly. Word of his arrival back in the region had come a fortnight before. He had been away fighting for King Remedon. The kingdom was unstable, and the king had summoned Lord Farlair d’Avar to help suppress a rebellion in the northern mountains. It had been Brianna’s fervent hope that he would perish in battle. He had been gone two years. Two years of blessed relief from his presence, but now he would return to find his son dead. “I must see him before I die,” Lander said plaintively. “Shh quiet yourself child,” Mynarika soothed, mopping the boy’s feverish brow. Lady Brianna turned away from her son’s sick bed and paced the rug. Firelight danced about the large chamber. This was one of the best rooms in the castle, warm and finely decorated. She could hardly stand the look of it now. She had spent too many years of worry in this room for the luxury to strike her as anything but a mockery. The fire cast

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eerie shadows on the tapestries. Mynarika was still sitting on the bed near him. The light from the flames danced on her features. Mynarika had been Lander’s nursemaid until the lusty Farlair had impregnated her, one of the many peasant whores who bore that distinction. Still, Mynarika was well known in the village for her superior knowledge of herbs and healing, but it was of no use. And a little while later when a cry tore from Mynarika’s breast, Lady Brianna knew that her son was dead. “Silence woman,” Brianna snapped. But Mynarika was rocking back and forth cradling Lander’s limp form, sobbing. Brianna walked calmly to her wash basin and splashed some water onto her sweat-soaked brow then drew aside the window flap to allow some cold air into the room. The bright moonlight and the starlight of the triad cast shadows along the purloins. Lady Brianna took a deep breath then let the window flap fall back into place. She walked purposefully to the mantle and picked up a dagger, removing it from its sheath. Fire glinted off the cold steel blade. It glowed in her hand like a living thing. Silently she made her way across the room to where Mynarika still sat, rocking Lander’s limp form in her arms. Swiftly, smoothly and without remorse, Brianna grabbed Mynarika’s hair, pulled her head back to reveal her throat and drew the dagger across it. Mynarika let out the barest whimper as her blood flowed down her front and covered Lander’s dead body. Brianna looked coldly down at the pair then hastened to the door and called for the one known as Spider. * * *

Dreah approached the back of the thatched hut she called home. Tendrils of smoke drifted upward from the chimney to the dark sky. The moon and the three large bright stars shone iridescent above her. Once about every five to seven years the three large red stars rose into the sky and formed a triangle around the full moon. The three stars looked more like very small moons contrasting against he myriad silver dots in velvety darkness of the night. Most of the time no more than two of the stars were visible at any given time and usually one would be waxing while the other waned. One glance at the swine revealed them rooting around in the mire for food. No one had slopped them. That was strange; somehow her mother had overlooked the fact that Dreah hadn’t performed her chores because if she had known she would have slopped them herself. Thin pigs were not good eating; they needed to be good and fat for the spring gathering when the castle-folk would be roasting them. She opened the smith door and stepped inside. It was the only place besides the forest that she felt completely safe from the sneers and jeers of the other village kids. The kids from the bound servant class were cruel, but the kids from the free servant and tradesmen class were even worse. She peered around herself in the dark interior. It was still warm inside from the coals still smoldering in the large furnaces. She walked out the other side of the forge and crept low beneath the windows of her home so that her mother might not see her enter. Perhaps she could change her clothing before her mother noticed the rips and tears and dried mud and blood on the tunic she now wore. She had one spare tunic. She would have to make due with it until she could figure out how she was going to replace the other one, or explain its condition. She was in enough trouble for one day without that added to it.

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Dreah entered slowly through the pantry then crept into the common room. She only had to make it a few steps to the ladder to climb up to the loft where she slept. One step, two . . . “There you are. Your ma was looking for you before she left and she was in a fine temper that you didn’t do your chores this morning.” Dreah whirled around to see her da sitting on a stool in front of the fire. He held a cup of steaming ale in one hand while he clasped a blanket around his shoulders with the other. His boots stood near the door muddy and wet. His sandy brown hair clung to his forehead and temples. His grey and red beard glinted in the firelight. “What do you have to say for yourself?” “I’m sorry,” she stammered shamefully beneath his scrutiny. “I went looking for you after we planted the west field. This is spring planting; nothing can get in the way of that. Where did you get off to?” he asked. “I uh--” She considered lying for a moment because he would be positively livid if she said anything about magic and fae and going into the forest. If the magic came true, and in the morning they were no longer living in this poverty, he would be much more forgiving. Then an uncomfortable thought occurred to her. What if they woke up in some large tradesmen dwelling in the morning? Wouldn’t the villagers know it was magic and persecute them? It was against the law to try to possess objects above your social station. “Tell the truth Dreahalla, you left a trail in the mud that a blind beggar could follow. I would have followed you myself and dragged you back if I didn’t have the tack to finish for Sir Alfred. Those woods are off limits to the likes of you girl. When are you going to settle into your station and stop running off to do your own thing? You are a

bound servant! Your life is not your own to command. It is the way of the laws and the way of the land. Tell the truth! Where did you go?” He rarely called her Dreahalla. He usually called her Dre except when he was really mad. “The forest,” she admitted, closing her eyes, waiting for the thrashing she knew she deserved for her disobedience, but seconds passed and nothing happened. Slowly she opened her eyes to see him sitting there silently, staring into the flames while he sipped his ale. She couldn’t remember the last time she seen him this way. Ale was a luxury for him. Sir Alfred must have brought it when he picked up his tack. “Where is she?” Dreah asked, looking around for her ma. Her mother was a skilled herbalist healer, so she was often called away for some sick child or a child-birthing. It wasn’t unusual for her to be gone, but there was something different tonight; she could feel it. He turned to her and sighed. “A messenger from the castle came and said that Lady Brianna needed a healer.” Her mother had been requested by Lady Brianna herself. A surge of pride welled within Dreah, pride and longing. She had wanted to go up to the castle all of her life. For a second she allowed herself to dream about Dane’s wish for her, to be heir of Darkstone Keep. How she would clothe herself in rich velvet and wear jewels and do whatever she wished with no one to tell her what to do. No more spring planting. No more slopping swine. No more beatings from Master Callum. “Is there something wrong with you?” her da asked as he stood and stretched. “I– no I was just thinking about the castle,” she said and blushed.

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He grunted. “Keep your head out of the clouds and dreams girl, and stick to your work.” “When did Ma leave?” she asked. “This morning, before the fog had burned off the field. Probably right after you shirked your duties,” he said reprovingly. “Am I going to get a flogging? Did Master Callam know I shirked?” Her father sighed. “No; he assumed you accompanied your ma to the castle to help. I didn’t correct him.” “I’m sorry Da. I should have stayed and done my chores. I might have been able to help her at the castle then.” She did regret that she didn’t get to go to the castle. “Go finish your chores,” he said and went back to sipping his ale. That was it? No huge lecture or beating? No flogging from Master Callum? Already the magic must be taking place to spare her so greatly. Yes, maybe her mother would be a castle lady herself tomorrow and all of this day’s shirking would be completely forgiven. The state of her clothing was forgotten. She turned and went to the pantry. She was starving, but her chores awaited her. She grabbed the bucket of slop and headed for the swine pen. She thought about the magic and the wishes and remembered how pale Dane had looked. The water had been so very cold and his bones couldn’t take it. He would be sick for several days. Of course if the magic did take, he would be a powerful mage. Against her will, she started to dream about the future. Later when her chores were finished she crept back inside. The fire burned low in the hearth. The stool before it now sat empty. She climbed up into the loft and lay there, staring over the edge of it at the freshly strewn rushes on the floor. It was late in the night. Fatigue

tugged at her, but she couldn’t sleep. Her father lay snoring on the pallet beneath the loft. Her ma hadn’t returned. It was probably a grand lady struggling with childbirth. Sometimes she might be gone for two days to birth a child. This might be the last time her mother returned exhausted from a birthing. Tomorrow they might be tradesmen or even castle-folk. She wished that she hadn’t been such a wimp and been more specific in her wishing of the faerie and this business about being the heir to Darkstone Keep. How exactly could something like that be accomplished? A horse neighed somewhere out in the night, breaking the silence. A soft wind blew down the chimney, fanning the flames and scattering ashes onto the stone hearth. The skin flap on the window stirred lightly. For a second, she thought she heard a faint sound of an approaching horse, but when she strained to hear, the sound was gone. She turned her attention back to the dying embers. Suddenly, the front door burst open. A knight stood on the threshold. He looked almost demon-like in the semidarkness. The red coals glinted off his mail jacket and gleamed over his polished plate armor. He wore a helmet with the beaver in place. A cutwork spider formed the breathing holes across it with its pointed feet gripping the face of the wearer like a spider with its prey. “Who are you?” Dreah whispered, half-dazed, believing that she was caught in a state of wakeful sleep. “By the powers of Terusa! What is this?” her da cried, stumbling clumsily out of bed, still half asleep. The knight said nothing, but drew his broadsword in a rasping hiss from its scabbard. Then in a single stroke, he lashed out with his great sword and cut deeply across her da’s stomach. His agonized cry rent

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the night, and a scream tore its way through Dreah’s body. She was an onlooker standing on the edge of reality. At the sound of her cry, the knight’s head went back and dark eyes fixed on her through the spider legs. He wiped his bloody sword methodically and then re-sheathed it neatly into his scabbard. “Da!” she cried through numb lips. “Get up Da!” Her father lay in the rushes, his blood seeping everywhere. He moaned in agony. She wished she was in the midst of a nightmare, but this was too real, the blood too red, her da’s cries too anguished. The knight looked up at her. “Come down at once!” he demanded. Dreah couldn’t answer. Her throat was parched. Her tongue was swollen and useless in her dry mouth. She scooted back away from the edge. He ascended the steps to the loft and reached for her. She kicked at him and he caught her ankle in a steely grip. She clawed around looking for something, anything to use as a weapon. Her hand closed around the rim of something metal. Her chamber pot! She had left early that morning and hadn’t emptied it. She flung it at him. It struck his beaver, sending her piss through the spidery holes, taking him by surprise. He let go of her ankle and she used the opportunity to jump from the loft. She landed in a slippery pool of blood, her father’s blood, and she fell down beside him. Blood gurgled from the edges of his mouth. “Da!” she gasped. “Run,” he whispered, barely able to breath. The knight had recovered and was descending the steps. She hesitated for a second, unwilling to leave her father at the mercy of this crazed monster.

“Go, now,” her father rasped, grabbing her arm and shoving her toward the door. She didn’t think; she just reacted as she scrambled to her feet and flew toward the door, obeying her da’s command, but there in the portal, stood Lady Brianna. “Help My Lady. Please!” Dreah cried desperately. Lady Brianna grabbed Dreah’s upper arm, blocking her exit. Then the knight’s vice-like grip closed over her elbows, bringing them back behind her with a painful wrench until they nearly touched in the back. “Tie her up!” Lady Brianna ordered. Dreah struggled with all her might, but she was outmatched. She was soon trussed up like a pig going to slaughter; a cloth had been stuffed into her mouth and tied to her face. She lay there helpless as the knight picked up her da’s body and laid it back on his pallet. She watched in agony as he brought in a bundle of fur and unrolled it to reveal her mother, throat slit, eyes wide open, covered in blood. Tears fell from her eyes, trickling down her face into her hair as they placed the body of a boy about her size into the loft. They worked in grisly silence in the orange fire light. Lady Brianna smiled down at her with arrogant satisfaction. The knight picked her up and dumped her onto the muddy churned earth. From her vantage point, she could see the front of her home. The knight climbed the roof and spilled a bucket of oil into the thatch. Lady Brianna took a torch and touched it to the fire burning in the hearth. It lit up brightly and she walked out of the hut then reached up and held it to the thatch. Yellow flames licked upward, and sparks floated over the hut as the hungry fire devoured the small home. She tossed the torch into the small open door, then mounted her steed. Soon

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the village would be roused by the blaze, but there would be nothing for them to do, nothing they could do. Dreah quietly watched her life burn to ashes. The knight threw her into a smelly grain sack and tossed her unceremoniously over the back of his warhorse. In horror, she bit down on the gag that they had cinched over her mouth. She knew her wish had brought her to this. The words echoed over and over in her mind, “I wish that my parents would no longer live in poverty. I wish my parents would no longer live. . .

Chapter Three Dreah woke with the feel of a hard wooden floor pressed up against her cheek. She was disoriented, and for a few groggy moments her mind was blank. Where was she? Why was she on the floor? How did she get here? Then the memories came flooding back, and she sat up with a feeling of sick dread rolling in her stomach. She remembered. Her father and mother were dead. She blinked bleary-eyed, and glanced around. She was in a circular chamber with two window slits. One large oak door was situated along the wall. A bed jutted out from one side; a fireplace sat on the opposite wall. A low fire burned in the grate. A hollow whistle came from it as wind blew over the narrow smoke hole. She knew immediately by the shape of the room and the window slits that she was in one of the three towers that stood at the three corners of Darkstone Keep. She rose clumsily to her feet. There was something different. She felt a change in herself. She reached up and touched her face. It felt the same. She looked down at herself. She was dressed in a plain white tunic and loose fitting white pantaloons. Someone had changed her clothing. She was still in a sleep fog, probably induced by that tea the lady had forced down her throat. Everything that had happened after that was all fuzzy and jumbled. A sound at the door drew her attention; the door creeked open, and an old man entered. The knight with the spider helmet blocked the doorway. The door opened outward and was larger than the stone door jamb. It was made to keep people in, not out. The spider knight looked at her through the dark slits of his helmet, watching in silence as the old man set a tray on the small wooden table and stoked the fire in the fireplace. The old man added a small pile of wood in the hearth and left

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without speaking to her or even glancing her way. The knight said nothing. Two armed guards came and stood on either side of the door then Lady Brianna swept past them and walked purposefully into the room toward her. She gestured for the knight to close the door. The spider knight dismissed the guards and closed the door behind him, enclosing the three of them in the room together. Dreah was afraid, shaking inside, but she stood her ground, staring defiantly into the woman’s eyes. She was slightly taller than the lady with a broader build, lean and muscular from long days in the fields. She knew then that she could overpower the lady and kill her if the knight was not present. Lady Brianna stopped a few paces away.“On your knees,” she ordered. At first Dreah didn’t move; she looked at the woman with pure hatred and defiance. The knight came over and used his scabbard to whack the back of her knees. Dreah stumbled and fell, cracking her knees on the floor. She gasped, but refused to cry out, to give him the satisfaction. She’d been fighting all her life and had taken plenty of beatings. It would take much more than a little pain to cow her. Lady Brianna took Dreah’s chin roughly between her thumb and forefinger. Her nails dug into Dreah’s chin. The lady forced her to look up at her then studied Dreah’s face in silence. Whatever it was that she saw there seemed to please her because the lady smiled a sort of cold smile that didn’t reach her blue eyes, then she roughly yanked on Dreah’s braids, pulling them forward, producing a knife. Dreah sneered at the woman, which seemed to annoy her because she drew the knife lightly across Dreah’s throat, leaving a scratch in her skin. Dreah closed

her eyes then, knowing that there would be fear in them and she didn’t want to show it. “Just do it,” Dreah hissed. “I’m not afraid to die.” There was a silent pause. Dreah could sense the steel blade very close, as the lady yanked on her hair, but death didn’t come. Lady Brianna laughed harshly, and Dreah opened her eyes to see both of her severed braids lying on the floor in front of her in a glistening ebony heap. A humorless smile covered the lady’s visage. The hardships of her life had shaped her into the cold-blooded woman that she was now. That much was clear. “Tell me boy, how is it that you concealed your gender from the townsfolk?” “What do you mean?” Dreah asked. Why was this woman calling her boy? Lady Brianna waved an impatient hand. “It doesn’t matter why your parents chose to pass you off as a girl, but I must tell you that it works into my plans perfectly that you are not. Now if anyone were to suspect who you really were, they could easily be proven wrong merely by seeing you unclothed. “What are you speaking of Lady? I am a girl,” Dreah said exasperated. “Stop the pretense. I was present when you were unclothed. Do you not remember the dip we gave you for vermin?” Dreah shook her head warily. Then she knew. The difference she felt in herself had something to do with enchantment. It was real, not just a figment of her fogged brain. She lifted her tunic and looked down into her pantaloons, dreading what she might see there, but all she saw was

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her usual self. She looked up at the lady. There was only one explanation. The lady was daft besides being a murderess. Then she thought of her mother and father dead, burned to ashes. The fog faded, chased away by the nausea and rolling sensation in her heart. “You are a murderer!” she said, suddenly caught up in the reality, a reality she wished didn’t come. Her head hurt; her face flushed; her ears grew hot. She fell down onto the cold floor, gripping her sides with the rolling sensation. Her earlier bravado faded with the renewed memories of the night before. “Stop with the dramatics boy, and get up. I don’t have all day,” snapped Brianna. Dreah vomited onto the lady’s skirts. Brianna hissed and kicked her in the stomach not hard enough to break anything but hard enough to knock the breath from her. Dreah went sprawling backwards. “Why? Why have you done this?” Dreah gasped shakily. “What could you want with me?” Lady Brianna walked over to her, placing a foot on her chest. Her golden hair fell forward framing her cold face. “Listen to me well because I will not repeat myself. From this moment, you are no longer a bastard. You are Lander d’Avar, heir to Lord Farlair d’Avar. You will henceforth call me Lady Mother, and think of me as your mother. You will forget the peasant whore that you were born to and the smith assistant you thought of as your father. In truth, he never was, although I think that you already know that. The whole countryside knew how that pig d’Avar spread his seed like the rankest weed. In any case your family is dead, and if you do not want to join them, you will join me.”

“Join you?” Dreah said numbly, digging her strong fingers into Lady Brianna’s ankle so hard the lady cried out in alarm, stepping back. Dreah rose to her feet. She had never in her life hated anyone the way she hated this woman and the dark knight with the spider helmet. Her momentary weakness was gone, chased away by the power of her hatred. “You should kill me now like you killed my father and mother, because if you let me live, someday I will find a way to kill you. Someday I will!” she cried out furiously, lunging at Lady Brianna. The knight cracked her in the back and she fell once more to the floor. Lady Brianna laughed. It was a high-pitched sound that echoed off of the walls of the sparsely decorated tower chamber. “I must say, you have much more spunk than your pathetic half brother ever did. Good! You won’t be as likely to die on me, at least before I want you too.” “I hate you!” Dreah screamed, rising up off the floor and hurling herself at the lady. Lady Brianna leaped back in surprise. The knight with the spider on his helmet seized Dreah and threw her back onto the stone floor. Dreah jumped up and dove at him in her rage. He struck her again and she crumbled. “No wait,” cried Lady Brianna.“No bruises that will be seen. My husband returns soon. We wouldn’t want him to see them. Teach the swine dung some manners, but do it so that it cannot be seen. She smiled cruelly down at Dreah, who now lay sobbing on the floor. “In fact, I know how you enjoy the company of the stable boys. He’s about the right age wouldn’t you say?” “Yes my lady,” Spider said lasciviously, standing over Dreah.

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Lady Brianna took one last look at Dreah. “I have a feeling that today’s lesson will not soon be forgotten. Once he is finished with you, I doubt if you will be so quick to disobey me. Know this. Each time you displease me, you will be given to the pleasure of Spider. If you behave yourself, then he will leave you alone.” “I would like some privacy now,” said Spider. “Don’t kill him Spider. Have your fun, but I need him alive,” she said airily. Spider laughed a deep and ominous sound that echoed behind his beaver. Dreah scooted back away from him toward the wall. Lady Brianna swept out of the room. The door closed behind her. Spider stood above her. She had only half followed what they said, but she knew with a sense of pure dread what this man intended to do. Later she lay alone in the dark. She wasn’t even sure how much time had gone by, since those awful moments alone with Spider. Somehow they had convinced themselves that she was a boy. Spider had molested her as if she was. She cringed away from the horror of it. She wanted to die. She wanted to join her parents in the comfort of oblivion. How could she go on living now? How could she live knowing that her and Dane’s deal with the faerie had caused this? Somehow her wishes had caused the death of her parents. Images of their final moments replayed themselves over and over in her mind. Those images were only chased away by memories of what had happened to her at Spider’s hands. “Dane how could you?” she sobbed blaming him, but she knew it wasn’t only him. She had spoken often enough of the things she wished for. He had merely been giving her what he thought was a generous gift, giving her the things she most coveted in life. She wondered if her

wicked wish had caused the boy Lander’s death as well. Her deed weighed heavily on her. She wanted to run, to get away, but there was no escape. She was lost now and a prisoner by her own wishes. There was nothing to live for. She prayed for oblivion; she prayed for Dane, wherever he was. She prayed for the safe journey of her parents souls to the land of Anadaia, where the goddess Terusa ruled over the dead, and she prayed for the goddess to save her damned soul. The next morning she awoke to the cold reality of her imprisonment. The numbness was gone. Her world was changed. Somehow she was enchanted to appear to the world as a boy, alone and helpless against the forces that now shaped her life. The suns rose shining a small amount of light into the dim, cold room. She spent that whole day sobbing and replaying the memories of the days leading up to the ill-fated wishes. The next day came and no one visited her. There was utter silence in the room, not so much as the sound of rats scurrying. Dreah paced the coarse rug in front of the cold fireplace. Heat no longer emanated from it. There had been a fire the first day, but it had long since burned out. She had added the spare wood, until it was gone. She chastised herself for not burning the stool and ripping the bed apart to feed to it while the coals had still been hot enough to ignite a flame. A damp chill penetrated the room. Her stomach growled in protest. The small loaf of bread that the old man had left by the pitcher of water had disappeared on the first day of her confinement. Why did no one come? Why had they brought her here? What purpose could there be in pretending she was Lander d’Avar? She was sick with grief. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Spider stab her father. She saw the spider beaver dark and cold, clinging

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to his face. She cried out into the silence of the room. Images swimming before her eyes like living things. She saw it all over and over. She trembled from the lack of food and water; she trembled from the cold, and she trembled with fear. She rejected the images, the reality of him grabbing her and invading her body. She rejected the images of her parents dead, the burning hut, her father bleeding to death, her mother’s eyes frozen open, vacant, lifeless. She paced near the chamber pot and her nostrils pinched from the stench. It reeked, but there was no place to empty it. She looked at the window slit. The pot wouldn’t fit through it; it was too large and rigid. She could, with great effort, worm her way through the narrow opening, but the bailey was too far down to jump. The door was thick and solid and even if she did manage to get outside the castle walls, where would she go? The hut that she had shared with her family was gone. There would be no one in the village willing to give her shelter, especially if she was running away from Lady Brianna. She could go to Dane, but what then? She had known that their adventure with the faerie was folly. On the third day of her isolation, the door opened and the old man with the bread and water returned. He lit a fire, and left some fuel to burn; he emptied the chamber pot. All of this he did while Spider stood in the doorway, blocking her escape. She stood with her back to the far side of the room, unable to move, unable to think of anything except Spider. After that visit, the old man came every other day and the days took on a pattern of alternating loneliness, silence and a dread for the company that came to her room. Although he hadn’t touched her again after that first day, Dreah knew he was waiting, always waiting like a spider in the center of its

web, waiting for her to do something that would allow him to attack her with his poison.

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Chapter Four Dreah’s first meeting with her blood father came nearly a full year after Lady Brianna had first taken her to the castle. His return to his lands had been delayed by further rebellions in the kingdom. She had seen no one else except Lady Brianna, Spider and the old man, who seemed determined to starve her, giving her barely enough food to keep her from starving to death. Lady Brianna spent some time telling Dreah what she should say to her father if he asked questions. How to pretend like she was the dead heir. Each time she came to see Dreah, she had brought Spider, who served to remind her that there were fates much worse than death. The morning that Farlair d’Avar arrived at Darkstone Keep, Dreah heard lots of commotion in the bailey and had watched from the small slit window as a large party of knights dominated the usually quiet scene. She saw the banners and knew that it was the lord of the keep returning. She carefully scrutinized each knight, looking for the man that she knew sired her, the man a bound servant would never have dared to approach. Which one was he? She wondered, but couldn’t tell. They were all covered with dust and wore mail hoods and all manner of dirty bedraggled tunics sewn in black with silver trim. The Darkstone crest, a gold sunburst with a silver sword and a silver lance crossed over it, stood out in the center of their tunics and on the flags. It was the emblem for Darkstone Keep. At last, when the sounds in the bailey died away, and there were only squires and pages left to tend to horses and equipment, she left her spot by the window and resumed pacing the room. It was cool in the chamber, and the suns had risen so they no longer cast any direct light through the small window slits. How interminable each day seemed, so

long and lonely. Every night before she slept the same scenes played over in her mind as she thought of the day that she had left her home with her chores undone, of how her mother had called to her in the fog, and how she had ignored her. If only she had turned back then like a good girl and heeded her mother’s call. She would not have had a chance to make her dreadful wish then and Dane wouldn’t have made his. She alternated between anger for her friend and fear for him as she wondered how his wish for himself had manifested itself. It was a few hours after the commotion in the bailey that the door came open with an uncharacteristic bang. Lady Brianna entered the room, looking more agitated than she ever had. A look of near desperation and a maniacal gleam in her eyes had taken place of her usual cool manner. Dreah backed up hesitantly, looking around for Spider, fearing what Brianna might have in mind for her. “Come lay on the bed boy,” she demanded. Dreah’s mouth went completely dry, and her throat constricted. “No!” she cried and took a hesitant step back away from the lady, then realized that Brianna, in her present state, had left the door ajar. Dreah didn’t think further about it, but made a mad dash to the door. Behind her, Lady Brianna let out an animalistic growl. Dreah didn’t turn to look. Her heart pounded furiously as she flew out the crack, only to be grabbed by a strong hand. It was Spider. His fist knocked the wind out of her. He was not in his full regalia of armor. He wore the black tunic with the sun symbol on it. The spider helmet was his only armor. His hands were un-gloved. She bit down hard on the hand that clasped her then brought her knee upward into his groin. He howled and let go of her, but not before Lady Brianna had grasped her cropped hair and

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forcefully pushed her up against the wall. Nearly a year of half starvation and inactivity had severely weakened Dreah. She was winded with the exercise. Lady Brianna gripped her neck with talon fingernails and pinched so hard that Dreah thought she would pass out. “Listen to me well boy,” Lady Brianna hissed. “You will cooperate with me, or I will let Spider have his way with you every day for a month. Do you understand?” Dreah’s only reply was a desperate cry when Spider leaned in so that his beaver was inches from her face. He gripped her arms and forced her elbows painfully together behind her back then pushed her back into the room. “Do take care My Lady and call me into the room if you need me to take care of the boy. As you know, it would give me great pleasure to teach him another lesson,” said Spider as he ducked back out the door, pushing it firmly shut behind him. Dreah forced herself to stand still facing Lady Brianna who had become even more agitated than before. “Now lie down on the bed, or I will call him back in here,” she demanded, her voice shaking. Dreah hesitated for a second, wondering if she might be able to reach the slit in the window and somehow leap to her death, but she knew Spider would catch her before she did and then the promised punishment would come. She walked slowly to the bed and lay down on it. Lady Brianna’s agitation was made even more frightening by the smile that she gave Dreah, revealing perfectly straight teeth, only slightly diminished in whiteness with her age. It was strange that the only thing that Dreah could think of just then was that it was remarkable that a woman her age had such good teeth.

“Now I have brought you some wine,” Lady Brianna said in a highpitched tone very unlike her usual clear and even voice. Her eyes glowed unnaturally and her hands shook nervously as she held out the goblet. Her smile wavered as she spoke, and Dreah felt the desperation emanating from her. She wanted Dreah to drink whatever she had placed in the goblet. No! She desperately needed her to drink it. Dreah reached out for the goblet and thought about striking it from the lady’s hand, but on the other side of the door stood her most dreaded nightmare. What would happen when she drank its contents? At best, she would have her thirst quenched. At worst she would die, and in truth that might be a blessing. Dreah reached for the goblet; her hand shook as she took the cold cup and pressed it to her lips. It was bitter, but Dreah’s throat was so parched that she drained the contents easily. Lady Brianna took back the goblet looking less agitated now. “You will become quite ill from what I have given you, but don’t worry, you will live, although I assure you that there will be moments that you wish you would not. Here is a full compliment of food. She said lifting the lid to a tray. A savory aroma filled the air. “Eat all you wish today and heed me well boy. When your father comes to you this evening, you will say only the things that I have told you to say and make sure you don’t say anything in your lowborn accent. You have been doing well in your speech lessons, so keep your speech even and cultured the way I have taught you. Do this and you shall live, do it not, and you will wish for death a thousand times at the hands of Spider, before I finally grant your wish.” With this last statement the lady smiled. It was a ruthless smile that made Dreah believe every word she said.

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Lady Brianna left her to eat a veritable feast. For the first time since her arrival, Dreah was eating a full and palatable meal. She devoured it with relish as the lady oversaw some changes in her room. The lady called the old man in to stoke the fire and took an inordinate care that Dreah’s chamber was made to be tidy and comfortable. In came some different furniture. Clean bedding and clothes, wall tapestries and new rugs. It was the most comfort she had experienced since she came to Darkstone Keep. She wasn’t hungry for the first time in a long time. She wasn’t cold either and Spider was nowhere to be seen. Outside her door was a set of guards, who bowed to her whenever the door opened and she was within sight of them. Within a few hours of eating her meal, all thoughts of comfort vanished. Dreah lay retching, her stomach contracting, her body heaving. She continued to retch long after her meal had been expelled. The violence of her retching caused her stomach muscles to cramp painfully. Then her bowels had begun to purge themselves until she was sure that she would perish from the pain and until she thought that her very innards would be expelled like a hog on slaughter day. It was onto this scene that her blood father, Lord Farlair d’Avar entered into the tower room. He expressed no surprise at her condition. He turned on the Lady Brianna and spoke sharply. “It would seem your idea to remove him to the tower chamber for his health has not worked My Lady.” Lady Brianna shrank back from his towering form and cringed before him. “But my good lord,” she addressed her husband with a look of pure innocence. “He was much improved since I brought him up here. The air is cleaner in the tower, and he has grown since you last

saw him. It is likely that the excitement of seeing your lordship is what has set off this latest relapse.” Lord d’Avar looked at Dreah again, this time coming nearer to where she lay. She attempted a weak smile and whispered the words she had been instructed to say. Finding that she didn’t need to feign exhaustion as the lady had suggested she do. “Father I am glad to see you,” she whispered. “You have grown since I last was here,” he said, producing a small jewel encrusted dagger. “I picked this up in Zalahimar. I thought I might give you a few lessons, if you were up to it when I returned.” Dreah didn’t need to look at Lady Brianna to know she would be shaking her head slightly to signal that Dreah pretend disinterest. Looking up into his steel gray eyes, she suddenly felt safer. She wanted to cling to him and tell him everything that had happened, but if she did, he wouldn’t want her. He wouldn’t want the bastard girl child, born to a bound servant woman. “I should like that very much Lord,” she whispered. Lord d’Avar then smiled a warm smile that reached his gray eyes and softened them. He reached down and lightly stroked her hand with his index finger. There was strength in his large callused hand and a sort of tender expression in his gray eyes that were so much like her own. Suddenly all of her fear of the Lady Brianna faded away in his presence. “Take me with you when you go father. If I am strong enough, promise you will take me with you when you go,” she said. “If you are strong enough, I will train you as a knight my son,” he said. “Please come to see me every day. Don’t let them give me the medicine anymore.”

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“Medicine?” “The one that makes me ill,” she said. He turned again to Lady Brianna, striding purposefully toward her, grasping her roughly by the wrist and dragging her forward. He forced her to look down at Dreah’s sickly form. “I may not be a scholar Lady, but I know the work of casabalev juice. Purging may work for some illnesses, but it is foolish to purge weak children. Stop the purging. I had better see an improvement in his condition in a month, or you will pay the price for it, My Lady,” he said through clenched teeth. Dreah had been brought to the castle to replace her half brother just as he had replaced her in the loft. Before today, it hadn’t seemed real, and she hadn’t wanted it. Now looking up at the tall powerful warrior, she wanted nothing more than to be his son, to be Lander d’Avar, a boy, an heir to a fief. She hated herself for her selfishness. Her parents were dead, but now here was this man. He was the only family she had left, and the kindly look in his eyes made her want to make him proud. He loved her, not knowing that she was a bastard, that she was a girl. Lord d’Avar left the room then and Lady Brianna stayed with Dreah. When his footsteps had receded, the lady turned to her. “Very well done of you boy. You disobeyed me.” “I’m not afraid of you,” Dreah said, still emboldened by her father’s presence in the castle. Lady Brianna feared him, and her power diminished in his presence. “Yes, perhaps you are not,” she said. “Now remove your vomit soiled clothing and get into the bath.”

Dreah peeled off her clothing and stood in front of the lady confident that the woman saw her as a boy. “If you try to bring Spider to punish me, I will tell my father.” Lady Brianna’s face flushed a livid red. “You are quite the little clever one. Remember, if he knew the truth about you being a peasant, you would be nothing to him but an impostor.” “And you would be blamed for it as well Ldy,” said Dreah. “Besides how do you know that he will believe you? He might think you mad. Let’s make a new deal. My silence in exchange for you sending Spider away.” “Perhaps you are right,” said the lady. “You are safe from Spider as long as you play your part. If you mention him or anything that implicates me to your father, I will find a way to make you pay. And if you reveal me, then I will reveal you because I will have nothing to lose and no more use for you. You don’t even know who Spider is, but believe me, if you are cast out of this castle as a bastard impostor, he will be free to take you and do whatever his twisted heart desires.” Dreah tried to pretend like that news didn’t bother her, but she couldn’t entirely fool Lady Brianna. Her fear and dread of the man ran deep and the wicked woman smiled to see her discomfiture. Dreah stepped into the tub and started to bathe. The lady watched her bathe in silence, until suddenly she came forth and seized her arm lifting it up. She pulled her arm at an odd angle. “What’s this?” she whispered clearly in awe. “The mark of the faerie moon is on you.” Dreah looked down at the mark. It was a solid black crescent on the underside of her upper arm. She had noticed it before and had puzzled

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over it’s appearance. She was sure it had something to do with the fae enchantment on her,but she pretended not to understand the question. “What do you mean?” Dreah asked. “Don’t play stupid with me boy. I know what the mark means. You have been touched by a faerie. What did you ask for? What were you granted?” Dreah looked down at the mark then back up at Lady Brianna. “Only misery,” said Dreah quietly. “Only misery.” Lady Brianna didn’t say anything for a long while then said quietly. “Remember the deal. Play your part and Spider will leave you alone, ruin me, and your present misery will be pleasant memories by the time he is finished with you.”

Chapter Five It was the twenty-fourth full moon since she had come to Darkstone Keep. Shortly after her father had arrived back home, he had started her training. She had a free run of the castle and had grown stronger and taller and had learned some fighting skills. As time went on and she hadn’t seen Spider, she grew more confident, and he faded away into an occasional nightmare. Her father was convinced that the tower air had affected the improvement, so she had been forced to keep the room as her own, but she was no longer confined to it. Then the day came that she dreaded. The peasants were revolting against the king. It was not surprising since many of the Duidinians had revived the worship of Terusa and her precepts, which forbade bound servitude. The overlords were having trouble keeping order among their lands. Her father was called up with his forces and left one foggy morning. Dreah had begged to be taken with him, but he had refused. She realized that his refusal was out of love for her, but that didn’t take away the pain and resentment she felt when he left her behind. If only he knew what a monster Lady Brianna was, but she could never tell him. Not surprisingly, Dreah awoke the next morning to find that she was once again locked inside the tower room. It was the third night of her confinement that the black moon on the underside of her arm began glowing a soft silvery white. It did that on the night of each full moon. It was a reminder that the hand of enchantment was upon her. The door creeked open behind her. She turned to see Lady Brianna enter the dark chamber, holding a candle. Behind her, stood Spider,

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holding a torch that reflected off of his helmet. Dreah didn’t look at him. She refused to think about what he had done nearly two years before, and what he still might do if given the chance. She looked squarely at Lady Brianna. The lady had come up in front of her. She lifted up her arm and examined the glowing mark of the faerie moon. When the lady reached under her armpit, her fingers brushed the edges of Dreah’s breasts. “What’s this? What does the faerie magic hide from me?” She gave a yank to the top of Dreah’s tunic and stared in wonder at the mounds on her chest. “Remove your clothes.” Dreah hesitated looking at Spider then back at the lady. “He will not do anything I don’t tell him to.” Dreah removed her clothing as she was told. Lady Brianna nodded. “So that’s how the whore’s daughter becomes the son. Interesting is it not Spider?” “Aye it is My Lady. I thought there was something extra tender about the boy.” “Calm yourself. You will partake of her charms again.” “Please let it be tonight My Lady,” he said, grabbing himself intimately. “It has been too long, and I have had to control myself while d’ Avar was here.” “Yes she needs to be reminded that the game she is playing is in our hands. You have grown way too bold girl,” said Lady Brianna. “You didn’t play your part exactly the way I told you to. You manipulated your way out of the room, spent a lot of time charming the castle nobles. I don’t like it. Now you will learn what happens to little peasant chits who disobey me.” She turned to Spider. “See that she learns her

lesson, but don’t kill her the way you did the last wench I gave you for punishment.” “Don’t worry My Lady; she will only wish she was dead.” Spider seized Dreah, and before she had a chance to do anything, he struck her down. Brianna laughed cruelly as she exited the room. “Have fun,” she said airily. Spider hit her and took pleasure in it, pleasure in her pain. Dreah fought and screamed, and tried to force him away from her, but it was no good. He was much bigger and stronger than she was. Even with her training, she was still no match for him. He tortured her until she was begging him to kill her. When he was finally done with her, most of the night had been worn away. He left and Lady Brianna came in and sat on the bed cold faced and looking satisfied. “How do you like being taken by a man you hate? Your father did the same thing to me. Now you know what it is like to be a woman. Be grateful you appear to the world as a boy you little slut, and keep this in mind. Every night that the full moon shines, the world will see you the way you truly are, without your enchantment. You thought, with your father here, you would be safe, so you became insolent. Know this, every night of the full moon you will be reminded of your position.” Dreah didn’t say anything to the lady, didn’t even look at her. Once she was alone again, she cried and didn’t stop crying until she fell asleep. When she awoke, the old man who had served her before her father’s arrival came with food and water for bathing. She knew that she once more appeared to the world as a boy, and now she knew that being a boy meant that she could train as a knight. She would not do as the

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lady said. She would not stop training. She had seen the knights exercising. She knew what skills she needed to hone, the muscle she needed to build and the speed she needed to gain. Once she became a powerful knight, she would find out who Spider was and she would kill him, then she would kill the Lady Brianna. For two days she was barely able to move and in each moment, her agony reminded her of her revenge. Revenge was all she had now. She would find a way to make them pay. Once her bruises had begun to fade, she started her training. At first she spent a few hours in the morning and evening working on her strength and speed, and later she added flexibility training. The Lady Brianna didn’t come to see her anymore. Her rations were cut to two small pieces of bread a day. For some reason Lady Brianna wanted to keep her thin and sickly looking, probably so she could explain away her death to her father if it ever became necessary to eliminate her. The low rations made it difficult for her to exercise, and with each passing day, instead of gaining strength, she lost more weight and grew a little weaker, until she had to cut back on her exercises. She had to find a way to get more food. She had attempted to talk to the old man who fed her, but he continued to keep silent. She made hand gestures for food in case he was one of those slaves that couldn’t speak Duidinian, but to no avail. The lady and Spider were in control of her fate. On the second week of her confinement, the old man entered the room. Dreah was in the middle of a set of pushups. It was not his scheduled time to come, so he had taken her a little by surprise. The man never spoke to her and he didn’t speak now. Beyond him she saw that the two guards were still present. He carried a bowl of thick stew, the kind that she had favored when she had been free to roam the castle.

She stood up from her exercise scrutinizing the old man. “What is in the soup? Poison old man?” she asked callously. He didn’t answer her, but turned to set down the bowl of stew onto the food stand. Dreah wasn’t sure exactly why, but suddenly all of her hatred was directed at the frail looking old man, who never spoke, never looked at her. “Answer me!” she demanded angrily. The old man turned away without so much as acknowledging that she spoke. Dreah, half crazed with confinement fever, seized the old man by the throat. She was taller than him and much stronger even in her weakening state. “Speak to me or I will kill you!” she cried. The old man made a gurgling sound and opened his mouth to cry out and there she saw it; his tongue had been cut from his mouth. She gasped and let go. “I– I’m sorry,” she said. The old man made some unintelligible sound in his throat. She looked at him with pity. “Did Spider do that to you? You can shake your head to answer.” The old man looked at her with sad eyes and touched his ears and shook his head. “You can’t hear either,” she whispered. “The lady found a deaf man and made him mute,” she said aloud. She looked down at the stew and pointed. “Who sent this up?” The old man seemed to know what she was asking, because he pointed to himself, then pointed to her. Dreah nodded and smiled and he smiled back. She knew then that she had an ally.

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Almost a year past like this. With the old man giving her regular rations, her training, and her fighting every night that the full moon rose. Each time she fought; each time she lost and each time her hatred grew deeper, her heart darker, colder, her need for revenge stronger. At seventeen, she was as tall as many of the knights, though her build was still slender. Then one day there was a commotion in the courtyard below that drew Dreah away from her exercises. She looked out the arrow slit, down at the black banners with the yellow suns and crossed silver weapons. Her father had returned. It wasn’t long before the door opened. Dreah expected to see Lady Brianna and Spider come to threaten her, but instead it was her tall father dusty from the road with a look of concern on his features. Then puzzlement and relief. “Your mother said you had a relapse in your sickness, but I guess she was overly worried. You look hale and hearty lad!” Dreah controlled herself from flying into his arms. Instead she smiled and reached for his arm in a comrade greeting used by knights, but her father pulled her head to his dusty armored chest. “Come my boy let’s go down to the feast hall. You’ve grown I see at least two inches since I saw you last. It’s about time we started your sword training. Do you think you could keep up with the other pages?” “Yes father, I believe I can,” she said beaming with pride. She was determined that the next time he left, she would find a way to follow. She knew Spider wouldn’t dare touch her as long as her father was here. She knew that Lady Brianna was afraid of him. Now she was free, free to find out who Spider was, and kill him and the lady.

They went down the long spiral staircase slowly. Farlair’s heavy boots echoed in the darkness and his chain-mail slapped against his plate armor. It was a reassuring sound. “Milord, might I be fitted with armor if I am training as a knight?” Farlair laughed a rough and hardy sound. “We can fit you with some leather armor to begin with. Would you like that my son?” “Very much Father,” she said as they continued their descent. The feast hall was full of lively sounds of celebration as the knights boasted, feasted and drank to their victory over the rebelling people. Dreah sat near her father and her eyes roamed the room. She wished that she knew which knights had went on the campaign and which ones hadn’t. That way she could at least try to narrow the choices for Spider. She looked from one to the other, trying to see if there was something in the way one of them looked at her that would reveal his identity, but there wasn’t. She watched Lady Brianna, dressed in her finery with eyes downcast demurely. She watched to see if she exchanged glances with anyone, but she didn’t. The next day her training began in earnest. They were out in the practice courtyard. The pages were paired and working against each other, sparring with wooden swords. Dreah was less skilled than the other pages despite how much older she was than them, but she was large and more than a match for their strength and speed, so they had set her up to spar with the squires. She watched the eyes of her opponent, Gui, a seventeen- year-old squire with laughing blue eyes. “Watch his feet Lander,” coached Sir Alfred, an older knight whose task it was to train pages and squires. She was getting used to being called Lander, the name of her dead half brother. Dreah smiled to

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herself and watched Gui’s feet, but her steel gray eyes were fixed on his. Gui swiped at her with his wooden sword, and scored a hit on her left shoulder. Dreah sighed. For all the speed and strength she had gained, she had not made much progress against him. Gui continued to score hits until Dreah was exhausted. “That’s enough for today,” said Sir Alfred. Gui stood over her with a grin on his face. He held out a hand to assist her up after the last spill he gave her in the dirt. She grabbed his sweaty hand and stood up, covered in dust. “I need to work harder at it I guess.” “Relax My Lord, it’s only your first day at real sparring,” said Gui. “Surprisingly you are much stronger than you were last spring. I would have thought with your long illness you would be weaker.” Dreah nodded noncommital noticing the way his light brown hair fell over the bridge of his nose. “Let’s go back behind the stables and practice some more. This time I want you to show me exactly what you are going to do and explain to me why you are doing it,” she said. Gui made a face. “If Sir Alfred finds out, you know he is going to give me extra duty for not obeying.” She shrugged and smiled mischievously. “Are you afraid that I will learn too much and best you?” “Why you little,” said Gui then checked himself. “I mean no My Lord.” “Stop it with this my lord thing. I’m a page, learning to be a squire, and I challenge you to teach me what you know and see if you can still best me in a month, because I don’t think you will be able to.” “You’re on Mil– I mean– Lander,” Gui smiled cheekily.

She liked his smile and the warmth in his way. He slung a companionable arm across her shoulders, leading her behind the stables. She recalled that she had seen squires leading young girls behind the stables, giggling in anticipation of another type of fun. Gui was handsome and she wondered if he ever did that. She looked away from him then recalling that, to him, she was a boy. She thought about Spider and what he had done to her and what she knew he did to other women and boys, and her momentary attraction for Gui evaporated immediately. She was glad she was a boy to the world. She would never let a man touch her like that willingly. She would learn to fight. She would learn to kill. She would learn to be a man, and Gui was going to help her do it.

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Chapter Six “Who is that girl?” Dreah asked, looking over at Gui. They had been practicing yet again as they had done for nearly a year now and they were almost evenly matched. Gui smiled. “Why? Are you interested?” Dreah made a face. Gui laughed. “She’s your half-sister by birth, although, she’s the daughter of the stable master, not a lady.” “She looks almost exactly like me,” Dreah commented and swung her sword. He executed a block and parried hard against her practice blade.“She’s a darn sight more good looking though, and her eyes are the purest shade of gold you have ever seen. If you want her, you can have her. It’s not outlawed, even if she is related to you. It might be a little frowned on, but it’s legal, since she’s a bound servant, not a real person like us.” Anger rose up inside of her at his statement. She had accepted the change in her identity, but she had not forgotten where she came from. She took Gui by surprise, swinging her sword up, catching his. She kicked him in the stomach and sent him backward into the dirt. When he rose to his feet, she struck at his side, knocking the wind out of him. He ducked her next blow, leaping back away on the defensive. He struck her twice and bruised her, but she was undaunted. “I’ll say you’ve improved quite a bit,” said Gui half shocked. Dreah didn’t answer. The servants were nothing to him. That much was obvious from his comments. She let the anger at the social inequalities flow through her. She was not as strong as he was, but she was a little faster and more flexible by far. He swung and she ducked

then tossed her sword. She did a handspring and landed with her feet in the center of his chest. He fell back and she pinned him to the dirt, holding her wooden sword at his throat. “Very good Lander,” said Gui, totally unaware of her angry response to his comment about her half-sister. She punched him very hard in the jaw. “Hey! What’s the idea?” he asked, growing slightly red in the face. “Nothing!” she said furiously. “What do you mean nothing?” “You wouldn’t understand,” she said, swiping at her eyes. She turned and started walking away across the dusty practice courtyard. “What do you mean, I wouldn’t understand? Wouldn’t understand what Lander?” he asked, following her away from the courtyard into the meadow where the fruit trees were leafless and looked slightly forlorn in the pale winter sunlight. “Lander! My Lord please!” At that Dreah turned to face him. “Someday I intend to change that!” “Change what?” “Change the way nobles treat the bound servants, change the way men treat women!” she cried angrily, not caring that there were tears fully running down her face at this point. “Did what I said about the girl make you angry? If it did, I’m sorry. It’s not like she wouldn’t be willing you know. Amatrice is known for her ah– well let’s just say she knows how to please a man.” he said uncomfortable with her display of emotionalism. “Knows how to please a man! Is that all you ever think of? Your pleasure!” Gui was shaking his head puzzled and a little embarrassed. “Don’t you?”

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Dreah threw up her hands and then pulled at her cropped raven locks. “Have you never been with a wench?” he persisted. She sighed. “No, I have not.” Gui smiled then. “Well it’s time we remedy that don’t you think? Most of us have been with a girl by the time we’re twelve, but I guess with you being sick so much there was never a chance. I’ll talk to the others, and we’ll will figure out who is best for you to start with.” Dreah gasped. Gui misinterpreted her look. He slung his arm around her shoulder and started leading her back to the keep. “Don’t be nervous. You’re going to like it. Trust me,” he coaxed. On the way back to the keep, all Dreah could think of was how in the world she was ever going to get out of this particular mess. That night Gui was laughing loudly with the squires and knights and talking about how Lander was going to be schooled in the arts of love as well as those of war. Her father didn’t seem to see anything wrong with the discussion, and Dreah sat, mostly in outraged silence which was interpreted as nerves over an impending interlude with a woman. A group of drunk knights were elected to bring her to her hour of experience. They jostled and teased her as they led her to a room. “Now boy tell Lerna we all said for her to give you her best.” There were more laughs and jokes before they opened the door and shoved her inside, then pulled it shut tightly behind her. Well there was no hope for it. She would just have to talk to this Lerna and explain that she had no desire to do this. The woman would probably assume she preferred men and think she was a catamite, and Dreah wasn’t sure how she would be able to convince her otherwise.

The room was very dark. Only a small candle sat on the table next to a bed covered in expensive linens that must have come all of the way from Craemira. On the bed lay a buxom redheaded woman, slightly past her prime, but still beautiful nonetheless. “Miss there has been a misunderstanding,” said Dreah. “I–I can’t do this.” The lady didn’t move, didn’t respond. Dreah took a step closer. “If we just wait awhile then you can tell them that I did it, and everyone will be satisfied. I’m sure that you don’t want to do this do you?” Still no response. The lady didn’t move. Dreah took a few steps closer and then she knew something was wrong. She stepped closer still and pulled the gauzy curtains that obscured her view then leaned over her, touching the lady’s smooth skinned arm. It was cold. A hand clamped over her mouth from behind, stifling the scream that rose in her throat. Someone hard and strong pulled her up against him, imprisoning her. She tried to squirm free, but he was too strong. Her struggles sent the table sideways and the candle died as it fell to the floor, plunging them into total darkness. “Now, now, none of that,” said Spider. “I thought you might be grateful that I have spared you from the embarrassing questions that will come as to your ability to perform. And have you forgotten? Tonight is the full moon. When the moon zeniths you will be a woman again.” Dreah resumed her struggles. He slapped her once very hard then punched her in the ribs.

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“I have waited for this day to come again,” he said in a gentle voice that made her skin crawl. “Go ahead and scream. No one will hear your cries.” She bit down on his finger and elbowed him in the ribs and spun away from him. “Not this time,” she hissed and kicked out at him, but he caught her foot and spun her down hard onto the floor, and pinned her down under his weight. He chuckled then and pulled up her tunic. She growled and fought against him. This time she was much stronger than she was before and she hurt him more than once, but he was much larger and stronger than her and he beat her with a relish born of insanity and an insatiable appetite for brutality. She felt her ribs crack and her arms break and she could no longer cry out but lay there gasping barely able to breath while he became like an insane man with his rage smashing his fists into her even as he brutally raped her. The next morning she lay on the bed next to the dead woman and she couldn’t move, she could barely breathe. She could hear the frantic sounds of her father’s voice and the cries of confusion. Faces were gathered around her and she couldn’t move. Lord Farlair sat on the bed next to her, stroking her forehead. “Who did this to you boy? Who did that to Lerna?” “Spider,” she gasped. “What did he say?” asked Lord Farlair. “He is delirious, My Lord,” said Lady Brianna. “We should take him up to the tower room where he will be safe.” “Verago’s Lance woman!” he said exasperated. “The air in the tower can’t fix this! By the holy god, I will find out who did this to my–” His voice cracked “My son!” Lord Farlair started sobbing and the knights

who had gathered in the room scrambled to make a search for anyone who might be a stranger among them. “Spider,” Dreah gasped. “Get the healer!” Lord Farlair ordered. “But my good lord, it has been over four years since Mynarika died in a fire,” said Sir Rolf, one of Lord Farlair’s principal knights. “And in all that time, the village has been without a healer!” he yelled. “There is one,” said Sir Alfred. “But he lives in Broken Arrow Forest My Lord. He’s a mage.” “Can he heal?” roared Lord Farlair. “Yes, My Lord in spite of his young age, he is reputed to be an exceptionally good healer.” “Then get him!” said Lord Farlair harshly. “But My Lord the magic. He is a follower of the goddess Terusa, outlawed by our own priests,” protested Sir Gilbert. “It is against Verago’s precepts.” “Then the Pit of Despair take Verago!” “It will spook many of the nobles to bring a mage of Terusa here,” reasoned Sir Rolf. “Your own lady wife is reputed to be a good herbalist; she can ease the pain of his passing,” argued Sir Wilfurd. “Passing! He is not going to die,” insisted Lord Farlair. “My Lord, Sir Wilfurd is right. The boy is likely past saving,” argued Sir Gilbert. Lord Farlair rose up. His rage dripped from him like a tangible thing. “Bring the mage or by Verago or Terusa, or whomever you choose to worship, I will kill every last one of you who is against me!”

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The knights scrambled to do his bidding. Lord Farlair leaned back down over his son then looked up at Lady Brianna. “Lady is there something that you can give him to take away the pain?” “Yes My Lord,” she gasped, terrified of Lord Farlair and terrified that Dreah would die and the enchantment and deception would be apparent for all to see, terrified that the little bastard would tell all now. Curse Spider for his stupidity. “Then bring it to my chamber. I will carry Lander up there,” said Lord Farlair. He wrapped Dreah in a bed-sheet and carried her bruised and broken body up to his room. A few moments later Lady Brianna arrived with a potion. “No,” Dreah whispered weakly as the lady held it up to her lips. “No Please!” “It’s all right boy. Do as your mother says. It will ease your pain until the healer can come.” Dreah’s eyes watered, and she fought the potion, but Lord Farlair held her head still, and Lady Brianna poured the liquid down her throat. “Father, there’s something–” Dreah whispered. “There’s something I– have to tell you–” “What? What is it son?” “I– ” Dreah looked at Lady Brianna suddenly trying to remember what it was that she wanted to say. “I’m so tired,” she whispered. “Then rest now,” said Lord Farlair. It was almost an hour later when the mage came riding up to the gates of Darkstone Keep on the back of his black demon rider. The gate guards reluctantly allowed the large beast to ride across the bridge and beneath the portcullis. The mage dismounted. His long black robes

billowed out around him. His cowl rode low on his face revealing a serious set of full lips and a square jaw with a slightly cleft chin. Power seemed to crackle in the air around him. Mages put no stock in bloodlines and nobility, they defied the laws of the universe. They were a direct challenge to the order of things. The nobles were intimidated. This was a servant of the goddess many of them had defamed and whose worshipers they had long subjugated. “Take me to the patient,” he said sharply. The knight waiting to escort him took umbrage at his tone, but was too nervous to enforce the code of protocol. “This way,” he said and turned quickly to lead the mage to the lord’s solar. The quicker he delivered him, the quicker he could be out of the mage’s presence. The mage followed the frantic knight at his own pace, neither hurrying, nor deliberately delaying his stride. He simply moved at a tempo that disregarded the desires of other people. The knight reached a stairwell that led up to the lord’s solar. Sir Alfred was waiting outside the door. “He is inside this room,” he said, eyeing the mage with trepidation. The figure in the black robes didn’t speak, but stepped into the room as the door was opened. He was greeted by Lord Farlair and Lady Brianna. “I will need to be alone with the patient,” said the mage in a quiet smooth voice. “Very well,” said Lord Farlair. “There will be great reward if you can save him.” “And if I can’t?” the mage asked softly without emotion.

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“I will not hold it against you,” said Lord Farlair. “There is little hope.” As requested everyone left the room. The mage locked the door behind them then turned and walked toward the figure lying on the bed. Halfway there, his step faltered, his knees grew suddenly weak. “Dreah,” he gasped.

Chapter Seven Dane took several deep breaths before he sat on the bed beside her. His mind raced with possibilities. He came up with the only one that made sense. After he whispered a few words, he saw her glow of enchantment. He saw her as she truly was, not as the rest of the world viewed her. His magic allowed him to see a lot of things that were invisible to non-magic people. He pulled out his spell components and set to work, first pulling her back to consciousness. Someone had given her a dose of malanse. It was an herb that could, in high enough doses, wipe away a person’s mental stability, make them entirely insane. It was amateur, but effective. He mixed the only known antidote and administered that first thing. There was no telling how much damage had already been done by the malanse. He tried to work on her as if she was just another patient, but he kept faltering. “Easy now,” he said softly as she opened her eyes. He had leaned in very close to her. So that his eyes shone directly into hers. He caught and held her gaze. “Look at me Dreah, cling to reality. Fight the malanse. I have given you a potion that will work against it, but you have to work against it too. Don’t go to sleep until I tell you.” “Dane,” she said through numb lips. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.“Yes, Dreah, It’s me,” he said pressing his lips gently to her forehead. “It hurts Dane; it hurts so bad.” “I know,” he said clenching his jaw. He pulled out a pouch and took some powder out sprinkling it over her, speaking in a whisper uttering the secret and elusive words of magic.

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Dreah was suddenly warm all over. She couldn’t feel her body, or the pain in it. “You look different,” she said. “Your hands– Is it an illusion, like me.” He shook his head no. “But on every night of the full moon, I am as I was.” He fumbled through his pouches as he talked, pulling out the magic components he would need to begin the mending. Tears sprang to Dreah’s eyes. “I wish I never wished.” Dane was quiet for a moment, mixing the essences. “It is too late to think of that now.” He set aside the bowl and pulled down the sheet to reveal her naked and bruised body. He flinched and looked away for a moment, schooling his face to make it appear emotionless. He started rubbing the bone mender over her broken arms and down her rib cage. “Let me die Dane. Don’t save me.” Dane added the ingredients to the bowl once again mixing them together then he looked at her sharply. “That doesn’t sound a bit like the girl I know.” “I am no longer the girl you once knew Dane,” she said bitterly. He finished rubbing her with the bone mender and started mixing components for flesh wounds. He rubbed it over her body even in the most intimate regions. His fingers were shaking by the time he was finished. He had to quell the urge to cry out in rage at what had been done to her. He turned away from her for a minute. “What happened?” he asked in a constricted voice. “Who did this to you?” “It wasn’t the first time,” she said. Dane didn’t say anything for a very long time. He used the washbasin to clean up with his back turned to her. Then he came back

to the bed. His face was a composed mask. He sat on the bed next to her. “Who did this to you?” Her lips quivered. “Dane there is nothing you can do for me now. I’m lost.” Tears fell from her eyes freely then as she allowed herself to cry. “You’re wrong. There are things I can do,” he said softly, scooting onto the bed beside her. He gathered her into his arms. “I will use my power to destroy the man who did this to you.” “I have to go now,” she whispered. “The voices are calling.” “No! Dreah you have to fight the malanse,” he urged. Dreah gasped. “I c-can’t.” “Yes, you can. Focus on me. Look into my eyes.” Dreah looked up into his bright green eyes. There was something in them, a power that held her there. “What’s happening to me?” she whispered. “The antidote takes a little time. I don’t know how long ago the malanse was given to you. Not long ago I suspect, or you probably wouldn’t recognize me right now.” “Dane,” she whispered, bringing up her fingers to his cheek. They glowed a pale gold from the magical healing compounds that he had rubbed onto her. “Listen to me Dreah. The next few hours are critical to you. You must focus on what you know to be real. If you start seeing visions or hearing voices you have to tell me.” She nodded and stared at him thoughtfully for a while. He pulled out another few pouches of herbs and spell components, combining them carefully, saying the needed incantations at each step of the process. His face was expressionless. His green eyes cool as they had ever been.

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His features were angular and he looked older. He was definitely taller by far, standing at about six foot two. His fingers were long and graceful, the hands of a scholar, not a warrior or a worker. When he was finished mixing, he combined it with some hot water and had her sip it. “This will help relax you, but it won’t make you sleepy,” he said, carefully smoothing back her hair from her face as he held the cup to her lips. “You have changed,” she ventured. He looked at her thoughtfully. “We all change Dreah.” “You are a powerful mage then, just as you wished to be.” He nodded. “Are you happy?” His expression changed slightly, but he didn’t answer. Instead he resumed his examination of his herbs. “Can you find a way to end my enchantment?” He sighed then and there was a long pause as he looked back into her eyes. “I don’t know.” She looked away from him, but then a strange panic bubbled up inside and she had to fight images that came up suddenly. She blinked and refocused on his face. His eyes were somehow able to keep her grounded in the here and now, despite the drug that Brianna had given to her. “I thought you were dead. I wish I would have known otherwise.” “It was the wishes Dane. The one I wished for my parents and the one you wished for me. The wishes brought me to this and my enchantment has been a misery for me. I want to end it. Please find a way to end it.”

“Are you sure you want that?” he asked reasonably. “Right now you are the respected heir of this fief. What happened to you last night when you were seen as the woman you are, would be something you would have to live with on a regular basis as a bound servant female. Bound servant women have no choice in the male company they keep, even when they are married. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” “I would leave this place Dane. If we could find the faerie moon, we could reverse the wishes.” “Nothing we do can change the past,” he said. “ Nothing can bring back your parents.” “But could we end the enchantment?” she asked. He nodded. “But Dreah, we lost the faerie moon in the river. It is gone. Probably at the bottom of the far away sea by now.” They talked on for some time. She told him about the night that she came to the castle and about Spider. Dane was thoughtful and kept mostly quiet, allowing her to talk until the antidote had taken full affect. Finally noting her exhaustion he said, “I am going to give you something that will make you sleep for awhile.” “Wait,” she said reaching out grabbing his hand. “Don’t leave me here alone. Don’t let them make you leave.” “Drink this and try not to worry so much,” he said. “I need your help Dane.” He smiled then and his face appeared younger, closer to his age of twenty. “I will stay Dreah. To be honest, I don’t think that there are any who would be brave enough to try to force me to go. They all think I will cut off their testicles and steal their souls.” He shook his head and smiled. “As if I would have any use for them.”

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Dreah swallowed and looked at him for a long moment as he stroked her forehead. “Dane,” she said sleepily. “I . . . I’ve–” “There’s no need for you to say it, Dreah. I have missed you too,” he said quietly.

Chapter Eight Dreah lay on the bed sleeping for a time before Dane unlocked the door to the room. Lord Farlair and Lady Brianna were waiting out in the hall along with several knights. “Your son will live, but he needs rest,” said Dane evenly, looking at them from the shadows of his dark cowl. His cold green eyes swept over Lady Brianna and she shivered, leaning closer to her husband. It was out of character, but her husband took no note of it. Lord Farlair’s eyes strayed to the figure on the bed. He nodded and turned to Sir Rolf. “I need you to tell the clerk to prepare a bag of gold for the mage and give him an escort back to his dwelling.” “The gold I will take,” said Dane calmly, looking directly at Lady Brianna, “But I will remain with the patient for the time being.” Lady Brianna flinched almost imperceptibly. “I’m sure there are other more important things that require the attention of someone of your particular talents.” Dane gave her a cold smile. “Call it professional interest, but I insist on overseeing Lander’s care until he is entirely recovered.” There were several murmurs of disapproval, but no one openly challenged the mage. “As you wish,” said Lord Farlair. “I am in your debt young magic user, and I will not forget it.” Dane inclined his head slightly and stepped away from the doorway allowing the others to enter the room. Lord Farlair went and sat on the bed next to Dreah. He didn’t speak for a long time, just looked down at her. The other knights were reluctant to remain in the presence of the mage and after only a few moments, ensuring no doubt that the mage

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hadn’t inflicted some sort of spell on the young heir, they made their excuses for things that they had to see to. “Did he speak?” asked Lord Farlair. “He spoke a little.” “Did he tell you who did this?” asked Lord Farlair. “He doesn’t know,” said Dane. Lord Farlair growled his anguish and got up to pace the room like an agitated predator. Lady Brianna sat sufficiently subdued in a chair by the window. The room was silent for a time and Dane watched the lady of the castle carefully. After what Dreah had told him he wasn’t about to take his eyes from her, but to accuse her of complicity in something like this would be futile without some proof. The silence was broken when Sir Alfred poked his head into the room. “My Lord, there is a kitchen boy who thinks he might have seen something,” he said glancing at Dreah’s unconscious form. Lord Farlair left the room immediately. Dane made a slow deliberate turn around the room, closing the door on his way past it. Lady Brianna turned at the sound of the door latch and fidgeted nervously. “There is no need for you to remain with him any longer. I am capable for caring for him now that the real danger is past. A mother always likes to be the one to care for her child.” Dane laughed. It was a harsh mirthless sound. “Lady you may drop the pretense. You are a terrible actress and an amateur herbalist at best. Your malanse potion was easily detected. You hoped to cause irreparable harm to her, and you would blame it on the brutal treatment she received from a mysterious assailant, but I was able to counter it. Be assured, she still has all of her faculties.”

Lady Brianna pulled herself up indignantly. “I am sure I have no idea what you are speaking of. What do you mean by calling him a her? That is my son there. You had better keep your dark magic to yourself, or I will tell my husband you have tried to bewitch our son with your devilry.” Dane sighed impatiently. “Still at it are you?” he took several steps forward until he had her backed up against a wall. He placed his hands on the stone above her, and she flinched beneath his frigid gaze. “I will be staying with her until we discover the identity of Spider. Then My Lady,” he said calmly, stroking her chin with his long cool fingers. “Then I will kill him, and I will see you tortured for months, perhaps years before I kill you. That is the game, plain and simple. If you tell me his identity now, I will take pity on you and perhaps find it in my cold heart to be merciful to you.” She swallowed. “I only know him as Spider; I have never seen his face I swear it, but I know how to contact him,” she said. Her eyes shifted around the room, looking for an escape. “It’s a secret way. I place a message in a hole along the south passage and he comes.” Dane gave her a dark menacing smile. “I’m glad we understand each other. I will give you until tonight.” “But he might not check for messages today. He’s probably resting after last night,” she cried. Dane’s fingers tightened painfully on her chin. “A fact for which I could kill you this very instant. Bring him to me tonight, or I will find him later and make you live to regret not obeying me.” Lady Brianna was shaking with fear as she scrambled away from him, and left the room. Dane smiled with grim satisfaction.

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Some hours passed before there was a knock at the door. Dane opened it and a skittish servant girl handed him a small parchment. Dane perused it quickly. “Bring me Sir Alfred and Gui. Tell no one else I have made this request.” The girl nodded fearfully then fled. Dane was used to this reaction to his presence. Mages were feared among common folk as well as among the other classes, yes feared, but useful in times of need. The noble classes generally worshiped Verago, who was the goddess Terusa’s natural rival. Verago’s priests spoke out against the use of magic. A little while later Gui and Sir Alfred arrived. They agreed to his request without question. Dane knew he could trust them through what Dreah had told him. He glance back at Dreah briefly then left the room, following the stone corridor to the end as the missive instructed. Lady Brianna was standing in a dark stairwell. “He is supposed to meet me in the west tower. Up on the ramparts,” she whispered. He looked up the dark stairwell. He sensed an evil presence somewhere high above him. “If you have lied to me, you will plead for death long before I grant your desire for oblivion.” Lady Brianna flinched and backed away from the mage in fear. She swallowed and her throat stuck together. “I swear it by Verago,” she said, handing him the torch. Dane raised his golden blond brow and waved a graceful hand at the torch. “Keep your target. I will make my own way.” He removed some spell components from one of his pouches and whispered some words over it. A cold green flame sprang from his hand and hovered above his palm. Lady Brianna stepped back in fear and watched as the mage

moved up the dark staircase. The green flame flickered over the stone and cast green shadows over his robes. His face was partially obscured by the heavy cowl. The affect was sinister and he knew it, counted on it. The staircase spiraled up toward the highest tower of Darkstone Keep. This tower was built on the far corner of the keep, perched at the very end of the peninsula that jutted out into the sea. The low groan of the wind sounded down through the darkened stairwell as it blew over the portal opening. It was open. Dane slowed his footsteps as he approached the top. The cold wind blew his dark robes around his body. The tower opening jutted up the center of the tower and opened toward the sea. During the wars with the Nezidarians, there had been guards here to act as lookouts. Now it was deserted. The door that once covered the opening of the tower dome, lay in three pieces on the stone floor. Debris carried on the wind was caught in between it, and tufts of grass had begun to take root in it. No one was visible from the doorway waiting at the ramparts. He pulled out some powder from one of his pouches and held it in his hand, then stepped out onto the flagstone that marked the top of the tower. It was deserted. He walked around the dome that contained the portal, slowly until he reached the back side. Deserted. Either the lady had lied, or Spider was late. He moved back to head the way he had come when suddenly a Leavek serpent came slithering between the purloins. Dane froze. Leavek serpents were feared for their venom and their sour temperament. Its short front legs sported long sharp claws that scraped as its scales whispered over the stone. It circled around in front of him. The exit portal was on the other side of the dome. The serpent was between him and the exit. Dane had been prepared to fight a man,

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maybe even several men, but the serpent took him by surprise. It was over fifteen feet long and thick bodied and so named for the great mage Hazalina Leavek, who had created them during the First Empire of Duidine. Originally guardians of the coast watchtowers, they were created to keep the magic wielding invaders from the southern continent of Ghent from seizing a foothold. As the First Empire fractured during the Elffinik Wars, the serpents became a nuisance and a drain, and Duidine became one of three kingdoms on the largest northern continent on the world of Kavadeen. All this history Dane recalled in an instant because the history of the serpent meant that only spells developed by Hazalina could be used effectively against them. He stepped slowly to the side. He had drake powder in his hand. Originally he had planned to use it to blind Spider, but that spell wouldn’t work on the serpent. The sharp red eyes were focused on his every move. The serpent struck. In the last second Dane recalled Hazalina’s wall spell for drake powder. He tossed the powder up into the air saying the words and then dove to the right. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the weatherstone, Hazalina’s speciality. The serpent spit venom at him, and Dane called for wind that blew it aside. The venom sizzled and smoked on the gray tower stone. The serpent struck again and nearly landed a blow, catching the edge of his robe, tearing it with his fangs. Dane called for hail and immediately pellets of white fell, pelting the serpent. He had enough control over the weatherstone to keep himself free from the rain of fist sized balls of ice. Then he called for lighting striking down at the serpent. The serpent was fast and the first lightening bolt missed him. It slithered toward Dane, and he called down the lighting once again, this time striking the ground in front of him, and singeing the edge of his

torn robe. The serpent struck again, this time landing a blow on Dane’s leg. It was a bone cracking strike. Dane flew back, the weatherstone fell from his grasp and rolled away. He had about sixty seconds before the venom paralyzed him. Leavek serpents ate their paralyzed prey alive over the span of several hours. This was not going to be a happy fate. Dane scooted backward from the approaching beast, dragging his injured leg with him. The serpent no longer attacked. It would wait for the venom to work. It didn’t know the significance of the smooth gray gem lying among the hail on the flagstone. Already Dane’s hands were growing numb. He pulled himself up and rolled over. His fingers touched the weatherstone; he grabbed it as best he could and focused on the serpent, calling down lighting. The serpent, no longer in attack mode, didn’t see it coming. The lighting struck, scorching the beast in the head. It fell dead at Dane’s feet. Dane had just enough time to register this before he lost sensation of his body. It would be hours before he could move, if the poison didn’t kill him.

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Chapter Nine Dreah awoke to the silence and the darkness. She was alone. Dane had left her alone there. A deep sense of disappointment pervaded her. She looked around the room and saw that Sir Alfred was there, and Gui was with him. She knew that Dane must have requested they be there since she had told him they were the only ones besides her father that she trusted. “Where is Dane?” she whispered. Gui looked at her. “Lander, thank Verago you’re awake.” “Where is Dane,” she repeated “Who is Dane?” Dreah sighed. “The mage.” Gui raised his brown eyebrows. “I didn’t know his name.” Dreah didn’t offer any explanation or give out any information about her childhood friend. Instinctively she knew Dane would prefer any details about himself to be kept confidential. “Did he speak with you?” asked Gui curiously. Dreah looked away from Gui, not wanting to encourage more questions. A commotion outside the door saved them from the awkward silence that had fallen. Then the door burst open and three knights stood on the threshold. “Where is the mage?” Sir Rolf demanded. “He left some time ago,” said Sir Alfred, rising from his place on the stool. “Where did he go?” asked Sir Rolf. “He didn’t say. It was all very secretive,” said Sir Alfred. “Why do you ask? Does his Lordship require his presence?”

“His Lordship has been poisoned!” said Sir Gilbert furiously. “We need a healer!” Sir Alfred leaped to his feet. Gui was beside him. “Father,” Dreah cried, struggling out of bed, though, she was still too weak to stand unassisted. Gui came to her aid. “Where is he?” Dreah demanded weakly, panting heavily and leaning on her friend. Lord Rolf inclined his head slightly in her direction. “My Lord, he is in the feast hall. Your mother is seeing to him, but she doesn’t know the nature of the poison that has been given to him. She has requested the assistance of the mage.” “You should lie back down your lordship,” said Sir Gilbert. “I must go to him. I must go to my father,” she said, struggling toward the door. “Young master, Sir Gilbert is right; you should return to bed. There is nothing you can do for him,” said Sir Rolf. “No! I won’t do it!” she cried.“I have to go.” “Very well, I will carry you down there, My Lord,” said Sir Rolf. Dreah might have protested this humiliating treatment if she wasn’t sure that she would collapse on the way to the feast hall if she walked. “Strange that the mage left after so clearly insisting that he would stay,” said Sir Rolf tensely as they went. There were murmurs of assent among the knights. “The ways of magic users are strange,” said Sir Gilbert. “Suspicious,” said Sir Wilfurd. “I wonder who was the one who prepared his lordship’s drink.”

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They had almost made it to the feast hall when several other knights came striding up with a bound servant girl named Seriah. “Sir Rolf, this servant girl said that there was a stranger in the kitchens when she was assisting the cook.” “Seal the outer baily! Allow no one to leave or enter until further notice!” he said to his knights then to Seriah. “Follow us. I will question you in a moment.” They entered the feast hall. All the usual sounds of merriment were absent. Everyone stood gathered around the area on the dias near the high table where Lord Farlair d’Avar lay on the colorful, plush Craemiran rug. Lady Brianna knelt next to him. Dreah struggled out of Sir Rolf’s arms and knelt on his other side. “Father,” she cried looking down into his pale gray eyes. “M–My son,” Lord Farlair gasped, grabbing at her hand. “I’m here father,” she said, taking his hand in her own, holding it firmly, stroking it gently. His gray eyes were glassy and dilated. He was sweating profusely and blood was beginning to seep through his pores. “It’s a curse,” someone among the crowd whispered and that general theme was echoed more loudly by the others. “The mage is nowhere to be found,” said Sir Wilfurd. It didn’t take long for the others to start talking about the disappearance of the mage and the suspicious illness of Lord d’Avar. Dreah was barely listening. She was focused on her dying father. He had never known that his son Lander was dead. He had never known that she was a girl, but he wouldn’t die without knowing how she felt about him. “I love you father,” she whispered as tears traced their way down her face.

“You will– become a– great knight one– day my son,” he said, coughing up blood now trickling from the edge of his mouth. “I will make you proud. I will find out who did this and I will avenge you father. I will avenge you!” she cried desperately. “I– am– already proud of you– my son,” said Lord d’Avar then he coughed and was seized by a spasm then ceased to breath. Dreah took one deep breath then reached out to close his eyes. Then she looked at Lady Brianna’s downcast eyes and knew such overwhelming hatred for her that she was almost choking on it. Tears welled in her eyes and she wiped them away furiously. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t let herself. She would never cry again. She would take revenge. “You killed him!” she raged, and leaped across her father’s dead body, grabbing Lady Brianna around the neck. One of the knights pulled her off. “The mage has placed a curse on my son!” Lady Brianna cried. “No!” Dreah screamed. “It’s not a curse! She killed him! Her and Spider!” “Come now, you are overwrought with grief son,” said Sir Alfred, holding her arm tightly. “He has been cursed,” cried Sir Gilbert. “The mage has cursed him.” “Find the mage!” ordered Sir Rolf “Find the mage!” several knights echoed. “He has killed Lord Farlair! He has cursed Lander!” “Take my son to his tower chamber where he cannot be harmed or harm anyone in his present state,” ordered Lady Brianna with authority. “No!” Dreah cried struggling against Sir Alfred. “She’s trying to trap me! She’s going to give me to Spider!”

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Sir Alfred looked at her with sympathy. Dreah looked at the faces of the others and there she saw a similar look, a look that someone would give to a crazy person. They thought she was out of her mind and the more she struggled, the crazier they would think she was. She had to escape. She looked at her escort as they led her from the great hall. There were six in all. Sir Alfred was old. She could probably trip him and get his sword from his scabbard then try to fight her way free. She looked at the other five. Two she knew, Sir Menal and Sir Neize. Both were young, and fast. The other three she didn’t know. They were all past their early years, but battle-scarred and experienced. Even with her improved skill, in her weak state she would be no match for all of them. They led her in silence up the spiral steps to her tower room and the bar fell in place, locking her inside. She walked to the window slit and peered down into the bailey. With some rope she might be able to make it down, if she could squeeze through the window. The bed still had linen bedcovers. She could tear them and braid rope. She could probably get away, but what about Dane? If he was still in the keep, they would find him and try him for murder. She couldn’t just abandon him to that fate. Besides she was still weak despite the healing she had received, too weak to do anything. Her body ached and her brain cried out for rest. She turned away from the window and fell onto the bed. She lay there for hours until overwhelmed by fatigue sleep finally claimed her. She awoke in the pre-dawn, alert feeling somewhat restored. Dane’s magic was strong and his healing was nearly complete. She paced the room until the sky grew from the deep purples of the night to the light violet of the early morning. The Sheran and Sulamon rose. The inner

bailey grew silent and then the door to her room opened. There stood Amatrice, her bound servant half sister. “My Lord!” said the young woman. Dreah looked for a quick second outside the door and saw the two guards comatose and lying on the floor. “Quickly follow me My Lord,” she said and left, not waiting to see if Dreah followed. Dreah slipped out the door following Amatrice. “What about the mage?” “They found him this morning half dazed and attempting to get into the lord’s solar. They are about to try him for the death of your father and for cursing you. Your mother has told everyone that she is preparing a potion to save you, but that it is likely that you are incurably insane,” said Amatrice as they flew down the tower steps at an alarming rate. “And you believe her?” asked Dreah, her step faltering on the stone steps in the torch- lit stairwell. The wavering light cast orange shadows in Amatrice’s strange golden eyes. “My Lord, I do not know what I believe, but I know this. If you are declared unfit to rule this knightdom, then it will revert to Lady Brianna’s control until the king can take over wardship, and he is on a campaign that could take ten years to complete. He would not bother with such a small fief unless he was bored during peacetime. For the sake of the people here, you need to rule.” “What about Dane? I will not abandon him to die for a crime he didn’t commit!” Dreah protested. “How do you know he didn’t commit it?” asked Amatrice. “I just know,” said Dreah flatly.

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“Come,” said Amatrice. “I have plans to save the mage too anyway, but you have to hurry or else we all might be put to death.” “Why? Why would you run the risk of dying for me?” asked Dreah. Amatrice turned and looked at her. There was no love or sisterly devotion in the cold depths of her golden eyes. The flames refracted over her black pupils and seemed to reflect deeper fire, something that burned from within, ambition, determination. It was hard to tell. “Because My Lord I too have been acquainted with the punishment of Spider. If you are insane, I figure there are worse things out there than belonging to an insane overlord who happens to be my half brother. Now quickly, there is no more time for talk. You must follow my lead and do not contradict anything I say,” she said coming up to the old man, who had waited on her during her imprisonment. Dreah nodded and that seemed to satisfy Amatrice who then took off through the maze of darkened hallways used by servants, leaving Dreah to follow in their wake. They emerged onto a balcony overlooking the inner bailey. Dane was standing on top of a large pile of wood, tied to a large wooden pole. Several knights were gathered nearby. A table of inquisition had been set up for the purpose of a trial, but it was obvious the verdict had already been decided. The trial was merely to satisfy the law. “Stay here and stay low unless it looks like I’m in need of assistance,” said Amatrice, handing Dreah a scraggly blanket to throw over her head to disguise herself in the crowd. “Wait how will I–” But the girl was gone before Dreah could finish, weaving her way through the crowd. Dreah moved to the back of the crowd and found herself looking down at an unkempt boy. By the black hair and grey eyes, she could assume he was another bastard sibling of

hers. She pressed her finger to her lips. He opened his palm and showed her an ugly looking root. “What’s this?” she asked. “Malanse root My Lord,” he said. She glanced around them at the crowd, but no one was paying any attention to them. They were all focused on the trial for the magic user. “Where did you get it?” she asked. “In Lady Brianna’s chamber. I saw her pick some a few days ago. I knew it was poison, but I was afraid that if I told, she would use it on me.” “What’s your name boy?” “Shiraz,” he said looking very frightened. Dreah smiled. “Don’t worry, Shiraz, she will never know it was you who told, and if all goes well with me today, I will take you as a page tomorrow.” Shiraz beamed and bowed. “Yes My Lord.” Dreah looked up at the sky. One of the mother stars was visible today. She didn’t know which one it was, though she was sure Dane could have told her. It was nearly full and it’s normally red tinge was a lavender in the light of day. She blessed Terusa for her good fortune. Near the table, on the accusers stand stood Lady Brianna. “This magic user has killed my husband and cursed my son. I call for the penalty of death by fire for his crime.” Her voice rang out in the bailey clear as the cold dawn. Dane, still partially paralyzed from the after affects of the venom, stood silently. The morning wind blew his black robes around his body. His wrists were securely tied behind his back. His spell components were in a heap on the table of inquisition in front of the jury of six

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knights and the judge. Three knights seated on either side of Sir Rolf served as the jury and he, as the ranking knight, stood up between them as the judge. “Is there anyone here who would stand up in defense of the mage,” Sir Rolf asked. For a second, silence reigned in the courtyard until Amatrice made it to the witness box. “Sir knight, I profess that I have some evidence in favor of the mage,” she said with her golden eyes raking the jury, lacking in emotion as they rested on each. “Speak,” said Sir Rolf. “Last night, it was I who came to the lord’s solar. I had hoped that the mage would sell me a love potion, so I lured him away with the promise of– well, with the intention of trading my services in exchange for the potion,” she said. “And who was it that you planned to use the potion on,” asked Sir Rolf. Amatrice looked at Sir Rolf with a sloe sultry smile. “Why you of course, Sir Knight,” she said airily. A corner of Sir Rolf’s lips lifted in amusement. “I think that the young lady is having a joke at my expense. See here miss. This is a serious court of law. We have no room for games here.” Amatrice changed tack. “I apologize for my impudence Sir Rolf, but a girl without position like me surely can be forgiven for attempting to better her position through flattery of a great lord such as you.” She turned to Gui and winked. “It is Gui who has captured my fancy.” Gui colored red to the roots of his light brown hair as she sauntered up to him and draped her arms around his neck.

“I think the wench wouldn’t need much of a potion to make that one love her,” said Sir Wilfurd half laughing. Several squires and pages nearby laughed and one said. “Only too true, but the girl is much loved by the rest of us. Why settle for one when she can have us all?” Amatrice’s eyes flashed angrily for a bare second before she recovered her perfect calmness. “My good sirs, I only came as my duty to justice in order to spare this innocent man,” she said, waving a graceful hand at Dane. “Are we going to accept the testimony of a mere bound servant,” asked Sir Gilbert Sir Rolf shrugged. “It is a rather flimsy case you have made for the mage’s innocence. We have the evidence of a dead overlord and a bewitched heir to the fief. You say you came to get the mage, but who says where you went with him. Perhaps you are an accomplice,” suggested Sir Rolf. Amatrice swallowed uncomfortably and looked up into Gui’s eyes. “I can attest to the truth of what she says,” said Gui. “I saw her leave the Lord’s solar with the mage, and I saw her bring him to her room. They were there when the alarm was sent out for Lord Farlair.” Sir Rolf raised a brow. “Why would you follow the girl and the mage and wait outside her door?” asked Sir Hallak, one of the jurors. “Because I love her,” said Gui. “It seems the girl wasted her charms to gain the potion,” laughed one of the knights. “Silence!” Sir Rolf called with authority. “This is a serious proceeding. Not an afternoon at the local tavern.”

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The crowd quieted. “Now,” hissed Sir Rolf. “Is there anyone else who can corroborate this testimony. The words of a lovesick squire and a known harlot are not good enough to establish the innocence of a known practitioner of the dark arts and follower of Terusa.” “You have my word on it as well,” said Dreah, suddenly stepping from behind the crowd. The people gasped and parted for her to come forward. One knight made as if to restrain her, but she stayed him with a look of icy authority. “I will directly challenge anyone here who accuses me of insanity. The mage saved my life yesterday. May I remind everyone here that the first attempt on my life was made before the mage was even invited into the castle. He had no reason to kill me or my father. He had nothing to gain and a gold purse to lose for his efforts.” “Take my son back to his chambers,” said Lady Brianna hysterically. “He is ill and needs his rest.” Dreah walked forward toward the lady and she backed up instinctively. At five foot ten she towered over the thinner and more delicate Brianna. “Interesting that you are so determined to keep me confined My Lady. Everyone present must be aware of how much you had to gain from my father’s death and by me being declared incompetent to govern the knightdom.” Lady Brianna backed up again and swallowed. Dreah took another step forward. The lady cried out in desperation. “Seize him! Seize him I say. He is insane! He –he doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Sweat had gathered on her brow, and she glanced at the jury. Two knights made as if to grab Dreah at Brianna’s command, but Dreah ducked, using reflexes honed from long hours practicing in the

courtyard and months of exercise. She unsheathed the blade of one of the knights as he faltered, trying to grab for her. She whirled around in a wide arc and several knights and other nobles stepped back out of range of the long sword. It was heavy and cold in her hand. The steel flashed in the lavender light of the early morning. Two silvery beams of light reflected the two faint suns. She turned to Lady Brianna. “You gave me malanse root in hopes that I would in fact be insane,” said Dreah coldly. “I have no idea what you are talking about my son, my darling boy,” said Lady Brianna in a performance that might even rival the traveling players. “You don’t know what malanse root is?” she queried. “No. . . I please Lander, you are overwrought. You–you have a fever. We should get you back up to the tower where I can properly care for your illness.” She glanced at the knights for support. Dreah nearly laughed in disbelief. “I found this a short time ago in your chamber,” she lied, holding out the malanse root. “Impossible. We can’t take the word of an insane boy!” Brianna cried, unable to keep the hint of disdain out of her voice. “Then what about the word of a knight?” said Sir Alfred. “What?” Lady Brianna gasped. “This is treason. Some kind of plot!” “No, My Lady. I am and always have been loyal to Lord Farlair d’Avar. I served his father, and I fostered Farlair from childhood. There are none here among the knights, who would accuse me of treachery, none but you My Lady. You never liked your husband. I never faulted you for that as love is rare in noble alliances, but harm him, I never thought you would be stupid enough to do. I was with young Lander when we searched your chamber and there we found the malanse root. I

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am sure if we are given enough time, we will find the components you used to poison your husband.” “This can’t be,” she cried angrily, looking with desperation at the jury. None of them were smiling. All of them were looking at the lady in stony silence. She was a condemned woman and she knew it. “He’s a she!” she shrieked pointing at Dreah. “She’s not my son! My son is dead! She is a fraud!” cried Lady Brianna. “Silence woman!” growled Sir Rolf. “No!” she cried, leaping forward. She unsheathed a dagger and lunged for Dreah. Dreah caught a hold of her wrists and held them in an iron grip. “I think perhaps she has poisoned herself with the malanse root,” said someone from the crowd. There were murmurs of assent to this. “You can’t do this to me!” she yelled viciously. “I won’t stand trial!” “There is no need for a trial when it is so clear to everyone present that you are guilty,” said Dreah calmly. “Lies! Supposition only! I did nothing! She’s the one,” she cried, kicking at Dreah. She broke away, still clutching her dagger. She cut into Dreah’s shirtfront. “Hah!,” she cried with a maniacal gleam in her eyes. “That dagger was poisoned! You are going to die now you worthless peasant slut!” “Seize the lady,” ordered Sir Rolf. Two knights moved to grab her, but she ducked through the crowd, swiping at them with the dagger. The crowd parted hastily and she climbed up onto the wood stack where Dane was still tethered. She held the dagger up to his throat. “Tell them! Tell them what you are, or I will kill your wicked friend,” she cried.

“No My Lady. Your dagger didn’t cut through my clothing, so I will not die and neither will he,” said Dreah calmly pulling out a dagger. “She has the mark! On the night of the f–.” Her voice fell into silence as the dagger flew through the air burying itself into her throat. Lady Brianna registered surprise as she fell down onto the woodpile at Dane’s feet. Bleeding out onto the sticks. Dreah walked up to the fallen lady and leaned in close. Lady Brianna was gasping but unable to speak. Dreah whispered into her ear. “Now you see what it is like to bleed like my mother and father did. Die My Lady knowing that I will find Spider, and I will kill him for what he has done. May Terusa send you to the Pit of Despair for your crimes.” She stood up then and watched, bereft of all feeling as Lady Brianna’s blue eyes became fixed and dilated. The crowd had quieted. All eyes were on her. Dreah knew that this was the moment she needed to solidify herself as the heir of the keep, as the noble she had become. She spoke to the crowd.“Even though she murdered my father and tried to kill me, she was my mother and the lady of the castle. We will give her a decent burial and say prayers for her. I am now the lord of Darkstone Keep. Anyone who wishes to challenge that notion step forward now or swear your allegiance to me.” Sir Alfred went down on his knee before her. “My lord I have ever served this family in good faith, and I will serve you until my death.” He drew his sword and offered it to her ceremoniously. She lifted it, touched his shoulder with the blade and handed it back. “I accept your sword and return it to you so you may use it to guard this fief.” One-by-one, the knights came forward, swearing their allegiance to her. Dreah ordered Dane to be cut loose and Sir Alfred along with Gui,

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accompanied him to the Lord’s Solar. The swearing took more than an hour, and when she left the courtyard she had to repeat her new title over and over again to herself. She had to think of herself as a knight, a man, the lord of Darkstone Keep.

Chapter Ten After the swearing, Dreah was exhausted. Inside she was cold and dead. She felt no guilt over Lady Brianna’s death, only dark satisfaction. It left her hungry for more vengeance. She vowed then that she would never again be the victim of any man, or woman, and she would never allow any man or woman to harm another. Secretly she loathed the other nobles who oppressed the people, using them, but as the lord of the keep, she needed them. She would use them and anyone else she had to in order to make the changes she now had the power to do. She would defeat anyone who challenged her; she would kill anyone who threatened her, or anyone under her protection. She would follow the precepts of the goddess Terusa to the letter. Bound servitude would see an end under her leadership. She entered the lord’s solar to find Gui and Sir Alfred, along with the old man who had served her during her confinement in the tower. He was busily bathing Dane’s forehead with a cool cloth. She set the pouches containing Dane’s spell components onto a side table and walked across the room toward the large mantle. Without looking at anyone else, she stood silently for a moment, staring into the orange flames. She was numb, oddly detached from the warmth. Bereft. Alone, but not afraid. She would never be afraid again. She turned back to face the others in the room. Dreah looked first into Dane’s eyes. It was one of those moments when without speaking there existed a perfect understanding between them. They had a connection, like a filament that bound their life-forces together. The faerie moon and its power drew them to one another, especially when they were so near. She was drawn in, almost drowning in his unwavering green eyes. She looked away from him. There was

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raw emotion there, emotion she would have to work to divest herself of. She couldn’t afford to feel too deeply for anyone. She glanced away from him for a second, then looked back. There had been many times when they were children that their souls had connected like that, as if their two souls were cut from the same cloth and written with the same words. It had happened often when they were young and less as they had grown into adolescents. They both had changed, but there was that link between them still, and for a brief instant, the years apart melted away, and they were the children they once were, simple and easy. But no, she reminded herself quickly. There was that fire in his eyes, that burning look that sometimes devoured whoever and whatever he saw. There was nothing simple or easy about Dane. There never had been. She turned to Sir Alfred, looking pointedly at him. “Why did you lie for me Sir Knight? You were not there when I came into possession of the malanse root.” Sir Alfred rubbed his red tired eyes. He was exhausted and still reeling with grief over the death of her father. While it hurt her too on some level deep inside, Dreah refused to allow it to settle. There was no more time for sorrow or tears, or any other emotion. She had spent the last years steeped in grief, forged in abuse and what emerged was something cold, hard and steely edged. “Speak,” she commanded. “Your father was like a son to me,” he said wearily. “Yes,” she said evenly, “So why assist me? How do you know I was not his murderer? You were quick to believe it was Brianna. Were you aware of her duplicity? If so, then why did you never do anything to stop it?”

Sir Alfred flinched visibly. “My good lord, I suspected that there were times when she wielded her hand unjustly. She was cruel and hard on the bound servants, but that is no crime under the law.” Dreah hissed through her teeth. “The law! Damn the bound servitude laws! What about the laws of the goddess?” “The people of Duidine did not follow Terusa before the Craemirians brought the religion here. There are many who still resent the magic returning to Duidine, many who want to see it go away again,” said Sir Alfred reasonably. “You are young, and it is likely that your frequent confinement to your bed from illness kept you from knowing the ways of the world, but it is time you set yourself to learn. You are the lord of Darkstone Keep now. For the sake of your soul you should worship Verago like other nobles.” “Let me worry about the fate of my soul. You never answered my question. Why did you assist me?” she reiterated sharply. He sighed and looked over at Dane. His craggy features pulled into a frown. She could tell he was not comfortable in the mage’s presence, but he kept most of what he thought carefully hidden. “I knew you were telling the truth about the malanse root, because I saw the bruising under your fingernails before the mage came to heal you. The only thing I know that does that is malanse. I knew the mage had to have given you an antidote, or you would be incoherent now. I have seen it before,” he shuddered slightly. “I also went up to the top of the eastern tower, the one where the mage claimed to have killed the serpent, and I saw the body of the serpent and I knew he spoke the truth.” “Yet you didn’t say anything to the jury before I stepped forward,” she accused. “You would have let the mage die for a crime you knew he didn’t commit.”

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He glanced at the mage, who just lay there with a closed expression on his face, his green eyes burning with unnatural, unholy light. He shuddered slightly and looked back at Dreah. “It is true, but I knew that if I alone spoke out, no one would care to hear what I had to say. Especially if Lady Brianna was concocting the evidence. And I figured that he is a mage after all. Surely there are crimes that he has committed or will commit that warrant it. In the old days, we burned them for their heresy. No crime other than the possession of magic was needed to convict them. Now this new religion has spread, counseling compassion, so we must be compassionate, but he is dangerous My Lord. Pay him well in gold and send him back to the woods where he lives, and let us have nothing more to do with him” Dane raised a golden brown eyebrow over one eye and his lips pulled up slightly at one edge. He was enjoying himself. Dreah had to quell the urge to smile back. “I am afraid that I cannot promise that to you, Sir Alfred. As my father’s foster knight and a loyal friend, you are of great value to me, and I esteem your advice. However, I owe my life to this man, and intend to extend my hospitality and the hospitality of all who live in Darkstone Keep to him until he chooses to leave.” Sir Alfred looked like he might protest, but he had pledged to serve her, and it was not his place to second-guess the lord of the keep. He bowed slightly then left the chamber. Dreah turned her eyes to Gui. “And what’s your explanation?” He shrugged and smiled. “I have a soft spot for the girl. What can I say? Besides I didn’t think the mage did it, even if he is a magic user. He saved you. I owed him one for that.”

Dreah nodded, noticing once again how young he seemed, even though he was her age. She would never feel that way again. She envied him. “Go help Sir Alfred with the funeral arrangements for my parents,” she said dismissing him. Gui squirmed uncomfortably then and walked toward the door. He was about to open it when he stopped and turned back. “You killed her, Lander. I don’t think I could have done that.” “She was guilty. She paid for her crimes,” said Dreah tonelessly. “Yes,” he said and nodded tentatively. “But she was your mother.” “She never had any love for me, or my father,” said Dreah flatly. “I know,” he said nodding. “We all hated her. She was cruel and deserved it, but you didn’t even flinch, and there was something.” He hesitated trailing off as he reached for the door. Dreah knew that she should leave it alone and let him go, but something in the tone of his voice made her stop him. “What do you mean?” He turned back toward her. “I just guess I wish that someone else had killed her. That way it wouldn’t have been you.” Dreah nodded. She didn’t know what to say to that. He would never understand how much it had meant to her to avenge the death of her mother and father and her blood father as well. He would never understand the burning desire she had for vengeance. Gui left then. He could never say that the look of ferocity in her eyes when she threw the knife chilled him to the very core. He would never tell the young lord that he thought he was the most ruthless boy he had ever known. He would never tell him in the years to come, how many times he had dreamed of those cold grey eyes the color of polished steel glinting with murder, with bloodlust. He would never tell Lander he

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was afraid to spar with him. He would try to forget the unholy gleam that had accompanied the boy’s killing blow to his own mother. When Gui was gone, Dreah made sure that the door was closed, before she walked over to Dane and sat down on the edge of the bed. Dane half smiled up at her, his eyes razor sharp. “This is some castle you have here Lander, young master of the keep,” he whispered. His words were soft. “So it is, my good friend,” she said quietly. “It is some castle, and I will make it better with you here by my side as my chief advisor.” The edge of his lips lifted at this. His green eyes were alight with interest. “Rest assured that I will be with you when you need me young master of the keep.” “Stop calling me that,” she said impatiently. “On the contrary, I have to get used to it or else I might make a mistake in front of others.” She made a face. “You are clever, the cleverest person I know. You wouldn’t make a mistake and we both know it.” He sat up. “What are you doing? What about the poison?” He shrugged. “It wore the rest of the way off while I was waiting for trial, tied to that infernal stake. Why is it they always want to tie you to a stake?” “You pretended to be under the affects of the poison?” He yawned. “I thought it would make me appear more innocent in the minds of any who might still doubt me.” Dreah was a little uncomfortable with his duplicity, but was it any worse than hers? “Could you have freed yourself?” she asked.

He laughed softly.“Yes, but I always like to wait until they light the blaze, much more dramatic that way.” “What are you saying? Has this happened before?” He shrugged. “A few times. Once in Sevadalla, a village of prigs that live on the seacoast and once in Goholesh, a dumpy little farming village at the base of the Hallason Mountains.” “You’ve been to other kingdoms in Duidine?” she asked with awe and a slight twinge of jealousy. “I went to Craemira,” he said easily. “Craemira! You went to another continent? You sailed over the sea?” He nodded, managing to appear nonchalant. She had never been outside of the fief much less outside of the kingdom. To sail over the sea to one of the far continents was the stuff of legends. As soon as her blood pumped with the thought of it, she squelched the thoughts, suppressed the emotion, composed herself, forced herself to think critically. “What is Craemira like? Are the Craemirans as you described them to me in the legends?” she asked calmly. He got up and walked up near to her. She was very tall, but he was still taller. She was forced to look up at him. He placed his forefinger under her chin. His touch was light, barely perceptible, just enough to tickle the surface of her skin and send a chill up her spine and over her scalp. “You can’t fool me Dreah,” he said softly. “I know you, remember.” She swallowed and looked away from his unsettling gaze. “I told you, I’ve changed,” she said.

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“Of course,” he whispered, leaning in very close. “I have missed you. I wandered half the world searching, always searching, never satisfied. Like something was missing, a part of me. Now I know it was you that I was searching for. I never even realized it. Me with all my magic. I never knew the thing I wanted most was right here in Darkstone Keep.” “Dane,” she said swallowing, looking up into his face. He was handsome. His face was angular, his lips soft and full. His eyes had lightened to the chartreuse shade of the buds in spring. “I missed you too.” His eyes were sucking her in, drawing her away from herself. Was he placing her under a spell? She drifted toward him, closer. The whole world seemed to spin away into nothingness. There was only him and her and this moment of oneness. His arms went around her. She placed her palms on the soft velvet of his robes. He was warm beneath her touch. His breath was tingling her cheek. She sank into him enfolded in his warmth. His fingers, long and thin ran up the back of her spine. A part of her was molded to him, seeking the connection between them. His lips touched her cheek, and she closed her eyes. For a second she made contact with the other half of herself. For a second she was complete. Dane was there. But another part of her, the part with the memories was repulsed. Visions of Spider loomed forth, and she pulled away from him with self loathing for the attraction she felt for Dane, and anger at herself for her weakness. “Release me Dane,” she said coldly. His arms dropped down to his side. His eyes went the color of dark moss for a moment, but that was his only outward reaction to her rejection of him.

He nodded. “Forgive me,” he said and turned away to face the courtyard through the large paned glass window of the lord’s solar. Her momentary passion fired her fear and anger even though she knew she had effectively repulsed him. She didn’t want the danger of him repeating the incident. She didn’t like the feeling of weakness, lack of control that came in those moments he looked into her eyes. “I will not stand the touch of any man ever again, as long as I draw breath. I have missed you too, but I cannot nor will not share myself with you or anyone! So don’t think to magic me into it, or place some sort of spell. It won’t work,” she said flatly. He turned back to her, a closed look in his eyes. “There’s no need to elaborate. You have stated your desire. I will not violate your wishes. I’m not a rapist Dreah. Not all men enjoy forcing women. And just so you know, I was not employing any kind of magic on you just now.” Dreah was entirely diffused. “I–I didn’t mean to imply.” “I know,” he said quietly. “There’s no need to fear me. I will admit that you are very desirable to me. You were one of the reasons why I made the wish I did for myself. I never thought it would all turn out the way it did. I’m sorry Dreah. I regret the pain that my selfishness has caused. I will never be able to forgive myself entirely for what became of you. If only I had known, I would have taken you away with me. I don’t even know what drew me back here to Darkstone, except that I kept searching, and I never found what I was looking for until the night I came here and found you again.” She sighed. Her resolve melted somewhat, but the barrier, the wall, was high, and there was no one in the world who could scale the sheer rock that was now in place of her heart. “Never mention this or the way you feel about me again,” she said evenly.

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He was quiet for a long moment then he turned back around facing her. “I will respect your wishes Dreah. You have nothing to fear from me.” She looked into his eyes. They were unreadable. He was a mystery, an enigma, all darkness and shadow. And she wondered what was happening behind those deep reflective orbs. She nodded and a light tap at the door broke the awkwardness of the moment. “Enter,” she called. Amatrice came inside, making no attempt to disguise her satisfaction. “You weren’t bad out there my lordling brother,” she said airlily. “I need to thank you, by the way, for ridding the keep of its most vicious vermin. I was rather jealous that I hadn’t thought up the whole malanse root ploy. The evil witch got what she deserved, but I wish I had a hand in it. I guess you secured your position as the new lord. Just don’t pick a viper for a wife, and we will all be happy.” She smiled and it didn’t reach her clear amber eyes. Dreah was a little taken aback. On the one hand, Amatrice didn’t say anything about Brianna that Dreah hadn’t thought herself, but she would never dare say it. The words so callously spoken aloud were revolting and forced Dreah to see herself and what she did in the eyes of others. It forced her to look inward to the black spot that now stained her soul, and she didn’t like it. But what she liked even less was the fact that she wouldn’t change it if she could. She didn’t like the fact that in her heart she still thirsted for revenge. Lady Brianna got off lightly. Deep inside she wished that she could have tortured her before she died, and that fact clung to her soul like a fungus, eating away at her. She didn’t say anything to her half sibling.

If Amatrice had detected any of Dreah’s thoughts or feelings, she gave no sign of it. She turned away from her and approached Dane. She looked up at the mage whose tall build towered over her petite form. Amatrice had not inherited their father’s size as Dreah had. The girl attempted a smile, but it faltered when she looked into his disturbing gaze. “I did this today because I wanted to save you, sorcerer.” Dane lifted an eyebrow clearly intrigued and amused by her. “And why would you want to save me. Are you not afraid I will turn you into a snail or some such other undesirable creature?” She laughed trying to sound nonchalant, but she was nervous and it showed. “I’m almost positive that I would be a most desirable snail if I were to be turned into one, but seriously, I want to study magic. I want you to take me as your apprentice.” Both of Dane’s eyebrows shot up this time. “I have no need for an apprentice.” “But sir,” she ventured, carefully, faltering slightly at this unexpected obstacle in her ambitions. “I did save your life, or at least attempted to. Isn’t that worth anything? A month is all I ask. Let me serve you for a month and then you may decide if I am worthy. In exchange for your instruction and patience, I can favor you with certain ah– skills that I have learned,” she said, laying a delicate hand on his chest. She looked up at him then, her eyes sloe and sultry. She couldn’t know it, but in that moment she was nearly the exact image of her half sister Dreah. Only the eyes betrayed the illusion. In dimmer light even those would be in shadow. He didn’t speak for a long time, and when he did, his tone was soft and emotionless. “Yes I will give you the month to prove you were

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chosen for the art of magic lore, but I will not partake of the delights you promise.” He smiled at her look of keen disappointment at this last note. “I must make my judgment of you with a clear head,” he added somewhat dryly. “I will expect obedience in all things. You will answer to me alone and you will keep anything we discuss, any magic lore and spells an absolute secret. Do you agree to this?” “I do master,” she said and knelt before Dane. He reached out his hand and it glowed softly golden as he touched her head. The light enveloped her and then she opened her eyes and stood beside him. At that moment Dreah developed an intense dislike for her halfsibling. Her connection with Dane had always been exclusive. For a second she almost gave into the temptation to forbid it. She could, as Amatrice’s bond holder, forbid her to study magic, forbid her to seduce Dane. She cringed inwardly at her selfish thoughts. Such a display of her power would go against everything she believed in, everything she hoped one day to change in the fief. She looked at the two of them, struck by the similarity between them. She shared a connection with Dane, a nexus of the spirit, the soul. The connection between mage and apprentice was one of the mind, as if their brains were steeped in the same fire, forged from the same metal, sharpened by the same stone. It was the magic that joined them, and it was a place where Dreah could never go. When she finally spoke, her voice came from a hollow place. “There is a set of chambers that adjoins this one,” Dreah said, looking directly at Dane, ignoring Amatrice. She moved to the wall and drew aside a large tapestry to reveal a door. Her father had shown her the hidden exit knowing that one day she would rule the keep. She opened it.

“The chambers belonged to Brianna. You may occupy them as long as you wish. I would like to ask you to seal my doors with a magic lock that allows no one access, except myself and you, none other,” she said, pointedly looking at Amatrice for a second. Now I am tired and feel the need for rest. I will begin studying the laws tomorrow in earnest.” He nodded wordlessly, and she showed him to his new home. Amatrice followed him silently from the lord’s solar into the adjoining chamber. Dreah closed the door behind them and leaned back against the warm oak. She would have to guard herself against the feelings that drew her to Dane, feelings that interfered with her greater purpose. Mentally she conjured a picture of Spider. He was the man who would fuel her flame of vengeance, of resolve. Whenever she wavered, she had only to think of him to see her path ahead, clear, cold and winding into the darkness of her very soul.

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Chapter Eleven The next month passed in a whir of activity. Sir Alfred had deemed her ready to become a squire and out of respect for her dead father, he asked if she would accept him as her sponsor knight. Knowing his experience and trusting him to be loyal Dreah had accepted and then began her training in earnest. Dreah woke each morning before the light of dawn and went to the practice courts, she sparred at hand-tohand combat under Sir Rolf’s instruction, then and did strength exercises with the squires and knights that were meant to strengthen her muscles. Even though the world viewed her as a man, the strength she drew on was her own. Unfortunately she could not match the other knights for sheer power, so while practicing her sword fighting, she learned speed was her best asset. She modified her fighting style to use it to her advantage. She was very good at knife throwing already, since in her long months of confinement she had a small wooden stick that she had used to practice balance and aim. She continued to practice archery with both the longbow and the crossbow. She couldn’t draw the most powerful bows but she was improving with speed and accuracy. Her skills with the sword concerned her, but Dane had given her a sword that he had gotten while in Craemira. It was slightly shorter than the broad swords and a lot lighter. It had a single cutting edge so sharp that it could cut a feather falling onto it. The tip was almost squared and sharp; the flat was smooth and shiny. The metal had a soft golden hue, a mixture closely guarded by the Craemirians. She had a wooden practice blade fashioned after the style of it, but she needed practice to adjust to the blade and create a style that would match it and best exploit her talents.

Every afternoon, while the other knights drank and caroused at the mid-day meal, she went up to the lord’s solar and took her meal with Dane. She usually stayed for two hours to rest her body and hone her mind. Dane had spent a year at the great library in Craemira. He had traveled two continents seeking knowledge, and now he passed on that knowledge to her and she consumed it hungrily. He was patient with her. A trait she noticed he did not have with most other people. Some evenings he came and sat with her by the fire in her solar, and they would talk about any number of things, although they rarely ever mentioned their childhood together. He had magic-locked her rooms and his. And she found that the knowledge that he was in the next room, allowed her to fall into deep relaxed sleep filled nights with only the occasional nightmare. One morning she was sparring with the knights yet again. She could wield her wooden sword with painful accuracy, but one blow with the heavier weapons the knights used and she was bruised. She was used to having bruises on top of bruises. The problem was she still was not defeating the majority of her matches. She had already beat the other squires, and now was working with the junior level knights, but here her progress was stunted. She sparred on a daily basis with all kinds of practice weapons. At the moment, she had her new practice sword. She swung it. Sir Wilfurd made contact with a bone-jarring crunch. She shook the buzz out of her hand and resumed her stance. This was repeated several times, until the sword dropped from her numb fingers. He was very strong and battle-hardened. The match served to remind her that she had a long way to go before she could beat him or any of the others at sword play. She conceded the match, wiping the sweat from her brow.

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Sir Wilfurd had a satisfied smile on his lips. “I tell you that Craemiran sword of yours will be no good in a battle young master. Even the practice wooden sword is not effective. Best you build your muscles up to wield a broadsword.” Dreah sighed heavily, giving the practice blade to a page who had been holding her real blade for her. She would never gain the strength of a man, no matter how hard she worked. Her muscles were strong and ripcord for a woman. She was flexible and fast, but the strength of a knight was not there. She strapped the real Craemiran blade back on her hip then took a filled drinking horn from the small bound servant boy who had revealed the malanse root to her. He looked so much like her that there could be no doubt of the relationship. He, like her, had been sired by Farlair d’Avar. She ruffled his hair and pulled out a coin. “Go to the sweetmeat vendor and get yourself something,” she said. The boy happily pocketed the coin and bounced away. Her eye caught Dane’s movement as he detached himself from the shadows. She was not surprised that he was there. Even though he usually didn’t make a habit of letting his presence be known to the others, she knew he watched her practice. “Dane,” she said waving him over to the drinking barrel. His black robes flapped around him as he moved forward like a shadowy demon. She smiled inwardly. She wondered if he knew how he affected the others. She suspected that he did. The other knights and squires hastily remembered things that they needed to do that removed them from the presence of the mage, all except Sir Rolf. The knight clearly didn’t like Dane, but he would never be caught running in fear of anything, even a magic user.

“You can’t use the Craemiran sword like you do the broadsword,” Dane said easily. His pale eyes were lit up with amusement. Other than that, his face held no expression. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I mean you are swinging it and using moves that you have learned for the broadsword. The Craemirans have techniques that go with the blade that make it so effective.” Rolf drew his broadsword and swung it heavily. His large muscles rippled with the movement. He cleaved a sawdust practice dummy in two, scattering considerable dust into the wind, the top half of the dummy flew back several feet from the blow. He turned to Dreah saying, “Sir Wilfurd is right about the Craemiran blade. You would do better to build the muscle and skill needed to wield a broadsword. There is no weapon that can match it.” “Oh,” said Dane smoothly. “Is that why the Jentannian forces fled from the Craemiran armies during the War for the Stone?” Rolf sneered. “They didn’t flee from the Craemiran sword, they fled from Craemiran sorcerers.” Dane didn’t rise to the bait. He turned back to Dreah. “I was there for a year. I can show you the techniques, but of course only hours of practice will make you skilled at them.” Sir Rolf sighed with irritation. “A mage teaching a warrior how to fight. It is likely you will confuse his style and make him worse, magic user. You should stick to love charms and juggling coins and leave sword fighting to knights.” Dane ignored him again and held out his hand for her blade. Dreah cast a glance at Sir Rolf. He was a respected warrior, and she didn’t want to offend him, but she trusted Dane’s knowledge. She handed the

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sword to him. He took it calmly and swung it lightly for a few turns, making slow skillful zigzag movements in front of him, always with the cutting edge of the blade leading. Then he swung around faster, taking a long stride and swinging low with lightning movements. Smooth and gracefully, with the cutting edge leading the blade, he made contact with the other sawdust dummy. Dreah never saw the blade make contact. But a thin line across the front of the burlap showed where it struck. A few particles of sawdust fell from the clean cut, but the dummy was still standing in one piece. Dane stood motionless for one long second with the sword held at the strike angle, his legs spread wide, his robes dusting the courtyard. His pose was like the warrior on the Craemiran tapestry that hung over the mantlepiece in the lord’s solar. Sir Rolf chuckled softly under his breath. “It would seem that you need more strength to wield a blade than what you get in dusty labs conjurer. Your man is still standing.” Dane’s lips lifted on one corner. His eyes were cool. His demeanor one of perfect calm. He walked over to the dummy and gave the head a slight push. The top half of the torso fell backwards into the dust. The blade was so sharp, that when wielded with the right force and technique, it had cleaved the dummy so quickly and cleanly that it had remained where it was. Even Sir Rolf allowed an appreciative raising of his eyebrows. “May I see the blade?” he asked. Dane handed over the weapon into the knight’s eager palm. Sir Rolf examined the edge and gave it a few practice swings testing the balance. He nodded and handed it back to Dreah. “It is a fine blade and very sharp. It would work well for a woman or a weaker man who cannot

wield a broadsword, no offence intended My Lord. You are after all still young,” he said with a slight hint of sarcasm looking directly at Dane so that the mage would know that the insult was meant for him. Dane looked down his finely made nose sneering slightly. He took the blade from the knight. “And a broadsword is a fine weapon for a warrior who has great strength, but little in the way of speed, skill and cunning,” Dane said glibly. Rolf’s face flushed darkly. He pulled his blade back out of his scabbard. “You dare to insult my honor. You will pay for that dark magic user. I’m not afraid of you,” he said derisively and swung his sword at the mage. Dane ducked the swing easily. “Stop,” Dreah commanded. Rolf reluctantly lowered the sword. “Of course my lord,” he said mockingly. Dreah’s eyes narrowed. She knew Rolf was humoring her. He had no respect for her or Dane. It was obvious that he humored her only because she was the Lord of Darkstone Keep, but he would only follow her so long as he liked where she was going. That she knew. “Begging your pardon My Lord, but if Sir Rolf wishes to fight me, I would gladly give him a lesson in proper swordplay,” said Dane with a dangerous glint in his pale green eyes. Dreah looked first at one then the other. Rolf smiled predatorily. “I would welcome any such lessons and might teach the whelp a few myself,” he said. “Fine,” Dreah growled exasperated; male pride was ridiculous as far as she was concerned. Dreah handed Dane back the sword.

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Dane brought the blade up in a mocking salute to Rolf, and the bigger man swung his broad long sword. Dane leaped back whirled and came in close smacking Rolf across the back with the flat of his blade whirling out of range as Rolf swung his blade again. Then Dane waited, poised in perfect stillness. The only movement was the wind as it lifted the fabric of his robes blowing them gently. Rolf swung again and Dane dodged, ducked, whirled and moved with perfect grace and practiced speed, avoiding each swing of the knight’s blade while landing several humiliating taps with the flat of his sword. Rolf growled in frustration, swinging his blade with deadly earnest, while Dane moved in a graceful flurry around him, causing the knight to exhaust himself, until finally Rolf stopped swinging his blade. He had been bested, and he knew it. There was pure hatred shooting from his dark eyes. “Real men clash blades in a feat of strength, yet you avoid my blade like a craven coward, but I don’t blame you because you have the strength of a female, so it stands to figure you would fight like one. Fortunately for me there are no women fighting on the battlefield,” said Rolf bitingly. Dreah almost laughed at that remark. Rolf turned to her. “My Lord I need to see to the battlements; it is time for a change in the guard.” He nodded in her direction and left. “Is he always so flattering?” asked Dane, clearly amused by Sir Rolf’s display. “Only when he has been clearly outdone by arrogant magicians,” she said amused. “Now show me some of those moves.” He nodded and handed her back her sword. He moved behind her and grabbed her wrists. She was about to protest the close contact, but then she realized that he was only doing what most of the other knights

did when they needed to adjust sword angles on squires and pages. Only she usually didn’t pay any attention to it. Dane’s nearness was somehow different. “I didn’t know you knew how to fight with a sword,” she said. “I have found it useful to gather all kinds of skills and knowledge. Just because I rarely find the need to use one, doesn’t mean that I don’t know how. Most warriors in Craemira never see battle, yet they spend hours every day devoted to the perfection of swordplay. It is a peaceful continent, but if war should come to them, they are prepared to fight.” “And are you peaceful?” she asked. “I specialized in war magic,” he said lightly. She sighed. “Men. That’s all they ever think of, war.” He chuckled softly into her hair and chills ran down her spine. He didn’t say anything. He worked with her on the angle of the blade and the trajectory of her swing. He showed her what the Craemarins called the “Three Passes of Terusa” and the “Path of the Suns.” She practiced the long, graceful arcs of the “Path of the Suns” and the sharp, swift three stroke move that made up the “Three Passes of Terusa.” She worked her muscles with the new movement until they burned and then finally she went up to her room to bathe. That night would be the night of the full moon. The night when her illusion failed and the world could see her the way Dane did; the world could see her as a woman. As she had always done on the nights of the full moon when she had free reign of the keep, she made sure that she had eaten and bathed then announced that she was tired and was going to retire to her quarters. After she bathed, she lit a fire and sat in front of it. It was hard not to think of what had happened to her on the night of the previous full

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moon. She swallowed back against the pain of remembering. There had been no physical lingering affects from that attack. In fact Dane was such a skilled healer that within a few day’s even the smallest ache from it had disappeared. On the outside she was perfectly fine; on the inside, the damage was there. The faerie moon on her arm glowed a silvery white. She shivered for a second and squelched the sense of fear that she had when she heard footsteps stop outside her door. She had nothing to fear. She would never fear anyone again. Still, she sat there unable to sleep, until finally she rose and went to the door that led to Dane’s chamber. She hadn’t entered it since he moved in. He had come to hers for her lessons. She had stayed out of his room, not wanting to walk in and perhaps see Amatrice in his arms. She swallowed. She knew he would be alone tonight. Tonight his enchantment would be gone, and he would be as he had once been. She hesitated for a moment then opened the latch. It was dark in his room except for the fire. His back was to her. He sat in a chair with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His cowl was pulled down over his head. He didn’t look at her as she entered. “Dane,” she called softly. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Can I come in?” “You are already in, aren’t you?” “I –Yes I –maybe I shouldn’t have come,” she hesitated. He sighed audibly. “Come sit by the fire Dreah.” She walked forward. Her thin gauzy shift wafted around her as she went. She stood behind him for a moment. The large hunch of his shoulder pushed up on his robe from the back. She splayed her fingers over the old injury that she knew pained him. He flinched. Sympathy

rose up in her despite her attempts to remain aloof and unaffected by him. She moved around in front of him and knelt on the floor on the furs by his feet. He reached out with his good hand, picking up a wet strand of her onyx hair. “You will catch a chill dressed like that with wet hair,” he said, peeling the blanket from around his shoulder and wrapping it around her. She heard him gasp with the pain the movement caused. “Do you have any of the gasamen weed oil?” she asked. “I should rub some in to relieve the pain.” Dane looked at her for a long moment from the shadows of his cowl. She could only see his lips and chin. He wore no expression on them just then. He sighed. “I don’t need your pity Dreah.” She looked down at her hands, fidgeting. He swallowed back whatever else he might say. “It isn’t like I’ve never done it for you before you know,” she said. “Anyway it’s not pity it’s practical. Why would you want to sit out the night in pain when you don’t have to? That is entirely stupid and lacks reason.” He chuckled softly. “I thought you had lost all of your sense of humor, but I see now that I was wrong. The jar on the mantlepiece contains the oil.” She got up, not looking at him, not trusting herself to say anything. In the years of his absence, and after spending a month with him with his enchantment, she had almost forgotten how crippling his old injuries had been to him. She brought the oil back over and pulled his robe up to reveal one fairly normal though heavily scarred leg and one twisted and bowed in more than one direction.

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She started rubbing the pain relieving oil over the surface of the badly healed appendage. Dane watched her in silence, remembering the other times, so many in the past when his father was in a drunken rage and had beat him. He would make his way to Dreah’s house. Her mother had been an excellent herbalist, the best in the fief. His earliest memories were of Mynarika healing him and then sending him to bed in the loft with Dreah. Her warmth had always driven away the night chill that ached his injuries. So many times over the years she had taken care of him and never managed to make him feel as if it were a burden or make him feel as if he owed her something. But he did and he knew it. When his father had died in a tavern brawl, he was driven out of his home by the bond master, who wanted nothing to do with a crippled changeling. The bond master had given his house to a younger bond man and his healthy pregnant wife. Dane had been homeless. But Dreah’s parents had taken him in and let him sleep there. Their bond master Callum had allowed it as long as Dane spent the day separating hemp fibers and braiding rope. So during the day, he had worked at the rope that strained the twisted fingers of his crippled hand and every night Dreah would rub the oil into his fingers as he lay there by her side. It was during those nights alone with her that he had grown to love her, and it was during those nights that he had come to hate himself for his weakness, for his deformity. “You should probably lie down on the bed so I can see to your side,” she said. He got up from the chair, and her heart clenched at the sight of his stooped form leaning heavily on his staff. In his enchanted state, he was slightly taller than her at six foot two. Now he was bent and broken, at least a head shorter. His limp had deepened as his bones had grown and

caused further inequalities between his extremities. She knew then that he would never look for a way to end the enchantment that enveloped them. To do so would doom him to a life as a cripple, without magic powerful enough to transform his body. She was selfish to even contemplate it. It was too late anyway. Why end it now, when she was in a position to use her power to make the lives of others better. All over Duidine the bound servants, who outnumbered everyone else ten to one, were growing restless, looking for change, for freedom. The new followers of Terusa were responsible for that. Verago was the god for nobles. Terusa was the goddess of the masses. She rearranged the blankets so he could pull them up over his undergarments as she lifted his robes. She carefully applied the oil to the scarred and deeply dimpled skin on his left rib cage. He should have died from the damage the shattered rib cage must have caused. Dane closed his eyes, not looking at her, and she suspected that he was afraid he would see pity in her eyes, and he wouldn’t be able to stand that. She sighed and placed the oil on the wooden stand next to the table. The room was chilly, so she brought over a fur throw from one of the chairs and arranged it around him. She sat on the edge of the bed for a few moments. Then said. “I guess you will want to sleep now. I should return to my chamber.” He opened his eyes and said, “In all the full moons that have passed since the enchantment, I have never slept.” “Because of the pain?” she guessed. “That and other things,” he said.

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She sighed and then said, “I used to sleep, until that first time when they discovered what it meant for me. Ever since then I have waited like a sentry. I waited in dread for what I knew would come.” He clenched his jaw and lifted his good arm out of the blankets. “Come lay down by my side like you used to.” She swallowed and looked away. “I shouldn’t.” He sighed. “Dreah. You have no need to fear from me on this night. While I am in this condition, I cannot even perform as a man. The pain keeps me from that ability.” “But you are no longer in pain. The numbing oil.” “Ah yes the numbing oil that not only takes away the sensation of pain, but pretty much every other sensation as well.” He said this last with a wry smile on his lips, and she had to smile back at him. “Come,” he coaxed. “Let us two deceivers keep each other company for a few hours and reminisce over the old times. We haven’t talked much about them, and I find that on the night of the faerie moon, I think about them often.” She smiled and lay down by his side. “I guess I do too,” she said softly and they talked for a time about their childhood adventures. She found herself missing her mother and father as she hadn’t in years. They talked about the time that they got caught in a storm, and spent the night in the hollow of a large oak and how they had both received beatings from Master Callum for it. They laughed in shared camaraderie, both knowing that the moment wouldn’t last. The memories left Dreah with a tightness in her throat and a yearning to go back, to relive the easy days of her childhood. To capture again the soft pastel innocence that would never again color her heart which now existed in shades of gray.

Dane actually fell asleep, and she let herself remember, the smell of the smith and hot metal, the clanging of hammers and the scent of the herbs her mother always had tied up to dry. She let a few silent tears fall then drifted off to sleep. She imagined herself up in the loft with chores and hot bread waiting for her in the morning.

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Chapter Twelve Dane awoke the next morning. He opened his eyes and looked over at Dreah. She lay sleeping nearby, and although she was not touching him, he could feel her presence. He lifted his arm, newly restored to health the way it had been every morning after the full moon, but this time was different. He felt no surge of joy or relief as he always had at the transformation. This time he looked over at Dreah and realized that the enchantment had separated them, had opened a deep chasm that he couldn’t cross. She was now unreachable as if she were on another continent. He no longer had a window into her soul, a soul that had become a shuttered and dark place. He got up off the bed and moved over near the fireplace. A soft tapping at his door drew his attention. Dreah came awake with a sudden jerk and fairly flew out of bed on guard. She was disoriented only momentarily then her eyes shifted to Dane and the night before came back with clarity. He raised his fingers to his lips, and she nodded and moved to the adjoining door, slipping back into her own quarters. As soon as the door closed behind her, Dane pulled the cowl up over his head and went to answer the soft, but insistent knock at his door. He was not surprised to see Amatrice standing there with a breakfast tray. He opened the door wider to admit her, and she ducked under his arm and slipped into the room. He closed the door and paused before turning back toward her. She looked polished and calm as ever. She lifted a pot and poured him some hot water for tea and tossed some leaves into it. He watched her delicate fingers move with deftness and grace. She had a talent for spellcasting. He ate his breakfast in silence with Amatrice waiting quietly nearby. Quiet, but not meek as she

attempted to make herself appear at times; of course her eyes gave her away. “Have a seat apprentice,” he said indicating the chair opposite him. She sat rather stiffly he thought. He interlocked his fingers in front of him. The large sleeve cuffs fell down around his elbows revealing his lean forearms and his well made, attractively long fingers. “You have been my apprentice for nearly a month,” he said. “Yes master,” she said, her eyes were sharp and gleaming. “I have decided that you do possess a talent for magic.” “Does this mean that you will keep me as your apprentice?” He sat there thoughtful for a moment. “I think you possess talent. But I also think you possess the disposition for betrayal.” “Betrayal. You think I would betray you?” she asked mildly surprised and perhaps a little offended. “No,” he said dryly and without hesitation. “You would never be so stupid.” “Then what do you mean?” she asked. “Tell me what I need to do to convince you of my loyalty.” He laughed shortly and got up from the table. “I will never trust you Amatrice. I trust no one.” “What about Lander?” she asked, her eyes straying to the door that adjoined the two rooms. “You seem awfully close to my noble half brother?” He looked at her. His face devoid of all emotion. “We are wasting time in idle chatter. There is work to be done.” Amatrice swallowed any retort that might have come at that moment and started clearing away the breakfast tray.

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The door to Lander’s room opened as if on cue, and in stepped Dreah fully armed. She spoke to Dane, ignoring Amatrice. “A bound servant village girl from Lemakal, a village about a half a day’s ride south was raped and beaten two nights ago. The messenger from my southern magistrate came this morning with a full report of last week’s crimes. I intend to go there to question her, and I thought that you could bring your healing components in case she is seriously injured. Will you come?” “Of course,” said Dane, watching Amatrice linger and make a long production of gathering the breakfast leavings before she left the room with the tray. Then he turned back to Dreah. “What are you thinking?” he asked curiously. “Nothing,” she lied. “I merely wish to investigate a crime perpetrated against one of my subjects. Lemakal lies at the southern tip of my demesne. I have examined maps and know of the terrain and features of my lands, but I think I should visit every part of it personally. As an overlord, I need to learn the lay of my own fief so that I can defend it, and learn best how to keep law and order.” One eyebrow shot up doubtfully. “A bound servant woman being raped and beaten is not exactly a rare crime. Do you intend to investigate all crimes in your lands personally? If so, then you will need to learn the art of time travel, because no horse or other such beast of burden in Duidine will carry you around to all of the villages fast enough to do it all.” She sighed remembering that a mage of his level could detect lies and deception with ease, just as easily as they could lie and deceive others. “Okay the truth is that I am wondering if the girl was a victim of

Spider!” Her grey eyes flashed angrily. “You knew why I wanted to go, so why ask me? Did you want to hear me bring it up?” “I did,” he confirmed. She clenched her jaw. Her eyes flashed with anger. “You may be my best friend Dane, but don’t think that gives you the right to push me,” she said whirling away from him forcibly, keeping the unwanted tears from coming to her eyes. Weakness! Tears were a weakness and a waste of time. She needed to harden herself again. The night before had softened her. All that useless reminiscing over their shared childhood. He came up behind her then, standing very close, so close she could feel his body heat emanating from him, but he didn’t touch her. “I wasn’t trying to push you Dreah. I just wanted to confirm what I thought.” “Why?” she asked in a constricted voice. “Because you wanted to see how vulnerable I am. You wanted to know that my armor is not solid.” “No Dreah, because I wanted you to know that it is not as solid as you pretend it is,” he said gently. “Why?” she whispered. “Because every great warrior must never forget his weaknesses. Every warrior must be honest with themselves, always, and every warrior must never forget that even the strongest defense can be shattered.” Her anger deflated. She had nothing to prove to Dane. She couldn’t hide her fear, her vulnerability from him. “Are those thoughts derived from your experience as a warrior mage?” she asked. He chuckled softly. “Hardly, those thoughts are from the elvish Craemiran warrior code. One of the many useful adages they have.” Dreah nodded and turned back to face him. “I am sorry,” she said.

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He didn’t say anything for a second, but his brow knitted together then he said, “I’ll pack up a few things and meet you in the stables shortly.” She nodded and left. An hour later they rode out of Darkstone Keep, with Gui, Sir Rolf and Sir Alfred along with a dozen other knights and squires, nearly a quarter of her contingent. The sky was a deep shade of gray as heavy rain clouds moved in overhead. The road that led away from the castle was cobbled, making it too slippery for the shod warhorses. Dane rode beside Dreah on a sleek black mount. It was not a horse but an animal known as a demon rider. It looked different from the large warhorses of the knights. It was tall, maybe a hand taller than Sir Rolf’s, which was the largest warhorse. It had a long mane, neatly braided and tied, the tail was likewise braided and tied. Long feathers brushed the ground around its hooves, which were split into three toes, unlike the single hooves of the others. Its ears were smaller and a long beard hung from its chin. Two short spiraling antlers protruded from the top of its head. These differences were stark, but its eyes were what drew attention. They were a coppery red, with black slits for pupils. They would not have been out of place on a cat, but for a horse or most any other animal, it was unusual and served to make the other knights even more nervous around the mage than they already were. Dreah gripped the reins of her warhorse. The leather bridle squeaked and reminded her how new it was and how little time she had actually spent in the saddle. It reminded her of how much more she needed to learn before she became a knight. Most warfare was fought from horseback, and she was awkward in the saddle. The ground always

looked so far down from her perch atop the large warhorse. She wondered how she would feel on the back of Dane’s strange beast. They moved off the road into the softer grass to keep the horses from working too hard to keep their footing on the slippery wet cobblestones. Dane’s three-toed mount was the only one that appeared to have no trouble with the rocks. “Where did you get that animal anyway?” she asked mildly. She wouldn’t mention how many of the knights suppositioned that he had conjured it up from the Pit of Despair. He looked down at her from his perch. His horse didn’t create the same bobbing motion as the high stepping destriers. The result was what appeared to be a much smoother ride, and she was willing to bet that he would suffer very little from saddle soreness. “Craemira,” he said and then waited for a moment before elaborating. “The Craemiran elves tamed the demon riders millennia ago. They believed them to be superior mounts to horses for many reasons, including what they believe is a higher intelligence.” “Is he smarter?” she asked. Dane patted his mount affectionately on the mane then looked down at her. He smiled, and it reached his eyes, turning them a light moss green. “I’ve never actually heard him talk, so I figure that the intelligence factor must be a perception rather than a fact. Still I keep from insulting him in the event he takes offense and decides to land me in a compromising position on my backside.” Dreah laughed at this and he watched her for a second then looked away. “What’s his name?” she asked.

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“The man I got him from called him Long Leap, although I have rarely used the name and he doesn’t seem to know it, or if he does, he ignores it entirely, which is probably why the man sold him to me in the first place,” Dane said easily. As they rode, the sky darkened and rain fell in heavy droplets. They progressed slowly. What would have been a half a day’s ride was delayed by one thing or another. A horse lost a shoe and they had to stop at a town and wait for it to be re-shod. A knight was thrown from his saddle when a lightning blast spooked his mount and they had to stop to splint his arm. He had flatly refused Dane’s assistance. The ride was tedious. Dreah was absolutely miserable. She hadn’t really been exposed to the extreme elements of the outdoors for extended periods in almost four years, and she quickly realized she had grown soft in the intervening time. It was nearly sundown when Sir Rolf, who had ridden up ahead, came riding back to Dreah. “My Lord, Gaaven Creek is swollen and Halmen Bridge is has been washed away. The nearest place to ford the creek is ten miles west from here and the nearest bridge is fourteen miles east, but that bridge belongs to the Grayriver Castle, whose overlord your father repeatedly annoyed. We might be denied access and be forced to backtrack.” Dreah kept her face carefully bland. It wouldn’t do for her to show her frustration and reiterate her greenness to the seasoned knights under her command. Overhead thunder sounded loudly and the clouds responded with a deluge of renewed vigor. Sir Alfred rode up, looking exhausted beyond measure. The grizzled knight was haggard and drawn in a way she could never remember seeing him.

Sir Rolf spoke up then. “My Lord, if I may be so bold as to suggest that we move into the forest and take refuge beneath the relative protection of the trees. We can build a fire and set up camp for the night.” Immediately Dreah knew that his suggestion was the right thing to do, and she was angry with herself for not having come up with it herself before he did. She nodded. “That will be fine.” Sir Rolf moved off to carry out her orders with the men, or rather his orders with her approval. And she had to admit that the men responded much better to Sir Rolf than they did to her. She knew that it was silly to be jealous of a seasoned and proven warrior, but his presence made her feel inadequate. As soon as they moved under the cover of the trees, it was clear that they were not the only travelers to have taken refuge from the storm. A group of wanderers were already ensconced beneath the sheltering boughs. A tall gaunt man, shabbily dressed, but clean shaven with long dark hair pulled back at the nape, came forward as the knights led their mounts into the trees. “Good evening your lordships,” he said nervously. “We took refuge from the storm in these trees. We would have sought your permission, but we didn’t know who this land belonged to and we were just passing through. The meat you see cooking wasn’t taken from these woods. You have my word of honor on that.” The man’s dark eyes shifted from one knight to the next. He was noticeably frightened when he took in the mage and his mount. Dreah realized with some irritation that they were addressing Sir Rolf not her,

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and why not? He was the largest, most imposing figure among them. He looked and acted like he was in command. She appeared and sounded to the world as a young boy in his late teens, green around the edges and smooth-faced to boot. “I am Lord Lander d’Avar, this land is part of my demesne Darkstone Keep,” she said smoothly, drawing the man’s attention away from the others. “Your trespass is forgiven.” Behind her Sir Shelts gasped audibly, and grumbled under his breath, using a few derogatory terms commonly used for wanderers. “The pup doesn’t know anything,” he mumbled and several knights chuckled under their breaths. Dreah’s temper flared, but she remained in control and addressed the wanderer. “The beast you are roasting is most certainly from these woods, however--” The wanderer made as if to protest, but Dreah held up her hand. “However,” she reiterated. “I will not seek payment for it as long as you share it freely with me and my men. We are hungry, and wish to get out of the rain also.” The wanderer fairly gasped with relief and invited the knights to sit by the fire. “What can you be thinking?” protested Sir Shelts. “We should cut the men down and partake of the women’s charms for their offence. Verago’s teachings would support our claim.” Dreah grew red in the face. “Silence Shelts,” said Sir Rolf. He kept his features carefully schooled, but she saw the hint of amusement in his eyes. Still he did step in to quiet the men and she had to be grateful for that.

Several wanderers, who had been perched on logs near the blaze abandoned their seats in favor of the newcomers. Dreah tossed her reins to a squire and let her eyes roam the wanders’ faces noting that most were not happy to see the knights. But that was to be expected. Wanderers were often persecuted and rarely welcomed wherever they went. As soon as the wanderers had moved off out of earshot, she walked over to Sir Shelts, who had casually sat down on one of the vacated logs. “How dare you undermine my authority in front of my men,” she said acidly. “Your pardon, My Lord,” he said lazily, not getting up or displaying the respect she knew her blood father would have commanded. “I don’t think you realize the danger you are in, Sir Shelts. You have insulted me publically, in front of my men, and you will be made to answer for it.” She hated to do this but discipline needed to be maintained or they would soon be blatant in their disregard for her. “Now lad,” Sir Alfred began. She looked at Sir Alfred. “Would my father ever have allowed such insolence in one of his knights to pass without punishment?” Sir Alfred shook his head. She looked once again down at Sir Shelts. “I am a tolerant overlord, and I am young and I have a lot of things to learn, but that does not negate the fact that I require respect from all of my knights at all times without fail.” Sir Shelts cast a glance through the woods to where Dane was tending his demon rider. “I beg your pardon young master, but it’s hard to respect a boy, who needs the protection of a magic user. Your father relied on his own strength, not the magic of Terusa lovers.”

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Dreah said nothing. She very calmly removed her leather gauntlets, and slapped Sir Shelts forcibly across the face. The stunned knight shot to his feet. He was slightly shorter than her, but stockier with a heavy frame. He wore full plate armor over his chain mail and he cut an imposing figure. Compared to her light studded leather armor, he was heavily protected. Oddly she was not afraid. Her eyes bored into him like shards of steel. “That was a grievous insult lad,” Sir Shelts said evenly. “Overlord or not, you must apologize in front of the men, or give me a chance to redeem my honor on the field.” “On the contrary Sir Shelts,” she said coldly. “It is you who must apologize to me. In fact you must get down on your knees and kiss my boots, and beg me to let you live long enough to leave these woods and my land without delay. If you don’t then I will be the one to redeem my honor on the field.” Sir Shelts laughed in her face. “This is your date with Destiny,” he said referring to the name he had given his sword and pushed her back. She stumbled over a log and would have fallen into the fire if it hadn’t been for a sudden blast of frost fired from Dane’s fingertips that froze the fire, then dissipated it into the thin air. Dreah landed on a mound of ice that had been the fire only a fraction of a second before. She glanced up at Dane and he gave her a lopsided smile. “We can’t have you go and miss something as important as a date with Destiny now can we?” “Magic lover!” Sir Shelts cried and leaped forward, brandishing his long sword. Dreah rolled off the icy embers and came to her feet, drawing her blade in a smooth motion. She fervently wished she had been able to practice more with the new techniques before she was

forced into a duel, but it was too late for regret. She watched Sir Shelts. Thankfully he was not the skilled swordsman that Sir Rolf was or she would be in serious trouble. His full armor was heavy and although his swings were powerful, they were slow enough for her to dodge, which she did with skill and grace. Her armor was light, and she had worn it in practice, so it moved well with her body. Still one full hit with his blade would finish her and she knew it. He swung more than a dozen times with full force and each time she ducked, dodged and in one case leaped high to miss a low swing. Then he staggered and she took the opportunity to do the pass of the suns and in one clean move Sir Shelts lost the hand that held his sword. He fell in agony to his knees. Blood spurted everywhere. “Dane,” she said calmly, much more calmly than she felt. Dane moved forward to assist the injured man, but he screamed and kicked at the mage. “Back! Back you demon spawn. Living blasphemy! Verago will punish you in the Pit of Despair!” he cried. “If you do not allow me to assist you, you will bleed to death,” said Dane evenly. “It is your choice. You can die as a fool, or you can live with the help of a blasphemer.” Sir Rolf came forward. “Hold Sir Shelts down,” he ordered three of the other knights. The men came forward but the knight screamed. “No! Back I say! Don’t let him touch me!” Sir Rolf was kneeling by Sir Shelts holding the man’s wrist, attempting to staunch the blood-flow. He looked up at Dane. “Is there something you can do?” “Very well,” said Dane half reluctant, half bored. “Out,” he said pointing a finger at the hysterical knight. The knight suddenly closed

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his eyes and went limp. Dane then removed some spell components, paying no attention to the looks of fear that he received from many of the others, who thought he might just as easily knock them out anytime he wished. They didn’t know that spell could only be performed a few times a day or the mage would themselves succumb to it. Once the bleeding had stopped and he had applied healing salves, Dane bandaged the stump of the comatose knight’s wrist. “He will have pain when he wakes up,” said Dane. “I’m afraid that I am fresh out of painkiller.” That wasn’t strictly true, but Dane didn’t feel like wasting more of his magical energy on the foolish ungrateful knight. Sir Rolf nodded. “Thank you,” he said grudgingly. Dane said nothing, but was clearly satisfied that the big warrior was forced into a position of gratitude. Dreah was a little sickened by the whole ordeal, but she was careful not to show it. Her voice rang out in the glade with cold clarity. “When he wakes up, give him his horse and provisions to return to his father’s manor. I do not need knights who question my authority and have no respect for me. Anyone else here who wishes to depart may leave with Sir Shelts. Anyone who stays, will be expected to conduct himself as a loyal vassal.” She turned from the glade and walked past the astonished and wary wanderers. They parted quickly for her passing. She didn’t need to look back to know that Dane had followed her from the glade into the forest. She stopped when she reached the edge of the creek. He came up beside her and together they looked at the rushing water swollen with the rain. Neither of them spoke of it, but both of them remembered the last time

they had stood together on the mossy banks of a creek not unlike this one.

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Chapter Thirteen Dreah knelt down at the stream and let the water run over the blade of her sword then she wiped it clean with a cloth from her pouch then pulled out the oil rag and wiped it down. It was strange, but she felt no sense of regret over maiming the knight. If anything she was still angry, still ready for a fight. She hissed as she inadvertently ran her finger over the cutting edge and sliced into her thumb. “Careful,” said Dane, kneeling down next to her. Reaching for his spell components so he could quickly heal it. “Don’t bother,” she said, letting the stream water run over the small cut. “It’s no more than I deserve for my stupidity.” “What do you mean?” he asked. “I rather enjoyed myself.” She laughed harshly. “Don’t spare me the criticism mage. It was not the right time to bring up the problem. I should have dealt with it weeks ago, and in a more organized fashion. Back there I made myself look desperate for their respect. Next time I decide to do something so foolish put a gag spell on me so that I keep my mouth shut.” Dane smiled wryly. “Why? I thought you handled that situation with a certain style.” “That’s a pile of kitchen waste and you know it,” she said. “I foolishly challenged him out of anger over a small slight, and I might have been burned to cinders for my efforts.” Dane chuckled and folded his arms across the front of his chest. “Thankfully I remembered the right inflection to create the freeze. It is almost identical to the spell for fire. That would have been unlucky to say the least.”

She laughed at his teasing and looked up at the creases of merriment that played around his eyes. “Yes, but the freeze ruined a perfectly good side of venison, not to mention left us without a decent fire.” He shrugged. “I could always remedy that if you feel the need for a roasting,” he teased, raising a long index finger and whirling it in a circle. “Stop that,” she said smiling at his playful gesture, grabbing his finger. It was warm in her icy grip. He took her thumb between his fingers and rubbed the salve he had removed over her small cut, despite her protest and then closed his hand over hers, stepping closer to her. She looked up into his eyes and the laughter was gone, replaced by something else, something warm and inviting. She clenched her teeth against the knot in her throat and pulled her fingers back out of his. The warmth of his touch, lingered on her skin. They were silent for a moment then she looked away from those green eyes that saw too much and burned too deeply. “Shall we return to camp and see how many of my knights have deserted me?” she asked lightly. “Hopefully that irritating Rolf is among the deserters,” he said. “Why?” she asked. “Just because we don’t like him, doesn’t mean he isn’t valuable. He is one of the best. He is certainly a lot better than me and what’s more, the men respect him. I need knights like him on my side. If he deserts, then at least half of my men will go with him.” “And that doesn’t worry you just a little?” he asked. “Why should it?” she asked. “Because their loyalty lies with him, not you. As long as he remains in your employ, you will never be the one they hold allegiance with. He will always be the one in the position of power. Have you considered

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what would happen on the battlefield if you made a decision that he didn’t like? The men would follow him, not you, and my presence, I am afraid, doesn’t help matters. The men are suspicious of magic. Perhaps is would be better for you if I didn’t reside in the keep,” he said thoughtfully. She whirled back to face him. It had started raining again, and water droplets dripped from the leaves above them onto their heads. Dane’s cowl was low over his face again. Only his mouth and chin were visible in the shadows. “Don’t ever think that Dane. If it hadn’t been for you, I might have been burned to death earlier. I need you by my side. We started this whole thing together that day in the woods with the faerie. Don’t leave me to face this alone,” she half pleaded, and hated the note of desperation that crept into her voice. He sighed and reached up with the back of his hand and stroked her cheek gently. “I won’t leave you Dreah. You know that. It’s just that I feel responsible for much of your misery, and I don’t want to add to it.” She sighed. “Quit feeling guilty Dane. What happened is done. It can’t be changed.” “But if I could find a way to end the enchantment, would you want that?” She was quiet for a minute longer then said truthfully. “I don’t know Dane, probably not.” He nodded and said nothing else, so she turned and headed once again in the direction of the camp. When they got back to the glade it was to find that all the knights were still present, including Sir Shelts who was still unconscious. The wanderers had built another fire already and had the deer roasting over the blaze again. Several women were

notably huddled beneath a small shelter, attempting to keep attention from themselves. A few rather lovely girls cast fearful glances at Dreah and the mage as they reentered the camp. The spokesman for the wanderers led one girl out into the opening. Her hair was long black and braided. Her eyes were a dark brown. Her skin the light golden color that many wanderers had. She wore ragged clothing, more ragged than most of the others. Her eyes were downcast. One hand was missing three fingers. One leg was lame from injuries. When she looked up, it was with the haunted eyes of an outcast. She would be strikingly beautiful, if not for the one scar along a cheek. “This is my daughter Winsome. I would sell her services to any knight, who wishes to buy a few hours of her time,” he said. “She is lame and scarred, what about one of the others,” asked Sir Tamina. “I will pay extra for undamaged goods.” The wanderer scowled. Another knight jeered. “How much are you asking for fifteen minutes with Winsome. I could use some relief, but I wouldn’t want to spend more time than necessary to accomplish the task,” drawled Sir Mave. Dreah’s eyes flashed angrily, and she was about to protest when she suddenly lost the use of her voice-box. She whirled around facing Dane. He shrugged. Her eyes widened in frustration. He came up next to her and whispered. “Not now.” She looked at him with pure venom and turned away, stomping back out of camp, not wanting to be anywhere near any of them. They disgusted her. How could she ever be one of them? She would never want to be. They were animals, beasts and she hated them, all of them.

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If she could, she would go back to the faerie and wish that all men be struck from the world, erased from creation. Suddenly the reality of being a man was beginning to dawn on her. If she was with them, they might rape women. If she was called to war, she might witness all kinds of injustices perpetrated against the weak people of the world. She fought back the urge to cry in pure rage and despair. She sank down at the base of the tree and let her tears fall in silence. She was so absorbed in her misery that she didn’t hear Dane until he crouched down next to her. “Why did you silence me?” she asked resentfully. “Because you said to gag you the next time you were about to say something foolish,” he said. “And you think it would be foolish to protest the humiliation, and wholesale of a crippled girl!” “Dreah,” he said, gently, laying a hand on her shoulder. “They are men. Anyway, I paid for the girl.” “And that makes it right!” she cried. “Is that all you men ever think of, how to satisfy your lust?” He sighed. “No. That’s not all we ever think of. It’s just. . .” “Just what? No matter what you say, you can’t convince me that it’s right or that men should be allowed to use a woman who clearly has no desire for them. What kind of father sells his daughter anyway? I hate them! I hate you! I hate all men and I aim to stop this kind of injustice! How could you be party to this? How could you prey on a crippled girl? You of all people!” she said rising up angrily. He caught her in a surprisingly strong grip, restraining her from heading back to the camp. “Listen to me,” he said, his eyes flashed a deep shade of green. He was angry, but she didn’t care if he burned her

to cinders with his magic. She struggled against him, and he was forced to grip her hard to keep her from leaving. “The world sees you as a man! Don’t go back into that camp saying things that will make them think you are a lunatic. You have no choice Dreah! You must act like a man.” “I don’t want to be a man!” she said vehemently. “You are all vile lustful despicable creatures!” He sighed and loosened his grip. “Yes we are,” he agreed quietly.“But you can’t tell the rest of them that, unless you want them to think you’re insane. Anyway, as far as the girl is concerned, I purchased her time. It doesn’t mean I intend to do anything to her. In fact I don’t. If you must know. It’s been months since I’ve been– ” He looked away from her for a second. “I’m sorry for accusing you. I just– I can’t stand the thought of rape.” He sighed. “Even if I was desperate, I wouldn’t take advantage of a woman who didn’t want me. Anyway, right now, the only woman I really want, doesn’t want me.” She sagged back against the tree, and his arms went around her. She knew he was right. “Okay,” she said more calmly and pushed her way back out of his arms. “My Lord,” said Sir Rolf as he came up the path. “I came to find you and let you ah– ” He hesitated uncharacteristically, looking from Dane to her and back again. “To inform you that the venison is done.” Dreah realized that Sir Rolf probably believed her and Dane had an un-natural relationship. She straightened her leather armor and walked past him, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Dane followed her and Sir

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Rolf followed at a slower pace. When they got back to camp Dreah noticed that the lame girl was waiting for Dane, with her eyes downcast. Dreah ate her venison and sat in silence while the others talked among themselves quietly until Sir Shelts woke up moaning in agony. “The mage has cursed me with a fever,” he cried. “You cursed yourself when you decided to get insolent with his lordship,” said Sir Alfred sternly. Dane sat apart from the others. She noticed he had plucked some leaves of the gasamen weed and was showing the girl Winsome how to make a salve that would relieve the pain of her crippled limb. She felt guilty for believing even for a moment that Dane would allow any harm to come to the girl. Her father came over to where he was busily setting the leaves in a small kettle. “Don’t teach the girl magic,” he said. “It is not magic,” said Dane smoothly. “Only herbs that village healers traditionally use to help with pain.” Her father nodded. “Might be able to make up some to sell then.” His eyes glittered greedily. “What happened to her?” Dane asked evenly. “Nothing that she didn’t bring onto herself,” he said, and it was obvious he was only containing his anger out of fear of the mage. “Which was?” Dane persisted. “She tried to run off with some no good mercenary. He got her pregnant and left her. She tried to jump off a cliff. It would have been better if she would have died. Less trouble for the rest of us. Still she earns extra coin on her back. She wanted to live like a whore and so she does,” he said without sympathy.

Dane said nothing else and continued to show the girl the herbal mixture. Dreah watched Dane as he gently rubbed the salve over her leg and then proceeded to give the girl a bag of sweet smelling spices. He brought her over to his demon rider and the girl quickly became enamored of the beast, and spent a long time combing out and rebraiding the tolerant animal’s mane and tail. When it was late and everyone was bedding down, Dane sent Winsome back to the other women, and the girl cast several looks of abject adoration his way. Dreah knew that if he had wanted to make use of her, the girl would have welcomed him. Later she saw the girl had bedded down alone away from the others. Apparently she was not welcome among the women in the group. She shook her head. Dreah couldn’t understand it. How could any woman withstand the humiliation of being treated as no more than discarded used property? She wondered why the girl didn’t run away. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the night. Somewhere a wolf howled and frogs sang out their songs. Leather creaked as men moved on their bedrolls; the rain continued to fall in a dreary patter on the leaves. Dreah continually woke up throughout the night. At one point, she opened her eyes to see Sir Shelts and four of the other knights saddling their mounts. It was just as well, she thought darkly. At that point she didn’t care if they all left. Finally, when the gray dawn shown through the heavy boughs of the trees, she got up and began readying her own mount, thinking of the dismal day in the saddle that lay before her. Dane rose and quietly saddled his demon rider. Long Leap cast his eerie orange eyes in her direction and Dreah found herself drawn to the fire in his orbs. She

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reached out a hand and allowed him to sniff it. Unlike most warhorses, the demon rider was nowhere near as temperamental as he looked. She was still trying to get her horse to accustom himself to her presence, which he barely seemed to tolerate. Most of the wanderers were already packed, with their horses hitched up to their covered wagons that served as sleeping shelters. Winsome’s father came up to Dreah. “What has the mage done with my daughter?” Dane looked over at the tall thin man with undisguised disgust. “Has she run away?” he asked blandly. “If so, I wouldn’t blame her.” The wanderer hissed. “I only let you have her company because you paid me twice as much gold as the others were willing to pay.” “You had no use for her,” said Dane, not bothering to look at the man as he continued to ready Long Leap. “I want this man arrested for stealing,” he said to Dreah. “What is it you suggest he has stolen?” Dreah asked. “My daughter!” “Funny,” said Dreah coldly. “Only last night, I heard you trying to sell her. To say the least your fatherly outrage seems misplaced somehow.” Just then a frantic woman came stumbling into the glade. “Allamez! We’ve found her.” The lady gasped hysterical. “She’s down by the creek! Darielle is there with her. It’s bad!” “What has that worthless whore done this time?” hissed Allamez. “If she has scarred herself some more, I will beat the life from her. It is hard enough to sell her services as it is.” The man pulled a whip off of the back of the wagon and started down through the woods following the woman to his daughter.

Dane fell into his path, blocking the man with a graceful movement. He caught the man’s wrist in a vicelike grip. His long fingers dug into the other man’s wrist. “You will do no such thing,” he said calmly. Allamez’s fingers grew numb beneath the mage’s grip, and he was momentarily mesmerized by the strange light that showed from the eyes deep within the shadows of the black cowl. Dane released the wanderer, who cursed under his breath as he headed down the path. Dreah, Gui and some of the other knights followed. The sight that greeted them on the edge of the creek left Dreah sick with grief. The girl Winsome had been raped and was sitting there huddled and bleeding, sobbing in terror. On her unscarred cheek, her assailant had carved the outline of a spider with a knife. It bled gruesomely down her face. For a moment, Dreah didn’t breathe, didn’t even know that she held her breath. “Demon!” cried her father. “Demon! You did this!” He pointed at Dane. “The mage has given my daughter the mark of evil! I will never be able to sell her favors again. No one will pay for such an abomination.” Dane quite suddenly grabbed the man around the throat. No one dared to try and stop him. The other wanderers in the group shrank back in fear. Everyone was afraid except for Dreah, who looked at the father with scorn. “Leave these woods wanderer, and leave your daughter behind you. I am taking her into my custody.” The man gave her a look of pure hatred. “Forgive me your lordship,” he spat pronouncing her title with sarcasm. “But who will compensate me for the loss in gold.”

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“Gold,” she said smoothly. “Hear me now and heed my warning. If you don’t leave these woods and my land within the hour, I will pay you with cold steel.” “This is not right!” cried one woman, who was braver than the others. “The mage has assaulted one of us. Everywhere we go, people persecute us. I demand justice for my daughter. I demand that we burn the devilry out of the mage!” “Not again,” said Dane dryly. Dreah turned to the woman. “As much as I think your concern is genuine mistress, I cannot allow that. I know who did this to your daughter, and it was not the mage.” “Then who?” the woman cried. Someone who doesn’t want me to forget that he is watching me, she thought. But she made no reply for a moment then said. “Suffice it to say that one day he will pay for this and other crimes,” she said with cold conviction. “Now do as I say and leave these woods and my lands. Your daughter is now under my protection. She will be treated well.” The father gave a final venomous look at his daughter then left with the others. Dane tended to the crippled girl. Dreah stood nearby, showing no emotion, refusing to allow herself the luxury of sympathy. There was no room for it. There was only room for the dark rage burning inside, burning and kindled anew with this latest fuel. The scar on the girl’s cheek would be a reminder to her, a reminder of her failure to bring Spider to justice before he harmed another. How many would suffer before she made him pay? They forded the creek and rode into Hamaden, one of the larger villages in the west wold. They stopped at a drinking establishment to refresh themselves and chase away the cold from the wet crossing.

Dreah took a seat in a wooden chair near the fire. She chose that chair not so much because of its proximity to the blaze but because there was only one other chair near it, and she wanted to speak with Dane alone. “Those four stayed out of loyalty to Sir Rolf,” said Dreah quietly indicating the knights who sat at one of the long tables with Sir Rolf at a small round table near the bar. “Yes, I think he was hoping that d’Avar would die without an heir so he could conveniently slip into the position. He is one of the king’s favorites I believe.” “I’ve been the Lord of Darkstone Keep for barely a month and already I have lost five knights.” Dane raised a sardonic brow. “Good riddance I say. Better to guard your borders with pitchforks and reapers than to guard your back from myriad sharp metal objects.” Her eyes roamed the faces of the knights with her. She knew Dane was right. She looked at Winsome. She was sitting quietly at a table with Sir Alfred and Gui before a few other knights and a young squire joined them. The girl kept her eyes downcast. She would be scarred for life. Every time she touched her face or passed a looking glass she would be reminded of her ordeal. And Dreah knew that every time she looked at Winsome she would remember and as painful as that was, she wanted that. She needed to remain focused on retribution. The trouble was that law favored the elite few, people like wanderers and bound servants rarely saw justice under the law. She summoned the barkeeper. The aging barkeeper eyed her warily. “Is something wrong with your ale My Lord?” “I need you to summon the town magistrate to me,” she said evenly. The barkeeper gave her a sharp look but then summoned one of his

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bound servants and sent him to fetch the magistrate. Dane raised his brow at her in question. “I doubt there is anything a magistrate of this town will be able to accomplish in Winsome’s case that we have not already done.” Her gray eyes were narrowed on the fire in contemplation. “I have no plans to ask him about winsome’s case. I know who did it. I just need to know who he is.” “I can see you have something stewing in that brain of yours.” “I am going to ask for his case book,” she said. “What for?” She looked at him now. “To see what cases he has judged and how bound servants have fared under the law.” “Why would you do that?” “Because I’m trying to figure out how to re-write the laws of my demesne,” she said quietly. He raised a brow. “How so?” “I’m going to change things for bound servants, but first I need proof of the way they have been treated in order to make my case to the nobles,” she said. “They won’t like it,” he sighed. She smiled coldly. “No. I don’t think they will, but Terusa has grown in popularity. It’s hard to argue with the belief of the masses.” He lifted his cup of ale in a salute to her before drinking. “I think you are going to enjoy this.” Her smile warmed. She lifted her mug and clunked it against his. “Yes, I do believe I will.” The magistrate’s books yielded no surprises and Dreah found, just as she knew she would, that bound servants were offered little in the

way of protection under the law. As they progressed to Lemakal, she requested several more of the books from town magistrates, taking note of the numbers and kinds of judgements in each. When they arrived in Lemakal it was to find that the girl who had been raped had already died. They put up in an inn for the night, and Dreah was grateful as she ordered herself a hot bath. She had not been able to take one since leaving Darkstone Keep and she felt positively cruddy. She noted that Dane was the only one besides her who ordered one as well. He was even more persnickety about such things than she was as he had spent many years with the temple priests and doing more indoor type chores. She had done her time in the fields and was no stranger to grunge, but she had grown spoiled living the life of a castle noble. She took it upon herself to order one for Winsome as well. She was pretty sure the girl might appreciate it. While they were preparing the baths, Dreah took that time to have a drink and something to eat in the common room with the others. Winsome gave her a shy smile when she entered. Dreah smiled back and sat next to the girl. In the days since they began riding, the girl had began to open up. It became apparent that she possessed weaving skills and Dreah had assured her that her skills would be in great demand at Darkstone Keep and she would be employed for that skill. She had just started eating her stew when the magistrate came in. He was a middle aged portly fellow with a shiny bald head. His face was flustered and as he looked none too pleased to be summoned with his books. “My Lord, couldn’t this have waited until tomorrow? The hour grows late and I was just about to have supper,” the magistrate complained.

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Dreah gave him a hard look. “Your books Magistrate Florus,” she demanded coming to her feet. His face grew a little redder but he plunked them down on the table in front of her. “Have a seat,” she said indicating the bench next to her. “Order some dinner to ease your hunger.” He looked distastefully at Winsome. “You are supping with a wanderer?” “This is Winsome, a citizen of Darkstone Keep. You would be wise to keep your comments to yourself,” said Dreah dangerously. Florus took his seat looking petulant as a spoiled child. “I will wait to eat.” “Suit yourself,” said Dreah flatly as she pulled one of the books forward and opened the pages to the most recent cases. “It says here that you arrested Kye Macham for the rape and murder of the bound servant girl who died last week.” “Yes, My Lord. The young man was guilty by his own admission,” said the magistrate. “What was her name? There is no mention of it in here?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It really didn’t matter.” Dreah clenched her jaw and continued to peruse the documents. “It further states that Lendak Macham paid restitution in the sum of fifty gold pieces to Roma Boshk for the crime.” “Roma Boshk was the girl’s owner,” said the magistrate simply. “It does not state what punishment was decided for Kye. When do you hold the hearing?” “No hearing is necessary as he admitted to the crime,” said Florus. “Not a hearing to determine guilt. When is the hearing for the

sentencing?” she asked firmly. “My Lord his father paid the price already. There is no other hearing.” “He is guilty of rape and murder. By my estimation there is still restitution to be made,” she said firmly. “But the girl was nothing more than a bound servant. The laws do not apply. His father paid more than she was worth and that because the girl was pretty and Roma Boshk was complaining at the loss.” Dreah was silent for a moment. Looking at Florus she knew what he thought. She knew he believed what he said to be right and true. Dreah would not let the matter drop. “I will hold a sentencing hearing for Kye Macham. I suggest you pack your things and begone from my demesne by tomorrow.” “Where would I go?” he demanded. “I have lands. I have rights.” “The only right I am affording you is to leave with your life intact,” she said harshly. Just as she did so, Dane sat down next to the Magistrate. Florus stood so rapidly his obese stomach battered the table and sent ale spilling from mugs. He scrambled sideways tripping on his long robe. He went down onto the flagstone. Dane stood up gracefully and solicitously offered him a hand up. “You– ” he gasped and tried unsuccessfully to scramble away. “You– ” “Ah yes I can see you are as happy to see me as I am to see you,” Dane said with a mocking smile. “My Lord, he’s a– a– demon!” cried Florus. Dreah could barely hide her humor. “Shame on you Dane. Are you terrorizing another magistrate?”

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“I thought he might make a fine specimen for my next experiment,” said Dane sardonically. “You hear that! Vile magic experiments. Outlawed! outlawed!” “I do believe you attempted to burn him at the stake. If I am not mistaken that too is outlawed,” said Dreah dryly. “He deserved it!” cried Florus. “You have no defense magistrate. You can either remove yourself from my holdings or you can be removed by my mage here. What is it going to be?” asked Dreah. “He’s an agent of darkness,” cried Florus, looking at each of the faces in the room in turn. “He was condemned for setting a plague on the village. Eleven people died in that sickness. He used his magic powers to douse the flames of his own purification pyre. He is a demon, My Lord. Banish me if you must but let us purge the kingdom of this filth. Let’s drown him since he has an unholy power over fire,” Florus protested. Dane sighed. “Yes, great memories, lots of fun. A real lark when the fire blew out. Dramatic really, the whole town oohed and ahhhd over that one. No need to thank me. I enjoy giving spectacle entertainments wherever I go,” said Dane, his eyes light with humor. “My Lord he condemns himself with his own tongue. He admits that he was the one sentenced to die,” stammered Florus, so red in the face Dreah was sure he could be likened to an overripe tomato. “So it would seem,” said Dreah turning her attention back to the books apparently unconcerned. “And what will you do about it?” She looked up at Dane. “Dane he’s right. Someone should be punished. I suggest you have a pyre built to burn Florus since he is so

keen to see someone go up into flames. Let it be his fat that feeds the fire.” “Again My Lord,” said Dane dramatically. “I’m getting so tired of burning magistrates. Can’t we burn someone else this time?” Florus fairly whined at this last and scrambled from the inn. “Well that’s one way to get him to leave,” Dane drawled. “I was good wasn’t I?” “Exceedingly so,” he said, his eyes crinkled in laughter. She smiled at that. “I think I have all that I need now to issue a proclamation, and I’m going to need you to help me draft it. It needs to be in keeping with the laws of Duidine, but pushing them to their very limits.” “Hmm creating a civil war are we, always a good cause,” he said. “Just bring me the parchment and ink,” she said dryly. They spent the next hour drafting the proclamation until the innkeeper notified them that their baths were ready. Dreah relished the feel of the warm bath seeping into her bones. She washed her hair three times and scrubbed herself vigorously before lying back and soaking in the heat. She reluctantly rose when the water began to turn tepid. Water washed down her tall form, splashing over her curves in rivets as she stepped from the tub and reached into the linen basket to retrieve a bath sheet. A sharp sting on her fingers caused her to snatch her hand away. Then she noticed the large black spider with red markings on its back and the tips of its leg. And then she noticed two others. Surely too many to be a coincidence. Her hand went automatically to her bare hip where here sword normally rested. A sense of panic rose unbidden as her fingers closed over air. Her eyes swept the chamber. It was empty. Silent except for

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the tapping of Spider feet crawling up the side of the basket. She was alone, but he had been there. Of that she was certain. She grabbed her sword from where it hung on the wall hook and deftly sliced into the spiders. She glanced around the room. Then she felt something on her head and the biting sting as a spider sunk its fangs into her scalp. She viciously yanked the creature off and slammed it to the floor before skewering it. Not caring that she was fully nude, she opened her door and ran from the room to Dane’s door and pounded on it. The door swung open and he stood there, his hair hung loose and wet, one hand held the laces of his hastily donned black pants together. He gasped at the sight of her standing there stark naked, dripping wet with a sword in her hand. Blood ran down her temple from where the spider bit her. It also dripped from her numbing hand. Her lips were quivering. Her gray eyes wild with fear. She dropped the sword as she stumbled forward and he caught her. “What happened?” he asked as he looked out into the hall, finding it empty. He kicked the door shut behind them and led her to the settee in front of the fire. She wrapped her arms across her chest and pulled her knees upward. It did nothing to disguise her alluring form. Dane hastily grabbed up the bath sheet he had used and wrapped it around her shoulders. She stifled a sob. “Spiders, everywhere! He was there. He was there in my room.” “Wait here,” he ordered as he grabbed up her sword and left, whispering over the lock to seal it behind him. He returned in a few moments grim-faced. “I have killed any that remained in there.” “I—I was afraid,” she said through half-numb lips. He sat on the small couch next to her. He was silent for a few

moments, staring into the fire then he looked over at her and sighed then lifted her chin and smoothed the hair back from her face. He examined her scalp and her fingers then looked carefully into each of her eyes. He swore softly under his breath. “Did you get bitten anywhere else?” “No,” she rasped, now shivering uncontrollably as the poison began to circulate through her body. He got up and went to his robe and rummaged through the assorted hidden pockets retrieving some herbs and other spell components. He picked up a jar and left the room again and returned with two of the dead spiders inside it. She watched in fascinated horror as he pulled out his wand and whispered words over the spiders. They glowed softly for a second then re-animated and began stabbing their fangs at their glass prison, venom leaked from them in fine droplets. He let them struggle against the glass for a few moments before waving his wand over them again and whispering a word. They fell over dead again. He retrieved their bodies and tossed them into the fire where they sizzled for a moment before charring black and crumbling to ashes. The pain in her hand and head was excruciating now, but they were nothing compared to the pain she felt in her heart. Most of the time she stuffed the memories of Spider to the deepest darkest part of her soul and focused only on the anger and revenge she felt. But now she felt vulnerable, afraid. Dane mixed herbs in silence then placed them into the jar with the venom. He waved his wand over it several times drawing runes into the air. The runes took shape burned momentarily then swirled away in a wisp of smoke. The smoke swirled in the air then slipped into the jar until it was clouded. Dreah still shook, though she wasn’t sure if it was the venom or her

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fear that was the cause of it. Dane came over to her when he was finished and told her to inhale the contents of the jar. Dreah did as he said, inwardly cringing at the acrid scent. But then she felt the pain in her head and hand dissipate. She kept inhaling until he took it away and set it aside. He sat beside her then and inspected her head and then her hand. “Feel better?” he inquired. She nodded but her lip still trembled. She felt the tears gathering in her eyes and she didn’t know how to stop them. “I was afraid,” she whispered. He was the only person in the world she would ever admit that to. “You’re with me now. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he said as he drew her closer to him. She felt his bare chest beneath her cheek as he pulled her near. His hands moved gently up and down her back, threading into her wet hair. There was something about being held in his arms, the sense of safety she knew she could never feel anywhere else. It penetrated the wall of self defense she had erected. She sobbed audibly and clung to him for a moment, letting herself feel the pain, the shame, and the utter sense of terror at the memories that sat like a raw festering wound in her heart. He held her tightly. “I wish I had been there to save you. It hurts me to know that I wasn’t there.” She swallowed and tried to force her emotions under control. “I should be stronger. I need to conquer my fear. I should go back to my room and face it,” she said only she didn’t feel the conviction behind the words that she knew she should. He gently kissed the top of her head.“You should stay with me

tonight,” he said. “Dane I– you know I– can’t–” “I don’t mean it that way Dreah. I will sleep on this couch or on the floor.” “I can take the floor,” she said extracting herself from his embrace, reminding herself where such intimacy might lead, reminding herself that she didn’t want that. “Let me be a man Dreah. All our lives you were there. You were always the one to come to my rescue. Now I need you just this once let me treat you like a woman,” he said letting her go and standing up. He leaned on the mantlepiece. She looked up at him then stood up near him. The sheet was thin and offered little in the way of concealment. She saw the desire in his eyes. She felt warmed by it even while a part of her rebelled against those feelings. She did something she rarely did. She cast her eyes down to avoid his gaze. “I’m grateful Dane. I’m grateful for everything you do for me.” He sighed. “I have a clean robe you can use. I will step out for a few minutes while you dress.” He retrieved the item and tossed it on the bed then turned away from her, heading for the door. She watched him go, noting the way his long golden hair swept over the planes of his bare muscular back. Her heart pounded a little harder than it should have. His musculature was not what you would expect of a mage, but then Dane had specialized in warfare magic. His robes concealed his athletic build. She blamed the way she felt then on the evening’s events. Her fear had softened her and made her vulnerable. She would need to guard her heart closely against Dane. ***

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By the next moon cycle her proclamation was posted in every town of her demesne. Proclamation dated on the fifth day in the Fourth Turning of the Moon in the 2,880th Year of the Sword By order of Lord Lander d’Avar, Overlord of Darkstone Keep, the following law is proclaimed. Concerning the treatment and rights of the bound servants who reside within the boundaries of the demesne of Darkstone. Commoners who held bound servant status within the lands of this demesne are to be henceforth freed from the bonds of servitude. Servants will no longer be subject to discipline by their employers or former bond masters. They are to be accorded the opportunity to apply to craft guilds and freely apprentice themselves to whomsoever they choose if they are selected. They are further no longer bound to the land on which they reside and may apply for allotted land of their own to work in exchange for a portion of their proceeds to be rendered as rent, as do all other free commoners. Further, any man woman or child whether common, or noble regardless of their occupation and status, who desires refuge from persecution or whose rights are violated under the law will be accorded the right to request refuge at Darkstone. Those looking for judgement on an issue may seek an audience on the second day of each Turning of the Moon to voice complaints and grievances. A special court will be presided over by the Lord of Darkstone Keep. In addition, any and all refugees seeking shelter from danger or hardship caused by persecution and injustice will be welcomed by the people of this fief and once they cross into the borders of this demesne will be allowed safe passage to Darkstone Keep where they may apply for sanctuary. Any

violators of this order or repercussions dealt to bound servants because of this new law will be punished with swift and severe justice. Signed by Lander d’Avar, Overlord of Darkstone Keep and Knight of the realm of Duidine

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One year later... The next year passed in a blur for Dreah. She worked hard at perfecting her fighting techniques, not only with her sword, but dozens of other weapons, manipulating the styles to her advantage. She had to come to terms with the fact that she would never be as strong as the knights. She would never be able to wear the heavy armor, but she had speed on her side, and she honed techniques that capitalized on this. The months had flown by and she had grown proficient in making policy. Many of her nobles had left her demesne after she had forced better treatment for bound servants. Since she outlawed all physical punishment of servants, forcing the nobles to come to her with their grievances. She dealt harshly with any who brutalized the peasantry. Because of her new policies, trouble had been brewing with her neighbor, Grayriver Castle. As soon as they got wind of a large force moving their way Dreah had ordered everyone be brought inside the keep. Now there was a large military group camped in the woods outside near the deserted village. “An emissary from Grayriver Castle is approaching,” said Gui coming up behind Dreah, casting a quick glance at the mage standing beside her. “Yes,” said Dreah absently as she continued to scan the distant treeline with her spyglass. “There Dane, not much, but there none-the-less.” The mage took the spyglass and directed it where she indicated. Warm summer wind washed over them as they stood there on the ramparts surveying the woods. Dreah brushed a stray strand of her hair out of her eyes. It had grown longer and she now tied it at the nape of

her neck with a tie. The heat made Dreah irritable and the encampment of men waiting just inside the forest disconcerted her. She knew Sir Ivaniak would be angry at the latest round of deserters. But she hadn’t expected him to get upset enough to threaten military action over it. Dane nodded and handed the spyglass back to her. “Perhaps we should send someone to take a look, get a count.” he suggested. “Whoever we send needs to be careful. This looks like a military group,” she said thoughtfully as she watched the three men approaching the castle. She collapse the glass and turned to Gui. “See the drawbridge lowered for the three riders and provide our guests with some refreshment. I will see to them shortly.” Gui nodded. “Sir Alfred said he has taken the liberty to double the archers while we lower the bridge.” Dreah nodded. “Good,” she said tonelessly. The truth was that it was anything but good. Trouble had been brewing with Grayriver ever since the peasant uprising that he blamed on Darkstone Keep and its new overlord. In the little over a year since the proclamation, she had traveled over her demesne to personally ensure that the law was more than a writ on paper. She wanted to make herself assessable to her people. And her proclamation had been successful beyond all her imagination. Once news of her proclamation had spread, refugees from all over Duidine, who had failed to receive just treatment in their own borders, had come to her seeking help and a place to live. At first she was worried that the land would not be able to support them, but with Dane’s help she had organized the guildmasters and fostered an apprenticeship program and a large agricultural program for unskilled laborers to earn their keep. Their living was admittedly humble, but

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they were free to come and go as they chose, free to marry whom they chose with no worry of their children or families being sold away. Overlords from other demesne’s had quickly become irritated at her and some had ferried every sick, crippled or otherwise handicapped person in their fief to her borders to flood her castle with people in dire need of help. There were many girls there now like Winsome, who had been forced to submit to men for the profit of bond masters and nobles. They had come seeking refuge and found it inside Dreah’s borders. Unfortunately several of the women who had come, had developed fervent crushes on their benefactor whose aloof and distant personality seemed to fuel their ardor, a fact which gave Dane no small amount of enjoyment at her expense. One such girl was serving the emissaries in the great hall when Dreah arrived. She bobbed a curtsy to Dreah as she entered, blushing furiously and casting shy blue eyes in her direction. Dreah did not return the smile. In fact it was hard for the recipients of her generosity to reconcile the stony-faced and humorless youth to the magnanimous law he had enacted. On the outside she was no-nonsense, all business. “Sir Blakefield and Sir Trenton,” said Dreah greeting her guests with cool aplomb. “What brings you to Darkstone Keep. Truly I am honored to be so often visited by my neighbors.” She eyed the third man in their company all the while. She didn’t recognize him. He wore the long blue robes of a priest of Verago. His long brown hair was tied neatly at the nape of his neck. His smile was cool and measured as his dark, nearly black eyes took in the much talked about Lord d’Avar. The priest assessed her carefully, considering each of her features in turn. She appeared to him as a young man and tall as most warriors

were, but with a build slight in comparison to the previous Lord d’Avar. The dark robed mage came in silently like a shadow behind Dreah. Those in the room had heard it reputed that the two of them rarely separated, which was most probably the cause of so many wistful glances that females sent his way. Dreah trained her eyes on the priest, Merivak Losoven, and a shiver ran up his spine in spite of himself. She could have been carved in stone if it were not for the piercing stare. “We have come, as you are well aware d’Avar, to reclaim this latest group of deserters,” said Blakefield acidly. Dreah’s eyes returned to Blakefield. “I sympathize with Lord Ivanaiak, but my laws are clear. If they reside within my borders then they are under my protection.” “This is different,” hissed Blakefield. “Those men are not some mere runaway servants. They are knights and for their desertion they are bound by the king’s law to return to their overlord and face punishment. Or do you place your laws above those of the king?” Dreah’s eyebrows went up almost imperceptibly, but her features were otherwise unaltered at the implication. “If his lordship has lost his knights, he is no worse a position than I am, as he has probably benefitted from the services of some of my own deserters,” she said cooly. “Yes,” said Sir Trenton, “And by your own laws you have sanctioned their desertions” He said with a sneer as he looked around at a number of her servants who were old, crippled or otherwise scarred in such a way that they would be considered outcasts or useless in any other more respectable fief. “However,” continued Sir Trenton with a scornful smile on his lips. “Military desertion is not tolerated in the rest

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of his majesty’s realm and therefore your protecting them violates the king’s laws, which is an act of treason.” Dreah appeared to be entirely unaffected by the man’s words, while inside she mulled over the implications. Those present noted that Lander was cool. His penetrating gaze gleamed sharply like a wellhoned blade. Those observing her would have seen a young lord who didn’t even pause in the act of sipping his wine at the mention of the word treason. She paid attention to everyone within the room taking it all in, yet to the untrained eye she looked intent on her drink and her conversation with Blakefield and Trenton. The foolish Blakefield and Trenton had assumed Merivak was there to help Grayriver, but he had come to issue an order from the king, one, by the looks of things, that would not please Lord d’Avar. “Treason, you say,” said Dreah sounding bored. “You will face the wrath of the king!” roared Trenton. Still Dreah looked at him unflinching beneath the threat. “I am not afraid,” she said quietly. Merivak shivered involuntarily. “That is sedition, you young pup!” cried Blakefield, leaping forward as he drew his sword. Merivak noted that the lord didn’t move from his spot. The mage, however, lifted a finger and spoke a hasty word. A stone on his ring glowed for a second then a flash of light shot from his fingertips knocking Sir Blakefield back several paces. The attention in the room quickly shifted from the young lord to the mage. Not even the king’s own mage could perform such a powerful spell without the assistance of a wand. The young lord snapped his fingers and two knights stepped forward

to restrain Sir Trenton who was making as if to draw his own sword. “A foolish display,” said Dreah evenly. “Take this message back to Lord Ivanaiak. Tell him that if his men come to me offering their services, I will give them a place in my keep. And if he wants them back, he may try and take them by force if he chooses, but it would be a waste of the king’s precious time to come and settle such a petty argument.” Merivak smiled in spite of himself and Dreah’s eyes caught the movement. Her gray eyes shot through Merivak like shards of polished steel, and he realized that for a moment he was holding his breath. “Do you have something to add Sir?” asked Dreah. Sir Merivak smiled a congenial practiced smile meant to disarm and charm. Dreah was entirely unmoved. “I come with a message from the king, but I am tired as I have ridden most of the day. Is there a place I might rest and refresh myself before we conduct business?” asked Merivak. “But you came with these– ” Dreah waved her hand derisively at Sir Blakefield and Sir Trenton. “You may leave as you came.” “Begging your pardon, My Lord, but my cousin, the king would be most disappointed if I do not impart my message and alas I would prefer the message to be issued under a less public audience,” said Merivak smoothly. He wanted to establish his separation from the other two knights and accentuate his status. Dreah allowed a brief but cold smile. “Very well. Winsome,” she said summoning the girl who had been standing along the wall waiting to see if she could be of service. The girl came forward. There was that same adoration in her eyes that Dreah had noted in so many others of

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late. “Take, the king’s cousin to a guest chamber please.” This she said easily while the irate emissaries were being led from the hall spewing insults on the way out. The girl bowed slightly and motioned for Merivak to follow her. “You are too kind,” said Merivak. “Your hospitality is accepted.” “You will have your private audience when you are rested,” Dreah said. “You may remain as long as you wish as my guest.” “Of course,” said Merivak watching the orderly doings of the keep, noting that it was not the chaotic mess that the rest of the kingdom believed. The people worked just as hard here, perhaps even harder, than they did in any other demesne he had visited. The tables were full of succulent food. And the stables, as he had already observed, were well maintained. On the way to the castle he had witnessed neat well tended fields and hard working field hands. All very interesting. The affect of the young lord’s rule was perplexing and in some ways disturbing. Not only his knights, but his very people held him in awe and adoration. The priest’s eyes shifted again to the mage, wondering if somehow the magic user had placed a charm over the place, since Merivak found himself on the fringes of admiration for the young lord himself. He discarded that idea. It had to be the lord’s own affect on the people. He had charisma and what was more, ambition. The boy was a danger to the crown itself and he probably didn’t even realize it. Or maybe he did. The next morning Dreah summoned Merivak to a private audience at his request. She had already received the news that the military contingent had broken camp and left back to Grayriver. She was certain that would not be the last she had heard of him though. He handed her a parchment with the king’s seal on it. A few moments later she left her

study without so much as glancing again at the priest. Dreah came striding across the courtyard, her steps determined, her eyes a chill slate gray. “Have you seen the mage?” she asked Gui, who had been coaching a sparring set of pages. “No My Lord,” he said, looking grateful that he had not seen the mage. Dreah’s eyes narrowed and she continued past him without so much as a break in her stride. The knights of the demesne, even those she considered her friends, had remained suspicious and unfriendly to Dane. Gui left the two youngsters to spar and fell into step beside Dreah. “What’s wrong My Lord?” he asked. She wordlessly thrust a parchment into his hands. Gui unrolled it and scanned the contents as he hurried after her. “It still doesn’t seem clear to me why you need the mage; what you need are messengers to send out a call to arms,” said Gui. Just then the page Shiraz came running up. “My lord, the mage has been sighted coming back from the forest with his apprentice,” he cried. “Thank you young man,” she said, noting how he had begun to grow. It would not be long before he was as tall as her. He would be made into a squire before long. He had demonstrated talent at knightly skills. She took the steps from the outer bailey two at a time. Gui and Shiraz followed her up to the lookout. Dreah’s eyes scanned the trees in the distance. Dane was easy enough to recognize by his black robes. Amatrice walked beside him in a bright red gown. They had stopped, maybe to examine something. Their heads were close together. They weren’t examining something. She picked up the spy-glass and trained it in their direction. Amatrice

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was in his arms. They were kissing! Her grip on the spyglass faltered. She felt the air whoosh right out of her lungs. There they stood, together in the field on the edge of the woods groping each other. The wind lifted his black robes and they fluttered darkly around him. Amatrice’s scarlet gown complemented the raven robes to perfection. “It doesn’t look like he plans to return just yet,” said Gui dryly. “Although, I can’t say much for her taste. Then again she was never very picky.” Dreah hissed. “Can I see?” asked Gui, reaching for the spyglass. Dreah collapsed the spy glass roughly, shoved it into Gui’s palm and strode back down the steps. “What did I say?” he asked to her retreating back. Dreah had to keep herself from actually running to the stables. She called for the gates to be opened on the way there. Three horses stood saddled and ready for the next patrol. She leaped into one of the saddles and thundered away, and was forced to lower her head to miss the rising portcullis. The drawbridge had barely touched the bank over the moat as her mount reached the end of it, leaping onto the opposite bank. She rode over the field. Her horse whipped the tall grass and wild flowers, kicking up petals, white clouds of seeds and butterflies in its wake. Dane heard her coming and stood, hastily shifting his robes for modesty’s sake. Amatrice stayed in the grass lying back languidly. The top of her bodice was askew. Her legs were bared to the thighs and she had the temerity to reach out with a bare foot and stroke Dane’s ankle beneath his robes as Dreah approached. Dane’s face flushed and he looked uncomfortable. “What is it?” he asked as Dreah reined in her mount.

Dreah practically choked on her rage. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to take her sword and swipe the pleased smile from Amatrice’s beautiful face. She focused on Dane, pretending to ignore the other woman. “I’ve business to discuss with you. Alone,” she said pointedly. Amatrice pouted, but the effect was somewhat diminished by the calculating look in her tawny gaze. “I promise to be quiet until you are finished with him, because as you can imagine, we have some unfinished business to take care of ourselves.” Dreah pulled a coin from her pocket and tossed it down at Amatrice so that it landed on the voluminous folds of her red gown. “For your ah . . .unfinished business. Consider it finished.” Amatrice’s face flushed angrily. She stood up with her nearly exposed chest heaving in anger. Dreah lifted a dark brow, waiting for Amatrice to say something. Dane turned to his apprentice. “Take the roots up to the castle and wash and prepare them as I showed you.” Amatrice gave Dreah a withering gaze, still not bothering to right her dress; she pulled on her slippers, picked up the basket of gathered roots and left. When they were alone again, Dane shifted his feet. His hastily discarded boots lay several feet away near the patch of flattened grass that him and Amatrice had so recently occupied. Dreah schooled her voice to sound as calm as possible. “You might choose a more secluded location in the future,” she said scathingly. “Dreah, this is really uncomfortable,” he said. “I’m sorry.” “What are you sorry about?” she stated coldly as she dismounted. “That you were observed by the full compliment of the castle watch tumbling a girl that most of them have already had.”

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“Please Dreah,” he stammered and retrieved his boots, yanking them on. “It didn’t mean anything.” If anything Dreah grew angrier. “The least you could have done is choose someone decent like Winsome, who fairly swoons every time you look her direction, instead of that conniving, selfish bitch.” Dane sighed. “Winsome is the last girl I would choose to–” “Why? Not pretty enough for you? Now that you’re perfect and powerful, you don’t have to settle for the scarred lame ones. Is that it?” she said viciously, wanting to cause him pain. He stood there looking at her. His jaw clenched several times. If she had stabbed him, she couldn’t have hurt him more than she did with those words. “Is that what you think of me?” He bit out angrily and started walking back toward the keep. She fell in behind him, urging her mount to follow as she tugged on his reins. “Why because you love Amatrice?” she asked practically choking on the words. It was ridiculous she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. Even though she was the one who had kept him at a distance, even though she was the one who had set the boundaries of their relationship, she was still angry that he could love someone else. He turned back and faced her. His eyes were unreadable. “For your information, I wouldn’t choose Winsome because she would fall in love with me, and I would never be able to return the compliment.” “Why?” she asked more quietly now. “I think you already know why? But very well, if it makes you feel better to have me lay my heart out so you can trample all over it. I can’t love anyone but you,” he said. Dreah flinched but said nothing. The twin suns lit his eyes, making them glow a golden green in the

afternoon light. He was angry and hurt. “What brought you out here in such a hurry anyway?” he asked. “Were you jealous when you saw us?” Dreah swallowed. “Of course not,” she protested lamely. He sighed. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t waste your time apologizing to me,” she said stiffly. “It is of no consequence to me, who you bed and where. Anyway, I came out here to talk with you about something more important than who you were tumbling in the grass. I got a message from King Remedon. He wants me to report to Shanatas with fifty knights and five-hundred foot soldiers in less than two weeks time.” Rather than looking upset by this news, Dane appeared actually happy to change the subject. “Fifty knights. That leaves a low number to defend the demesne in your absence doesn’t it?” They fell into step beside each other then, Dreah lead the horse. Ahead of them Amatrice’s red dress fluttered around her. The paper thin gown reminded Dreah of the sheer petals on late summer poppies. “If you can manage to pull yourself away from your studies,” she said tightly. “I want you to come with me.” Dane looked for a long time at her profile as they walked on in an extended silence then he said. “I thought you would be glad that I seek– ” he paused, hesitating to reopen the subject, but still feeling the perverse need to explain himself. “Like I said, what you do is your business obviously. I have no desire for that kind of relationship with anyone, even you. I was merely annoyed that you would make a display of it. I don’t want other knights to think badly of you, maybe lose respect for you,” she said lamely, knowing how utterly absurd it sounded the second the words escaped her lips.

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Dane had stopped walking and she had to pause and turn back to him. His eyes danced with amusement. “Oh yes, that would be tragic if they were to lose a portion of the very high esteem that they have for me,” he said dryly. Dreah’s face reddened and she resumed her walk. “I have two days to gather supplies and troops before we leave. Shanatas, as you probably know, is on the other side of Duidine.” “First of all, you will be in the vanguard. Leave someone responsible behind you to command the main body of troops. You ride with twentyfive knights and as many troops and supplies as can be gathered in two days. Let the other group come behind you. That way you will arrive with the promise of reinforcements,” said Dane practically. “Even if they cannot manage to make it there in the allotted time. Set as many as possible to reaping supplies now, butcher pigs, cows, and send out hunters for venison. Have it smoked and dried.” “What about weapons? How do we get that many weapons on such short notice. Why did I never think of this before and prepare for it? Why is the king demanding so many men from me? Doesn’t he know the size of demesne I have?” she asked. Dane nodded. “Of course he knows,” he said seriously. “It can’t have escaped your notice that your reputation for being a benevolent overlord has drawn many new settlements on your lands and swelled the numbers in the existing towns of your demesne. More crops and other goods have been produced by your land in the last year than in the previous ten. Your fief is thriving. I believe the king has also noticed and is using an old tactic. He is likely trying to bleed you dry of both supplies and men. In short, keep you poor and lower the number of a possible army that can be used against him. How better than to throw as

many as possible into a siege.” “But why not simply tax it out of me?” she sighed. “Because taxing you, would cause you to resent him and possibly hold back riches to use against him. Nothing like a war to downsize the population and reduce riches.” Dreah gasped. “It’s not fair. I’ve tried to make my people prosper, to improve life. Can’t they see how much better it is?” she sighed. “Dreah, you have to go and you have to send the men. If you don’t, the king will come and destroy everything, because you will be branded a traitor. No matter what, he wins.” Dreah nodded. “You are right. I have no choice.”

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Chapter Fifteen “That would be Shanatas,” said Dane, indicating the gray rise in the distance, barely visible through the haze and the rain. “Strange that we haven’t encountered other forces so close to the city,” said Sir Alfred, repeating his concerns yet again. Dreah raised her hand to call a momentary halt. She was traveling with twenty-two knights and a mere hundred foot soldiers, a fraction of what the king had called for. It had been a miserable trip across Duidine, punctuated by frequent rain. Their food supplies had gotten wet on the first day and had spoiled by the third. Her men were tired, hungry and cold, and she felt responsible for their misery. “I wonder if the siege ended and someone forgot to inform us, or maybe something happened to the messenger,” said Dreah. “Not likely,” said Dane. Dreah glanced back at her bedraggled forces. They looked more like men marching in a defeated retreat rather than men marching into battle. She allowed the foot soldiers to catch up and form into ranks before she moved forward. Better to have them all together in the event that there was trouble up ahead. They moved forward at a slow pace in the driving rain. When they were a little less than a mile from the city, the brightly colored tents erected in the fields outside the high stone walls became visible. They stood on either side of the road that led to the city gates. “So few,” said Dreah. “I see the king’s colors,” said Sir Alfred. “And the pennants of his retinue, but no one else.” “Are we the first to arrive?” she asked, more to herself than for any answer to her question.

Sir Alfred rubbed his gray beard pensively. “Here comes a rider from the king’s encampment,” he said, indicating the lone rider, who had started down the road toward them. His horse’s hooves whipped up the mud on the road and splashed in the dirty water. Dreah called a halt and waited for the rider. “He carries the king’s standard,” said Sir Alfred. The herald pulled up a few paces away. “My lords, his majesty King Remedon, king of all the realm of Duidine has a message for Lord Lander d’Avar of Darkstone,” he said, inclining his head slightly at Dreah then flashing Long Leap and his rider a nervous glance. The large mount merely stood there quietly, unaware of the fear it produced in those not used to its presence. “Speak herald,” said Dreah somewhat impatient and distracted by the water droplets running down her temples. “My Lord, his majesty requests your presence in his tent the moment of your arrival,” said the herald. Dreah nodded exchanging looks with Dane. She turned to Sir Alfred. “Take charge of the men, set up camp. Gui you will accompany me and the mage to the king’s tent,” she said and spurred her horse forward, leaving the herald to mutter something under his breath and follow in her wake. The king’s tent was the largest of the colorful dwellings. The bright red fabric stood somewhat limp in the rain. The gold trim was muddy at the bottom edges. His royal crest, a metallic gold serpent coiled around a black spear, was emblazoned in lavish embroidery over his door flaps. Dreah dismounted, handing the reins of her warhorse to a waiting squire. Dane dismounted and no one came forward to take Long Leap’s reins, but it wasn’t needed since a whispered word from Dane was all

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the demon rider required to stay put. “You would have thought he would give you a chance to get cleaned up and fed before he summoned you to his presence,” whispered Gui. “So much for social graces,” Dane drawled. “Such a shame for him not to treat nice those he plans to expend on a siege.” “Must you make fun of everything mage?” asked Gui. “Only things that amuse me young knight,” Dane said lightly. A guard held open a heavy flap for them to enter the tent. They stepped into an ante chamber partitioned off from the rest of the large shelter. A heavy velvet curtain hung over the entrance to the king’s chamber, again sumptiously embroidered with his crest. Two guards stood on either side of it. “Wait here until Lord Halarn is finished speaking to the king,” said a squire from his position at a desk where he busily scribbled into a ledger. He didn’t even bother to look up at them or pay Dreah the proper respect due a lord. She took note of it, but made no comment. A tall thin man stepped out of the king’s audience chamber. He wore a pinched expression on his face. His long beaked nose was slightly turned up on one side, giving him the appearance of a permanent sneer. He lifted a fine linen monogrammed handkerchief to his nose and looked sharply at Dreah, eyeing her from her muddy boots to her rain drenched black hair. “Yes, you do rather resemble your father boy,” he said with nasal condescension. “Though your frame is not nearly as substantial. I hope you fight harder than you look,” he said derisively. Dreah raised an arched ebony brow. “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” she asked coldly, gray eyes a narrow slit.

“I am Lord Halarn, the master of Shanatas,” he said loftily. “Interesting,” said Dane dryly. “You do not appear to be master of much now considering you are locked out of your own city.” Lord Halarn’s features flushed and unattractive shade of red. “The peasant rabble have taken control, and the king sends for a silly boy and an unproven mage to root them out. One would almost think that it was I who was in disfavor with the crown.” Dreah’s eyes strayed to Lord Halarn’s hands. There was no sign of calluses where a sword hilt would lay. “A more skilled knight might have been able to hold his own city against a crowd of untrained, unarmed peasants,” she taunted. “Now if you will excuse me, I have an audience with the king.” Lord Halarn’s features twisted with anger. “Your sympathies with the peasant classes and the goddess Terusa are well known among the nobles at court. Perhaps you should dull the edge of your tongue boy lest it be cut out,” he said. Dreah gave him a mirthless smile. “I look forward to laughing at you when you try,” she hissed and pushed past him into the chamber beyond. Dane followed her in, but the squire stopped Gui from entering behind them. The room they stepped into was large and round. Two large braziers stood burning wood, the smoke floated upward to escape through the hole at the top center of the tent peak. The king sat in an elaborate throne, slouched back to one side where he plucked pieces of fruit from a bowl and read a parchment. He glanced up with a bored expression when they entered. He set the parchment aside and adjusted his posture. Dreah was not fooled. His piercing blue eyes registered everything.

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She felt bared to the soul when he gazed at her. She dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “Ah d’Avar we meet at long last.” He paused looking at her derisively. “Your father was a great servant. May Verago bathe him in rosewater. I will send word to have Verago’s servants pray for his soul,” he said. “Thank you Sire,” she said, thinking Verago could go to the Pit of Despair. She had to squelch the urge to tell him she had Terusa’s priests praying to the goddess for him instead. The king gave her a doubtful expression then. “To the business at hand. A peasant revolt, nasty business, led by a butcher of all things. They have taken the city, seized the armory and organized a defense of the walls. They have butchered, pardon the term,” he said smiling at his own joke, “Most of the Nobles who were unable to flee the city in time to escape the veritable cleaver as it were. So I have called upon you, my loyal servant, to use what talents and skill you can muster and lay a siege.” He bit into a piece of fruit with all the appearance of being absorbed in the task. Dreah knew better. “How many reinforcements are we expecting, and who will be leading the attack?” she asked. “I thought I made myself clear how many in my writ. Ah well! Can’t get a decent scribe these days. Five hundred foot soldiers and fifty knights I believe the number was.” “Sire, I meant to ask, what other fiefs would be supplying forces and how many?” The king raised his dark brow and paused before taking his next bite. “I have every confidence that you don’t require any reinforcements d’Avar. Your father could have taken the city with half that number.”

“Indeed, he was a great warrior,” said Dreah tightly. “When will the others arrive?” he asked. “We expect them in three days,” she said. “Very well, you have three days to arrange a plan of attack. I want a full assault,” King Remedon said waving a dismissive hand. But Dreah was not ready to be dismissed. “Three days, I see no siege engines or battering rams. Those would take more than a month to construct,” she protested. He lifted his brow as if to ask why she was questioning him. “We have ladders for you to scale the walls,” he said. “Sire might I request—” “Lord d’Avar,” the king cut her off briskly. “Your time is wasting away. I suggest you begin planning now.” Dreah knew that any further protest would only solidify her position of disfavor with him and possibly see all of her men killed before they pitched camp. Dreah bowed stiffly and left the tent with Dane close on her heels. As they stepped back out into the drizzling rain she turned to him, and he looked at her from beneath his cowl. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to. Gui was waiting there sullenly. He knew by the look on his lord’s face that the meeting had not gone well. He handed her the sodden cape she had removed. She threw it over her shoulders. Her and Gui headed for their mounts. Dane summoned Long Leap with a whistle. “Three days,” Dreah hissed. “We have three days until we attack.” “Three days, but the–” Gui squelched his questions at a sharp look from Dreah. “Gui, go assist with the camp preparations,” she ordered and waited while he rode away then she rode after Dane who had ridden away

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from the camp out of earshot. “What do you make of it?” he asked. Dreah narrowed her eyes at the tall city gates shut tightly against them. The city walls rose imposingly upward with either side butting up against sheer stone cliffs. It formed an impregnable semi circle. It was a fortress that would withstand an assault of thousands. Without war machines, any attempt to engage the enemy would be suicide. The wide open field below was a target practice paradise for the archers who would line the crenellated walls. Dreah pictured her knights and their skeleton force assaulting the structure and all she could see were their bodies riddled with arrows and burning from the large vats boiling oil that would be poured down on them. “It’s a death trap. The king means to use us to probe the defenses, learn the weakness and then assault the structure,” she said. “Hmm I’m not so sure,” said Dane. “What do you mean? It’s clear. You said it before we even came. He wants to downsize my coffers and army and break their morale. He has made a legitimate request of me. I cannot refuse without committing treason outright. He has a hundred knights here and now, fresh and rested.” “Yes, a little insurance never hurts, but one hundred knights, is not enough to lay siege so why is the city locked up tight? Why are they afraid to open their doors? If they were an organized force, as the king and Lord Harlan claim, then why not press the advantage while they had it. There is no reason they should begin starving when the siege force was not sufficient enough to keep the fortress locked down,” said Dane. “Right,” said Dreah eyeing the brightly colored tents that made up

the king’s contingency. The knights were not even dressed for battle. Instead they walked around in silk tunics while they cavorted with whores and enjoyed other entertainment. A large boar was roasting over a fire. “It does look more like a hunting foray than a siege, but what does that mean?” Dane patted his demon rider on the mane. Long Leap made a whinnying sound shaking his head, flinging water droplets in every direction. “Do you see those skin casks in the distance?” he asked. “Yes, what of them? What are they, some sort of grain storage?” she asked curiously. She had paid them little attention at first, but now that she looked at them, they appeared very out of place with the rest of the landscape. “That is melakasin oil casks, imported from Craemira. I know because I recognize them, although I’m sure the king is counting on the fact that neither you nor any of your men would,” he said. “Melakasin oil? What is it used for?” she said. “It is very flammable, and burns very hot, and very long. Usually it’s used in glass lanterns to provide light,” he said. “The amount I see out there is enough to incinerate all the wood structures in the city, which would explain why the king hasn’t launched an assault. He plans to burn it,” he said. “If that’s the case then why send us to probe the defenses?” “Another unanswered question,” said Dane. “Yes. Too many questions. Any idea how we can find some answers?” Dane smiled slyly. “Actually yes.” “I know that look,” said Dreah. “What look?”

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“The look that says we’re headed for trouble.” “No more than we are already in, I assure you,” he said laconically. Dreah smiled and her eyes lit with determination. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you to run away while you can Mage.” His eyes were alight with mischief. “Absolutely none.” “What do you have in mind?” He looked toward the woods. “When the moon rises tonight,” he whispered. She nodded subtly. “I guess I had better assist in getting my tent up.” She watched the men flounder in the mud as they worked with the canvas flaps, ropes and stakes then she kicked her horse into a canter. Dane looked over toward the wagons where his tent bundle sat untouched with the rain pelting down on it. It didn’t surprise him. The men were afraid to touch anything that belonged to him. He patted Long Leap. “Shall we scare the devil out of them friend,” he whispered and Long Leap snorted in reply. The demon rider’s eyes beamed red while clouds of smoke billowed from his nostrils. Long Leap thundered forth toward the encampment. Men parted for him and his mount awestruck with their attention riveted on Dane as he pulled out a bright red wand and flicked it. His bundle of goods flew through the air, settling neatly at the edge of the woods on the farthest end of the camp. The demon rider raced after the bundle and Dane rode low while his dark robes flew out behind him. Dreah sighed and shook her head. “He’s quite a show off wouldn’t you say?” said Sir Gui. “He has a lot to show off,” said Dreah, her eyes a misty gray with pleasure. She watched the mage dismount his demon rider with a flare.

He was grace itself and she flushed inwardly, thinking of the cool moss of his eyes the long gentle fingers of his hands, and the power he commanded with such self possession. Sir Gui’s eyes narrowed on her. “You are very free with your praise of him.” “Why shouldn’t I be?” “No reason, but you do spend a lot of time in his company. One might even think it a little odd.” Dreah’s eyes flashed. “We have a lot of things to discuss.” “It’s not what you discuss with each other that is the cause for tongue wagging,” he said. She turned to him, well aware of what he was suggesting, and irritated with herself for being so transparent. “The mage is a valued friend Sir Gui. You would do best to remember that next time you engage in slander behind our backs!” Sir Gui looked truly wounded. “My Lord, I serve you with faith and loyalty. You are as a brother to me, and I love you as such. It is in your defense that I have spoken on many occasions. But when you so openly seek out his company and …” Gui hesitated looking around. He pulled Dreah off to one side and made his voice very low so no one could overhear them. “When you– your posturing in his presence is– That is there appears at times to be– ” Sir Gui flushed bright red in the face. “Whatever your preferences are in life, I do not judge you. You are the greatest warrior known to me, and I would not hesitate to ride to my death by your side My Lord, my friend. But there are many who would be uncomfortable with un-natural relations. Lander you are young, but you are a great leader of people, do not jeopardize it with– ” “Stop,” Dreah commanded. “There are forces at work that you do

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not understand Gui, but let me assure you that there is no physical relationship between the mage and myself as you are suggesting. Tell the next person who mentions it that if they don’t’ retract their statement, their tongues will melt and congeal in their throats; their penises will shrivel to the size of worms and their testicles will fall off, courtesy of the mage.” Sir Gui stood there for a second, a look of exasperation on his features. The rain pinged down on his helmet. His blue eyes bored into hers. Then he smiled and laughed. “Only you could think up something like that,” he said. Dreah laughed too. “Well, I do try to be creative.” Gui shrugged and turned to go back and assist in erecting the tent structure. She grabbed his arm-sleeve to keep him from going. “Listen, Dane has asked me to meet him tonight alone in the woods. I need you to cover for me. I want you to keep anyone from entering my tent until my return. Say I’m ill,” she said quietly. Gui’s look of exasperation returned. “My Lord why?” he said half pleading. “Whatever his hold on you let it go. I beg you.” “It’s not what you think Gui. Everything is not as it seems. We have questions that need answering. Will you do as I asked?” He sighed. “I’m loyal to your lordship. I’ll see that none enter your tent while you’re gone,” he said shaking his head in disappointment. “Thank you,” she said. “We must devise the king’s true intentions where our forces are concerned, and Dane has an idea on how we might do that. I will tell you what we find out. You are in my confidence, friend.” Gui sighed. “I am worried that he might mislead you My Lord.” “It’s my job to worry Gui. You just watch my back,” she said

lightly. “Of that you may be sure,” he said and they both moved off together to finish erecting her tent.

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Chapter Sixteen The rain pelted down on the tent canvas. Dreah stood near the entrance flap waiting for Gui. Droplets of water fell through a leak in the roof and pooled near the door. “It’s miserable out,” Gui hissed as he came through the entrance, showering her with rain as he removed his cape. “Is everything clear,” she asked tensely. “It’s clear. Let me come with you. I’ve already put the word out that you were going on a hunt first thing in the morning. No one would find it strange for me to have gone with you.” “Maybe not, but I need someone in camp who can keep order in my absence,” she said firmly. “And Alfred is old and tired. He’s going to need help.” He shook his head. “I still don’t like it.” “You wouldn’t like a bag of gold if Dane was the one who brought it,” she said, only half teasing. “You’re right, but only because it would probably turn out to be enchanted lead.” She allowed herself a rare smile. “Hold down the camp and try not to worry so much.” “Yes My Lord,” said Gui. Dreah took his long red cape and helmet so anyone who saw her leave the tent would think it was Gui. She marched to the edge of the encampment toward Dane’s black tent and entered then walked through to the backside of it and lifted the edge she looked around happy for a change that the rain created such poor visibility. She dropped Gui’s red cape and helmet inside his tent and slipped into the forest. She had dressed in black leather with no armor or other cumbersome gear. Her

hair hung in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. The only weapon she brought with her was her sword. Dane stepped from behind a tree and placed his finger to his lips. A soft amber flash issued from his palm, and all noise around her ceased. The rain fell silent. The wind blew without sound. Dreah nodded her appreciation and they moved swiftly through the dark woods. They picked their way beneath the low hanging branches and circled away from the camp deep into the woods. Finally, after what had been a little more than an hour, they stopped next to a stream and the sound suddenly returned. Dreah could hear the thunder of waterfalls. Dane gestured upstream. “Beneath those falls is a back door entrance as it were. It’s ran by the smugglers guild. They use it to move goods in and out of the city through a tunnel,” he said quietly. “What do you mean smugglers guild? Smugglers have a guild?” The thought of such a thing was astonishing to Dreah. “How in the world did you know about it. And don’t give me any nonsense about using your magic to find it out?” she demanded. The corners of his mouth turned up in a sardonic smile. “Let’s just say that magic users are not the most welcome guests in cities, so we look for ways inside that are not always considered conventional.” “How did you find out about it?” she persisted. “You’re not going to like it,” he warned. “Try me,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “I was acquainted with a thief in the city of Dressker about a day’s march south. She introduced me to the smugglers and other tunnel rats,” he said. “She?” His face flushed.

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“Never mind!” she snapped. “I see you ran in lofty circles during your travels. All this time, I pictured you in some palace in Craemira learning the finer points of Craemiran magic and warrior tactics. Instead you were cavorting with thieves.” She was unaccountably irritated at him all of the sudden. There were times like right now that his life without her made her jealous of him, angry with him for leaving. While she had been suffering in the tower, he had been dallying with some thief, some female thief at that! “Was she pretty?” asked Dreah, then just as quickly she said. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” He sighed. “I never said I lived like a temple priest.” “Obviously not,” she said tightly. “Let’s forget it. Tell me about the tunnel.” He was more than happy to drop the subject. “They have no exact positions for placing guards, so it’s not advisable to try and sneak through. I’m fairly sure Romnder is still in charge of the smuggling. He won’t care what our business is, just as long as he gets his gold,” he said holding up a bag. “Where did you get that?” she asked. “I made it from some lead,” he said. “Figures,” she said. “How long before it returns to its natural state?” “Long after he will have already spent it,” said Dane. “He won’t hang onto it very long because he will suspect it was fake right off.” “He? So Romnder isn’t your little thief then?” she asked wanting to slap herself for not letting the matter die. He sighed again. “No. Now our story is that–” “What was her name?” He looked at her for a moment from beneath his black cowl. It had

stopped raining, and the moon was out and nearly full. Only two days before the full moon. They would be attacking the city the morning after. That would not be a good day for either of them. His face was almost entirely in shadow except for his mouth and chin. “Sorry, go on what’s our cover?” she asked. “You’re a nobleman whose sister was married off to a city nobleman. You want entrance into the city to try and find her,” said Dane. “And you?” “You’ve hired me to help you find her,” he said. “Why do I have to be a nobleman? Why can’t I just play the part of a thief? It would be simpler, less questions?” she said. “Because you don’t have the look or the attitude of a thief,” he said. “They would peg you as a noble the moment you walked into the tunnel.” “How so?” “You are– it’s the way you walk,” he said. “The way I walk?” “Why are we even discussing this Dreah? You walk like a knight. You carry yourself like a noble lord okay,” he said. “Fine. Good,” she said tight lipped. “Let’s get on with it then.” Dane tossed up his arms and turned down a trail that led through the brush along the edge of the cliff. They descended down rough hewn steps until they turned toward a gap behind the waterfall. Water sprayed in all directions. And the cool air from the tumbling water chilled them. “Halt,” called a sharp voice. A man stepped out from behind a boulder where he had been concealed. Another, a short distance away,

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stood atop a boulder with an arrow trained at them. “State your business,” said the first man with the pointed goatee and coal black eyes. “I’m looking for Romnder. Tell him its Dane the mage seeking entry for myself and a noble.” “I hope your purse is deep, because the price for entry has gone up considerably since King Remedon decided to camp out front,” the man said eyeing the two of them with his dark beady eyes. Dane lifted the purse and the coins jangled inside. “I think we will be able to come to some sort of arrangement.” The sharp-faced man nodded to the archer who relaxed his stance. “Follow me.” He turned and made his way through a low archway into a cramped tunnel. He grabbed a torch off the wall and led them deeper into the dark confines where they had to scoot around boulders and other objects. Then they moved through another low archway into a large cavern. Several wall sconces flickered in the wind that blew down through holes leading to the surface. A large area rug sat on an enromous flat slab of rock. There the smugglers had constructed a makeshift bar with long tables and stools. Several rough looking men sat at the tables playing games of dice and cards. In another area several people were busy loading barrels onto wagons. An attractive redhead stood with a stack of parchment papers in hand supervising the workers. She turned when the sharp-faced man called to her. “Zalara, where’s Romnder?” Zalara broke off what she was saying to one of the workers. “He’s on a run. What do you need?” Their escort thumbed back at Dreah and Dane. “Got some fools here

who want to buy passage into the city,” he said. Zalara’s gaze turned to them for the first time. “Dane, is that you?” she said as she sauntered up, her shapely hips swaying in time to her sexy sashay. The low riding leather pants and cropped vest revealed the whole expanse of her flat stomach and a good deal besides. Dreah bit the insides of her cheek. Dane drew back his cowl. “How have you been Zalara?” he asked. Her green eyes flashed with a mixture of pleasure and pain. “What do you mean how have I been you son-of-a bitch.” Her hand flew up and cracked across his cheek. “Are you really that happy to see me?” he asked dryly. Her hand rose again. Only this time Dane caught her wrist. “I see you haven’t changed much,” he commented. She struggled in his vice-like grip. “Why did you come back? I wish you were dead? I thought you were for awhile and I was glad of it.” “Sorry to disappoint you,” he said. “Disappoint me. Is that what you call it? No so long have a nice life; no goodbye it was nice knowing you. You just left me there without so much as a second thought.” “You’re wrong,” he said letting his eyes rove over her beautiful shape. “I had many second thoughts.” Tears gathered in her eyes. Dane let go of her wrist. Dreah cleared her throat. “I suppose this is the little thief you spoke of,” she said derisively. Zalara sneered. “Not many of your kind is trying to get into the city these days,” she said. “My kind?” Dreah hissed. “Nobles of course. The city is nearly cleared of them.”

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Dane raised his eyebrows and gave a knowing look to Dreah. “Nice friends,” Dreah said disdainfully. “Your noble has a sharp tongue,” said Zalara. “I give you less than a day to live once you are inside, fool.” “My tongue may be sharp, but my sword is sharper. Call me a fool again and I shall cut off your head with it,” Dreah snapped back. Zalara smiled then laughed outright. It was a husky sound. She looked at Dreah seductively. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement to let you pierce me with your sword. It sounds divine,” she cooed. Dreah gasped. Dane gave her an amused smile. “We are short on time Zalara. We need to get into the city.” Zalara gave along suffering sigh. “Oh alright, if we must. What’s your business in the city then?” “Sir Fairwind’s sister was married to a local merchant. She was not among those who escaped. He believes she might still be alive and he wishes to search for her. He’s hired me to accompany him into the city to find her. We can pay in gold for our passage.” Zalara twirled away from them. “Follow me. I think we can begin negotiating a price for your admission into the city. She looked Dane up and down. “If memory serves me correctly, the negotiations will be worth my while.” She laughed lightly and pulled aside a set of curtains that corded off an area of the cavern. She crooked her finger at Dane. “Your charge will be alright among the others, while we discuss our business in private.” Dreah fumed. “I will be present during negotiations, since it’s my gold that you are bargaining with.”

“Hmm two at once. That might be interesting,” Zalara purred. Dreah gasped. “You like the idea do you.” Zalara sashayed over to Dreah and stroked her chin then laid a hand on her chest. The enchantment kept Zalara from realizing it was a woman’s chest she touched. Dreah clutched the hilt of her sword. Dane was on the verge of laughing out loud; something he did only rarely. “As much as I would like to reminisce over old times with you Zalara, and as much as I am certain Sir Fairwind is dying to get acquainted, we must make all haste in the task at hand. What is the going price?” he said firmly. “Oh alright, if you’re so insistent,” Zalara said, clearly disappointed but wanting to salvage her bruised pride. “I was merely curious as to how a nobleman performs. I’ve never had one.” It was obvious that Dane had no intention of taking the redhead up on her offer, so Dreah felt a little better. She even somewhat pitied the lovesick woman. Having won, Dreah felt she could afford to be generous. “Truly, it would have been a pleasure,” she lied. “Perhaps when we return, we won’t be in such a hurry,” said Dane unhelpfully, giving Dreah a mischievous smile. “Perhaps when we return, Dane will be dead,” Dreah quipped. Zalara looked from one to the other and then shrugged as if it meant nothing to her either way. “You can travel with this wagon load. I’ll make the arrangements. You count out 100 gold pieces, and that amount doesn’t include a rescue of any kind. If you’re caught in the city, you’re on your own.” She whirled away from them, walking toward the wagons. Her backside swayed provocatively as she went. “So I suppose that’s a thief’s walk as opposed to my knight’s walk,

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is it?” Dreah commented. Dane sighed. “Please stop it.” “I’ll try,” she said. Outwardly she was calm, barely ruffled. Inside she was fuming. She knew it was completely unreasonable. Like he had said before, he wasn’t a temple priest. She owned that it was without any kind of reason, but she couldn’t get the picture of Dane and the redhead entwined in each other’s arms out of her mind. On one hand, she was outraged and furious at him; on the other hand, she was outraged and furious at herself for being furious at him. It was all so crazy. Zalara continued to talk unaware of the turmoil her presence created. “We control the lower tunnels, but the upper passages are controlled by the Purgers.” The redhead shrugged. “Business was bad and their gold was good. We had to make some concessions and since the Purgers are the only ones able to pay the price these days, we didn’t have much choice.” Dane nodded. “We will pay whatever is necessary. I assure you our pocketbooks are deep.” Zalara’s eyes narrowed. “The price is only part of it. You see the Purgers might be reluctant to allow you into the city for any price. They are basically a fanatical group of commoners who want to purge society of nobles, and magic users among others, so we have to take some precautions.” “What sort of precautions?” asked Dreah suspiciously. Zalara opened the lid of a long square wooden box. “You will both need to get inside here. We have a false bottom filled with grain that we will place over you. It’s made for one person, so I’m afraid quarters will be a little cramped.”

Dreah and Dane exchanged looks. Dane pierced Zalara with his sharp gaze. “I warn you if there’s any treachery on your part you will pay for it.” The redhead raised a brow. “I am well aware of Longfingers’s many talents,” she said looking Dane up and down with a saucy invitation. “I wouldn’t dare cross him.” Dreah rolled her eyes and stepped into the box. She laid down first and Dane stepped in after her and took his place beside her. The false bottom was lowered down over them and bolted into position, pressing them tightly into the confined space. “Ow your shoulder is in my face,” complained Dreah. Dane chuckled softly and moved his arms so they encircled her. “Is that better?” She didn’t answer him. Her cheek was pressed up against his hard chest. She was cold and his nearness was a welcome respite from it. She was suddenly aware of how long it had been since she had been touched or held by anyone. She realized how truly lonely she was, and how much she craved his touch. The box lurched as the thieves hoisted it onto the wagon. They set it on its side, tossing her on top of him. Her heart pounded. Their bodies were fully molded to one another and it felt good, like two pieces of a puzzle come together. With her head pressed against his chest, she could hear his heart beating rapidly, his breathing slightly strained. “Sorry, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not wearing any armor.” She squirmed a little to readjust her weight and pull at her clothes where they were bunching. He inhaled sharply. “Did that hurt?” she asked.

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“It’s fine,” he said tightly. “Are you angry?” He sighed. “No. Just don’t move around so much.” “Okay,” she said laying her head down onto his chest again. He inhaled deeply. “You smell so good. How can you smell like flowers after two weeks riding with men?” “Unlike you stinky men, I find time to bathe.” “Do I stink?” She sniffed the air. “Surprisingly, no.” They were quiet for a while as the cart rolled along over the bumpy terrain, jostling them. He groaned. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “This is torture,” he said. “Sorry, I’m too heavy aren’t I?” “No, that’s not it,” he said. “What is it? Do you want to shift so we are side-by-side again?” she asked letting her knees squeeze onto either side of his hips, straddling him so she could adjust her position. “What are you trying to do to me?” he bit out. “What do you mean? It’s not my fault we’re so crammed in here.” “I know, it’s just—“ “Just what,” she prompted. He sighed. “Obviously you are not having the same problem I am, so let’s forget it.” “What are you talking about?” “Do you have any idea how desirable you are? You feel so good. And all of your moving around is driving me crazy,” he said.

There was a long awkward silence. She was thankful for the darkness that hid her deep blush at his remark. She became aware then of his body’s reaction to her nearness and curiously she didn’t experience any revulsion. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. The realization that he still desired her acted like an aphrodisiac. She tamped down the urge she had to run her hands over his chest and shoulders. What was wrong with her? She abhorred the thought of letting a man touch her sexually didn’t she? She lay still except for the jostling of the wagon until they came to a halt. “I believe we’re at the point where they will carry us on foot,” said Dane quietly. “The upper reaches of the tunnel are getting near.” A few moments later the thieves hoisted the box up. Unmindful of those inside, they turned their “cargo” over again thrusting Dane on top of Dreah. “Terusa must hate me,” he sighed. “Don’t get any ideas,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, there’s not enough room in here to do what I want to do,” he said. She pinched him in the side. “Ow, you’re vicious. You know that,” he whispered. “So I’ve been told.” A sharp rap on the side of their box drew their attention. It was the signal that they were getting ready to move into the Purger controlled passages. They remained silent for the rest of the journey. Dreah was aware of his breath in her hair. Their progress was painstakingly slow. She sighed again impatiently as the smugglers paused yet again on the trail, setting them down on the ground with a clunk. “At this rate, it will be dawn before we enter the city,” she whispered.

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“Actually I think we’re almost there, ” he said. As if on cue, the lock on their box rattled and the false bottom lifted up. They climbed out of the box into a torch-lit chamber. A large wooden door opened and six rough looking men came out to help unload the cargo. Dreah and Dane came forward. One of the smugglers approached. “Is that you Long Fingers?” he said when he saw Dane. Dane pulled back his cowl. “It is me. How have you been Romnel?” he asked. Romnel clasped Dane’s forearm in a friendly gesture. His dark eyes appraised Dreah, and he raised a brow. “And the noble with you?” “This is Sir Fairwind; I’m escorting him,” Dane said. Romnel laughed. “I hope he’s paying you well. Word is nobles are not safe company to keep in the city.” “You mean you hope he is paying well so you can fleece me of it,” said Dane. Romnel laughed heartily. “I’ve missed your sharp wit Mage. Where have you been keeping yourself?” “I went to the south,” said Dane not elaborating. “You don’t say. Did you bring back any ah objects of value?” asked Romnel. “Now if I had, you would be the last person I would tell,” said Dane. Romnel laughed again and trained his eyes on Dreah. “What is his business?” Dane shrugged as if it didn’t much matter to him. “He’s looking for his sister.” Romnel nodded, his shrewd eyes taking in every detail of Dreah’s countenance. What he saw was an arrogant, handsome noble dressed in

simple but well made black leathers, with a very valuable looking sword hanging casually from his hip. With the ease that he wore it, Romnel decided that he could probably use it well. “You might want to leave your sword here with us. Such an item will give away your status immediately. You might either be killed by Purgers or mugged for it’s value,” Romnel suggested. Dreah smiled. Her cold grey eyes glinting in the flickering torchlight. “I believe I will be needing it, and anyone so foolish as to believe they can take it from me will die for their efforts,” she said flatly. Romnel wasn’t usually intimidated by anyone, but something dangerous in the young knight made him take an involuntary step backwards. He laughed again, this time it was a forced sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “Very well then; very well.” He turned to Dane. “I will take the payment now as I think your return unlikely Long Fingers.” Dane produced the pouch, and they moved into a long narrow storage room down to a rocky wall at the end. Alongside the narrow passage were several of the oil barrels. “What’s in these,” asked Dane casually as if merely making conversation. “Just some oil. We’ve been bringing it in for a few weeks.” Romnel threw a lever and the rock wall separated slightly. He gave it a gentle push and peeked out, then motioned for them to follow. They stepped into a stable right behind a large horse. “Hello Whisper,” said Dane, patting the steed lightly. Behind them Romnel stood by the door. “The signal is the same. You know what to do when you are ready to leave, and blast you, don’t bring any trouble with you,” he said then

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was gone. The wall slid back into place appearing solid once again.

Chapter Seventeen Dane and Dreah moved out of the stable. “Here take this,” he said, peeling off his robe, handing it to her. “Use it to conceal yourself. Romnel was right; you will draw too much attention.” “And a mage doesn’t?” she quipped. “Just because you’re wearing a black robe doesn’t make you a mage,” he said then shrugged. “Of course, if they try to burn you, the best advice I can give you is to run.” “Oh! That’s good,” she said sarcastically. He lifted an eyebrow. “In a city overrun by lawlessness, it is not such a bad thing to be feared as a mage.” “Unless confronted with a Purger,” said Dreah as she took the robe and threw it over her head, pulling it down over her leathers and sword. “I don’t like it. My weapon would be too hard to get to if I need it.” “With any luck, we can avoid the need to draw it,” he said, straightening his under robes which fell a little past his knee to where his black pants were tucked into his soft leather boots. His own sword handle and scabbard were a plain black and appeared to be of little value. Dreah knew the truth about the sharp steel blade he carried. It was Creamiran. “Where are we headed?” “To the taverns of course. Where else would anyone find out anything useful,” he said. She rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe a brothel. I’m sure you know where all of those are.” “A brothel? Do you really have such a low opinion of me?” he asked as the moved to the end of the stables, past the sleeping stable boy. “Don’t worry,” Dane whispered. “He’s on Romnel’s paycheck.”

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She made a face. “And that’s supposed to make me feel safe?” Dane smiled ruefully as they slipped out into the street. The moon was still high; there were several hours left until dawn. They slipped down the narrow cobbled streets. The overhanging balconies on the haphazardly constructed buildings cast shadows down, blocking off much of the moonlight. The homes had been built on such a scale in the interest of maximizing space that they nearly touched in places overhead. A putrid odor that frequently accompanied the seedier side of the city permeated the oppressive air. The rain had only served to wet the dried manure and sewage in the drainage channel that ran down the center of the road. They slowed as they approached a building with golden light spilling out onto the street. Raucous cheering accompanied what sounded like an out-of-tune instrument. A sign out in front of the establishment announced that it was just the kind of place they were looking for. They stepped inside the door. Smoke nearly choked the oxygen from the air. Dreah felt a tickle in her throat that made her want to throw a coughing fit, but she disciplined herself and took a shallower breath. A few people gave them cursory glances as they came inside, but most paid no attention to the newcomers. Until recently the city had been a hub of trade, and strangers were not uncommon in the district. The city hadn’t been closed off so long that all faces were familiar. They took a seat at a table in a shadowy corner and ordered ale. They didn’t talk as they were both keeping their ears pealed for information. After nearly two hours they still had nothing. Dane decided it would

be best if they split up, each of them insinuating themselves into another group, instigating conversation. Dreah moved to the bar and sat next to a heavyset man half-drunk on ale while Dane went and sat at a table where a game of dice was in progress and players were tossing bets into a pile in the center. Dreah trained her attention on the man next to her. He looked at her through bloodshot eyes. “There’s not much in the way of torchlight outside,” she observed mundanely. “No, not since the king’s mandate,” he said. “Last time I visited the city it was so lively. Now it’s deader than a rat spitted on a stake. What happened?” she asked, adopting the most common speech pattern possible, trying to recall the lowborn accent she had been raised on. “You musta come in the back door or somethin to miss the king’s men out front,” he said. “Let’s say I arrived here only this night. Someone as resourceful as myself can find a way around locked gates.” The man eyed her then raised his mug. “To Moen the butcher,” he said and took another swig of ale. His cup was empty. He moved to get up. “Wait,” she said, tossing a coin on the bar, indicating to the barkeeper to bring another ale. “I’ll by you a drink, my friend, in exchange for you giving me a tip or two on the lay of the land the goings and comings so to speak.” The man hesitated for a second. The barkeeper set the frothing cup of ale on the bar in front of him. He shrugged and retook his seat. “Fine, what do you want to know?” She smiled but like most times when she smiled it failed to reach

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her cool eyes. “Start with the butcher. I want to hear about him.” “Fine,” he said and took a swig of ale. “About six moon cycles ago, news started coming in about a place south of here, Darkstone Keep. You heard of it?” She shrugged noncommital though her cheeks grew a little hot at the reference. “Go on.” “It seems the young lord there made a proclamation, giving commoners and bound servants certain privileges that they don’t enjoy elsewhere. The finest goldsmith and weaver in Shanatas decided to strike out from here and make their fortunes there. It weren’t such a big deal at first; a few folk here and a few folk there. But them was all free folk. The problems started when bound servants decided to leave too. Some tradesmen lost all their laborers and more guildfolk left. It was getting hard to find anything worth a darn here. The trade was declining. Then last month a large trade caravan that usually comes to Shanatas headed south to Darkstone Keep. The nobles were in an uproar. They started locking up their bound servants and making threats. Then one day a noble came to the butcher, the only good butcher left in the city. There his wife, a bound servant, was minding the store. The noble Sir Tossen asks for the best cut-o-beef. ‘Tis already sold,’ says she. ‘To whom,’ asks he. ‘To the wheelwright for his daughter’s weddin,’ says she. ‘Well my claim is the greater,’ says he. ‘It was sold and rightly paid,’ says she. So Sir Tossen grew red in the face and struck down the butchers wife. ‘I will speak to your master of this,’ he cried.” The man paused and took a sip of his ale then continued his tale. “Now there’s no tellin what got into the butcher’s wife at that moment, but most of us think it was because of the proclamation at

Darkstone Keep that she had taken it into her head to rebel against a noble. Whatever the case may be, she picked herself up off the floor an looked him square in the face as no bound servant has the legal right to do and said, ‘I have no master.’ The enraged noble takes the butcher’s wife and drags her into the street all the way to the town square and there he mounted the high podium. He were in a mad rage, truth be told. By this time a large crowed had gathered around. Sir Tossen was yelling at the crowd about dangerous ideas and demands an apology from her to be spoke in front of the city folk. Her husband had heard tell of it and were at the back-o-the-crowd coming forth. The butcher’s wife refused to apologize. ‘I will not say sorry. I’ll go to Darkstone Keep an fatten up Lord Lander d’Avar on the best beef in the land,’ says she. And Sir Tossen grew red in the face and ran her through with his sword. ‘Who else in this crowd wants to go to Darkstone Keep. Tell me now and I’ll send you there by way-o-me sword,’ says he. And at that moment comes Moen the Butcher through the crowd up to the podium and swung his cleaver, taking the noble’s head clean from his shoulders. The crowd starts chantin butcher! butcher! butcher!” The man slammed his fist onto the bar in time to his chant. The ale danced in the mug. He took another swig. “What then?” Dreah prompted. “Then the butcher yells to the crowd ‘Kill em all. Kill the nobles! And the crowd goes crazy. For two days everyone went wild in the streets breaking things and draggin nobles from their houses, killed a few more, some fled, but most just holed up in the center castle and have been there ever since. The king come a week later, but the fight was out of everyone, and no one had the heart or will to fight his knights. The king ordered the gates of the city shut until further notice

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nothing in or out, and he camped his men outside and so here we are then,” he said. “Yes here we are,” she said and raised her mug. “To the butcher.” “To Lord d’Avar,” he said and tipped his cup, not noticing that she didn’t drink from hers. Dreah set her mug down carefully. This wasn’t good! She was hailed as the absentee instigator of the bound servant rebellion. If there had been any doubt that the king was trying to double-cross her before, it died with his words. Across the room, Dane tossed the dice again, adding another small pile of coins to the growing pile in front of him. “I remember you, you an that redhead who cheated me at pobe sticks. Now you’re cheatin me at dice are ya?” A burly man with a red beard and beefy hands stood looking down at Dane, who sat with one foot propped against a pole beam, his forearm resting on his knee. “There’s a difference between cheating someone and outwitting them,” he said cooly. “You callin me stupid?” the man roared. Dane shrugged, scooping up his coins. “Perhaps I should leave the game while I’m ahead.” The hefty man made a grab for him. Dane, swiftly came to his feet and dodged the man’s grasp. Dreah pushed back from the bar. “A pleasure talking with you,” she said and made her way toward Dane through the gathering crowd. The hefty man swung clumsily at Dane and the mage easily stepped aside. The man’s momentum sent him barreling into a table, toppling it over. Then all pandemonium broke loose as others in the bar joined in the fray. Dane stepped around a group of brawlers and leaped onto a

table jumping down the other side. Dreah joined him and they ran out into the street. A few men half-heartedly gave chase, but Dreah and Dane were too fast for them. Finally after several twists and turns they came to a breathless halt, leaning up against one of the buildings. Dreah laughed lightly for a second and Dane joined in. “Just like old times,” said Dreah breathlessly. “Not exactly,” he said. “I never remember running like that as a child.” She was quiet for a second, watching his face in the pale light of the nearly full moon. “Yes I guess not. What did you find out?” she asked. “Only that most of the nobles are holed up in the central castle and only three establishments in town are allowed to have torches or build fires right now, by order of the king. I find it a little strange if the king is laying siege to the city that the citizens would obey his rules” he said. “I found out Moen the Butcher incited a riot, nothing organized, but what was most disturbing is the man I spoke with said tradespeople left here because they wanted to set up in Darkstone Keep. And what’s worse is a bound servant, the famous butcher’s wife, said she would run away to Darkstone Keep and fatten me up on the finest cuts of beef. This after she refused to give the best cut to a noble because it was already sold to a commoner.” “What happened to her?” “That was what started everything. The noble killed her, the butcher killed the noble and all hell broke loose the way it did back in the bar, only on a much larger scale.” He was quiet for a minute after she finished. “I don’t like any of it.” “What’s this?” she said bringing her hand away from the wall. He peered down at it. Then lifted her palm to smell. “Melakasin oil.

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Romnel said they have been delivering it for days.” He inspected the wood. “This house is covered with it.” “That explains why the no torch or fire rule,” she said. “It makes little sense.” She eyed the oil soaked wood. “If he’s going to burn it why hesitate?” He looked around them at the wooden structures lining the street. “Every structure in this town is wood except the center castle. That’s where the nobles are holed up. But what if they are merely there because they know what the king plans. They will not burn, but the city around them will.” “Then why lay siege if he plans to burn it?” asked Dreah. “Don’t you see, he plans to burn it after you and your men are in the city. He wants to get rid of you, and he wants it to look like a mishap of war,” he said flatly. She was quiet for a second, inspecting the saturated wood. “I think you’re right,” she said thoughtfully then she looked at him. “Dane we have to do something. We can’t let all of these people die! Do you know that the man at the bar raised his glass to me? I’m responsible for this!” He lifted a brow. “You are always taking on responsibility. You only gave the fuel a bit of a spark. But if you insist on helping then we need to find someone the people trust, and we need to make arrangements for them to abandon the city.” “How much gold do you think Romnel will demand for it,” she said. “I don’t know, but I think we need to find a smithy as well?” “Why?” “To have him mint coins of lead, lots of them,” he said.

“You plan to turn it into gold.” He shrugged. “You have a better plan?” “Yes. When we are done arranging things here we send in a party of knights and secure the tunnel for our purpose. This is too big to leave the chance of a greedy smuggler whom I neither like nor trust.” “Are you talking about the smuggler or a pretty redheaded thief?” he asked dryly. “I will tell them to spare any who surrender,” she said, ignoring his comment. “Now, I suggest we find the butcher and go from there.” “Right,” he said and looked up at the moon. “There’s not much left to the night.” “I know,” she said solemnly. “Gui will cover for me. At least I hope he can, but we can’t abandon these people.” “If it was up to me, I would drag you away from here right now and get on the fastest ship to Craemira, but I will stay for you Dreah.” “Dane,” she said quietly. “I’m afraid. What if my laws have caused people more harm than good? What if, in my well-meaning proclamation, I have caused the death of thousands? I don’t know if I can live with that.” “Dreah, I can’t think of anyone, anywhere who has sacrificed what you have to help others. No matter what comes of it, you were right to do what you did. Sometimes people die for what is right; the butcher’s wife made a choice and so did the others. You gave people hope for change, but you didn’t start the desire for it. That was already been there and growing stronger since the revival of the worship of Terusa. Tell me that you were content with your life as a bound servant. If anything, you should be proud that your law gave them the courage to stand up for themselves,” he argued.

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She pondered his words for a second then nodded. “Let’s find Moen the butcher.” “I know of him. His place is toward the west end of town. He’s a bound servant butcher, who belongs, or maybe I should say, belonged to Lord Pellus. He was a big beefy fellow.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “A beefy butcher?” He laughed briefly.“Okay bad joke, but he was big.” “Lead the way.” He led her through the winding alleyways toward the west end of town. By the time they reached the butcher’s shop, the sky had grown pale with the coming dawn. Dane drew a pinch of betlegue sand and let it fall over the lock. He whispered a word of magic and a pale gold flash accompanied a metallic click. They pulled the lock free, noting the traces of melakasin saturating the roof and leaving dark traces on the gray wood side planks. They pushed the door open and slipped inside the residence. It was stark and bare of furnishing except for a few crudely made wooden stools and a table so old it was worn smooth with age. No linens, or frills decorated the table or mantle over the unrefined stone hearth. No tapestries decorated the unfinished roughhewn wood that made up the walls. Wads of old oil cloth were stuffed in cracks here and there to keep out the chill. It was a bound servant’s residence and the decor reflected the bare existence of their class. Above the mantle was a loft, jutting from the wall, just wide enough for two to sleep abreast and so close to the low ceiling that it would be difficult to sit up on it. A few rungs for climbing up were nailed to the wall to aid getting in and out of it. Loud snores came from the sleeping area.

“Butcher we have come for an audience with you,” said Dreah loudly. Dane rolled his eyes. “An audience?” he whispered. “Wha– wha–who’re you?” The man rose up and hit his head on the ceiling beam. “We’ve come to speak with Moen the Butcher,” Dane said. The man rubbed the spot on his head and looked down over his bed, bleary-eyed. “A bit early to come looking for meat. He looked them up and down. You nobles?” he asked, as he narrowed his eyes at them. “I don’t recognize either of you, and I reckon I know every lordly prince in the city.” “This is Dane the mage and I’m Lord Lander d’Avar of Darkstone Keep,” said Dreah. The man climbed clumsily down out of the loft and stood face to face with Dreah. She was a full head taller than him. He stared at her for a long moment. “And I’m King Remedon, pleased to meet you,” he said sarcastically. Dreah sighed. “I am who I say, and we don’t have a lot of time to waste. My forces were called up by the king to lay siege to this city. In less than two days, soldiers will be streaming over these walls and the people in this city will burn. We have come to you because we want to talk to you about organizing the people and getting them out of the city.” The butcher rubbed his red eyes. “I don’t know who you really are, and I spect it doesn’t matter. If your looking for the leader of the people, you need to seek out the castlefolk. It might have escaped your notice, but I’m just a bound servant.” “That’s not what the people are saying,” said Dreah quickly.

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The butcher struggled with this notion for a moment. Obviously it pained him to think too hard on the subject. He stood in front of them both for a second looking from one to the other, not speaking until he finally shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “You’ve got the wrong man. I’m a bound servant butcher, grieving for his wife, and there’s nothing more to it, I tell ya. Can’t even go out in the street without people making crazy talk,” he said. “I’m not a revolutionary, and I’m no leader of the people.” “I am who I say I am,” said Dreah, her pale gray eyes sharp, her presence commanding. “The king has ordered my forces to attack this city in a few days. Now, whether you choose to believe it or not, I am here to try and save your people and mine from what is likely treachery of the worst kind. Look into my eyes butcher. You know I speak the truth?” Dreah said calmly. The butcher swallowed. “Yer eyes aren’t telling me much cept that it’s likely by the demonlike look in them that you come from the Pit o’Despair. I knew by the look of ya that you be a noble, but you’re tellin me you’re Lord d’Avar, and I just don’t believe it,” he said. “You can either believe it or not and you can either help us or not, but come two days from now when this city is burning, you and countless others will die, and you will wish you listened,” she said coldly. She turned to Dane. “Obviously he will be of no use to our cause. We need to come up with something else.” “Like leave them to their fate,” said Dane derisively. “No. Of course not!” Dreah said firmly. “We have to find another way to warn them about what the king plans to do, and we have to make them listen.” He sighed.“Okay since you’re so adamant about it. And because you

are likely to get us into a lot of trouble if you go around the city telling everyone they are going to burn to cinders, I think I might be able to help.” Dane raised a cocky eyebrow and pulled out a pouch from one of the many pockets sewn into his robe. He retrieved a pinch of platinum dust and placed it in his palm. “Hey whater ya doing?” the butcher asked, coming more fully awake. “Obtaining your cooperation,” said Dane easily, holding up his hand. “Hey you can’t magic me I’ll—” Dane blew softly on the dust and it fell over the butcher’s face. The man coughed and inhaled the dust, while Dane whispered a few words of magic over him. “Now then, you were saying,” Dane prompted. “I am here to do your bidding master,” the butcher said. Dreah looked at Dane. “Alright, never do that to me, or I will kill you when I wake up out of it.” Dane smiled cynically. “Yes, as I am sure our friend here will want to ply his trade on me when the spell wears off.” “At least it will be a change over the usual burning at the stake,” Dreah commented smiling grimly. “Ah yes the joys of magical power,” he said dramatically. “So what is your plan now?” “Now that he is under my control, I can make him say whatever I choose,” he said. “Already, I see a problem with the plan,” she said. “What?” “You speak like a noble, not a commoner,” she said. He cocked a smile. “Yes, but we both know the truth, and the truth is we are both commoners. And I can imitate his speech patterns

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perfectly.” “Honestly, I can’t remember a time you spoke like a commoner. The kids were always teasing you about your high and mighty speech.” “Yes, but that was because I was observant enough to pick up the noble speech patterns, which means I was equally observant enough to pick up the common ones.” “Let’s just hope you’re right,” she said. Dane asked a series of questions from the butcher and under the spell the butcher had no option but to answer. Ensured that his spell was working, they moved from door to door knocking on them calling a meeting in the town square. Not long afterward, they had gathered in the center of the town and the Butcher, under Dane’s influence, was talking with town’s people as they encountered them. Soon there was a small gathering that naturally grew bigger as more people became curious and came forward to hear the butcher speak. Emotions and fear were already running high among the citizens. The recent incident with the butcher and the riots that followed were fresh in everyone’s mind. Suspicions about why the King was camped outside the gates along with the no fire mandate had fueled anger, and resentment. The people were ripe for action. Dane’s skillful use of the butcher was all they needed to get organized. They were looking for a leader and the butcher’s deed made him a favorite of the people. Before long, a large crowd had gathered and then judging the time to be right and knowing that his spell would be wearing off before too long, Dane compelled the butcher to introduce Dreah. “So good folks I give you Lord Lander’ d’ Avar, who is the one who warned us of this treachery of the king, and our nobles. And he says any

of you who is lookin for a better life may go to Darkstone to seek your fortunes as freefolk no matter your standing here,” he said. Dreah gave Dane a look and mounted the stage where she knew sometimes bound servants would stand to be ogled and bought and sold like tableware. She stood over the dark stain where the butcher’s wife had been murdered, and she felt all the indignation of the bound servant class she was born into. A hush had fallen on the crowd. It was obvious they all knew of her and probably attributed more heroics to her than she deserved. “Fellow countrymen, I come before you today, not as a noble, but as one of you, a citizen seeking justice, a citizen, who the king plans to destroy and why?” She paused for dramatic affect. “Because I dared to give my people freedom. I dared to judge each man and woman on their merit, not on the status they were born to. I dared to side against nobles in favor of servants who had been wronged, and for that he would send me and my men into your city to burn with the rest of you. He plans to burn your city because you see the light of freedom, and he wants to douse your flame with his own.” There was a general stir among the crowd at her words. She paused until everyone quieted once again. “But we won’t let him kill the flame of freedom. We will defeat the king!” Again there was a general stir among the populace, no one cheered, and one man called out. “How do you propose to do that? If we fight he will send a bigger army and crush us here.” It was the question Dreah was waiting for. “We will not fight, good man, we will outwit him. You and the rest of the city folk will leave the city through a secret passage right beneath the king’s nose, and he will

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not be the wiser,” she said. “But what about the nobles in Grimtower Castle, won’t they retaliate? Won’t they know we deserted and tell the king?” asked one citizen. “They won’t burn in Grimtower even if the king lights up the rest of the city. It’s protected by a moat and sits high up on the cliff,” said another. Dreah held up her hand and the crowd quieted again. “Your concerns are not unfounded, however I suggest you leave the Grimtower nobles to me and my men. We will deal with them?” she said. “But where will we go? Darkstone is a long way from here,” asked another citizen. “Once the city has burned he will not bother with it again for many years to come. You can rebuild quietly. With no nobles to rule your lives you will have to look for guidance from your guild masters and the priests of Terusa. Bless the goddess,” she said and unsheathed her sword saluting to the triad. The two pale suns reflected softly off the silver blade. The crowd cheered and there was a general assent among them. While she was talking Dane had slipped away with the butcher, but his disappearance went unnoticed as the force of Dreah’s personality had captured them and they were willing to follow her. “What I need now are the guild masters to come forth so that we may organize. The rest of you go and spread the word that all citizens are to seek out the guildmasters at the sun’s setting.” There were a total of eight guildmasters who had attended the rally and they informed Dreah that there were thirteen more in the city. They quickly organized messengers to be sent to notify them of the meeting

and once again, Dane had arrived with the butcher and under Dane’s control he spoke to the guildmasters. “Our time is running short,” said Dreah. “Myself and Dane need to leave soon to get back to the camp outside the city walls otherwise the king may discover we are missing and destroy the city and my men before we get a chance to do anything. You will have until the morning following the next. You must move quickly. There is a water source for the people, but food will be limited. Have the people leave their valuables and unnecessary items. What they will need are food, weapons, and blankets.” “Also the tools of your trade and those needed to rebuild should be moved if there is time, but that should wait until after most the people are out,” said the Butcher. “Dane knows what we need to do to leave the city.” Dane stepped in front of the guildmasters. “I have been acquainted with a group of smugglers. They control a tunnel that leads through the cliff into the forest beyond. They will not be happy about this so Lord d’Avar and myself will ensure their cooperation. I need you all to follow us now so we can show you where the opening is,” he said. “It will be secured and in our hands by nightfall,” said Dreah. “My men will be in control of the tunnel and inner caverns where the people will hide. And they will help keep order and direct people where to go. You only need to show them where, do it slowly so as not to alert any of the nobles who might be watching with their spy glasses from the inner castle. They may have a way of warning the king,” she said. “I will go with Lord d’Avar and Dane to make sure the tunnels are secure,” said the butcher. “Let’s go,” said Balan the guildmaster for the weavers. He, like the

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other guildmasters were free servants, and like all common classes, free servants felt the yoke of oppression by the nobles, the lack of justice and the inability to rise above their station. Serwald, the guildmaster for the blacksmiths, nodded. “This has been a long time coming. The precepts of the goddess demand it,” he said. “I believe she has sent you to us to help us throw off tyranny and live by the true laws.” He bowed to Dreah. The other guildmasters followed suit. “I will do my best not to disappoint you,” she said feeling the weight of leadership, but the power of it too. She had the power to change their lives. Her heart raced and her blood tingled at the thought that she was about to commit treason. The guild masters followed Dane and Dreah down the streets. There was no conversation between them. Dreah kept her stride straight and purposeful. She was reminded that Dane told her she walked like a knight, and she figured maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. The streets bustled with people clamoring for more information, talking about the sensational event of Lord d’Avar’s visit and the king’s treachery. More than once, a group of citizens gathered around them greeting her and clapping the butcher on the back. Dreah could see the impatience clearly written on Dane’s features. She wondered how long his second spell would last. She hoped long enough for them to make it into the tunnel. Finally they emerged into the stables. Dane spoke to the guild masters pointing out the stall with Whisper in it. “Post a single lookout here. Make sure it is someone reliable and someone who doesn’t look out of place. A grubby urchin or someone pretending to be a drunk would be best, just in case the smugglers check. We don’t want to alert

them to anything,” he warned. Dreah turned to the group and spoke quietly and quickly. “Once a soldier emerges, you will know him by his colors. He will be a Darkstone Keep knight. When the tunnel is secure organize your people. Divide the city into sections and decide among you who will lead each and who will go first, second and so on, now go and may the goddess go with you,” she said. The group of guildmasters left the two of them with the butcher. Dreah sighed and looked down at the rotund balding butcher. “Well, he doesn’t exactly look like my noble sister that I supposedly came here to rescue.” “They are bound to know the story about the butcher and recognize him,” said Dane. “Any more bright ideas?” she asked. “What about you two bind and gag me. Tell the smugglers you’ve taken me for revenge,” said the butcher. “Not funny Dane,” said Dreah making a face at the mage. It was one thing to control the butcher’s speech when they needed to, quite another to play goddess with him. “I didn’t do anything,” said Dane cryptically, looking at the butcher. The butcher looked a little sheepish. “The spell wore off when we were on our way here. I heard all ya said and I agree with what you done. If this means the end of them murderin cheating nobles then I’m in it all the way,” he said. “Well, now that you are coherent and agree with us then we don’t have to take you,” said Dane. The butcher scratched his head. “I reckon that’s right. Guess I’ll go and offer my services to the guildmasters. The people are going to need

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beef and there’s plenty to be done before nightfall,” he said. “I ain’t much for being a leader, but I know how to cut meat.” Dreah half smiled. “If you decide you want a place to start out again after this is over, you come to Darkstone Keep. We can always use a good butcher there.” The butcher smiled. “It’s a kindly offer My Lord, but as I sees it the people here kind-o think of me as a hero, so they might be needin me.” Then he slipped away down the street amid cheers and greetings from the town folk.

Chapter Eighteen Dreah stood at the head of the table set up in her tent. In her absence Gui had created a small replica of Grimtower Castle and the town of Shanatas from the military planning blocks used for that purpose. She looked around the tent at her knights. There were only four of them that she was sure would follow her plan. The rest she would know about shortly. She sent Gui, Dane and Sir Alfred and a few other trustworthy knights out to guard the perimeter of the tent in the event the king sent spies. She explained the situation to the knights and stood in front of a silent room. All eyes were riveted on her. “You may speak freely,” she said at last. “My lord, how do we know that is the king’s intentions? We have only supposition and casks of oil to support that claim,” said Sir Wellen. She looked at him with her sharp eyes. “You are right to question it. The only answer I can give you is this. Look around us. Do you see any other forces here to support us even though Lewlwyn Keep is less than a day’s journey from here and has twice our number of knights to spare? Do you see any signs of a proper siege? The only thing that the king has in store here are large barrels of oil, and the only thing that is good for is to burn a city. If he plans to burn the city then why send us in. Why not burn it now? The answer is obvious. He wants us to attack with minimal preparation for battle, but where is the emergency? I don’t see the city attacking the small force the king has with him. Why the haste?” she said pausing, looking around the room assessing their reactions to her words. “Again the answer is obvious. On speaking with the townspeople and seeing the evidence with my own eyes, I am

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convinced. The king plans to send us to our deaths, and I mean to safeguard my men though it brings me into direct conflict with him. I need to know who is with me,” she said. “My Lord, you have led us well. I owe you my life and my allegiance. I would follow you into the fires of the Pit of Despair,” said Sir Janoa, the first to pledge his support for her plan. Several other knights stepped forward with him. “Is there any among you who do not wish to join me in this?” she said. No one spoke and Dreah looked into the faces of her men and she knew a sense of belonging with them, a sense of camaraderie that she had never felt before among them. From their eyes shone the respect and loyalty that men only gave to other men. She wondered for a second what they would do if they knew she was a woman. “Sir Janoa, I need you and Sir Fortan, and Sir Merat, to ride south to the other group from Darkstone Keep and take a message for me to Sir Rolf,” she said. “The rest of you may disperse and make yourselves ready.” She drafted a missive to Sir Rolf, telling him to take the knights in the group and ride back to Darkstone Keep to protect it from a threat they had received news of. She also directed him to have the knights leave what spare armor they could. Sir Gui and Dane stepped inside briefly after the others left. “Sir Janoa and the others ride with a message to send Sir Rolf back to Darkstone Keep. Not only is it good sense to protect Darkstone in the event that some attack is planned in my absence, but also, I don’t trust him. Most of those who ride with him now are exclusively loyal to him, not me. Thank you for your advice on who to bring with me in the

forward party,” she said to Gui. “I hope our planned watch on them bears no fruit.” “As do I,” said Gui. “Gui you know what to do. Select six knights and twenty foot soldiers, send them out of camp into the woods a few at a time to avert suspicion. Have the knights leave their armor so the six peasants selected to play their duplicates can be dressed and ready. The king’s men will notice if too many knights are missing. Dane will lead you and the others to the tunnels. Secure it with as little bloodshed possible, but let none escape who could take a message to the king. Begin the evacuation of the city immediately.” Sir Gui ran a hand through his sandy hair. “I am behind you on this but I have to tell you My Lord that none of this bodes well for us. If the king is intent on getting rid of you, he will find another way.” She nodded. “I see no other choice. Take the knight’s clothing and have it fitted onto the most likely of the peasants.” “Let’s just hope that none of them try to approach our fake knights because their common accents will give them away.” She nodded and he left the tent. She lay down exhausted on her cot while Dane stood over near the far table preparing potions that he would need to affect their ruse. After a few hours of sleep, Dreah organized her men while Dane left with Gui and his party to secure the tunnel. She set out a watch to observe the wall, for the blue cloth that would be laid over the ramparts that signaled the completion of the evacuation. She didn’t tell the soldiers what was happening, not yet, not until they were inside the city. As it was, she worried about the plan leaking out to the king with so many knowing about it.

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She spent a restless night and awoke the next morning when a messenger entered her tent. She swung her legs over the side of her cot and stood wearily. “What is it Sir Malan?” she asked. “My lord, the secondary party is a few miles out.” “Damn!” she hissed. “Is Sir Rolf with them?” “No My lord. Only peasants. We took the horses as you directed and have the peasants mounted wearing the spare armor to hide the low number of knights.” “Good, now when the blaze starts send the signal for the others who are waiting in the woods to swing in behind them to make it appear as though more knights came with this group. We only need to fool the king’s eyes for a few hours,” she said. With crisp snappy movements, she pulled on her studded leather armor and slipped on her tunic over it. She strapped on her sword belt and stepped outside. Her eyes scanned the ramparts. There was no sign of the blue cloth. She strode to the edge of the encampment and picked up the red cloth tied to the stone that she had laid next to the woods the night before. She looked over at the King’s encampment. It was sleepy, a single lazy guard stood outside his tent. She considered taking her forces and trying to overrun his, but discarded the idea. She had too few knights and those she did have, were not up to fighting against the king’s men. She knew her men would win by sheer numbers, but the cost would be great. She tossed the red fabric up into the air and caught it on the way back down then looked out over to where the oil barrels sat. She caught a glimpse of the torch and nodded with satisfaction. A blaze started and spread rapidly over the barrels. The king’s men rushed out of their tent. They started shouting at one another. Dreah later sighed with relief

when the miller’s son Sam, who had volunteered to light the oil, returned safely into the camp. The diversion was sufficient to distract the king and his men from taking too close a stock of the arriving forces. And once they were inside the encampment it was easy to erect the knight’s tents and have all the true knights and peasants dressed as knights milling around the camp to help disguise the numbers. Predictably, one of the king’s men came to see her to give the order to attack the following morning. Dreah told her men to rest, which made it easier to disguise the lack of knights since it would be assumed that they were resting for the battle. She kept looking for the blue cloth, but the ramparts remained clear for the rest of the day. She went to bed that night praying that all would go as they had planned. A cool morning breeze hit Dreah in the face the next morning as she opened her tent flap. Hanging off the edge of the ramparts like a shirt carelessly tossed aside was a blue piece of fabric. Already her army was assembling on the field. It wasn’t long before they were storming toward the silent city. A few token arrows flew from the ramparts as the small party she had directed Dane to take gave the semblance of resistance. Fortunately the King would be expecting the city to be protected by a few ragtag peasants and therefore had little expectation where the city defenses were concerned. Dreah rode at the head of the column of advancing men and was one of the first up the ladders as were the other knights. They quickly assembled on the other side and directed the confused soldiers to form up in columns and march. Most of them she directed to follow Gui toward the stables where they would slip out of the city through the opening. He had them running for their destination. About a

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quarter of the men stayed behind with her. No sooner had the column disappeared around the corner than a rain of flaming arrows whizzed over the ramparts and stuck into the tops of the buildings. A few of the troops were stuck with flaming arrows and some ran in fear, but most of those with her were well trained soldiers and knights. They followed her as she led them at a dead run through the city. “To the castle and quickly now!” she cried. The soldiers ran up the cobbled road that wound along the winding approach up the cliff side. The castle was backed by the cliff and hewn directly from the rock as was the moat that bordered the front of it in a half-moon shape. Standing in front of the doors was Dane, chanting the final phrases of a spell and the chains holding the drawbridge up snapped like dry twigs. The heavy wooden structure came down with a crash. Dreah called a halt to her men as Dane rushed across the drawbridge throwing flame balls at the wall defenders. When he reached the portcullis, he threw a handful of yellow dust onto it and said three words and the metal sizzled and melted. He leaped through the gaping hole in the middle of the cris-crossing iron and turned back toward Dreah giving her one of his no-need-to-say-it-I-know-I’m-good looks. “Okay men follow me,” she said firmly and led the way across the wooden bridge. She sidled up next to Dane and pulled him aside. He winked at her. “Don’t worry. It is a very convincing imitation,” he said. “How convincing,” she asked looking around them. She didn’t see anyone offering resistance as her men crowded into the empty bailey then two men stepped onto the ramparts that overlooked the outer bailey.

“Come on then if you dare,” said a man dressed in the finest red velvet and sporting sores on his face and hands that nearly matched the color of his rich robes. “Hmm pretty convincing,” said Dreah. “How long will it last?” “Well I have polluted the water supply, so it should last about a fortnight, which is how long it takes for all of the water to be replenished in the well,” he said. “Good. Long enough to convince the king then,” she said. “Surely,” he replied. Her men were looking up at the afflicted men. “It is the red plague,” one of them cried. Dreah hated the idea of her men fearing infection, but she couldn’t afford to tell too many people of the ruse. In fact her and Dane were the only ones who knew about this particular part of the plan. She called the men to order. “Don’t panic men. There is nothing that can be done now. The air we have breathed has likely already contaminated us. In any case we must wait here until the city stops burning.” Dreah asked admittance into the main keep. They opened their doors offering no resistance. It wasn’t long before she was seated at the head of a table with several grotesque men and a few women with so many weeping red pustules on their skin that she felt like gagging. Dane sat by her side, apparently unperturbed as he ate the offered food with relish. “The king’s men will come tomorrow or the next day, once the city is done burning and they will find us all afflicted,” she said easily, sipping the glass of water, knowing she would look hideous by the morning. “He will order us all killed,” said one of the nobles.

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She looked at him flatly. “We are in a stone structure inside a dead city. He cannot burn us and certainly he will not want to come inside and kill us. Likely he will leave us for dead.” The nobles all nodded their assent. They were a people defeated, a people who knew their lives were forfeit. The city burned the entire day and black smoke choked the air, but high in the castle and with the wind blowing, it was little more than an uncomfortable inconvenience to them. The rain began that night and fell in heavy sheets putting out the embers, but much of the city was still smoldering the next morning when the king’s men rode through the charred remains of the city. As he approached the castle. Dreah had the black flag that signaled disease hoisted above the ramparts and stood beside three palace nobles. The king’s retinue stopped midway up the road and two men came forward to hear what she had to say. Dreah told them of the plague which they could see with their own eyes. Then they rode back toward the king, but were halted within shouting distance. There the king requested the news and once the messengers gave it he told them to go to the castle with the other infected people. They protested and tried to return to the king’s forces. The king signaled his archers to cut them down on the road. Dreah clenched her jaws at the injustice of it. The king gave the castle one last look and actually gave a cocky salute to her, believing her to be infected with an invariably deadly illness. She turned to the palace nobles. “My mage may be able to cure you, but only if you do exactly as he asks you to do.” “Why didn’t you inform the king’s messengers that your mage might be able to cure us?” Sir Mevilan asked. He was the ranking noble present.

She looked back out at the dead messengers. “The king is not inclined to mercy or leniency. If my mage saves your life the king will accuse you of witchcraft since he, like so many others, believes the red plague to be the judgement of Verago. I will tell you truthfully now, my mage will use fae magic of Terusa to cure you. If you agree to it, you must then leave this place and find some corner of the world to hide. My suggestion is that you travel to Fendrias or Craemira,” Dreah said airily. “Let’s first see if he can cure you,” Sir Melivan said. “Very well then as I had intended for him to cure me anyway that is an easy request to grant,” she said. A few days later she was not surprisingly free of all signs of the disease as Dane had procured uncontaminated water for both of them to drink. She appeared in front of the nobles who now looked so grotesque in their appearance that she felt like gagging. They looked at her completely restored complexion. “We are ready for the cure. What must we do?” asked one of the men. “This city has cursed you,” said Dane. “The peasants called a curse down upon you from Terusa. I have communed with the spirits, and it has been determined that you must leave the city stopping every ten feet to pray for forgiveness for your mistreatment of others. Terusa has henceforth condemned you to lives as commoners. Go now seek repentance.” A few of them were hesitant, but the vast majority of them left that day and by the fourth day, they had all left the city, and of course would find themselves improving in health within a few days of leaving. When the last of them had gone, Dreah sighed with relief.

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“You know the king is going to be unhappy when he realizes you are well and alive and once again in control of Darkstone Keep,” said Dane. “Yes, and I think Rolf will be just about as unhappy as the king to see me arrive back there safely. Especially after he has, no doubt, received news of my untimely demise,” she said dryly. “Yes no doubt,” he said thoughtfully. “And surely has installed himself as the interim lord of the keep.”

Chapter Nineteen Nearly two months after they had left Darkstone to ride to Shanatas. Dreah arrived back at Darkstone Keep. The king had surely been notified of her departure from Shanatas. She had kept a sharp lookout for any would be attackers all the way back to the keep. She privately wondered why she had been allowed to reach her demesne without being accosted. She didn’t have long to wonder as there was a message with the King’s seal on it waiting for her. When she was alone with Dane in the lord’s solar, Dreah pulled the parchment from the scroll case. There written in bold strokes was a message from the king. Dreah scanned it quickly then handed it to Dane, who read through it more methodically exacting and extracting meaning. He had the ability to sense the emotions of the writer through reading the work and he did so quickly. “Well,” asked Dreah. “He was anxious when he wrote it. Something is troubling him that he did not mention in the message and I sense fear. Ever since the siege and your subsequent survival of the red plague, I believe he thinks the goddess Terusa has blessed you, and he is afraid to anger her by doing anything directly harmful to you. I have heard he even hired some mages to serve him to try and placate the goddess.” “I am not a man Dane! I can’t marry!” “Apparently the king thinks otherwise,” said Dane suppressing a grin. “Oh stop it!” she cried, pacing the room wildly. Dane sat on the edge of her bed and lay back, propping himself up on his elbows, relaxed and apparently enjoying her predicament. It wasn’t often that she was so clearly ruffled.

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“This is insane,” she breathed frustrated. “I have to do something.” “Yes,” Dane yawned. “Apparently you need to start making wedding plans.” “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said stopping in front of a wine flask, pouring herself a drink to slake the thirst in her dry throat. “I can’t marry a woman!” “We could always go to Craemira,” he said easily. “Give up this whole mess and sail over the blue sea to the east. I feel a premonition. Nothing good can come of this.” “You don’t need to feel a premonition to know that nothing good can come out of me being forced to marry a woman,” she snapped. “Oh Why?” “You are too adored by your people. There are hundreds of refugees flocking to your lands. They are productive and orderly and very prosperous,” he suggested. “But that’s a good thing,” said Dreah. “I know,” he said, “And it’s time to let it go. Come away with me before the truth is somehow discovered.” Dreah noted the wistful tone in his voice. “Is it so bad here with me?” she asked. “No,” he said. “But it would be better elsewhere I think. Here there are ghosts and shadows. Your desire for vengeance is consuming you. Let’s give this up. Come away with me Dreah,” he said, his eyes suddenly very intense. She could feel the pull, the power in them. She turned away. “You have your power. What is so wrong about me wanting my revenge?” she asked, looking away from him uncomfortably. “Yours is growing insatiable, dangerous,” he said sighing and

looking away from her. She was quiet for a few minutes then said. “I have used my power to help others.” “And so you have,” he replied. “But you find no pleasure in seeing them benefit from your help. Maybe the time has come for them to help themselves.” Dreah’s shoulders sagged for a second and Dane placed his hand on one of them. She turned to him. “Come with me Dreah,” he whispered. “I know he’s out there somewhere watching and I will never feel safe until I have defeated him,” she said quietly. He sighed. “You’re safe with me,” he whispered. She swallowed looking down at her hands for a moment. They trembled slightly. She didn’t push him away. He slipped his arms around her. She tilted her face up looking into his the mossy depths of his eyes. They were soft with love. Dreah could sense his desire. She lay her head on his shoulder and placed her hands on his chest. He sighed deeply, breathing into her hair. He lifted her chin with his finger, tracing her lip with his thumb. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, leaning down slowly and then his lips softly touched hers. He pressed her close and she forgot everything except the feel of his lips on hers and the soft velvet of his robes beneath her fingertips. Then he lifted his lips and held her tightly. She looped her arms around his neck and sought his lips again. He groaned with pleasure and then his hands were everywhere, his lips devouring hers in hungry desperation. “Dane,” she whispered afraid, pushing him away. “Stop! Please stop.”

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He looked down into her face for a moment then looked away. “I’m sorry Dreah.” He let her go. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I’ve wanted to do that for so long. I just got carried away.” “I know,” she said softly. “It’s okay Dane.” The yearning was still there in his eyes, burning like a hungry fire. She turned away from it, knowing the fear, that he would see reflected in her own. She strode over to the window. Dane sighed. The moment was lost. The brief connection severed. She turned back to the desk, pulling out a piece of parchment along with ink and quill. “I will need to draft a reply to the king,” she said. He stood there quietly, not saying anything for a few moments. She looked up at him. His eyes were guarded, his expression neutral. She tried to not notice how the sunlight came through the window and shined on his golden hair giving him a rakish appearance. “Let’s just forget that it happened,” she said. He clenched his jaw and swallowed. “Of course,” he replied, but she knew he wouldn’t and neither would she. He left her alone then and when the door separating their rooms closed behind him, she looked up at it, but it was blurred by tears and she allowed herself the luxury of a few. It had been a very long time since she had cried. Tears were for the weak, and Dane was her weakness. The next morning Dreah tried not to think about the betrothal agreement that the king had sent for her to sign. It wasn’t like she had any choice really. The king had commanded the union; she had no legal grounds to dispute his command. She had no intention of following through with the agreement. She would find a way to avoid it that didn’t include running away to Craemira with Dane, as tempting as that was on many levels. She knew that if she did, her soul would eat away at

her. She would always regret not finding Spider, and probably even more importantly, she was afraid of the way Dane had made her feel. Those tender moments in his arms had come back to her over and over throughout the night and as a result, she had slept very poorly. Dane was nowhere to be seen that morning. She had knocked on his door with a lame pretense of needing to talk to him and discovered that he had left with Amatrice to go to the forest to gather some fresh herbs. She knew that he had left to avoid what would be an awkwardness between them and probably to slake his lust with her half-sister, she thought venomously. She could only imagine what they were doing out there alone in the forest. She clenched her jaw and drove the thoughts from her mind and concentrated on the business with Sir Merivak, which promised to be unpleasant. “My Lord,” Gui said coming up the stairs from the great hall. “Sir Rolf has sent me to get you.” “What is it?” she demanded more brusquely than she intended. She was in a foul mood. “There is an army of knights marching on Darkstone Keep. Sir Rolf has dropped the portcullis and drawn the bridge. Sir Gilbert has organized the archers!” Sir Merivak and the betrothal agreement was forgotten. “Who do they belong to?” she demanded as she strode down the hall to the staircase that wound out into the bailey and up to the ramparts. The archers were gathering their arrows and setting up defensive positions. Common castle folk were scrambling to boil oil, tar and fill buckets with water to use in the event a fire broke out. “It looks like Grayriver Castle, with Sir Ivanaik,” he said racing after her.

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She went up to the ramparts above the main guard tower where Rolf stood leaning on the purloins with the spyglass trained on the far rise. He handed the glass to her wordlessly and she swung it up to her eye, looking out at the long column that came marching up the main road to the keep. Blue and black banners blew in the breeze, sunlight glinted off silver armor, much of it full plate. They were dressed in full battle regalia. Grayriver Castle had twice as many troops as Darkstone Keep. The demesne was at least four times the land mass. “Where is Dane?” she asked. “Did he return from the woods?” “No,” said Sir Rolf flatly. “He left early this morning and hasn’t returned yet.” Dreah swung the spyglass to the edge of the forest. She absently remembered the movement that they had witnessed there the day before. There was none now and their scout had found no one when he looked. She was looking for Dane, but of course with his black robes, he wouldn’t have to be far within the tree line for her to miss him. She prayed that he wouldn’t come out of cover unaware and then she chided herself for the thought. Dane would never be so stupid. Sir Ivaniak rode at the head of his column then he called a halt and sent a messenger to ride up. The herald’s horse stood uneasily on the edge of the moat where the drawbridge would normally rest. His voice carried well in the still morning air. “Sir Ivaniak, Lord of Grayriver Castle demands the surrender of the knights who have lately deserted his demesne. He further demands an apology for your treatment of his emissaries and insists on the return of any and all commoners who have applied for asylum and are now residing within the borders of your fief.” Dreah paused for a long moment. Waiting until the herald was

sufficiently nervous. Then she called for a pen and parchment. She drafted a note and tied the note to an arrow and shot it into the ground at the herald’s feet. He jumped and shrieked in a most undignified manner, then picked up the arrow and parchment and rode back to his overlord. A few moments later Sir Ivaniak, came thundering up on his warhorse. The animal wore an expensive set of gleaming armor that matched his rider and Dreah would almost be awed at the sight the magnificent duo made if she wasn’t so irritated. Right behind him was another knight leading a horse. Draped over its back was a bundle that looked suspiciously like a body. Anger seized Dreah. He had killed one of her citizens. “You insolent pup!” Sir Ivaniak roared viciously. “I was wearing my spurs before you were born. How dare you insult me! Your mage has already paid the price for striking a noble. Sir Blakefield has had justice for the insult dealt to him at the hands of the magic user.” He gave a yank on the bundle that lay over the back of the horse that the other knight led. The brown burlap unfolded and a mass of black robes tumbled to the ground. Dreah’s breath caught in her throat. The golden hair was stained red. Dane lay in an unmoving heap. “Dane!” she whispered so quietly that no one near her heard the word. The expression on her face didn’t change. She stood there for a long moment looking down at the knight, who sat confidently astride his warhorse. Sir Ivaniak sneered up at her. “I demand that you surrender your pathetic keep into my hands boy and that you come out personally to deliver me the keys. If you do not then we will burn the fields and the village, rape the women, kill the infants and enslave all of your people.

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What is your answer to my kind request ?” For a moment longer Dreah stood unmoving then she called down. “You will have your answer shortly.” She turned to the six knights including Sir Rolf, Sir Gilbert and Sir Alfred. “Saddle up the warhorses. We ride to battle.” The other knights were left to gasp in her wake as she strode down the ramparts and took the stairs to the inner bailey three at a leap. She paused long enough to don her battle armor, black leather with polished, etched, silver plates riveted to it in key places. Across the breast was a phoenix. She strapped on shin guards and forearm braces made of etched polished steel. It was light armor compared to the heavy plate that most of the knights favored. The last item was her helmet. It had belonged to her blood father. It was made out of a black metal, with a gold sun emblazoned on the center of her forehead. Sharp gold feathers brushed up from the low riding eye holes. The eyes staring out from the shadows were bright with suppressed rage. She fingered the silver phoenix feathers that hung down from the bottom of the helmet brushing her shoulders. The feathers had magical properties that would protect her from several evil spells. It was something that might have saved Dane if he had been wearing it. Dane! No she couldn’t think about it now. Later, later when he was avenged she could think about it. She could mourn him, but not now, not until after. She touched the sword that ran up the center of her forehead. It bisected the sun and curved up over the top of her forehead. It was raised and created a bevel. All of this she noted as she dressed, forcing herself to concentrate, forcing herself to prepare. In order to take proper revenge, she needed to prepare. But after a few moments her hands began to shake as she buckled on her sword belt.

“Dane,” she whispered raggedly, then caught herself. He might be alive. Yes she would cling to that hope. She might still save him. She tamped down her fear and let the anger flow through her veins. She let her anger and her consuming burning need for revenge take hold. Her blood ran hot, roared in her ears. There was no thought in her mind except to kill the one who killed Dane. When she got to the stables it was a flurry of activity. Pages and squires ran around scrambling to armor the horses and knights. Only one corner of the stable was deserted. In one stall stood Long Leap. Dane’s demon rider. Without hesitating she saddled the animal and strapped on the armor that her warhorse usually wore. He was a ferocious looking beast. She leaped to his back and rode out of the stables into the bailey. Sir Rolf was already saddled and ready for battle. “Make ready to ride,” she said. “Think of this carefully My Lord,” cautioned Sir Rolf. “Sir Ivaniak is a seasoned warrior. He is larger and more experienced than you. Also consider that he has twice as many knights as we do. If we lower the bridge they will come.” “I’m counting on it, Sir Knight,” she said shaking with pent up emotion. “When Sir Ivaniak is dead you will order the knights to ride out and meet his. He has two sons who are bound to be among them. They are to be killed.” “But what if they surrender My Lord?” asked Sir Alfred. “Then they will be that much easier to kill,” she said coldly. Sir Rolf nodded, but didn’t say anything. She gave the order to lower the drawbridge and then she thundered across it. Her black and silver cape snapped behind her. The gold sun on her helmet glistened. In one hand, she held a ball and chain. She whirled it above her head. She was

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moving at full tilt. The demon rider’s red eyes were nearly aglow against its midnight face. Black feathers flew around his three toed hooves and his heavy black mane and tail whipped as it thundered forward at blazing speed. For a moment all Dreah saw was Dane. He lay unmoving, golden hair matted with blood, black robes dirty and torn. The pain was like a knife deep in her chest. The arrogant knight who had so carelessly tossed his body to the ground registered the barest hint of surprise. His horse reared in fear of the demon rider. Sir Ivaniak, spurred his horse, but it shied and moved in a nervous circle as he tried to control it. Dreah bore down on him. He turned just in time swiping wide at her with his broadsword. He missed and in a split second the wickedly spiked ball made a heavy low whistle over her head as she whirled it with all the force of her rage. She cried out in vicious hatred as the ball crashed into Sir Ivaniak’s helmet with such force it sent him backwards out of his saddle. He tumbled onto the ground where he landed with a heavy metal thud. His helmet was thick. The blow did not kill him. She turned Long Leap then and swung from the saddle in a smooth leap, drawing her sword as she landed smoothly on her feet. In the distance she could hear the Grayriver forces organizing to attack. She stood over Sir Ivaniak. “Is this answer satisfactory,” she cried in furious anger as she kicked his beaver open. “This is for the mage,” she said swinging her sword down. She had the satisfaction of seeing the fear and shock on his face just before her sword neatly severed his head. She heard Rolf give the order and the others thundered across the drawbridge, armor flashing, swords slapping and hooves churning up dust as they hit the road. The ground rumbled with the force of it. They were severely outnumbered. They would die, and her along with them

but she didn’t care. All Dreah could think of at that moment was Dane. All she could think about was how he had begged her to leave all of this behind and she hadn’t done it. She had loved her revenge, nursed it, fed it and now she was empty inside. She walked over to him and knelt beside him. She removed her leather gauntlet and pulled back the hair from his face. His forehead was cut and bruised. The fingers on one of his hands was broken. She looked at his hand and her heart broke. His beautiful hand was broken. She touched his lips and no breath passed. Her tears fell, but she made no sound. “My Lord.” Dreah looked up, not caring that tears rolled down her face. There stood Winsome and a young man. With a small cart pulled by a donkey. She had come across the bridge after the knights. A foolish and yet brave thing to do. “We came to get his body to take it back to the keep,” said Winsome. Dreah nodded unable to speak for a moment. Then she removed her ring, the magic key that unlocked her door. “Take this and put it on. It will allow you into my chamber. Take him there. If the keep is taken, the enemy will not be able to get in there to desecrate his body. Tell no one that you have the key.” “Yes My Lord,” said Winsome bowing low to Dreah. Dreah clenched her jaw and turned to her mount. She pulled on Long Leap, who was nudging Dane’s limp body. She forced him away from his fallen master and she started to mount up, but then turned back to Winsome. “If I don’t come back alive. I want you to see to it that he is buried in the forest. Do it in secret, someplace where no one can defile

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his grave as I have seen them do to other magi.” “We will My Lord,” said Winsome with pain in her eyes. “I will pray to the gods of the Wanderers that you come back alive.” “It would be kinder to give your prayers to someone else,” said Dreah and knelt down one last time near Dane. The others were readying the cart. And although it was still nearly a quarter of a mile away, the sounds of the battlefield were loud in her ears. “If I could have one of those wishes, I would wish for one last moment with you, where I could tell you that I love you Dane,” she whispered and then rose to her feet. She turned away from him then and leaped onto Long Leap’s saddle and rode for the battle. Dreah fought. She fought with all the pent up fury that boiled in her soul. She fought for her mother and father; she fought for her blood father and she fought for Dane. She fought for revenge. Her sword flashed with a fury that drove the enemy back. She cut easily through each opponent and her blood flowed hot and furious. She hated them all. Hated them because they lived because they lived and everyone she had ever loved was dead. They had killed the last person who held the tenuous threads of goodness and light in her soul. Now there was darkness. There would always be darkness. Her soul was as black as the night. Her eyes were like gray shards of steel. Each man she killed left her feeling a greater desire to kill the next. Death! There was screams, agony, fury, clanging steel, metal on bone and then came the silence and she found herself standing alone. She was dripping with sweat and the blood of her enemies. There were bodies lying all around her. And they were unmoving, silenced by her blade. Then the sound of the breeze blowing beneath the edges of her helmet and soft moans from injured knights lying in the grass. She watched the grass

waving in the wind and for a moment all she could think of was how Dane had described the grassy Plains of Amar on Craemira, the plains where the Temple of Stone rose up from the grass toward the heavens. “I should have went with you to Craemira,” she whispered. “What did you say My Lord?” asked Gui looking at her with a mixture of awe and fear. She looked up from the trampled and bloody grass and noticed that several of her knights were approaching. There were some of the enemy knights taken prisoner, staring in open horrified fascination at her. Several of her knights raised their swords and saluted her as they came up. Sir Rolf was not among those, though he looked at her with what might be deemed a new respect. “My Lord?” he asked indicating the enemy prisoners. Only then did Dreah realize that they must have posed a question to her concerning the captured enemy. Only then did she realize that her forces had by some miracle won the battle. Only then did she think about what that meant. She was the new overlord of Grayriver Castle. By the laws of the realm it now belonged to her. She felt no joy, no elation, only a sense of burden. She approached the knights. A few of them shrank back visibly as she came near. She was battle weary. Her heart filled with grief over Dane. When she spoke to the Grayriver forces, her voice seemed to come from far away. “You fought bravely for your overlord. You have two choices. One: you may gather your things and leave Grayriver Castle or two: you may accept me as your new overlord, but be warned if you do. I will enact the same laws in Grayriver as I have in Darkstone Keep, and I will expect obedience and respect from any under my command. To

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betray me is to face justice at the tip of my sword. Give me your answer before the sun sets tomorrow.” She turned to Rolf. “The field is yours,” she said not bothering to wait for a reply. She mounted Long Leap and rode back to the keep, back to Dane, back to grieve alone for the man she loved.

Chapter Twenty By the time she reached the keep, reality had come fully back to her. She didn’t remember much from the battle. That was a tangled mass of violent feelings, violent actions and blood. She could taste it in her mouth, smelled it in her nostrils, felt it on her skin, and she wanted to cleanse away the grime and the sick feeling inside. She rode into the keep and there silence reined. No one approached her; no one made a sound. They were afraid, and she wasn’t sure if they were afraid of the growing number of enemies stacked against Darkstone, or of her. When she walked into the great hall. There was awed silence. She noticed Sir Merivak sitting in one corner looking somewhat shocked at the sight of her. Dreah walked numbly up the stairs and down the hall to the lord’s solar. Winsome, who had seen her approach, was waiting for her. She held out the ring, and Dreah took it and held it near her door for a moment then pulled back. She didn’t want to go in there, to face it. Not yet. She turned to Winsome. “Have a bath brought to Dane’s room,” she said and walked down the hall to his door. She held the ring over the lock and the mechanism gave way. She entered and was immediately assailed with the aroma of sweet spice and dried flowers. His spell components of course, but she had come to associate the smell with him. She left the door ajar so that the servants could bring in the bath and water. She pulled off her helmet, arm and shin guards along with her boots and breastplate and tossed them in a heap by the door. A page took them away automatically to clean and polish them. As soon as the tub was filled and a fire stoked in the hearth, the servants disappeared and she stood there alone. The void of his absence

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was palpable. She closed her eyes against the aching, against the loneliness. She peeled off her underclothes, a thin silk tunic and pants like what she always wore beneath her armor, for their weightless quality and strength. She tossed the bloodied garments into the fire and sank into one of the tubs. Winsome had thoughtfully provided two; she washed the grime from her body in the first then stepped into the second one to soak and rinse. Once she was finished, she toweled herself and realized that she had nothing to wear. Her clothes were in her own room. She looked at the adjoining door and turned away from it. She plucked one of Dane’s long velvet robes out of his closet and pulled it over her head. It enveloped her in its softness, as if she could still feel Dane’s warmth emanating from it. She gathered the folds of the garment in front of her and buried her face in the fabric smelling the sweet spice. “Dane,” she whispered into the empty chamber. There was only echoing silence to answer her plaintive cry. She walked to the door that joined their rooms and pushed it open, stepping into her chamber. Winsome and the other man had stoked the fire and the soft golden light danced in the chamber. He lay there on her bed. Winsome had cleaned him up some. His hair was still bloodstained, but his face had been carefully bathed. His bruised and broken hand lay on the coverlet. He looked as if he could be sleeping except that his chest failed to rise and fall. He was so still. She sat on the bed next to him. She reached out and tenderly stroked his face. He was still warm to the touch. She sighed and lay down by his side for the last time. She thought of all the times they had lain together as children and later as teenagers and wondered how many times he had went to sleep yearning to touch her, but knowing the limits his crippled body had placed on him. She had never let him love her. The part of her that

she would have willingly given to him, another had taken by force. She wished now that she hadn’t pushed him away the night before. If she hadn’t, he wouldn’t have gone off to gather herbs this morning with Amatrice, and the Grayriver army wouldn’t have found him. She stroked his face gently, feeling the roughness in his chin. He hadn’t shaven that morning before he left, a sign that he had slept poorly and woke up early like she had. She leaned down and pressed her lips onto his. They were soft and warm as ever. She sobbed with the aching pain of loss. “Come back to me!” she wept. She lifted his broken hand and pressed her cheek against it. Her tears fell over his ring and it burned a soft amber for a moment. She ran a finger over it. His ring was cold. Then she remembered how he had insisted that she take it off of him if he ever died. She pulled at the ring with its dark jewel. It looked black again, but she had seen it glow any number of colors depending on the magic spell he had used. It slipped from his finger. Suddenly Dane gasped and coughed. Dreah, shocked, dropped his hand. “Dane!” she cried. “Water,” he choked. “I–this can’t b-be. What’s happening? Have I gone insane? Am I dreaming?” she cried. “Please,” he coughed and gagged, reaching for the pitcher that stood on her night stand. He clumsily knocked it over. Dreah leaped into action catching it neatly before it fell. Her hands shook and the water sloshed from the pitcher, but she poured water into a glass and held it to his lips. He drank some then coughed some more. Blood trickled at the edge of his lips.

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“Dane,” she cried with a constricted throat. “Is this real. Are you a spirit?” He sputtered. “I should hope that I would make a more gracious spirit than this.” “But you were dead, you were!” she cried. “An illusion,” he gasped and sank back onto the bed. His forehead was beaded with sweat. “I thought you would never get around to removing the ring.” “What do you mean?” “I mean the ring was what I used to create the illusion that I was dead. It is a great trick, but it has one drawback,” he said weakly. Dreah sat stunned speechless. “It works so well that the one who wears it is unable to break the illusion until the ring is removed.” “Why didn’t you tell me you could do that?” she asked furiously. He gave a weak smile. “I didn’t want you to ever have false hope. If I was dead for real. I wouldn’t have revived if you removed the ring.” “But you might have been buried alive! Or burned in a burial rite of some sort.” she cried. “Like I said, the spell has a few drawbacks including the fact that it works too well,” he smiled softly. “Besides I was rather enjoying my rest. I see now what I must do to get into your bed,” he teased weakly. “You were aware,” she gasped. “Most wonderfully aware,” he said gently. Her face flushed and she looked away. She should have been angry, but the battle had drained away her anger and the thought that he was still alive was too sweet for her to be angry. “Why did you do it?” she asked quietly, picking up a cloth and wetting it to place on his forehead.

“I figured that they would stop beating me if they thought I was dead,” he said and then started coughing. “You’re badly injured Dane. Your fingers are broken.” He winced at her words. “Yes, I am aware of that.” “We need a healer,” she said bathing his brow. He was feverish. “Where is Amatrice?” His eyes grew dark. “I don’t know,” he said, struggling to sit up. “Lay back Dane,” she said pressing him gently back down. “Was she with you?” “She had gone off to pick some qeut lichen. I was gathering minceberries. She started screaming so I went to find out what happened, and I was ambushed. There were too many,” he fell into another coughing fit and finished breathing heavily. There were traces of blood on his lips Dreah finished setting the kettle of water to boil and turned back to him. “I will send out a patrol to look for her,” she said biting her lip worriedly. “I fear the worst,” he said weakly wincing at the pain in his fingers as she examined them. Dreah nodded. She didn’t allow her mind to wander in that direction too far. There was too much to do and Dane needed her help. “Here help me get up,” he asked trying to sit. “No Dane. You’re in no shape,” she protested, easily keeping him from getting up. “I need to get to my spell components,” he said weakly. “I can do it,” she said. “But you don’t-” He gasped and fell into another coughing fit. She stood up looking down at him. “My mother was a healer, remember?” she said.

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He lay there gasping in the aftermath of the cough. He half smiled. She arranged the pillow next to him. “I learned more than you think I did. Now tell me what I need to bring you and I’ll get it.” He reached out to her with his broken fingers. And she trailed a finger gently over the skin. “I guess you can at that,” he said and gave her the list of herbs he would need. Dreah quickly got the herbs together and followed his instructions on grinding and mixing them to powder. All the while Dane appeared to grow weaker. “You know you wouldn’t make a bad mage,” he said thoughtfully. She looked up from her mixing. “Very funny, but I don’t have the patience, or the magical talent.” He smiled. “Maybe not, but you look good in the robes.” She frowned at him. “Be serious Dane. What comes next?” “I am serious,” he said. “But you look good in your armor too.” She sighed. “What next Dane?” He smiled at her look of impatience. “Help me sit.” Dreah set the bowl on the table next to the bed and propped him up. She wrapped her arms around him and held him while he coughed. He leaned back against her, letting her stroke his forehead. “You’re shaking,” he whispered. “It’s been a difficult day,” she said quietly. “You’re in so much pain. I should get you something for it.” “I am no stranger to pain,” he said softly. “There’s no time for it.” “I know,” she said remembering those times when he came to her mother with fresh bruises and cuts from his drunken father. “The bowl,” he whispered. She picked up the bowl and he placed his least injured hand into it

and he whispered some words over it. The ingredients glowed a pale gold. His hand dropped back. He was panting with exhaustion. “What now?” “You rub it on,” he said barely audible. Dreah rubbed the ingredients over his cracked ribs and broken leg. It was warm and left a swath of heat over his skin. Dane grimaced gritting his teeth as the bone mender took affect. The pain was excruciating, but other than an occasional gasp, Dane didn’t make any noise. There was a tea he had her fix for his internal injuries. She worked all afternoon and evening preparing remedies for him. It was dark and the half-moon shone in through the window when his pain had subsided. “You’re going to need some rest,” she said weary now herself, and sore from the battle and the expended emotions. “So do you Dreah,” he said heavy lidded. The last tea preparation had a sleeping aid in it. “I suppose you’re right,” she said, reluctant to leave him. He smiled softly as if he read her mind. “Sleep beside me,” he invited warmly. Dreah looked down at her fingers avoiding the soft look in his eyes. “Maybe I shouldn’t,” she said. “Please,” he whispered. “It’s not as if I’m in any shape to do anything.” She smiled. “No, I suppose you’re not,” she said swallowing back past the lump in her throat. She lay down on the bed beside him. He rolled to his side facing her. She moved near him and he slipped his arm around her and brought her up against him. He sighed heavily with pleasure at their closeness. “Dane,” she said quietly.

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“Yes, Dreah,” he answered. “I will give myself to you, if that’s what you want,” she said with her heart pounding madly in her ears at the suggestion that passed her lips. The thought terrified and thrilled her at the same time. She was sickened by her fear, but she knew what it would mean to him and she loved him. At least she could admit that to herself now. He reached up and cupped her chin looking into her face. His eyes were dark and deeply penetrated her. He saw every secret of her heart, every stain on her soul. She wanted to push him away and yet she wanted him to stay there forever. Her heart was an entity made up two essences that repelled and attracted each other at the same time. He smiled then kissed her forehead gently. “I do want you, but not before you’re ready Dreah, and you’re not ready.” Dreah sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Dane,” she whispered. “So am I,” he said and simply held her until they both drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-One While rumors of Dane’s resurrection from the dead circulated among the keep, it was the tales of Lord Lander d’Avar’s battlefield prowess that dominated the conversations in the great hall. “I have never in my life witnessed such ferocity,” said Sir Wilfurd. “The skill of his blade, astonishing in one so young,” added Sir Alfred with a sense of pride. “Reminds me of his father, except he doesn’t have the size.” “There’s also a definite coldness in his eyes,” commented one knight quietly out of Sir Alfred’s earshot. All these and variations on them reached Dreah’s ears at one time or another in the days after the battle. She ignored most of them, pretending not to hear. Knights asked questions of her, tried to draw her into one of their boasting matches. Perhaps they would have felt better if she did what most knights did, celebrate her prowess. But she did not join the boasting tales told in the hall. What could she tell them? That she remembered very little of what they described. She would say that once the battle rage had seized her she had thought of little else but revenge for the man she loved? That she had seen little else but his body lying in a heap, had heard nothing, but the roar of her heartbeat in her ears, tasted blood in her mouth and felt the bone-jarring action of her sword cutting through the enemy? Certainly she didn’t want to draw any correlation of her performance on the field to Dane’s fate. Several of the knights had already come to the conclusion that she was a catamite. More still had come to the conclusion that Dane had cast some sort of spell over her. It was best that she kept silent and let them think what they chose. Three days later Sir Gilbert returned with his search party. “My

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Lord,” said Sir Gilbert, inclining his head slightly. “We searched the woods and the surrounding countryside My Lord. There is still no sign of the mage’s apprentice.” Dreah looked at him in silent appraisal. Strange how the very same men who had once frequented Amatrice’s bed now acted as if they didn’t know her. Since she had become Dane’s apprentice, and dare Dreah think of it, his lover, Amatrice had been on the list of persons to avoid, her name never passing the lips of the others. “Very well,” she said quietly. “You may refresh yourselves and send out another search party. Widen your search. She couldn’t simply vanish.” Sir Gilbert looked doubtful for a moment, casting a glance in Dane’s direction as if he either thought that the mage had somehow made his apprentice vanish. “Yes My Lord, it will be as you command.” Dreah nodded and looked around the great hall. Her knights were getting ready for the ride to Grayriver Castle. They would be leaving in the morning for her to go and lay claim to her new demesne. Part of her wanted to go, but a greater part of her wanted to get on her horse and ride away and keep riding. Still, she knew she couldn’t just abandon her lands, and the people in them. She thought of what might happen to them if she left, the injustices that her people would be subject to. It might be different if they despised her, but they didn’t. They depended on her to make laws and just rulings. Still she glanced at Dane and thought of how much easier it would be if they could just go to Craemira as he suggested. Her office and responsibilities stifled her. Her quest for revenge drained her. Now she wanted to be free, yet the chains that bound her were too strong, the manacles too heavy to shake off.

The next morning she rode out of Darkstone Keep with a contingency of knights. She had left Sir Gilbert in charge of the defenses at the keep. Dreah kept her eyes carefully focused on the road, not looking too closely at the bloodstained, trampled grass from the battle three days before. The dead had been buried with their armor, and as was tradition, their helmets and swords were given to their next of kin. Some of the dead whose manor estates had been close enough, had been carried back to their families for burial. She tried not to think of the people who would weep for the men she had slain. She had to remind herself that she hadn’t gone looking for a fight; it had come to her. But still she felt the burden of their ghosts upon her as she left the battlefield behind. They rode without incident into Grayriver lands. The main road wound upward from the plains and into scrub covered rolling hills. The road leading to the castle was old and needed repair; the villages they passed were poor. The people, had already received the news of their dead overlord and had heard tales of the battle. Now they stood in awed silence, watching the procession of her knights. Rumors of her battle prowess had preceded her. Many had been told tales in which Lander d’Avar possessed demon-like qualities. In a land where knights and warriors were revered, she had nearly attained the status of a god. Still it was fear, not adoration that they felt for her, and she was keenly aware of the dark suspicion that was directed at Dane as they rode through the countryside. Even after all this time, her own people only tolerated his presence because of her. She stole a glance at his profile. It was implacable as usual. She cast her eyes up at the large stone fortress that was Grayriver Castle. It loomed tall and gray before her. Even in the heat of the mid-day sun it looked dim and forbidding.

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The curtain walls were sheer stone that rose to twice the height of Darkstone Keep and the base of the structure was easily six times that size. There was no moat, instead the base of the structure was littered with large boulders that would protect it from the approach of any large siege machines. The heavy portcullis rose without challenge at her approach. The steward was waiting in the outer bailey with a stack of log scrolls and a large ring of keys along with a small wooden box. He bowed low as she rode her warhorse over the threshold into the castle. “My Lord Lander d’Avar, the castlefolk and nobles have been notified of your victory and accept you as the new master of Grayriver by conquest. The castle is yours,” the steward said in a high sing-song voice. The steward was a pinch-faced man of slight build. He wore a sour expression on his lips that matched the sour expression in his dark beady eyes. He bowed low and Dreah wondered briefly if he was mocking her. “Very well, I would know your name steward,” she said evenly as she dismounted from her warhorse. “I’m Baron Sheiver, youngest son of the Earl of Madden Ford,” he said rather stuffily, being sure to add the title that marked him as blue blooded in case she had any doubts. Dreah’s eyes swept the courtyard. It was nearly deserted except for a few scraggly looking servants obviously bound servants by the looks of them. “The place appears empty Sheiver,” she said not bothering to add his title. The pinch-faced man sniffed and gave her a patronizing smile, his eyes betrayed a certain secret satisfaction. “All the other nobles left as soon as the news of Sir Ivaniak’s and his son’s demises were reported.”

“I made no demand that they leave,” she said evenly, noting the sneer that the little man was unable to hide entirely. “It wasn’t necessary. They were all aware of the way you ran Darkstone Keep and none of them wished to reside in the castle under such degraded circumstances. I have a list of their names and which of your provinces they oversee. I myself will be leaving this demesne entirely your lordship. I will be returning to my father’s estate. I only remained here awaiting your arrival as the duty of being a steward dictated that I must.” Dreah’s face hardened and she looked at the steward with ice in her gray eyes. “It is good that the nobles have gone,” she said evenly. “There are so many refugees that need places to sleep.” The steward gasped in open disgust and shock at the idea of commoners being allowed to sleep in rooms once occupied by nobles. Dreah might have laughed if the situation were not a clear sign as to how difficult it would be to run Grayriver Castle as she did Darkstone Keep. She motioned Dane forward. “Just direct me to another servant who will be able to show me around the castle, and allow my mage to look at your books to see that they are correct and you will be allowed to go on your way little man,” she said scathingly. The steward looked at the mage astride the demon rider. He was so obviously afraid of Dane that he dropped the ring of keys onto the flagstone and had to stoop to retrieve it. As he did, the stack of books fell from his grasp. The wooden box clattered noisily onto the ground in front of him. He was quaking in fear by the time Dane’s shadow fell across his face. The little man scrambled backward tripping over his fine silk robes. “Don’t curse me!” he cried covering his head. Dane sighed impatiently and reached out a hand summoning the

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dropped articles. They flew through the air and hovered neatly in front of him until he reached out to grab them. “What is in the box?” he asked. “I-I don’t know,” Sheiver cried. “A messenger came yesterday morning and said that it was a gift for the new overlord.” Dane lifted a dark gold eyebrow and looked at Dreah. She nodded her head and he opened the box. Nestled on a bed of white silk, was a broach. Solid black enamel set off black glittering jewels that covered the surface of the broach. It was a perfect bejeweled replica of a spider. Dane gasped, momentarily losing his perfect calm composure. “Who sent this?” he demanded harshly. “I don’t know,” choked Sheiver now on the verge of a panic attack at the sight of the angered mage. “What is it?” asked Dreah. Dane wordlessly held out the box to her and picked up the steward by the front of his robes and pinned him up against a wall. “You listen to me you little worm. If you lie to me then I will turn you into an insect and squash you beneath my heel.” “Please!,” Shiever cried. “I know nothing, I swear it.” “You said a messenger brought it. What did the messenger look like?” Dane demanded. Dreah had come up beside him. Her face was void, but her eyes were haunted. Dane was furious. “I never saw his face,” Sheiver sobbed. “Please! please! It’s the truth.” “What did you see?” Dane demanded acidly. “He w-was large,” Shiever was weeping hard. “H-he w-was a knight. He wore his armor. I- I never saw his face h-he wore his beaver

closed.” “What did the beaver look like,” asked Dreah through numb lips. She already knew the answer, but she had to hear it. “It had a-a spider cut into it,” Sheiver answered through chattering teeth. “Please it’s the truth. It’s the truth! Don’t let him turn me into an insect. Please I’m begging for your mercy My Lord.” “I believe you,” said Dreah quietly. “Oh thank you most gracious lord,” Sheiver cried bowing low over her boots and fervently kissing the metal of her shins. “Go to Sir Alfred for further questioning. Don’t dare leave the castle until you are told you are free to go,” said Dane icily. Sheiver scrambled away. Dane took the box from her fingers and snapped the lid shut. Dreah staggered and he caught her arm with a steadying hand. At that moment he wanted everything else to disappear. He wanted to be alone with her so he could hold her and chase away the dark shadows that ravaged her. Sir Rolf came forward. “Are you not well your lordship?” he asked with concern on his battle hardened features. Dreah nearly choked on her parched throat. Dane intervened on her behalf. “He hasn’t slept well these last nights. He has been worried about his sister,” said Dane smoothly. Rolf nodded. “My Lord I will arrange for the knights’ quarters and make an assessment of the arms storage and castle defenses unless there is something else you wish me to do.” “Very good,” Dreah said finding her voice. It sounded hollow to her ears. The knights went on about their business and Dreah and Dane went through an archway that led into a kitchen garden. There was a small

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stream that ran through it and cascaded down over the edge of the wall into a pool on the far side. They sat on a bench on the farthest end. The garden was over-grown and in need of work. A lone servant girl was weeding around a group of herbs, but other than that the garden was deserted. “The castle looks as if it is wanting care,” she said avoiding the subject of the broach. “Ah yes, your classic fixer-upper,” said Dane sensing her mood. “What do you suppose happened to this place?” she asked. “Desertion,” said Dane simply. “What do you mean? You think they all came to my fief and that’s why this place looks so derelict?” He shrugged. “Sir Ivaniak certainly wouldn’t have been one to just let the servants sit around. As they deserted, the others would have been made to work harder to make up for the excess and that would have caused further desertions, which is probably what led the knights to desert his service. Can you imagine how they would like life without servants? ore than likely a good deal of personal servants left with the nobles. Essentially, I think you have inherited a ghost castle as it were.” She bit her lip, watching the lone girl work at a patch of stubborn grass. “Did I do the wrong thing?” she asked. Dane was quiet for a moment. He picked up a leaf and tossed it into the stream. “You see that leaf?” he asked. “Yes,” she said watching the leaf float at the edge of the stream out of the current. He picked up a stick and shoved the leaf further out into the water to where the current picked it up and carried it away over the waterfall down into the pool below. “You see, sometimes you give something a

small nudge and it then begins to move without your help. It just flows, but the current was always there. People want to be free Dreah, and you’ve given people that. Now that they know you are overlord here, many of the others who ran away from Grayriver to Darkstone, will come back home.” “But what about other demesne’s. If Grayriver looks like this, because of Darkstone Keep then how many others have suffered the same fate, and how many more will suffer a similar drain once the laws are enacted here as well as Darkstone?” she asked uneasily. He sighed. “What you really want to ask is how many more overlords will come to do battle because their lands are suffering due to desertion.” “Yes,” she said getting up off the bench and pacing in front of it. Her long silk over tunic billowed as she walked. Her sword belt hung easily on her hip. She had removed her gauntlets and helmet. She was a curious blend of warrior and woman and she was completely unaware of how incredibly attractive she was in her close fitting studded leather armor. Of course, since the rest of the world saw her as a man, she never received the kind of male attention she would otherwise have gleaned. She stopped and stared into the water. He stood and moved next to her. “I would offer to take you away with me, as I have done in the past, but you have your lands. You have your position,” he said softly. “Dane,” she said quietly. “When I have found Spider and destroyed him and avenged my parents, then maybe I will consider going away with you. It’s strange. I never wanted all of this. I have no desire to be an overlord, yet I can’t find it in my heart to desert it.” He sighed sadly and reached out his finger trailing it along her

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smooth skin. “I know Dreah and I understand that it would be a hard thing for you to just walk away.” She closed her eyes for a second and his thumb brushed across her eyelashes. She opened them and looked up into his pale green eyes. She wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment, but movement in the far corner of the garden caught her eye. Rolf’s squire Hamlen and another squire had entered the garden looking for her. She took a step back, keenly aware of the odd looks she was receiving from the squires. She didn’t care what they thought of her, but she hated to give her enemies a reason to resent Dane further. “My Lord,” said Hamlen bending low. “You have something to report,” asked Dreah in clipped tones. She had never liked Hamlen. Even though he had always treated her with deference there was a certain look of mockery in his eyes. “Yes, My Lord, Sir Rolf wishes to see you.” Dreah nodded and glanced back at Dane. “I will be in the lord’s solar if you wish to speak to me,” said Dane, easily extracting himself from the presence of the others. Dreah watched him go. Dane had never been fond of the logistics and tedious nature of running a keep and neither was she for that matter. She was good a it, but she didn’t enjoy it. She could look forward to several hours worth of castle business ahead of her. Rolf was nothing if not thorough.

Chapter Twenty-Two The next afternoon Dreah stood in front of the large gathering at the castle. The townspeople from the nearest towns and the castle folk had been summoned to hear the proclamation. Dreah had finished reading the document that would be copied, posted and sent to the town criers throughout the demesne. Her eyes scanned the faces in the crowd. They were mute, nearly expressionless. She gave Dane one if her looks. “I don’t seem to have made much of an impression,” she said knitting her brows together. “They do appear somewhat bland considering the fact that you’ve essentially given them rights that most of them could only dream of,” Dane agreed quietly. “I don’t know what I expected, but it was definitely not complacency. I think I would feel better if they were shouting protests or something. At least then it would give me a reason to present arguments in favor of the changes,” said Dreah. “I don’t think it’s complacency exactly,” said Dane. “I’m sensing something else. Almost a feeling of inevitability.” The assistant to the steward came forward. “If your lordship pleases, we will serve you the evening meal,” he said blandly. Dreah was puzzled by the peoples reaction and she couldn’t let the matter drop. Did they not understand what she had said? Her own bound servants had been in awe and disbelief over the laws and then when they realized what it meant to them, they bad been ecstatic buzzing with chatter and excitement. Surely the servants here had heard about her laws. Most of them probably had relatives who had deserted Grayriver Castle to come and live in her demesne. But there was no awe, no disbelief. If anything, annoyance that their daily work routine

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had been disrupted to get ready for the gathering. “Is there something in my proclamation that bothers you?” she asked the assistant steward. He turned his dark brown eyes up into her face. “You are the overlord here. It’s not up to us to question your laws,” he stated without emotion. “But I have given you the right to question it,” she said. “Hum, would you like sweet sauce with your pork, My Lord,” asked the man. “No,” she said flatly. “What I would like is for you to give me a straight answer to my question.” The man turned back on her. “My Lord, all nobles say they want one thing until they get it and then they want something else. You don’t want to hear what I or any of the others think about your new law.” “You are wrong,” she said. “I do want to know. In fact I command you to tell me.” “In that case My Lord, I will say that we here at Grayriver Castle were a very prosperous people. We had the best smith, the best baker, the best dressmakers and craftsmen of all guilds. We had some of the best cultivated land, until your proclamation came along and wrecked it. The best of us left. This land became a shadow of its former glory. Once we had pride in being Grayriver folk. Many of us had status with the nobles. Now it’s nothing, because of you.” “Now that I’ve come and made the same changes here, many of your people will want to come back,” she argued. The man waved his hand dismissive. “Yes, them and all of the other rif-raff refugees and throw away cripples of the kingdom, just like it is in Darkstone Keep.”

Dreah’s face flushed red with anger. She was about to retort angrily when she checked herself. She did, after all, order him to be honest with her. “And the rest of the people here feel this way.” “What does it matter what we feel. You have your land and castle. It will never be what it was under the l’Ameriage line. We will hold to your laws, lord, and we will do your work and even welcome your derelict charity cases.” His voice was toneless and even. His eyes then went to Dane who stood quietly by her side. “We will even tolerate such undesirable company as your demon mage, but we won’t like it and we won’t like you. However we are too well bred and have too much pride in ourselves to do other than obey your laws. Anyway, most of us who have remained here are free servants. Most of the bound servants ran away and those who didn’t, will never have the discipline they used to have, not knowing that they could just run away anytime and seek asylum at Darkstone Keep. Now they don’t even need to do that. You already ruined it. Nothing will ever be the same.” “I sincerely hope you’re right,” said Dreah quietly. “You may go about your duties.” The steward’s assistant nodded without passion and left and Dreah watched his thin form move efficiently among the hall, calmly organizing workloads and staff. “I guess that means that there won’t be a warm and fuzzy celebration in your honor,” said Dane dryly. “I saw a fair sized bonfire stack in the outer bailey demon mage,” she teased. “So I think you should just be glad if they’re not planning a hot and prickly celebration in your honor.” Dane shrugged. “They wouldn’t be the first people to be so considerate of me.”

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Dreah laughed lightly and it sounded funny to her ears. She couldn’t remember the last time she had really laughed at anything. Three servants passed them both, casting their eyes down and away as they went by. “You may yet get your welcome,” she commented teasing him. “I doubt it,” he said half amused. “Mage burners are fired up and ready to go. And I don’t even think dragonfire could warm this crowd into the mage burning mode.” “This place is rather cold and dim,” she said looking up at the towers that were sparse in the number and size of windows. The high curtain walls would shade out the suns except for the few hours every day when they arced overhead. “Let’s go inside and see if their cooking is warmer than their faces.” He smiled grimly and followed her into the great hall where the servants had prepared the tables. She walked slowly observing the castle-folk on her way up to the dais. Her seat would be in the center with the high-backed chair that had the Grayriver crest emblazoned on the center of the back. “I just don’t get it,” said Dreah. “You would think they would be happy.” She observed the neat rows of wooden platters with freshbaked bread bowls in the center of them. Servants busily set out iron cauldrons of a spicy smelling stew down the centers of the tables. Dane watched the efficient workforce for a second as they made their way up to the dais.“Human nature is a strange thing Dreah. We all tend to judge it by how we see the world, but when world judges us, we don’t understand it.” “What sort of cryptic nonsense is that mage?” she asked amused. He shrugged. “I have to earn my keep somehow. Cryptic nonsense is

part of my job remember.” She sighed. “I’m being serious Dane.” “So am I,” he protested although she could tell by the light color of his eyes and the tilt of his head that he was in his teasing mode. They reached the high table and a servant girl moved forward to pull out the high-backed chair for her. Dreah gasped and shot the girl a furious look. “Who put that there?” she demanded. The girl took one look at the red cushion on the seat of her chair then shrieked and dropped Dreah’s lap linen. A bog spider sat in the center of the cushion. It was about the size of a grown man’s hand and had heavy fuzzy legs. Dreah was not particularly afraid of spiders. It was what she knew it represented that made her blood freeze. It was obvious by the girl’s reaction to the creature that she had nothing to do with placing it there. Dreah’s furious gaze swept the hall, looking for signs of guilt on the faces of the servants, but they merely worked the tables in quiet efficiency. The knights and their squires were moving into the hall. None looked in her direction with any particular expression. Dane reached down and picked up the spider carefully. It’s sharp fangs were sheathed and it’s many black eyes stared back at him uncomprehending of the emotions it created. Dreah had to quell the urge to storm out of the hall. Her fingers shook in their grip on the back of the chair. “Sit Dreah,” he said quietly, urging her into her seat. Dreah obeyed, keeping her face carefully devoid of emotion as she watched her fellow knights dig into the stew and bread. She pretended to prepare her own bread bowl for the stew, but she had no appetite to eat. As her eyes swept the faces of the men who had accompanied her from Darkstone Keep, she wondered which one it was. It had to be one of them, yet she

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couldn’t imagine any of them doing to her what Spider had done. Dane returned and took his seat next to her. They didn’t say anything for a few moments then she asked him. “Have you learned anything from examining the broach?” she asked. It was the first time she had mentioned the article since it had been given to her the day before. He broke off a piece of his bread and paused then dropped it back onto his tray. “I sense something familiar in the jewelry, but it is protected by magic, so I will need to take it back to Darkstone Keep and examine it properly with the right potions. I will need to consult my scrolls.” She nodded. “Then do it.” “When?” he asked. “Just as soon as you can get there,” she said without preamble. “You can take Long Leap out after you eat. He should reach the keep shortly after nightfall without the rest of us to slow him down.” He took a bite of his bread and chewed it thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t like it.” “Well, neither do I, but I need to know Dane, as soon as possible and as discretely as possible. I will make up an excuse for why you needed to return to the keep.” “I’m almost certain that whoever is doing this is well aware of the fact that I will examine the article. Has it occurred to you that they may be trying to get me to leave so that you will be here alone without me to protect you,” he said. Dreah gave a short laugh. “I don’t know where you have been lately, but I don’t need anyone to protect me.” He sighed. “You know what I mean. Don’t be so proud Dreah. I

watch your back just as you watch mine. Can’t you admit that you might need me just a little?” She smiled although it didn’t reach her eyes. “Dane I do need you. I need you to go and do this. I need you to find out who this Spider is so I can put an end to this nightmare one way or another.” “Let’s just hope that by me leaving that we aren’t doing exactly what he wants,” said Dane. “Why don’t you come with me?” “No,” she said with finality. “You are right. He may want you out of the way, but what he doesn’t know is that this time I will be ready for him.” Dane let out an exasperated sigh. “Dreah, you will have to sleep sometime!” She gave him a tight smile. “Yes and I have learned how to sleep in my armor fairly well. Besides you have magic locked the secret room above the lord’s solar.” “But he obviously has some forms of magic since the broach is enchanted. What if he can disable the lock?” “Like I said, I can sleep just fine in my armor. I’m not afraid Dane. I’m ready to take my revenge and it’s getting closer now; I can feel it. He has grown anxious with his long silence. He’s ready to play his game, and this time I will hold the winning game piece,” she said in a voice that could freeze embers. “This time when he gambles, he gambles with his life and I will take my winnings.” Dane was about to argue some more, but one look at the determined lines on her features, and he knew it would be useless. There was no arguing with her when she was in this mood. He ate his dinner in silence and then gathered his things from the chamber near the lord’s solar where he had slept the night before. The sun was still high in the

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sky when he rode out of the gates of Grayriver Castle on Long Leap. The demon rider glided over the landscape with very little effort. He glanced back once at Grayriver before he rode over the rise. A well of foreboding opened up inside and he couldn’t shake the dark feeling and the vision of the gray structure looming cold in the warm sunlight.

Chapter Twenty-Three Dreah walked the ramparts with Sir Alfred and Gui. The suns were setting in the west and they cast long shadows over the hilly landscape that fell away in golden brown sweeps. Brown squares with patches of green weeds grew in untended fields. Several cows grazed in a distant pasture. A river flowed through it away from the castle. The castle itself stood over the river and the plumbing emptied into it. The result was a cleaner place. If not for the dismal people and the stark coldness, it would be a better place to live than Darkstone Keep. But right then she would give anything to be back in her comfortable chamber there. She made a pretense of checking the defenses, and Sir Alfred saw through it. “You’re looking for your mage, My Lord?” he asked. Dreah gave him a cool look. “He is supposed to bring me some information from Darkstone that I require,” she said carefully. The golden twilight reflected off her jet black hair. It was pulled tightly at the nape of her neck. She didn’t know it, but her enchantment made her look like a handsome, younger version of her father. “You know lad, your father was a great man, but he made a mistake in not taking you out of Lady Brianna’s care sooner. I worry that you have suffered for it. You spend too much time with the mage.” Dreah raised a dark brow. “Are you referring to the rumors of an unnatural relationship between Dane and myself?” Sir Alfred’s hoary features colored slightly. “I have seen it before. I don’t need rumors to tell me what my own eyes have detected. There are those that don’t have natural desires. Not that I fault you as a warrior. In that respect you are a master-at-arms far beyond your years, and you have made me proud as your own father would be, but have

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you ever given a fine lady a chance? Perhaps it is your lack of experience in that way that has led you to this other proclivity. I know you’re betrothed at the request of the king, and I’m only saying that perhaps that would be a good time to put aside other ways and live life as the goddess Terusa intended it to be.” “So you have turned to worshiping the goddess,” she said pointedly. He flushed. “There are a lot of us who have seen the benefit of her teachings.” Dreah bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling at his admission and turned her face toward the fast fading sunlight. She trained her eyes on Sulamon, the smaller of the two and the first to descend. She knew that there were many who had converted to worshiping the goddess. “I am glad that you keep my welfare in mind Sir Alfred,” she said noncommittal. Gui had not spoken and pointedly avoided joining in the subject as he held the spyglass to his eye. “Take a look at this, My Lord,” he said handing it to her. Dreah took the spyglass swinging it once down the flagstone road, over the hills toward Darkstone Keep. She looked for a patch of black on the dull brown of the road or the golden grassy hills. Two days had passed since he left. “What are you referring to?” she asked. “The workers, all have gone home from the fields,” he pointed out. Dreah swung the spyglass toward the half-deserted village. “There is nothing so strange as people not working past sundown.” “Where’s the bonfire and the roasting side of beef? There was no gathering last night either. This close to harvest there’s always feasting at least on bonfire night,” Gui pointed out.

She shrugged. “Maybe we should ride out and see,” she said thoughtfully.“Or perhaps I will delegate that to Sir Rolf.” “I can go do it,” suggested Gui. She looked at him then directed her orders to Sir Alfred. “I would like for you to go and check it out with Gui. Give me your report in the morning unless it’s something dire. I am feeling a bit out of sorts. It must be what we had for dinner. I think I will bathe get to bed early.” Sir Alfred nodded. “You will think about what I said I hope.” “I will give it all the contemplation that my conscience deems necessary,” she said giving what she considered a cryptic “Dane” answer. Sir Alfred started to leave and she called out. “Sir Alfred, when do you think Gui will be ready for the trials?” Gui flushed with pleasure at her words. “My Lord, you do me great honor, but I’m afraid that my skill with the blade still needs some work.” Dreah smiled. “There is more to being a knight than a good sword. You’re loyal and thoughtful and I need good knights of all kinds by my side.” Gui bowed low. “He can be ready within a month’s time,” said Sir Alfred. Dreah nodded then and swept down the ramparts. Her long black tunic blew around her calves as she went. She carried her helmet under one arm and her sword swung lightly from her hip. She stepped easily and gracefully down the stairs, seeming to glide in the eyes of those who watched her from a distance. She followed the way to the lord’s solar and closed the door behind her. Then she moved beyond it to the room she secretly occupied. She opened the lock with the magic key

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and entered unseen, or so she believed. Once inside the secret room, she pumped the well and water poured out of a neatly rounded metal pipe into the stone basin. It was warm, since it passed first through the metal pipes that ran beneath the kitchen fire. It was an interesting improvement. The small drainage hole in the center of the tub had to be plugged with a cloth. Once it was full she bathed then carefully dressed in clean silk undergarments and pulled back on her armor. It was comfortable enough. The small bathing room had a long bench that she used for sleeping. She lay down intending to sleep early, so that she wouldn’t be tired in the middle of the night, the darkest hours when she would go back to the Lord’s Solar and hold a vigil, waiting for the one she knew would come, sooner or later. The night was dark; the moon had yet to rise when the sound of her doorlock jiggling roused her. She knew she had not been asleep long. Dreah rose with the grace of a sleek cat and moved on silent feet to the door. Pulling her sword soundlessly, she yanked open the door and pulled the figure into her room slamming him against the wall with her sword blade at his throat. “My Lord!” Gui gasped. “What were you doing at my door?” she demanded suspiciously. “My Lord, there is no time for this,” said Sir Alfred frantically as he came into the room past Gui, closing the door behind him. “What is this about?” she demanded tersely still half sleep fogged but not showing it. She removed the sword tip from Gui’s throat. “The knights who deserted Sir Ivaniak, maybe sixty or more in all are within the walls,” said Sir Alfred. “What of my knights?” she asked quickly.

“Sir Hask, Sir Drake and Sir Lestek are all dead. The others have joined the Grayriver knights,” reported Gui. “What of Sir Rolf?’ she asked. “My Lord, he is the one who allowed them inside. He leads them against you,” said Sir Alfred. “They have already ransacked the lord’s solar. Gui and I were just returning from the village when it began. We managed to get here unseen, but they are searching for you as we speak. We must flee or we will die.” “How did you know where I was?” asked Dreah. “My Lord, I make a habit of knowing things,” said Sir Alfred. Just then someone jiggled the door lock. Sir Rolf’s voice was booming rapid orders on the other side. “Any door that doesn’t respond to the key, bust it down,” he called. A heavy object began banging hard on the door. “Damn,” she hissed. “How are we going to get out of this one?” she dashed over to the window. The stone that made up the wall was old and had worn deep groves around the stones. It went straight down and out of the castle into the fields beyond. It was also at least two hundred feet of vertical descent. “We will have to climb,” she said softly picking up her helmet and placing it on her head. “How in the name of arthritis am I supposed to do that lad?” said Sir Alfred. His hands were great knobby masses. He was smiling. “There is a better way.” “What?” she asked. “Like I said, I make it my business to know things,” he pulled aside a tapestry. Dreah expecting to see a secret door like the one in her lord’s solar at Darkstone Keep was terribly disappointed to see nothing but a solid stone wall. She sighed and raised an eyebrow. There was a heavy

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splintering at the door. Sir Alfred pressed a series of stones and a panel on the floor slid back beneath him and he fell. Dreah, reached out with lightning reflexes and caught him and pulled him out of the way of the hole. Gui moved over to examine the opening. “It looks like a tunnel, not very big though we’re going to have to crawl I think.” Another loud crack sounded from the door. “No time to lose, Alfred you take the lead.” The old knight quickly obeyed, looking somewhat sheepish for his blunder. He slipped into the hole. Dreah went after him; Gui followed. “You know that they will follow us,” said Gui. It was pitch black as they moved forward. “How did you know about this again?” asked Dreah. “I was a spy here in my youth,” Sir Alfred grunted. “I must say it was easier to do this forty years ago than it is now.” “Where does it lead?” she asked. “To the sewer.” “Sublime,” she said dryly, pulling herself along the passage. “Did you say slime?” asked Gui. “Not yet, but there will be,” she said banging her helmet into a particularly low hanging rock in the tight tunnel. Sounds behind them let them know the others were struggling to pursue them. They held a torch for light. “One good thing is that Sir Rolf will be too big to fit in here,” said Gui. “Yes,” said Sir Alfred. “But the better thing is, our pursuers have fire.” “How’s that better? It makes it easier for them to see us,” said Gui.

“I hope their lead doesn’t have a crossbow. It would really be shameful to get one in the ass.” “I would think you’d be more worried about getting one elsewhere,” said Dreah, taking a certain sadistic pleasure in hearing him moan in fear. “Hurry,” Gui hissed. Suddenly the tunnel sloped down rapidly and the stench became unbearable. Dreah fought against the revulsion and need to vomit. Gui didn’t fight against it too well and promptly added the fumes of his half digested dinner to the mix. They plummeted downward along a slimy passage into the river. It was no deeper than a man’s chest, but Sir Alfred had sunk and was already peeling off his hauberk and chain mail when Dreah came sliding down into the water after him. Gui landed on top of her slamming her down. She sputtered to the surface. “Dive!” cried Sir Alfred when a large ball of fire came shooting out of the tunnel. The three of them dove beneath the water and held their breath for a second while the fire roiled out from the hole. Then as quickly as it had appeared it disappeared. “Fools,” said Sir Alfred. “What was that?” gasped Dreah. “Sewage fumes,” said Sir Alfred. “They burn faster than oil. My guess is that our pursuers, at least the ones in the lead are charred. That will slow them down for sure. Quickly let’s move down the river.” They walked down river until they came to edge of the archway where it left the castle. They crawled through large crevices in the boulders into the unobstructed river. They peered out at the banks carefully searching for the watch. There was none. It was almost too easy. They moved through the dark moonlit water. Dreah looked up at

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the almost perfect orb of the moon. In a few nights it would be the full moon. She removed her helmet submerging the white feathers and moved into the shadow that the grassy bank cast on the water. Together the three of them moved down river where it meandered through the pastures and into the scraggly forest beyond. Once inside the treeline they got out of the water. “What now?” asked Giu. removing, his remaining plate armor and setting it aside. “We have no mounts,” said Dreah. “There is little else we can do but walk. If we stay here they will find us by morning.” Sir Alfred nodded and removed his chain mail and tossed it into the river. “It will take at least three days on foot, especially since we will have to be careful that we’re not seen. If we walk all night until morning, we might make it to the Wailing Woods. They won’t follow us into there.” They had already started walking beside the river, away from the castle. “Wailing woods?” Gui protested. “Do you know what kinds of– ” he cut himself off not wanting to sound wimpish. “The Wailing Woods, right,” said Dreah thoughtfully. “We can follow them south. It’s the long way, but they run into the borders of Darkstone Keep. And from there we can go through Lost in the Mist Forest.” “My Lord,” said Gui. “If I may say so, Sir Rolf is not going to be worried about violating your borders. He has just taken Grayriver Castle. What’s to stop him from taking Darkstone Keep next?” Dreah hissed. “My Lord, he’s right,” said Sir Alfred.

“I know,” she said evenly, walking faster. They traveled until the gray morning light dulled the sharp edge of night. They camped for a few hours without a fire then moved on. They traveled for two days nonstop through the woods until they reached the western edge of the Lost in the Mist Forest that bordered Darkstone Keep. They were only a few hours away from the shelter of home. Dreah pushed on harder, driving herself to the edge of endurance. Clouds moved in and the sky took on a heavy gray cast. A cold autumn rain fell, and Dreah’s leather armor was stiff and uncomfortable in the cold. White whiskers poked out of the heavy wrinkles on Sir Alfred’s tired face. They didn’t talk. The only sounds they made were those of wet leather and heavy feet sloshing through moss, breaking branches. It was mid afternoon when Sir Alfred suddenly stopped and clutched at his chest. “What is it?” asked Dreah coming up next to him. Sir Alfred didn’t answer. He merely sank to his knees. “Gui,” she ordered. They lowered the old knight onto the moss. “I’m just tired My Lord,” he gasped. “I’m getting a little old for this you know. You should leave me, go on. Darkstone Keep–near. You can send a mount back to retrieve me.” “No one is leaving anyone,” she said evenly. “You wouldn’t leave me. What sort of knight would I be if I left you? I am sure that my father wouldn’t look favorably on such an action in any case.” She smiled for his benefit. “We will rest here for a few hours.” She looked around for weed of nadim, something that she had seen her mother give as a remedy for chest pains in older people. “Start a fire,” she ordered Gui and then went in search of the weed. It was common in woods, which was fortunate, but it took her more than an hour to locate some. “We won’t be moving from this spot tonight,”

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she said thoughtfully and took out the leaves she had plucked for Sir Alfred. She crushed the leaves between her fingers and placed it beneath the old knight’s tongue. “What do you suppose is wrong with him?” asked Gui. “He’s old Gui. I should have thought of it before and found someplace more secure for him to rest.” “Will he recover?” “I don’t know,” she said worriedly looking at the ashen color on the old knight’s cheeks. His lips were very blue. She sat down with her back against the tree, exhausted. She closed her eyes and listened to the patter of raindrops on the leaves. Then without warning her fatigue overwhelmed her and she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Four Dane gazed at the mixture in the glass. It was the third time he had performed the experiment and each time the results were the same. The broach sat in the middle of the mixture glowing, and he knew what it meant. He knew who had sent the broach. He was sick with the knowledge. Could he tell Dreah? No, he decided. He would lie. He rubbed his temples, exhausted. He hadn’t slept in two days and tonight would be the full moon. He needed rest, but would probably get very little. Tomorrow he would ride to Grayriver Castle to tell Dreah that he knew nothing. He sighed and lay down on his bed, hoping he was tired enough to sleep through the pain of the night ahead. Tonight was the convergence, the first since they had made their wishes. He thought about what the faerie had said on that evening so long ago. Would she come and take back the power? Could she? Everything he had ever read about the magical power of fae when held by a human said it had to be given up freely. During this time he knew he should have stayed with Dreah. He closed his eyes and the room faded from his consciousness. While he slept. The full moon rose and the faerie moon on his arm started glowing. A sharp rap at the door brought him awake. He called out but there was no answer. A parchment slid beneath the door. He picked it up. Folded inside was a lock of black hair. He touched it and knew that it belonged to Dreah. His heart convulsed. On the page was the words Langhurst Bridge, it was signed with the symbol of a spider. Blood pulsed hot and furious through his veins. He knew, he felt the change coming, as it had so many other times. He looked out the

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window and the full moon was just visible over the horizon. Even as he turned to the door, his body twisted and crumbled and he stood half lame before it. *** “My Lord!” Dreah snapped awake. Hand on the hilt of her sword, she stumbled to her feet half asleep. She looked around the clearing. All was silent. She glanced down at Sir Alfred. He was awake and silently watching her. Gui was gasping he didn’t look well at all. “You should drink some water,” she said pulling off her canteen from where it dangled from her sword belt. “What devilry has been cast upon you My Lord? You no longer appear before my eyes as a man. These woods have cursed you? ” Dreah froze. Of course it was the full moon. The cloudy skies of the two previous nights had put it from her mind. Now it hung in the sky, a giant silver orb. They no longer saw her as a man. It was in her mind to lie to Gui, to tell him that he was hallucinating. If they were alone, that might work, but there would be no convincing Sir Alfred. She sighed. Her shoulders sank. “What you see is not a trick of your mind, Gui. I am as you see me now.” “What do you mean? What has happened to Lander? Are you some sort of witch?” cried Gui, drawing his sword. “No,” she sighed looking into Sir Alfred’s eyes. “Lander died nearly five years ago. I never met him. Lady Brianna killed my parents and brought me to the castle to replace him so that her husband wouldn’t kill her.” “That does not explain why you appeared to be a man not an hour ago and now a woman,” said Sir Alfred pointedly, though she could see

the wheels turning in his head. Dreah nodded. “I will tell you the truth if you care to hear the story. You can believe me or not. It is your choice. I’m weary of it.” Dreah launched into her story telling them everything, showing the glowing mark of the fae moon. She expected them to revile her as a deceitful wench, but when she was done telling her story they only sat in silence beneath the pale moonlight. “You are still of the blood of Farlair d’ Avar even if you were a bastard born bound servant,” said Sir Alfred. “And to tell you the truth, it makes me somewhat happy that Lady Brianna’s foul blood doesn’t flow through your veins.” They were all quiet for a few moments more. Dreah felt drained beyond belief. Alfred broke the silence. “No matter how you started, you are the greatest knight known to me. Female or not, you are the best swordsman I have ever trained. I’m glad he never knew his son died. Thank you for that.” Dreah smiled then and looked at Gui. His face flushed and he looked away from her. “I just wish you weren’t so–so beautiful,” he said. “It’s all strange. But you say you will be as we normally see you tomorrow?” “Once the moon sets, yes,” she said. Nearby there was a rustle in the bushes and then an arrow whizzed into the clearing imbedding itself into Gui’s shoulder. She leaped to her feet, sword drawn. Another arrow whizzed past and embedded itself into the bark of the tree next to her. There was a parchment attached to it. “What happened?” she asked looking rapidly around her into the woods. There was nothing. No sound.

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Gui coughed softly. “I didn’t see him.” Dreah looked down at Sir Alfred. “Someone saw us that’s for sure,” she said yanking the parchment from the tree and scanning the contents quickly in the moonlight. It was easy to read. She looked down at Gui. Her eyes dark and unreadable. She looked away from him. “I need to remove the arrow,” she said quietly. “What did the note say,” asked Sir Alfred. “She tossed the note down to the old knight. Gui’s lips were turning blue. She pulled out her dagger and stuck the tip of it into the flames of the fire. Sir Alfred started to get up to help her. “No Sir Alfred. You need to rest. I can do this. I have a little time yet,” she said retrieving another knife from her belt. She cut his thick padded under-tunic open around the base of the arrow then cut away his shirt to reveal his wound. It appeared to be a flesh wound, no bone involved, which was good, but the arrow had only penetrated about three quarters of the way through his shoulder if she was judging the length of the arrow properly. There were two ways for it to come out, one being to pull it out the way it went in the other to push it through the back cut off the tip of the arrow then pull the shaft out. She sat momentarily trying to recall what the best thing to do would be. She bared his other shoulder and felt around the muscle comparing it to the other shoulder to see whether or not it would hit bone if she shoved it the rest of the way through. “This is going to hurt,” she said. Gui licked his lips. “I know.” “Likely more than it did when it first went in.” “Yes,” he said, not wanting to show weakness. “Have you ever done this before?” Gui asked.

“Would it matter?” she asked pragmatically. “I guess not,” he sighed. Finally she was ready. She didn’t think that it was likely that she would hit bone by pushing it through and it would probably cause less damage than removing it the other way. She thought it would be better to take him by surprise, less likely that he would jerk around and tighten his muscles up. She fingered the shaft gently watching the squire’s face. He had closed his eyes and brought the hand of his left arm up and rested it on his forehead. Quickly and without warning she grabbed the shaft and drove it downward until she felt it hit a stone beneath him. Sir Gui let out a bloodcurdling scream and then gasped and cried at the same time. “Hold still.” she said and inspected the back side the tip of the arrow was showing, but it would need to be forced the rest of the way through. “Take a deep breath,” she ordered He did so and she forced the point through the rest of the way while he gasped in agony. She cut off the tip then stanched the blood flow with a piece of cloth she had torn from her tunic. “Sorry,” said Dreah. Gui’s face reddened in shame.“Please don’t apologize.” “There is no shame,” she said. “The pain is bad now. It will be worse later.” “I wonder why the shooter didn’t come up and finish me,” he asked. She looked at him sadly. “The arrow was poisoned. He didn’t need to,” she said quietly. He sank back weakly. “I will have to leave you two here for awhile. If I return, I should have the antidote to the poison with me.”

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“Is that what the note said? It demanded you to go somewhere without us to get an antidote?” asked Gui. She nodded sadly at the look of dawning horror on his face. He seemed so much younger than her right then, untainted by the blackness of hatred. “Don’t go! It’s a trap,” Sir Alfred protested. “If I don’t, Gui will die. He was shot because of me. I owe him a chance at least. The poison he gave Gui is fairly slow acting, but the antidote takes several days to prepare. Too long.” She looked down at the dark circles already forming beneath Gui’s eyes. “He knew that of course,” she added quietly “You know who the attacker is?” asked Sir Alfred. “Yes I do,” said Dreah, her face hard as granite, her eyes like gray stone in the firelight. “You shouldn’t go alone,” said Gui. “I’m coming with you.” “I need to go alone,” she said, “Milo– Land– er or– whoever, it’s likely that I’m a dead man already. At least let me die with honor. I can’t let a wo– you fight my battle while I cower here waiting to die by such an ignominious means as poison.” Gui Broke off at the look on her shadowed features. “Were you going to say woman?” she queried pulling out her sword, inspecting the shiny blade in the firelight. She re-sheathed it and then looked down at him again. “Yes I am a woman. Me being a man is an illusion, but my strength and skills are not. In your state you couldn’t keep up with me anyway.” As if to prove her right, he swayed and was forced to lean up against a tree for support. She looked at Sir Alfred. The old knight rose. “I should come with you.” “No Sir Alfred, someone needs to take care of Gui,” she said with

finality. When he made as if to protest, she held up a hand. “You must take him to Darkstone Keep. There is a possibility that Dane has a way to. . . to save Gui. That is if he hasn’t left for Grayriver–” she broke off with a pang in her chest. She was so close to making it back to the keep, and now this. “It’s my fight. Don’t worry. I’ve been preparing for this moment for years. I will not fail.” With that she turned from the campsite and walked briskly away. She knew the way. She could find it blindfolded. There was little hope for Gui. If only Spider had known, he didn’t need to poison Gui to get her to come. She needed no encouragement to come and face him. He had busily wove his trap not realizing how willing she was to tread the tangled lines to get to him, never dreaming how willing she was to enter his lair. It was time, time for her to drive his poison from her memories, time for revenge. Strange that he should choose Langhurst Bridge as the place to meet. The bridge where it all began. So be it. The moonlight cast its silver shadows down on her, lighting the way through the woods. When she emerged upstream from the forest, she found herself treading the same path that she had raced when Dane had fallen into the water. The wooden bridge had not changed much in the intervening years, except that it looked older, more worn. She stepped up onto the wet slimy surface. Her boots sounded loud in her ears. Then there stood Spider stepping up from the shadows to stand on the far side. The silver moonlight gleamed off of his armor. The cutwork spider shown in clear dark relief. “You came,” he said mildly. “Was there any doubt?” Dreah demanded, her own voice oddly hollow in her ears. He laughed. The cold sound of satisfaction. “You look beautiful

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tonight my lady,” he said mocking her. She took a step closer on the bridge. The argent moonlight illuminated the silver phoenix feathers on her helmet. She drew her sword. And he laughed and came forward, his own sword gleaming. Dreah was oddly empty, cold. After all this time, nursing her vengeance, she felt nothing when finally faced with the chance. She swept down easily ducking his first swing. And whipped around like pure lightning, cutting the lace that held his thigh plate in place. It fell with a loud clank onto the old wood. He swung around and cut the air above her head with his blade. Again she drove forward slicing with her sword smoothly and this time the blade whispered over chain mail. “Very good,” he said laughing at her. She swung again moving like a whip. She leaped and twisted coming down at him with her sword, slicing the air in a perfect pass of darkness, and she cut deeply into his shoulder. Again he laughed. There was no blood. She was momentarily shocked. He swung his sword and cut deeply into her side. Dreah fell and rolled away as he stalked over to her. “Who are you? She gasped as she bled from a wound in her side. The pain was excruciating. She swung again cutting his leg this time. He didn’t even attempt to parry. He raised his arms up in the air and a roar cut the night in twain. He was a black silhouette against the silver moon. His helmet burst from his head; his armor blasted apart and an enormous black spider, fangs unsheathed. She stood transfixed, caught in horror, as he drove them down into her mid-section. The pain was terrible, but nothing like the ache in her soul. There could be no vengeance. Spider was a demon. “Enough my pet,” came the clear soft voice, a voice she recognized.

Amatrice. She moved to stand above Dreah. Dreah’s eyes watered with pain and shock. “Why?” she whispered through numbing lips. “Have you not guessed?” she hissed pulling out a disk so black it seemed to suck the moonlight in and devour it. It dangled from a silver chain swinging softly. “Power,” she said evenly. “I have no power,” said Dreah panting. The spider still stood over her. It’s terrible fangs ready to strike her again. “Yes you do. You have the power of my enchantment. I am the faerie you once captured. Foolish mortals sought to be gods. Now you will release the power you forced me to give up. I want it back and the only way for me to get it is for both of you to give it up freely to me on the night of the faerie moon. Tonight is the convergence where the moon passes through the center of the triangle or had you forgotten. Just like the day you first captured me. You have been punished for your impudence, now you will return what you stole.” “What have you done with Amatrice,” she gasped. The woman raised her brow. “Spider killed her shortly after you arrived at Darkstone Keep. I took her place.” “Why?” Dreah gasped vomiting. The pain from the fang wounds was excruciating. “Take your power. I never truly wanted it. Take it and let me die in peace,” she said gasping. Amatrice laughed and held out a dark disk. “Touch the stone and say these words. “From the moon I have taken, to the moon I give, forever fleeting the power, a mortal life to live.” Dreah grabbed the cold stone. “Wait in exchange I want the potion to cure Gui,” she begged. Amatrice smiled. “I thought you might.” She laid a vial on the

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ground next to Dreah. Dreah closed her eyes and touched the faerie moon and repeated. “From the moon I have taken. . . ” Amatrice laughed and pulled the faerie moon away, half of it glowed bright silver. The other half was still solid black. “You, I always knew would be willing to give it up. It is the other who is in question. So now we will see what he chooses, power or love. Will he give it up for you? Will he live life as a cripple with comparatively limited magical powers in order to save your pathetic existence?” A rider approached. “Ah perfect timing,” she said in a sultry voice and reached out a hand to stroke the enormous spider. “Patience, my pet.” Dane rode up slowly. The scene before him a was a nightmare. The lock of Dreah’s hair was clutched in his crippled hand. His good hand held Long Leap’s reins. The giant spider stood poised over Dreah. His fangs clicked together in anticipation. Amatrice stood by his side. “Come master mage,” she said languidly. “Come and join our party.” “Kneel,” Dane commanded softly. Long Leap responded leaning down. Dane climbed painfully from the demon rider’s back and limped forward. Amatrice stepped up to meet him. His hunched and bent form was not even as tall as hers. “It is good of you to come,” she said reaching down to lift his chin. She traced a soft finger down the scar along his cheek. He held out the black braid. “Ah yes, I thought that would do the trick,” she smiled congenially. “You know who I am don’t you?” “I have guessed it,” he said.

“Then you know my price.” He nodded wordlessly. “Can I speak to her?” Amatrice nodded and he walked past. The spider reared up, baring its fangs as Dane approached. “Easy my pet,” cooed Amatrice. “Let him pass.” Dane knelt down by Dreah’s side. Her eyes were glassy from the pain of the two puncture wounds in her abdomen. They were fatal wounds. He smoothed the hair back from her face. “Dane?” she whispered. “Yes, Dreah, it’s me,” he said. “I gave up the enchantment,” she said shivering. “I know,” he said quietly. “I’m dying, Dane. All this time I wanted revenge for something that I brought to myself. At least now I can die in peace.” Dane closed his eyes and stood, facing Amatrice. She held out the half darkened disk. “What do you say mage? Give up your enchantment and I will heal her. Her life in exchange for your power.” “No don’t,” Dreah gasped. “I don’t want you to live that way because of me.” Dane looked down at her and then reached out with his good hand and touched the faerie moonstone. “You know that a bargain made in such a way cannot be broken,” he said. “I know,” said Amatrice, “Are you ready?” Dane looked down at Dreah and spoke the words easily, words that he knew killed a dream he had nurtured half his life. “From the moon I have taken, to the moon I give, forever fleeting the power, a mortal life to live.”

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Light burst from the other half of the fae moon. The other half of the moonstone glowed and the faerie smiled. The spider clicked its fangs and Amatrice knelt down by Dreah’s side. Her amber eyes glowed an unearthly shade. She touched the wounds on Dreah’s stomach and the lady knight screamed with the pain of the healing. When she was finished, Dreah lay gasping in the aftermath. The faerie stood looking down at her. Then she sprouted bright glowing wings and rose up radiating light over them so bright that for a moment it appeared as if it were daylight. “I have saved her life. That fulfills the bargain, but I could easily take her life away once again, but I will not. I wish for you to live on and suffer in remembrance.” This she spoke with a hollow echo that faded even as she did above the water. The spider vanished with her and they stood there on Langhurst Bridge watching the water rush beneath it. It had been years since they stood in this spot together, yet it might only have been moments ago.

Chapter Twenty-Five “There you are,” said Dreah, leaves crunching beneath her boots as she picked her way over the stones at the far edge of the orchard. The leaves had all fallen in the three weeks since the full moon. Dane was sitting with his back to her. His cowl was pulled low over his head. He had spent most of his time sequestered, alone. “Do you need something?” he asked blandly. She sat beside him on the rock. Her studded armor made a series of clicks on the rock as she situated herself. She had left her sword belt and gauntlets in the practice courtyard. Now she wished that she had worn something softer looking, something more suitable to the mood. “Yes actually. I wanted to talk to you.” “About what?” he asked. His throat constricted around his words and he looked out over the landscape. They were on a hill above the keep and the fields and forest melted away below them beyond the castle walls in a panorama. It would be beautiful when it snowed, but right then it was a series of brown patches and twisted barren trees. Still the pale orange of twilight cast a dusky softness on the far horizon that stretched out over the glistening sea. She touched his arm and he looked down at her fingers then into her eyes for one brief instant before looking away again. “Dane, please talk to me.” “There’s nothing to say Dreah,” he said tonelessly. “Please I know it’s not easy, but everyone has accepted you,” she said. “They have accepted me because of you, Dreah. They love you. Everyone loves you, even– look I’m happy things have worked out for you.”

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“For us, Dane. I know it will never be like it was, but maybe we can still have a good life.” “You can,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Do you blame me for this?” she asked. He sighed. “No of course not. You suffered enough Dreah. It’s my turn to suffer.” “Dane I– I still love you. I want – ” she hesitated at the closed expression in his sharp green eyes. “I want us to be together. I want to marry you.” He removed her hand from his arm. “That can never be,” he said sharply. Her face fell. “I thought it was what you wanted.” “It was,” he said flatly. “Not now, not anymore.” “But why?” she asked. “Because when you look at me there’s pity in your eyes, not desire, not like before,” he said with anger driven by pain. “It’s not pity, Dane,” she protested weakly, knowing how hollow it sounded even to her own ears. How could she not pity him? How could anyone not pity him seeing what he was reduced to? Such a great mage now this. “Isn’t it?” he said bitterly. “We have always been honest with each other. Don’t start lying to me now.” “I’m sorry,” she said, tears welled in her eyes. That seemed to be happening a lot more lately. “Please forgive me.” “Dreah,” he said reaching out with his good hand touching her shoulder gently. “I don’t mean to hurt you.” “I know,” she said, covering his hand with hers. “You’re hurting now I know that.”

“Yes, I am,” he said. “My Lady,” said Sir Gui coming up to them. He, like all of the knights and keep people had easily accepted that Amatrice had been a witch who had cursed her and Dane. They didn’t know the truth about her birthright. They all believed that she was the girl child Rowena, born to Brianna one year after Lander, thought to be dead all these years. It had been Sir Alfred’s idea to concoct that tale, and while she didn’t like deception, it was a very small one compared to what it had been. “What is it Sir Gui?” she asked. He bowed slightly. His look was warm and she recognized it as male interest. In fact her manner of dressing in her armor seemed to attract quite a bit of unwanted male attention. A number of the castle ladies had tried to get her to dress “more appropriately,” but she had refused the offer since dresses looked cumbersome and would be impossible to practice weaponry in. Besides she was sure it would not be good for discipline and undermine her authority. “There’s a large contingency approaching,” he said quickly. “Grayriver?” she asked. “We aren’t certain.” Dreah looked back at Dane wishing there had been time for them to talk more. It had been the first time that they had really had any kind of conversation since the night of the full moon. She turned and followed Gui back down into the practice courtyard where Sir Gilbert was waiting for her. “How many mounted Sir Gilbert?” Dreah asked, as she ascended the steps from the outer bailey two at a time up to the ramparts. “It is hard to say as they are still hidden behind that rise, but I think

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maybe a hundred or so.” “And on foot?” “I don’t know,” Sir Gilbert stammered, taking in Dreah’s scowling countenance. Dreah looked down to hook her sword belt into place. She leaned into one of the purloins and strained her eyes to see into the twilight. “Who would mount an attack at this ungodly hour. The least they could do was wait till morning,” Dreah said. Sir Gilbert chuckled. “Yes My Lady.” “Any idea who this could be?” she questioned thoughtfully. “No, and they are too far away and with the orange cast to the sky, it’s hard to make out any banner colors.” “Perhaps it isn’t an attack force at all. Maybe a large group of knights seeking food and shelter or maybe mercenaries looking for work,” she said not really believing a word of it. She raised the looking glass. “Take this to the watchtower and get me an accurate count,” she ordered, thrusting the glass into Gui’s hand. She watched him run quickly to the steps that lead to the tall tower above the gate. She then turned to Sir Gilbert. “Position the archers facing south. Set them to boiling water. Have the children gather stones and have Sir Rolen organize the other defenses.” “Yes, My Lady,” Sir Gilbert said and left to carry out her orders. He was reliable and she knew that her orders would be followed to the letter, but he was no Rolf d’Levarrone and she was worried that her former vassal was the one leading the approaching forces. Ever since he took Grayriver Castle, she had known that it would only be a matter of time before he attacked her at Darkstone.

Dreah turned and walked the length of the ramparts straining to see the large force ride into view. She had her hands clasped behind her back as was her habit. Sir Alfred came up and held her helmet out to her. “You might need this,” he said. She thrust it on her head and whipped her long black ponytail out and braided it down her back. It glistened in the blushing twilight. She heard Dane’s telltale walk as he approached her from behind. “There are about three hundred of them mounted, three wagons, ten or twelve on foot and what appears to be a lady in a covered litter,” he said quietly. He had divined that much. He might have lost the most powerful of his magical abilities, but he still possessed the magical power that he had been born with and all the arcane knowledge he had learned. “Three hundred,” Dreah breathed, “So many.” She had less than a hundred knights in the castle. “The mounted ones,” she asked, “Are they all knights? Or an entourage of nobles.” He closed his eyes and concentrated for a second. “It would appear they are armed for battle.” “Go now,” she ordered him. “You should get to the inner bailey.” “No,” he protested, “I will not cower inside there like a woman, no offence intended.” “Dane please! It will be harder for me to think if I have to worry about your safety too.” Dane sighed. “Don’t coddle me Dreah. I am a man. I know I no longer have the same power, but I’m not helpless. Let me fight at your side,” he said with quiet authority. On the inside she flushed with pleasure. There was no one in the

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world she would rather have standing beside her. But she was afraid for him, afraid to lose him. She turned to look back out at the slowly approaching force. Until they all stood silent and formidable on the other side of the moat. The drawbridge had been raised and the portcullis was down. Darkstone Keep was a small but well fortified demesne. It was perched high upon the sea cliff. A pounding surf protected one side and another side had a steep slope littered with shifty rocks and gravel that led up to the walls. The only conceivable way to approach the castle was on the field in front that was protected by a wide deep moat. The only way to enter the castle was by the drawbridge that forced them to approach in no greater numbers than three abreast. But the very things that made it difficult to penetrate would also make it easy to lay siege to. It was too small a castle to be self sufficient as its walls did not encompass the village. The enemy would only have to wait until the stores in the keep dwindled. Dreah recognized some of the flags now and one in particular that flapped heavily in the evening breeze. “Grayriver!” she hissed. A single mounted knight had broken away from the main force and was approaching. His horse cantered up the road to the edge of the moat at the spot where the drawbridge would be if it were lowered. Lord Rolf d’ Levarrone! Traitor! He wore a bright green tunic over his mail, emblazoned with a long red sword. He was known to many as Rolf Longsword, a name he earned, fighting for the king. Behind him, in the ranks of his men, she spotted Sir Schelts. Once they were comrades in arms. There had been respect between them if it had never been an easy friendship. She should have known

that he wouldn’t be content to be second in command forever. Well good riddance to Grayriver Castle anyway. Why was he here to take Darkstone Keep when Grayriver was much larger? Did he intend to take back the servants. And who were all of those other people with him? So many flags. At least three other colors. Dreah moved to the edge of the ramparts. They had several archers ready to fire but she would not act cowardly and duck for cover. “Lord Lander d’Avar of Darkstone Keep. I have brought you your betrothed, the lady Josellen d’ Levaronne. We have arrived and entreat you to open your gates and thus greet your bride properly.” Lord Rolf bellowed. Dreah gasped. It couldn’t be! She had not yet received a reply from the king. She had written to ask for an annulment to the contract. And who was this Josellen d’ Levarrone? There was nothing about her in the king’s message. Likely she was Rolf’s sister! Some sort of attempt to force a peace between them, no doubt. “Sir Alfred, she whispered quietly, tell him I have a throat malady and cannot talk and that you need to speak for me.” “Lord d’Avar is sick and unable to speak but wishes me to convey his message for him.” Lord Rolf nodded. “What should I say?” asked Sir Alfred. “Tell him I was lately betrothed to Lady Allanar of Warrallen. I know of no contract with his sister.” Sir Alfred relayed the message. “The king has agreed to sign the annulment you requested and has subsequently betrothed you to my sister and ordered that the marriage take place forthwith. I am well aware of your sodomite ways as are

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many among us, but the wedding will still take place.” Dreah gasped. Lord Rolf continued. “You may be happy to know that my sweetfaced sister had wished to dedicate herself as a virgin cleric to the temple of the goddess Terusa, therefore she will be happy if you leave her chaste, which I have assured her is quite likely. In the contract is of course the addendum that should you bear no children between you, my son will inherit both Darkstone Keep and Grayriver Castle.” “Tell him that it is odd that a wedding entourage has such a large mounted force. Suggest to him that wedding parties usually consist of more servants than soldiers?” Dreah said hastily stalling for time. Sir Alfred once again relayed the message. “It is well known Lord d’Avar, your aversion to women. However it is the king, who wishes that it be done. She likes it no better than you, but it is your fate. You are bound by order of the king and I will not fail to carry out my liege lord’s orders. The show of force is to ensure your compliance.” “Tell him I will send a request to the king for him to review our contract,” she said. She desperately needed time to think. Of course, Lord Rolf had no idea that Lord d’Avar was really a she. Still she had always known it would only be a matter of time. Yet if she refused now, she would risk a fight that she could scarcely hope to win. Looking out at the banners she knew it would be more than a fight with Grayriver that she would be provoking. She could not put the lives of the castle folk at risk in order to protect her lie. She swallowed looking out at the mounted force. They stood still in the night. Torchlight burned among them lighting the column that wound into the distance. They were silent and ominous except for the occasional stamping of hoofs, and clinking

armor. “The king figured you might say that,” he said solemnly, “And I have with me his reply to any protest you would make.” He held up a rolled parchment. The devious traitor had thought of everything. Dreah swallowed hard. She didn’t need to see what was written on that piece of paper to know its contents. “Dreah,” said Dane quietly and she leaned down so he could speak for her ears alone. “Inform them that you are weak and unable to continue this conversation right now. Then before they get inside the castle you will lock yourself in the Lord’s solar. It’s possible to feign illness especially given the past history of long illness for Lander. We might even feign death for Lander.” He twisted his ring on his finger meaningfully, tapping the stone. She smiled. “Thank you my clever friend.” “Tell him that I am ill and must go to my chamber to lie down,” she said to Sir Alfred. “Also there is no point in trying to keep them out if we are to feign complicity. Have the kitchens prepare food and arrange for places for the guests to sleep.” He nodded. “I sure hate to allow the traitor in the gates, My Lady.” “Yes, but he is with emissaries from the king. Unless I want to battle the king, I will need to capitulate. It is obvious the king desires peace between our two lands otherwise he wouldn’t have betrothed Rolf’s sister to me. Rolf would do nothing to jeopardize his claim to Grayriver Castle.” Sir Alfred nodded and relayed the message.

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Chapter Twenty-Six A little while later in her chamber, Dreah paced looking every now and then out the corner of her window at the crowd of tents set up in the courtyard and bailey. She couldn’t see the orchard from her room, but she was sure that it was filled with colorful round tents as well. She paced again and then stepped over to the door that led into Dane’s chamber. She hadn’t entered there since they came back after the night of the convergence. She no longer felt welcome in his room. He had become withdrawn and distant in ways that he never had before. It seemed to her that as the burden of her vengeance lifted, his burden had increased. She no longer felt a burning desire for revenge. The spider was a demon, one controlled by forces greater than any she had the capacity to fight. She was freer than she had been in a very long time. If only Dane hadn’t been reduced back to being a cripple she would be happy. She knocked softly. There was no sound on the other side of the door. No invitation. She hesitated poised to knock once more, but then turned away. As she did, the door opened and there he stood hunched over and leaning on a walking stick. She stood and stared at him for a moment, silent, waiting. “I can prepare the spell,” he said softly. “But I am unsure how well it will work with my diminished power.” She smiled slightly. “Do your best Dane, that’s all I can ask. How do you think we should go about it?” He held out a blown glass potion bottle. “If you take this it will produce vomiting and will do much to convince anyone who comes in that you are ill.” “Yes, but anyone who enters the chamber is bound to notice that I’m

a woman!” “I have thought of that also. There is this cream. If you rub it on your face it will produce a temporary beard. Sometimes kings have sorcerers prepare such things to disguise spies and the like. If you rub it on your face, it will go far in disguising the smoothness of your jaw,” he said looking up, his eyes grew sad for a second, or Dreah thought maybe she imagined it. “We will have to bind your breasts as well.” She blushed at the thought of him assisting her with such a thing. “Winsome should be able to help you with that,” he added hastily. “Also if you wear a padded shirt like the under-tunics that many of the knights wear beneath their mail shirts it will make it even harder for them to see and will give you added bulk. And here,” he said producing yet another vial this one in a blue blown glass container. “Place a single drop of this in a glass of water about four times a day. It will produce hoarseness that will disguise your female voice.” “The faerie moon enchantment sure made this a lot easier,” she said half exasperated. “Yes it did,” he said quietly. She wished that she hadn’t said anything about the enchantment. “I’m worried Dane. If this doesn’t work what will happen? What would they do to me, to us?” “I don’t know Dreah,” he said thoughtfully. “Will you apply the beard cream?” she asked. He smiled. “If you wish.” He took some cream from the jar and placed it onto his crippled palm. Then using his good hand, he dabbed the cream and applied it to her face. “This itches,” she said squirming uncomfortably.

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“You can probably get away with not seeing anyone tonight, but tomorrow someone will be demanding to see you. There should be at least a half-inch growth by tomorrow morning.” “I sure hope it isn’t permanent,” she said half worried, half playfully trying to get him into a lighter mood. “It will last only about two days then fall out. You have to re-apply the cream tomorrow,” he said. Once he was finished he set the tube in a small chest along with the blue bottle for her throat and voice, and the amber bottle containing the vomiting liquid. “I will bring Winsome to you. Fortunately our ring locks still work, otherwise someone might be able to enter uninvited. I– ” He looked away. “I don’t have much in the way of that kind of power anymore.” She swallowed and looked away from him. That night she lay down unable to sleep. Sounds of merriment filtered up from the courtyard. By the sounds of it there were several ladies among the entourage. Dreah listened and wished that she was far away, somewhere that her and Dane could be happy. A place and world that contained only the two of them. No responsibilities, no keep to run, no bride to avoid and, she thought acidly as she scratched her chin, definitely no beard! It was mid- morning, right on cue, when the emissaries started to demand to see Lord d’Avar. Winsome had helped Dreah bind her breasts and tie on a thick padded shirt beneath a bed robe. The swell of her breasts was not really apparent beneath it. Especially with the folds of the robe artfully arranged down her front. A scraggly beard had sprung up on her face overnight and sent Winsome into a giggling fit when she saw it. She drank some water with a drop of the fluid for her

voice and thought that perhaps there was no need for the vomiting solution as this tasted bad enough to do the trick, but she took some anyway just to be sure and went into an unpleasant gagging fit that left the room with the definite smell of sickness. Winsome also came up with the idea to place a cowl on her head which further disguised the womanly shape of her face. The emissaries entered the room. Lord Merivak was among them. Lord Rolf was there as well with a definite glint of amusement in his eyes. His sister came in quietly keeping her pious eyes downcast. She was dressed in a beautiful green silk gown and was delicate, a veritable opposite of her large brusque warrior brother. Lord Merivak presented Dreah with the parchment from the king and she made a purposefully weak gesture to Dane to take it and read it. Lord Rolf’s eyes sharply inspected the mage in his changed form. His keen eyes narrowed on him and on Dreah. “It seems that there has been an accident of some sort,” Lord Rolf said provocatively. “What do you mean?” asked Sir Alfred. “The mage has injured himself,” Lord Rolf said pointedly referring to his crippled status. “Yes it is an ailment,” said Dreah hoarsely and then she coughed for emphasis on her illness, knowing the affect that would have on the group. Most of them scattered from the room in fear of catching some disease. Rolf was not so gullible. “Really, how interesting. Is it fatal?” he asked. “We don’t know,” said Sir Alfred uncomfortably. Dane had said nothing while they talked. His sharp eyes had scrutinized the parchment. “The king is insisting on the marriage,” said Dane.

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“Perhaps in a day or two,” said Dreah with her hoarse voice gasping weakly and then vomiting once again. Lady Josellen curtsied deeply. “My Lord I am a healer. I was studying the arts in preparation to serve the goddess. I consider it my sacred duty as your betrothed and as a servant of Terusa to tend your illness.” There were general murmurs of assent among the group that had remained in the room. “I assure you that is not necessary,” Dreah gasped. “I have my mage. He is a skilled healer.” “Of course,” Josellen replied, “But since he is also ill, I offer my services to him as well.” “That will not be necessary My Lady,” said Dane smoothly. The lady shrank back a little from the strange light of power in his green eyes. “Of course it will be as you wish, but I must insist upon tending to my own betrothed. I will not interfere with what you are doing. I mean only to help and of course provide comfort to the ill. He should rest now that the formalities are taken care of.” There was not a lot of protest that they could make to that so they all fell silent. “That settles it then,” said Merivak wanting an excuse to get out of the sickroom. “Rest now Lord d’Avar and let your lovely betrothed give you what comfort she may.” With that he turned and left and most everyone else followed. Lord Rolf paused at the door, and turned back to her. “My Lord I only did what any ambitious knight without an inheritance would do. You already had Darkstone Keep. The people at Grayriver have welcomed me. We will be brothers after this. I hope we can let the past

be forgiven.” Dreah nodded wordlessly. She wanted to tell him to go to the Pit of Despair, but there was no sense in starting an argument that would be irrelevant in a few days when they laid her to rest in the family tomb. Then her and Dane would leave, maybe go to Craemira. “My Lord,” said Josellen fussing over Dreah. She ordered hot water and asked servants to bring herbs. The lady obviously thrived on caring for sick people and no amount of protesting on her patient’s part would drive her away. The trouble was not long in starting. “What have you given him to relieve the vomiting?” Josellen asked briskly insisting upon changing the sheets to the bed and pillowcases, while Dreah sat in a chair with a flurry of servants moving in and out of the lord’s solar. Dane was smooth though and easily rattled off the names of several herbs that he had tried to no avail. “Not even elixir of cobeles worked?” Lady Josellen asked mildly surprised. “Alas no,” sighed Dane dryly. “I must admit that I find no fault with your course of treatment,” said Lady Josellen fluffing up a pillow and ordering a fresh pitcher of water. “And what for his throat malady?” Again Dane gave an impressive list of botanicals and other treatments, and once again the lady was mildly impressed. “I have never tried hozel mushroom for that before,” she said. “Did you get any response.” “Not in this case, but I have noted that it works on young children when they get the white pustules in the throat,” he said honestly. “How interesting,” said the lady assisting Dreah back to the freshly

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made bed. “You have been doing a good job mage, and I must say I am rather pleasantly surprised. I had heard of you, and I must admit that I had expected something different.” She had the grace to blush and look away. “Perhaps you might try some whey and relan. It usually helps with the pain of such bone illnesses as yours.” Dane didn’t say anything, as he had tried those and dozens of others. The lady made herself at home in the lord’s solar. Clearly she was going to take this duty of nursing Dreah very seriously. As nightfall drew near, Dreah began to worry. Already she was brushing several hair strands from the front of her robe where they were falling out. Her throat was completely fine and she had to fake not being able to talk at all. She ate some soup at Josellen’s prompting and then attempted to throw it up by sticking her finger down her throat which almost succeeded in getting her caught. “You see,” said Josellen tucking the blankets around her tightly pressing them down around her and revealing the swell of her breasts. Dreah shrugged her shoulders forward to hide it. “Already you appear improved,” she said happily. “Perhaps you just needed a woman’s touch.” Dane had finally been forced to go to bed and Dreah was left alone with the efficient lady. She kept wondering when the woman would tire and leave, but she didn’t appear in any way exhausted from all her efforts. She boiled more water and tossed in some leaves and stirred in some honey then bathed Dreah’s forehead with a rosy smelling water. Dreah drank the tea conscious all the while of her itching shedding beard. She needed to reapply the cream. “You know My Lord, I think you would be quite handsome and feel much better if I shaved your face,” Lady Josellen said thoughtfully.

Dreah nearly gagged on a mouthful of the hot tea and swallowed it painfully wincing from the burn as it traveled down her windpipe. “Perhaps tomorrow,” Dreah suggested. “I am getting very sleepy.” Taking another drink in an attempt to hide her shedding beard, she held the cup close to her face. Lady Josellen smiled then. “Of course you are my dear betrothed. That tea had enough sleeping herb to rest a warhorse.” Dreah barely had enough time to digest that information when the lady’s face blurred and she fell asleep, comatose to the world.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven Dreah floated back to consciousness slowly, wavering in and out of sleep for some time before she sat up. The sun was already well into the sky. One quick glance around her chamber revealed that she was alone. She rose quickly and stretched then went to the door to magic lock it. It was easily mid-morning. Her beard was almost entirely gone. She dreaded what she needed to do next. The beard cream would have to be re-applied with haste. She had no idea how she would explain its irregularity. She would also have to take the throat medicine and the vomiting potion. Her stomach roiled painfully at the thought. She was half starved as it was. She pulled open the drawer where they had stowed the potions and it was empty. Blood rushed to her face and warmed her ears. Had the lady found it? Had the servants cleared it away thinking it was useless? Had Dane come back in and taken it out for safekeeping? She rushed to the adjoining door and opened it. He was nowhere in his chamber. She moved to the cabinets where he kept all his herbs and potions. There were hundreds of them. All of them were labeled in Craemirian script. She had no idea what they were! She looked around for it. Nothing! She went back to her chamber and paced for awhile. What was she going to do? She itched her face. She was unbelievably cruddy. She moved to the washbasin and soaped a cloth then scrubbed her face then rinsed it with the good smelling rose water. As she dried her skin, the last few scraggy hairs rubbed off onto the towel. Her skin was smooth and hairfree once again. She then pulled off her robes and the padded under tunic and unbound her breasts. Heaving a sigh of relief. She used a cloth to wipe down the rest of herself. She was clumsily attempting to

rebind her breasts when suddenly loud banging noises and shouting erupted in Dane’s room. She dropped the binding cloth and picked up the robe throwing it on over her head. There was shouting now and the sound of splintering wood. She grabbed her sword and yanked open the door. Dane was standing at the far side of the room. His ring glowed on his hand. In the doorway were several knights. Lord Rolf and Lord Merivak along with four others were advancing on the mage. Dreah raced into the room placing herself between them and Dane. The knights all stopped with looks of shock on their faces. Dreah stood there holding her sword, poised to fight. Her face was smooth her robes fell down her womanly curves and her hair cascaded in a riotous mass down her shoulders and back. She was clearly a woman and a bewitchingly beautiful one at that. “What is this? Who are you lady?” asked Lord Merivak. “You will not harm the mage,” said Dreah forcefully. Rolf merely smiled and raised an eyebrow. Lord Merivak was impatient. “Put down the sword before you injure yourself.” “I assure you, that if you come any closer, I will kill you,” she said softly menacing, her eyes cold and level. Sir Merivak gave a short laugh. “That is almost amusing, but you have no idea what you’re saying. This mage is under arrest for attempting to poison the lord of this keep. He was using his herb lore to make Lander d’Avar sick. This was discovered by the lady Josellen. He will be made to stand trial for his crime.” “A trial,” she laughed shortly. “You mean a mage burning!” “Take the sword from her,” Lord Merivak ordered two of the knights.

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She raised her sword. The knights hesitated at the look of deadly promise in her steely eyes. They were both former knights who had served with her and even though the rest of her was altered, they recognized Lander d’Avar staring out at them and they were afraid. “Cowards!” Merivack hissed and stepped forward boldly with his broadsword at the ready. Before he was even in striking range Dreah whirled with blinding speed slicing through the air, and cleaved Sir Merivak’s beard neatly as the tip of her sword stopped a hair’s breadth from his jugular. Dreah smiled ominously. “Now the others will back out of the room, or your royal blood will stain this carpet.” Almost instantly three crossbow bolts fired through the air at her chest. Halfway to her they split apart and clattered to the floor. Dane was standing directly behind her, his ring glowed red over his finger. “Devilry,” hissed one of the knights. “I didn’t know you could do that,” said Dreah, heart still pumping madly. “It wasn’t the dramatic explosion I was going for, but it worked,” he said wryly. “Correct me if I’m wrong in this but I believe that this woman is the person we know as Lander d’Avar,” said Lord Rolf easily, smiling with amused satisfaction. “A very astute observation,” said Dreah mockingly. “Witchcraft,” said Sir Shelts. “I always knew it.” “It was not witchcraft that deprived you of your hand, Sir Shelts. That was sword craft,” said Dreah. “This might be considered witchcraft though,” said Dane retrieving a fist full of wherrapple pollen, he blew across it whispering some words

and a huge yellow cloud of smoke caused the knights to cough and gag. “Quickly,” said Dreah grabbing his hand and half dragging his limping form through the door into her chamber. It clicked shut. She ran to the window looking down. It was fairly clear. She yanked her sheets off her bed and tore them. Dane realizing her intent tied them together as fast as his hands allowed. Axes were already going to work on the door that adjoined their chambers. Dane was clearly in pain, but there was no hope for it. They had to get down the rope. “Dreah I can’t hold my weight on a rope. I will slow you down,” he said. “You go! Make your escape. I will do what I can to hold them off. Take Long Leap. They will never catch you.” “No! No way!” she cried emphatically as she yanked on her boots. She grabbed her sword belt loosening it’s girth and looped it around her waist, then she pulled him tightly up against her and clicked it into place securing them together. “Hold onto me,” she commanded then eased her way out the window walking down the outer wall holding onto the rope. A crowd of onlookers stood by watching puzzled. She dropped onto the flagstones and undid the sword belt. Dane was wheezing heavily. Footsteps sounded loudly in the great hall. Rolf and Merivak were shouting orders. “Dane get to the stables and bring Long Leap. I will hold them off while you do. Meet me on the other side of the drawbridge.” Dane didn’t hesitate to do her bidding. It would take him long enough as it was to get to the stable and he would only slow her down if he stayed with her. She could fight like a demon when she was cornered, and he knew it. Dreah moved to the exit. Sir Wilfurd was the first out the door. He swung and she dipped down and sliced sideways across his mid-section

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cutting into his mail and grazing his skin. He fell back somewhat terrified by her speed and agility as the blade whipped and gleamed around her. She took on six others who had the unfortunate experience of being among the first out the door. She heard Long Leap thunder out of the stables on the far end then Dane was surrounded by knights and fighting his own battle using what magic he could muster. She backed in that direction as she fought the knights. If only she could reach him they might make their escape. But then Rolf came blazing out of the entrance exuding authority. He came forward unafraid. “Leave the wench to me,” he bellowed. The other knights backed off as Rolf moved in. He swung fast and hard. Dreah ducked and rolled on the flagstone coming up onto her knees. She pulled her long dagger and crossed it and her sword above her head in time to catch his downward swing. Then she brought her boot crashing into his knee. He was forced to take a step back. She leaped to her feet and pressed the attack with her sword flashing. She took long leaping strides swinging her sharp blade so fast that it looked like glittering tinsel waving around her in the air. Rolf was forced to back up as she pressed forward. Then he swung his broadsword, whizzing it past her, cutting into her shoulder. She swung even as he did cutting him in the thigh. “You will learn your place wench,” he hissed, pulling off his helmet tossing it onto the stones. He swung his sword at her again, this time it grazed the leather on her side, but did little more than a scratch. He swung again several times, missing. She whipped her blade in and cut him lightly on the cheek and again in the arm. He was fast and strong, but she was faster and they both knew that the match was slightly uneven. He was growing tired, while she had incredible stamina. She

still moved with grace and style on light feet seemingly unflustered, not even winded. Rolf had begun to sweat from his exertions. His mail and armor were heavy, his broadsword easily ten times as heavy as her light Creamirian sword. She heard Long Leap’s whinnies of protest as Dane fought off his attackers. She had only to finish Rolf and they could make it out of there. She circled her opponent and he swung clumsily this time. Another knight moved in to assist him, cutting a swipe at her. Dreah saw him and whirled with a perfect horizontal cleave, severing his head. Then not pausing, she leaped forward in a whirling leap called the high dandilion and brought the blade of her sword over Rolf’s breastplate cutting into it, knocking the wind out of him, but doing little else. It was enough. He was down. She ran toward Long Leap, encountering little resistance, but just before she got there she saw Dane fall from the saddle, struck with a pole from behind. By the time she got close enough Lord Merivak had Dane in a choke hold painfully twisting his deformed arm behind his back. He held a dagger at his throat. “Your game is up My Lady unless you are prepared to watch your friend here die,” he said smoothly. “Drop your sword.” “No–” Dane choked out, but was cut off with pressure from Lord Merivak’s arm. “Come now lady. It was a rather impressive display of skill, but you must have known that you were outnumbered and could never have gotten away.” Dreah suddenly eyed Lady Josellen nearby at the edge of startled onlookers. She quickly whipped out the tip of her blade and pointed it at the lady’s throat. Josellen let out a pained cry as a small trickle of blood edged down from the tip of the sharp blade.

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“Let the mage go,” she said. “And I will do whatever you say. You have my word of honor on that.” Sir Merivak smiled congenially and with masculine interest in his eyes. Dreah swallowed. Lord Rolf had recovered and was coming up behind Dane and Lord Merivak. “I will surrender my captive if you allow him to go free. Let him ride away on his mount. He never did anything that he was not ordered to do by me. I asked him for the medicines to make myself appear ill to get out of marrying Lord Rolf’s sister, for reasons that I should think are now quite obvious.” “No doubt,” said Rolf. “Very well. We will allow him to go free if you release my sister and drop your sword.” “I cannot trust your word,” she said evenly. “Release him first and let him leave the keep.” “How about mine then?” said Merivak. “If you release your prisoner, I will release mine, as long as you allow yourself to be taken into custody. The mage is nothing to me, but you will be made to face the king’s justice for your deceptions.” “Do I have your honorable word as a knight of the realm on that?” she asked. “By my life and soul pledged to you before the witness of Verago I will release him if you let Lady Josellen go and agree to go peacefully to trial.” “Done,” said Dreah, lowering her sword from the lady. She handed it to the nearest knight and allowed them to bind her hands behind her. “Now the mage,” she said. “Take the cripple to the dungeon,” Sir Merivak ordered. “No!” Dreah cried struggling. “You gave your word! You pledged

before Verago on your soul!– ” Rolf’s fist slammed into her stomach forcing her to double over with pain dropping her to the ground. She gasped for air, her eyes shot daggers at Merivak. “You have no honor. You are unworthy of your spurs.” It was a grievous insult to a knight. Sir Merivak laughed. “Pledges to traitorous women mean nothing. You are no knight no matter how well you handle a blade, and Verago would spit on you lovers of Terusa. Best that you remember that next time, if there is a next time.” He smashed his fist into Dane’s face three times and the mage sank to the flagstones unconscious. Dreah tried to stagger forward toward him, but Rolf hauled her up by the back of her robe causing it to come askew, revealing a wide expanse of her neck and bare shoulders. “Such a shameful waste of delectable beauty,” he said then shoved her to Lord Merivak. Who took her hard by the hair. “Make sure that all of the Darkstone Knights know that I have their lady in custody. Any attempts to rescue her, will be direct treason against my cousin King Remedon. She will be confined to await his justice.” “There is no justice here,” she managed to say between gasps. Lord Rolf came forward lifting her chin. He slapped her hard on the face. She fell again down near Dane. “May I suggest a tower room, one where she was successfully confined before, where the window is too thin to fit through,” said Lord Rolf. “Very well, you know the lay of the keep better than me. I will send word to my cousin to see how he wants the wench and her inheritance disposed of.” “Dane,” she choked as Lord Rolf circled his hands around her neck.

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“No more love interludes for you,” he hissed in her ear pulling her to her feet. She kicked at him, and he threw her down on the ground and proceeded to kick her in the stomach until Lady Josellen threw herself down over Dreah. “No my brother,” she cried. “Please show her mercy. She is a noble maiden after all. Do not punish her like a common male bound servant.” “Perhaps when she can begin acting like a noble female, she will be treated as such,” he said coldly, but he didn’t kick her again. He dragged her through the hall and up the stairs that led to the far corridor. All the while Josellen followed him, wringing her hands. He turned to her at the bottom of the stairs that led to the tower. “I suppose you are happy now sister, not to be forced to wed.” “You always knew my mind on that brother,” she said raspily cringing when he got near her. He laughed shortly. “Go and help ready tonight’s feast,” he said sending his delicate sister away. He proceeded to drag Dreah up the steps. She said nothing to provoke him on the way up. As it was, she feared that her ribs were cracked. If he kicked her again they might puncture her lung and she would not survive that, not without Dane to heal her. He shoved her inside the tower chamber and she landed on the dusty floor. He undid the ropes that bound her hands and she didn’t move. He stood there over her for a long while just looking down at her. Dreah didn’t look back at him. She just lay there. “I find you repugnant and yet I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman. Curious is it not? You will have to be punished for your impudence. I will break you all in good time. You were a worthy opponent even if you are just a female. It is my intent to ask for your hand in marriage when the king

arrives. By combining Grayriver and Darkstone I will be lord of one of the largest fief’s in Duidine. Not bad for the fourth son of a mere vassal to Darkstone.” “It’s not over yet,” she said weakly, coughing. He smiled and left the room. The heavy bar fell in place over the door. It was a sound she remembered well. A sound that brought back memories and feelings that she had hoped she put behind her.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight More than a full hour passed before she finally moved. Dreah rolled carefully onto her back fighting the pain. She ran her fingers carefully over her ribs. She couldn’t feel them protruding. And she felt no blood or oddities in the shape of her rib-cage. They were not broken, but they might be cracked. She would have to be careful not to fracture them especially without Dane nearby to apply bone mender. The thought of Dane caused her heart to ache. The dungeon was damp and cold. Even under the best circumstances it would be an awful place. It would probably kill Dane. The door creaked on its iron hinges as it swung outward. Dreah glanced up to see Lady Josellen enter with two other women. Ever alert, Dreah immediately took stock of her door guard. Two guards stood behind the ladies with crossbows aimed at Dreah. Two more stood behind them with their swords drawn. She might have laughed at the absurdity of such a vigilant guard if her ribs didn’t ache so much. “I have come to tend your injuries,” Lady Josellen said briskly. One of the knights with the crossbow entered the room and stood at a safe distance from her. “If you make any attempt to injure the lady we are under orders to shoot you,” he said coldly. Dreah didn’t comment or even deign to look at him. “Pick her up and lay her on the bed,” lady Josellen ordered her maids. The women were strong and obviously used to lifting burdens. They picked Dreah onto the bed with ease. “Remove her clothing,” Lady Josellen ordered. In short order, Dreah lay there naked. The guards at the door watched her with open looks of lust. She stared back at them boldly

with a look that could have chilled a summer day. Dreah’s body was well honed and athletic, with graceful lines and sinuous muscles that put in mind a rather sleek and beautiful predator. “I must ask for the sake of modesty that you men close the door on us,” said Lady Josellen firmly. “But my lady,” the guard protested. “Can’t you see how injured she is? We’re in no danger. Close the door,” the lady commanded. The guard reluctantly obeyed and Lady Josellen turned back to her patient. “Men have no sense of decency. No matter what she has done, she is still a noble maiden.” “But so much muscle,” said one of the maids. “I have never seen a maiden so lean.” “Yes,” said Josellen crisply. “The poor dear has been forced into such a harsh life. The victim of circumstance. Look what damage has been done to her in her fight with the men. We are not made for such things. She could have suffered permanent damage, maybe even be unable to bear children. She is in so much pain,” she said probing at Dreah’s bruised side. “My brother can be so heavy handed. I don’t understand why he has refused to let me give the poor lady pain killer.” “That lady,” came a chilling voice from the doorway as Lord Rolf opened the door and entered the room. “Is capable of handling herself just fine. You see an injured seemingly victimized woman on that bed, but in truth she is a viper of the most viscous kind. She is capable of snapping your soft neck in less than a heartbeat. She is less likely to do so if she is in pain. Is that not so, ‘Lady d’Avar’?” he asked scathingly, openly staring down at her. Lady Josellen quickly pulled a sheet over Dreah.

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“There’s no need to protect her modesty. She is no maiden. I can guarantee it,” he said harshly. “Still it is unseemly,” said Josellen primly. “Is there permanent damage?” he asked. “None that will not heal given time,” said Lady Josellen. “Good,” he said carefully. “I do not want any male to enter this chamber. If it becomes necessary for me to bed her, I want to be certain that any child she bears is mine.” “If you so much as attempt to touch me I will fight you every minute. And if by some devilry you impregnate me, then I would feel that it is my duty to cut your worthless spawn from my flesh,” said Dreah angrily, trying to cover up the real fear she experienced at the thought of him forcing himself onto her, of bearing his child. Lady Josellen gasped. Lord Rolf lifted a brow over his dark eyes half-smiling down at Dreah. “Oh you will do no such thing if you wish to keep your pathetic crippled mage alive.” “How do I know that you haven’t killed him already?” Dreah sat up despite the pain and gasped falling back onto the sheets. Lord Rolf laughed. “He is alive. In fact I am going to allow you to see him once a week, to ensure your cooperation. Each time you disobey me or make such scathing remarks as the one you just did, he will receive lashes, and you will watch while the punishment is rendered. So your careless remarks have just ensured that he will be receiving punishment. Since you are in no condition to be moved, he will be brought here for his punishment and then you will see that I am fully serious in my intentions.” “No please,” she said hating the desperation in her voice. “He is

weak now.” Lord Rolf laughed. “Perhaps he is since we have removed his spell components and bound and gagged him to keep him from his magics. Don’t worry, he will never receive so many lashes that it endangers his life, just enough to render pain. You will learn quickly enough that your sharp tongue will cause him pain.” Dreah’s eyes watered in response to her frustrated hatred for this man. Lord Rolf left the room then and Dreah was left alone with the ladies. They tended her and wrapped her ribs then left. Three days passed with no one besides Lady Josellen entering her room to feed her. The lady had taken to long lectures about the merits of how to act like a noble maiden. Dreah listened woodenly and after three days of it, she was certain beyond any doubt that being a noble lady was the most exasperating and boring thing she could possibly think of. She said none of this to the lady however, keeping silent, unsure of how any comment made in front of the lady might affect Dane’s treatment. It was on the morning of the fourth day after breakfast when the door opened and in stepped one of the guards leading Dane by a rope tied to his neck. Dane was bound, gagged and blindfolded. He staggered clumsily and fell. Dreah pushed herself out of bed despite the pain that still made it hard to move. She wrapped her sheet around her and fell to her knees in front of Dane, pulling at his blindfold and gag. “Dane,” she whispered, wrapping her arms gently around him. The guard smirked but didn’t try to keep them apart. He stepped back over to the door and began holding a conversation with the other guards. This allowed them to converse for a few moments. “Dreah,” he said softly. “I’m okay.”

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“No,” she said tearfully. “Look, what they’ve done to you.” “Listen to me Dreah,” he said quietly, calmly. She hugged him again placing her ear near his mouth. The guards paid them little attention. He whispered into her ear. “Don’t worry about what they will do to me. If you get a chance to escape, you need to take it. Remove my ring from my finger quickly. I have placed a spell on it, the last one I will do. If you keep it, you can use it once to make yourself invisible. Use it to escape.” She glanced again at the guard then spoke barely above a whisper. “No Dane. I’m not going to leave without you, you know that. If I attempt to escape they will kill you. You need to escape, that way I will be able to fight back knowing that I am not hurting you by doing it.” “I made the spell for you. It won’t work on me. Take it please,” he begged. “Please let me do this for you.” Dreah removed the ring from his finger. His hands were tied behind his back so that the guard only saw her holding onto him. Once the ring was in her palm, cold and re-assuring in its power. She looked into his green eyes. They were watering slightly. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his. “I love you Dane,” she whispered. “Dreah,” he said softly letting a tear roll down his scarred cheek. Leaning forward he kissed her back gently. The door to her chamber came open then with a loud squeak of the hinges. Lord Rolf stomped into the room. “You dare to touch my woman,” he hissed as a whip in his hand came down across Dane’s shoulders whipping past him and hitting Dreah in the face. Quick as lightning the tip of the whip and stood with pure hatred gleaming in the steely depths of her eyes. “Careful,” he hissed. “Any show of disobedience on your part will

cause him to receive extra lashes.” Dreah dropped the tip of the whip. “There’s a good obedient maiden,” he said deceptively soft. “Now say you’re sorry for your behavior or I will have to administer punishment to your friend here.” “Don’t do it!” Dane hissed. The whip descended on Dreah ripping through her sheet and leaving a bloody welt behind. “No!” Dane cried trying to struggle to his feet, which was nearly impossible given his deformity and the fact that his hands were bound behind him. The whip again bit into Dreah. She made as if to launch herself at Rolf when a crossbow bolt, fired by one of the guards at the door shot into Dane’s lame leg. Dreah froze. Lord Rolf laughed. “Now you understand. If you are disobedient, he will be punished and if he is disobedient, you will be punished. If either one of you attempts some sort of treason, the other will suffer for it. If you are obedient then you will live in relative comfort as my prisoners. Now for the rest of his punishment for your careless comments that you made three days ago.” The whip descended four times on Dane, who was gasping in pain from the crossbow wound. Dreah didn’t move. Her eyes were locked with Dane’s. Then the guards picked him up and carried him away. She sat there shaking with rage, consigning Rolf to all of the punishments in the Pit of Despair. Later, long after she was alone, she became aware of the cold metal pressing into her palm, Dane’s ring. She went to the corner of the room to the small cache that she had used long ago during her confinement

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and lifted the hearth stone. She placed the ring inside. There would come a time when she would use it, but not without Dane. Never without Dane.

Chapter Twenty-Nine “The king comes My Lady!” Dreah’s stomach lurched painfully. She paced back and forth on the flagstones at the foot of her bed. Two months had passed since the beginning of her confinement. Since that first week she had been careful, careful to play the game. She acted the meek maiden, pretending to accept her fate, but all the while dark fire burned in her soul. On the bed lay the gown and chemise Lady Josellen had brought with her for Dreah to dress in. It lay in a voluminous heap of dark blue velvet and white silk lavishly decorated with gold and silver thread and pearls sewn to the bodice. With it, was a gold girdle inlaid with rare sapphires and garnets. The lady had also provided a head circlet attached to a sheer silk veil. A servant stood cowering near the doorway. It wasn’t one of her servants but one of the servants that Lady Josellen had brought with the bridal entourage. Lady Josellen was forced to back out of Dreah’s way while she paced like a caged lion. She was entirely healed now and by the goddess there was nothing wrong with her except a severe case confinement sickness. All she had for company was the Lady Josellen and her meek mannered maids. Winsome had been caught trying to sneak a small knife into her quarters nearly a month before and had been banned from her room. After that, only the servants designated by Rolf had been admitted to serve her along with an occasional visit from Sir Alfred who was biding his time, sure that he could convince the king to be lenient on her. But she knew already that Lord Rolf would be granted his request,

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and there was nothing that Sir Alfred could do to change that, not without incurring the king’s wrath. And she had already told him that she didn’t want any of them to make an attempt to help her. She was to await the king’s justice no matter how long it took his majesty to get around to sending a messenger with orders as to what to do about her. It would be easier if he condemned her to die. That way Lord Rolf would have no more use for keeping Dane prisoner. Dane, she sighed heavily. He had been bandaged and cared for. He looked well when she saw him. She quickly realized the cruelty of their visits were designed to allow them to re-affirm their love and devotion for each other, so that they might remain obedient. She had made sure that she did nothing to provoke Lord Rolf, but that meant not touching Dane when he came and she ached with longing to hold him. She had also learned that Lady Josellen could be persuaded to do things and never told Lord Rolf about any of them. “I desire some of my own clothing,” she said evenly. “The king has seen me clothed that way before. It makes no difference now,” she said glaring mutinously at the small lady who appeared at that moment to be in deep thought. Probably trying to assess the difficulty of forcing Dreah’s six foot frame into the dress that she had so painstakingly crafted for her. The lady shook her head. “I just don’t understand why your muscles are not softening up.” Dreah looked balefully down at her. What she didn’t know was that Dreah spent hours every night working her muscles. Dreah was wearing nothing, but her shift. All her tunics and men’s clothing had been left in the Lord’s solar. She had possessed no women’s clothes and any garments that belonged to the other ladies in Josellen’s entourage could no more fit her than a child’s would. But the industrious lady had

found a trunk of old dresses that had once belonged to Lady Brainna and had quite successfully fashioned a lovely gown out of fabric and jewels scavenged from a couple of Lady Brianna’s most lavish garments. “Lady d’Avar, would you greet the king in your shift? I daresay you would scandalize his royal eyes?” Josellen tried to use humor to cajole the lady into compliance as it was certain no amount of pleading would do. “I’d just as soon not greet him at all.” Dreah fumed, “I’ll await his judgment here.” It was a cowards way out and she knew it, but she couldn’t stand the thought of facing her sovereign now. The last time she had met the king, she had been received as a knight. Yes, once greeted like a mighty warrior, now at best she would be treated as an errant woman in need of chastisement, at worst, a traitor to the crown. King Remedon had a shrewd sense of politics and government as well as a lust for women, fine food and wealth all tempered with a sense of cruelty. She wondered what side would win out in this particular case. Lady Josellen sighed. “There are a hundred things below that need my attention. A banquet will have to be laid out. The rushes in the great hall changed, tables scrubbed baths prepared, accommodations for the king and his men to be arranged. Please just allow us to dress you for his royal presence. Why do you persist in your stubbornness? Can’t you see that it’s to your favor if you go to him dressed and groomed finely? He is more likely to be dissuaded from a more severe punishment if you were to,” she blushed becomingly. “Being a woman is not without its advantages.” “Just what are you suggesting?” Dreah had stopped pacing now, cold

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eyes narrowed on Lady Josellen. The Lady’s eyes were suitably downcast, but a mischievous smile played at the edge of her mouth. “Not anything that would be improper I assure you, but the goddess wouldn’t endow us with certain vestments if they were meant to be wasted.” “I thought you desired to become a virgin cleric My Lady,” Dreah said dryly. “Aye that I do Lady, and I am chaste as the day I was born, but I would have to be a garden mole not to have noticed the effect of a wellplaced smile or a convenient swoon, both which, I have occasioned to use with great effectiveness.” Dreah couldn’t help it, she smiled despite her ill humor. It was easy for her to be mad at Lady Josellen, but the lady was not to blame. She had actually been a great help to her in the past weeks. It was hard to blame her for not helping her since she was a woman who, unlike Dreah, knew her place as a woman. The lady had used her great beauty as a weapon, the only weapon a woman was allowed to use. Listening to Lady Josellen’s advice, she saw why she had so often heard men describe women as devious and cunning. Lady Josellen’s quick wit and careful placement of words were, when she wanted them to be, as sharp as a well honed blade and quick as an archer’s arrow. But it was a subtle weapon suited to more delicate personalities. “Perhaps it works for you.” Dreah sighed, “but I am not a great beauty and neither am I delicate and helpless, nor am I endowed with wiles and charms suitable to use as you suggest.” Josellen stepped closer to her now, knowing that she had won her way without threatening to bring her brother. She picked up a lock of shiny black hair that had fallen forward over Dreah’s face while she had

been pacing. “That is where you are wrong, your features are bold yes, but your skin is clear and flawless. Your eyes are a clear rare shade and your hair, more beautiful than black velvet,” she fingered Dreah’s onyx tresses carefully. “It’s glorious, but your greatest asset is your presence. You draw immediate attention to yourself. You have an air of dignity and authority. Your very person emanates nobility.” Not bad for a bastard born bound servant, Dreah thought, sinking down onto the edge of the bed sighing. Perhaps the lady was right. She would make a better impression dressed as a lady. Also, in the back of her thoughts was Dane. It wasn’t worth a beating for Dane just to show up dressed like a man. “Proceed, do what you will.” Lady Josellen flashed her a dazzling tooth-filled smile and motioned her servant forward. “This is Mya my personal maid. She will prepare you. I must prepare the castle.” With that Lady Josellen disappeared out the door in a rustling graceful flourish of pale gold velvet. Two and a half hours later Dreah was making her way down the dark spiral staircase clothed in her finery. Never in her life had getting dressed turned out to be such a grueling ordeal. The heavy garments were long and trailing behind her. Her full sleeves were wide open with long draping ends turned back to reveal the white silk sleeve with gold and silver embroidery. Similarly her cobalt blue velvet outer gown fell down her sides with the white under tunic displayed in the front. By the crown of Terusa it was heavy, nearly as heavy as a mail tunic, and much harder to maneuver in. She tripped and stumbled forward careening into the man-at-arms in front of her. The guard behind her caught her before she tumbled the rest of the way down the steps. “No My Lady,” Mya, gasped pushing her way around the rear of the guard which was no small feat in the dark close quarters considering the

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lady in question had nearly filled the stairwell with her girth. “You must pick up the front of the gown in order to walk properly and to keep from tripping.” Dreah was a little surprised by this apparent oversight in the tailoring of her gown since the rest of it fit her quite snugly. “No I will wait here while you trim the bottom off of it.” “I cannot do that My Lady.” Mya was shocked by the notion. “It wouldn’t be proper.” “Proper?” Dreah demanded. “Aye My Lady surely,” Mya affirmed. “A lady never allows her ankles to show. If you were to hem it then they would show while you sat, you see.” “Oh I see all right, ladies are suppose to walk around stumbling down stairs breaking their necks to keep a small bit of ankle from showing, from who I’d like to know, men? Let me tell enlighten you. It’s not ankles men are after.” Mya gasped nearly choking on her own spittle. “Never mind, Dreah growled. “Escort me to the hall!” she snapped to the guards, who in the dim lighting appeared to be suppressing laughter. They would never have dared laugh at Lander d’Avar. The great hall was bustling with activity. The tables were draped with linen; fresh rushes had been strewn on the floor. Dried lavender and camomile had been sprinkled over it so that a pleasant floral aroma wafted upward as she walked. Smells of roasting meat drifted in from the kitchen. Fresh bread was baking in the hearth. Most of her own servants were nowhere to be seen, which was probably best, given that the king might find them offensive and woe to any that dared to displease a monarch. She swallowed hard.

The king was seated at the table on the dias, his head bent in conversation with Lord Rolf and Lord Merivak. King Remedon was as big and imposing as she remembered, though not quite as big as Lord Rolf. Still the air crackled with energy around him. Gone was the affected relaxed air that he had presented to her on their first meeting. Here was a man to be reckoned with, one that she would have to reckon with. The air in the hall was warm, but Dreah was hot after the cool confinements of the tower. The heavy drapery of her clothing didn’t help matters. She felt like ripping the veil from her head and throwing the circlet into the rushes and making a mad dash for the door that led out into the bailey into the brisk winter day. Her clothing was a constriction device. Never mind the torture rack, just dress her in woman’s garments and that would be sufficient punishment. She walked slowly toward the dias, dreading the moment the king would noticed her presence. Notice her presence and look at her with contempt, maybe even pity. It was too much. She passed near the hearth and the heat emanating from it was near suffocating. Over the crackling of the flames, bits of the king and Rolf’s conversation floated to her ears. “. . . I must be assured,” said Remedon , “that I have no barons whose loyalties are divided.” “Sire you have my pledge of fealty. There is nothing that I wouldn’t do for you. You have only to ask it of me,” Rolf assured him. “Yes,” the king said ponderously and took another sip of wine from the bejeweled silver goblet he held in his big hand. “But did you not also swear fealty to Lander.” “Yes I did. I only betrayed him when I became suspicious of his behavior and suspected that he was a woman.”

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“And yet you allowed your sister to be entered into a betrothal contract with him,” said the king. “Only so that I would be allowed into the keep to expose her perfidy and secure the keep for you Sire,” said Lord Rolf. “Hmm. . . Still We cannot help but be cautious you understand, for We fear you might simply be seeking power for yourself. The King must have your undivided loyalty.” Rolf clenched his jaw. The king had slipped into the formal third person, it didn’t bode well for him. “I hold my lands only at your pleasure Sire.” “We need barons who are capable of effective warfare. You lord Rolf are an experienced and valuable asset to the crown. The king knows that you don’t take your pledge of loyalty lightly, but We must be assured that you will stabilize the area and return it to its former glory.” “I am the king’s servant. I will do as you bid me Sire.” The king laughed heartily then clapped Rolf heavily on the back and took a long drink from his wine goblet. It was at precisely that moment when his blue eyes fell on Dreah, who by that time was overcome with a sickening urge to vomit. Her knees felt as if boards had been strapped to them to keep them locked into place. The room swam before her eyes and she pitched forward like a tree that had finally succumbed to a woodsman’s ax. As the floor swam up to meet her, she wondered vaguely if Lady Josellen would consider this a convenient swoon. She hit the rushes with a thud; no one had been aware that she was fainting, so no one had put out a hand to ease her to the floor. She fell prostrate, arms spread out to the side like a bird. She didn’t completely black out, much to her disappointment. Her dress had flung slightly

upward in back revealing one of her calves and she wondered if Mya was anywhere near to witness her shocking state of undress. Hands grabbed her and rolled her onto her back. Rolf was there bending over her with a false look of concern on his face and on the other side was King Remedon amused by the display. Rolf assisted her to her feet where she promptly fell down on one knee in front of King Remedon, bits of lavender and rushes clinging to the front of her gown, circlet askew, sweat soaking her wimple at the temples. Thus she was presented to the king. “Sire,” she croaked inclining her head. Well she had to agree with lady Josellen on one point. Her presence had gained immediate attention. “Hmm lady Rowena, is it?” the monarch queried circling slowly around her kneeling form. Dreah had expected to be much angrier with the king for trying to kill her at Shanatas, but after two months waiting for his arrival she just wanted to get it over with. In any case any fear she might have had was overshadowed by the droplet of sweat at the end of her nose which was itching her, dragging her attention from the king as she concentrated on forcing herself from wiping at it. “Yes Sire.” “Look at me,” he demanded. She tilted her head back and the droplet of sweat rolled off her nose to the side of her face. His blue eyes impaled her. He looked away from her face momentarily, “You er. . .look quite changed from the last time we met.” She didn’t think he was necessarily looking for a reply so she gave none. Instead her eyes locked momentarily with Lord Rolf’s inscrutable

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orbs. Directly beside him stood Sir Gui who tried to smile reassuringly but the nervous twitching at the corner of one eye belied his smile. Many of the knights were gathered around. They were all dressed in finery for the King’s arrival. The king was dressed in travel clothes dusty from the road. But his lack of grand attire in no way detracted from his splendid form. “This matter. . . posses quite a perplexing problem madame. One doesn’t know whether to laugh or whether to slit your throat,” Remedon said ponderously. Dreah swallowed the urge to protest. She had served him as a loyal vassal after all. It had been him who had tried to kill her. Her only crime was her sex. Sir Gui did not quell the urge to protest. He went down on one knee before the king. “Sire if I might be given leave to speak on the lady’s behalf.” The king stood for a moment in silence, holding out his goblet, for a refill. A servant rushed forward to pour him some wine. He sipped it carefully for a moment. “Speak,” he commanded. “It is true Sire that the lady is most impertinent, however I would offer to wed her, Sire and see to it that she is duly chastised and taught her place.” “Oh Sir Gui,” said the king amused. “Do you harbor tender sentiments toward. . . the lady.” “Yes Sire, I do,” Gui answered honestly, looking at Dreah urging her to keep silent. “Hmm that unfortunately leaves us to wonder if you were not aware of the lady’s duplicity.” “No, he was not,” Dreah spoke out before thinking better of it.

“Silence,” the king roared. Then turned back to Sir Gui. “The lady is impertinent as you say. She does need chastisement, but I fail to see the advantage of marriage to you over execution.” “Your Majesty,” said Sir Gui hastily. “I would point out that Lady Brainna had a brother, Fulk of Kavan, who might lay claim to his sister’s property if there is no living legitimate offspring from her marriage with Farlair d’Avar. The law reads in such a way that he might have a claim. And it is well known that his loyalties are questionable. ” “Yes. . . but I could simply seize the property for the crown.” “Aye sire that is true enough, but if your majesty were seeking to prevent more upset amongst the nobles his greatness might consider it better if he were to give her in marriage to a loyal servant. I am a loyal servant, who would defend your shore with his very blood against any who would seek to threaten your crown. If Rowena were to marry, the legality of the ownership of the property would be indisputable.” The king sipped his wine quietly, watching Dreah for a moment “You speak wisely Sir Gui,” the king observed quietly. “We will reflect on this matter further. Meanwhile I confess that I am starved and the aroma coming from the kitchens has me thinking of my more personal needs. Rise Sir Gui, Lady Rowena and join us at the table.” Dreah rose obediently, casting a glance in Sir Gui’s direction. She smiled gratefully at him. She took her seat a few spaces down from the king, who proceeded to ignore her while conversing with Lord Rolf, Lord Merivak and some of his other men. She noted how familiar the king was in his conversations with Lord Rolf and knew that Rolf had been with her father on campaigns for the king in the past. Servants proceeded to bring in platters of roasted pheasant, venison and boar followed by bowls heaped high with preserved fruit and nuts

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from the harvest. This was topped off by fried bread in sugar, custards and fresh bread. It was a delectable feast or at least it would have been, if she’d been able to swallow. It all tasted like wood. To suffer such humiliation and to be spoken to as if she were no more than a dog was galling. She fantasized about seizing a sword and slitting some throats. She quietly pilfered one of the table knives and stuck it up her sleeve. It wasn’t much but it might be enough to slit Rolf’s throat if he came to claim her as his bride. After the dinner came the entertainments, Adama Kaffier, danced in the style that any veterans of the Weren Campaign would recognize as native to that island. A group of Weren refugees had come to her demesne fleeing persecution. Their dark coloring marked their race clearly. Adama was accompanied by her brother, who played a pipe like instrument to accompany her gyrations. Dreah who had never seen the girl dance before had been unaware of this particular talent. She watched the king, who was smiling appreciatively at the lovely form and she knew that her Weren friends were trying to help put king in a good mood, perhaps a merciful mood. At one point, after the entertainments ended, the king suddenly remembered her presence. “You look a bit pale Lady Rowena, or perhaps it’s the veil that doesn’t become your appearance. I think you should retire. You are rather an eyesore.” Well so much for charming him with her beauty, Dreah thought cynically. She smiled and rose; she would gladly leave their company. She curtsied clumsily in her cumbersome garments. The wine she had consumed didn’t help to steady her. All thoughts now were on how she could get Dane out of here before he was somehow entwined with her punishment.

Chapter Thirty Dreah awoke to a powerful head ache. She rolled over onto her back forcing her eyes open. She was vaguely aware that she was not in the room alone. One of the maids had brought her breakfast. Her stomach roiled nauseatingly at the thought of any food consumption. She had never overindulged in spirits so badly as she had the night before. Her eyes snapped open at the clunking sound of a heavy armored boot. She blinked once to ensure that she wasn’t seeing things. Two of the king’s men were standing on either side of her bed, staring down at her. She had thrown her gown and chemise off the night before, but hadn’t bothered to put on any bedclothes. Her thin shift revealed her shape in clear detail. “What is the meaning of this intrusion,” she tried to sound authoritative but her voice cracked from the dryness in her throat and her head rang with her own words. She winced at the pain. “We have orders to escort you to the bailey your ladyship.” “And you couldn’t wait until I was dressed to come barging in here? Am I not to be allowed to dress?” Perhaps she should have been a little more intimidated than she was, since these were the king’s men. But, the time to worry about the king’s displeasure in her was far gone. And at least the king wouldn’t injure Dane for her impudence as she was fairly sure that Rolf would not let the king know about that special advantage. She should be allowed to face her trial with dignity of clothing at least. She gave him a cold stare of authority. “I’m afraid not,” said one of men. His face reddened. He was young, the fuzz above his lips was barely beginning to turn into the coarse facial hair of a man. He was embarrassed but was otherwise undaunted by her audacity.

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“Why?” she demanded. “Because Lady, it is the kings orders that you are to be in the bailey at dawn and the suns have already began to rise. It would take too long for you to clothe yourself.” This was from the other guard who was slightly older than the first. She cast an eye toward the window slit. She wondered just how it was that the young man determined that the suns were risen in the thick, foggy pewter light. The light could just as easily be cast by the nearly full moon. Two of her former knights stepped forward to take her in hand. She pulled her arm from their grasp. “Unhand me! I will go freely, but let me walk of my own accord.” “But you might try to run,” said Sir Wofan. She stared directly into his eyes, feeling the sharp pain of betrayal. “At one time you fought by my side. I once saved your son’s life Sir Wofan. At one time you honored me as a knight. At least let me go to my judgement with dignity,” she said quietly. Sir Wolfan swallowed and had the grace to look ashamed. “I ask your forgiveness before you die for betraying you. You were a good and honorable knight.” “And now,” she asked. “And now I think you will die,” he said. She nodded, refusing to show emotion. “So be it then,” she said and walked from the room with her head held high. The guards followed her in silence. Neither would have said it but they were impressed with the way she faced her fate. Dreah kept her breathing steady as she moved down the stairs. The only sound was the knigts’ even footsteps and their spurs tapping in

time to their movement and their scabbards snapping against their thighs. She could take them easily. Whirl around and have Sir Wofan’s sword in her hand and both of them dead before Sir Relan had a chance to pull his blade to defend them. Yes, she was capable, and she knew, that good, but what then? She had no idea where Dane was being held. They blindfolded him each time before bringing him to her. She knew he wasn’t in the dungeon, but no one had been allowed to talk to her who might know where he was. If she had a chance to plead her case before she died, she would plead for his life from the king. The king had not looked upon her with the least amount of favor or sympathy, but he might take pity on a crippled man. She might yet be able to save him from whatever insidious fate awaited him at Rolf’s hands. She stepped out into the bailey. The cold air blasted her immediately through her thin garment. She looked around her, wondering how much longer she had to breathe in the cold winter air, how much longer she had to listen to the wind. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as the guards led her to the pole normally used to support swinging dummies for sword practice, the pole once stacked with wood for a mage burning. A numbness set in as they bound her hands in front of her and fastened them to the pole high above her head. She didn’t struggle, forced herself to hold still. One swing of an ax, just one cleaving blow and it would be over. There wasn’t going to be a trial. She had already been judged. The king had probably made his decision before he arrived. The humiliation of the night before had simply been– what? The king could have had her executed then and there, but then this was better, less public, less likely to engender any sympathy. If she was dead before the castle folk were even awake, then who would protest it. And having not witnessed her execution themselves, they

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would be less affected by it. All except for a few, especially Dane. Then she saw the mage, gagged and bound to a bench. Beside him stood Lord Rolf, smiling in a cruel way. Her heart plummeted. They were going to make him watch. “I’m sorry Dane,” she whispered though she knew that across the distance he couldn’t hear her. Where was her executioner? Who would read the execution writ? Before she could contemplate further on the subject someone grabbed her shift at the nape of her neck and yanked down roughly. The fabric tore, baring her from the waist up. She struggled with her bonds, even as the fine fabric fell away and the cold damp airbrushed against her naked breasts. “Lady Rowena of Darkstone Keep you are hereby found guilty of treason to the crown,”a voice behind her rang out the words loud and firm without inflection. It was Lord Merivak. Servants of Terusa! She was going to die, and he would get the satisfaction of condemning her. He moved around the pole so that he faced her. His eyes were cold and without sympathy. She held her breath and looked at him boldly. She wouldn’t struggle and she wouldn’t beg for her life. He would watch her die in silence without appeal. He looked back at the parchment. “Taking into consideration the unusual aspects of the case, the king has ordered that you are to be publicly flogged, until you either die or receive fifty lashes, whichever occurs first. Should you survive your punishment, you will be summarily wed to the man of the king’s choice, Lord Rolf of Grayriver Castle and your inheritance of Darkstone Keep will pass into his capable hands whereby the proclamations made by you in the guise of Lander d’Avar will be null and void.” Dreah gave him a cold smile. “Proceed with the punishment and

don’t do me any favors. I would rather be dead than forced to marry against my will.” She laughed sharply at his look of shocked surprise, but her laughter died in her throat as the strap came down on her shoulders with a biting sting. She gasped. The pain barely had enough time to register in her brain before the second lash landed on her shoulders. Again and again it descended cracking loudly in her ears, by the tenth lash she was biting her lip to keep from crying out by the twentieth, the pain was mind numbing. After thirty, she lost count no longer able to focus her mind on counting. She forced her eyes to focus on a pillar at the far end of the bailey. She didn’t look at Dane. She knew if she did she would start crying. Don’t scream, she told herself over and over. Don’t give them the satisfaction. She prayed for oblivion. Why couldn’t she faint? Why couldn’t she just die? And she heard herself whimper once or twice and she steeled herself against it, against everything. Finally the bailey grew silent. The sound of the lash ceased. She leaned against the pole now, gasping for air, unable to believe that she was still standing. Her parched throat ached painfully. She needed some water badly. A man came over to her and slit the bonds to her wrists. She rubbed them absentmindedly. The pain in her back was excruciating. Blood trickled over her shoulder and dripped from the tip of her breast. Yet for some reason she was numb to it. She was well aware that the man administering the punishment had been lenient. If he had set out to kill her, he could have shredded her back in ten lashes. She would have been dead before fifty. As it was, judging by the blood, he maybe broke the skin on her back three or four times. And those were likely more like heavy welts than cuts. She stepped back from the pole. The two men who had escorted her

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there, rushed to support her, but she yanked her arms out of their grasp. She made no attempt to cover herself, but faced them squarely. If she had the strength at that moment she would have probably taken one of their swords and ran them both through. As it was, she had to use every ounce of strength she had to remain standing. Fury, red hot fury, coursed through her veins and numbed her pain. “Sons- of - accursed slime dogs,” she spat contemptuously in full control of her faculties once again. She was exhausted from the pain, but she wasn’t dead, nor was she likely to die. She marched strait into the hall. Apparently the king hadn’t given orders for her to be further confined or restrained. Lord Rolf had showed up with Dane, to remind her that any move on her part would result in his punishment. Her escorts followed at a distance and that’s why they didn’t reach her in time when they saw her march straight up to the lord’s solar. A guard who had been snoozing outside the door roused just in time for her fist to descend on his jaw. Before he could register what was going on she grabbed his head and slammed it down into her knee. He sank to the floor dazed. She swung open the door to the solar, noting that they had beaten down the magic locked door and replaced it with a much cheaper, less sturdy version. King Remedon, who had been sleeping up until that moment, sat up startled. “Never mind me Sire,” she said mockingly and inclined her head briefly. “But I have been ordered to wed. I am merely here to collect the proper vestments for the occasion.” With that she swung away from the slack-jawed monarch and marched to her wardrobe, yanking it open, she removed the necessary garments. Let him order further punishment. Let him kill her for all she cared.

“Sire!” the two guards exclaimed as they burst into the room after her. The king held up a staying hand on the two men. Behind them, three more appeared. “You are in a fine temper this morning Lady Rowena,” the king said. She whirled around to face him. Her audacity would probably be punished with another fifty lashes, but irrational anger had a hold of her at the moment. Why couldn’t he have just ordered a chopping block and executioners axe? It would have been better. So now her anger was at the injustice of still being alive. She was ready to face a furious monarch. But wait! Was that actually a smile on the kings face? He looked amused and she became acutely aware of her state of undress as his disconcerting eyes roved over her bare breasts. “I must say you don’t look quite as pale as you did yesterday evening. Quite lovely actually.” Dreah had the grace to blush. She swallowed hard. There were worse punishments than fifty lashes, punishments that she knew she could not bear, not ever again. “Sire I ask your pardon for the intrusion.” The lecherous dog actually licked his lips as his eyes fastened to one of her nipples. Fear rippled through her. Did the king mean to have her? For the first time since she entered the room she noticed Adama’s form directly behind the king. Adama was one of the many women Dreah had rescued. She smiled slyly at Dreah and winked, then slid one arm across the royal chest. He turned to look down at her his lids drooped slightly with remembered passion. As he did so she slipped a tunic over her head to hide her nakedness. The king looked back at her distractedly as Adama’s fingers moved beneath the sheets. He cast a glance at the two guards and gave Dreah a dismissive gesture, saying. “Go Lady! You have nuptials to get ready for, and I have some other

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business to attend to.” “To be sure Sire,” she said acidly and exited the room. She silently thanked Adama for her intervention. As she left the lord’s solar, Rolf fell into step beside her and said quietly. “Go back to your room and remain there until I summon you. If you do not, your friend will die most unpleasantly?” Hatred and fury burned in Dreah, but she made no answer. She strode stiffly toward the tower room. She was too weak, and too exhausted by her ordeal to make another argument. Halfway back to her room, her anger faded away, replaced by a feeling of near hysteria. She was alive. The pain in her back assured her of that. It was a strange feeling to be alive and not entirely sure she wanted to be. Lady Josellen appeared a short while later with salve and yarrow root powder to stop the bleeding on her back. “It isn’t too bad, but you will be sore for quite some time. You were lucky that the man who whipped you did so with a wide blunt strap. It is meant to bruise not scar like the cat-o-nine tails would have done. They usually beat the males with that, but you are to be wed, so scarring is not desirable.” “Who sent you,” she asked. “No one,” she said quietly “I was there and I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. Besides I don’t think that they are worried over much about you escaping the king’s justice anymore.” Dreah laughed ignoring the pain in her throat when she did so. “No, I guess not.” Then she sat up looking deeply into Josellen’s eyes. The lady smiled back at her and there was a look that Dreah recognized, because she had seen that look in the eyes of the castle women when they thought she was a man. Lady Josellen was in love with her.

Suddenly Dreah understood why Josellen didn’t want to marry. This might be the advantage she had been hoping for, an ally that Rolf would not expect. “My Lady I wish to ask something of you,” said Dreah carefully. “You have only to ask and I will do what I can for you.” “I have a friend, a dear, dear friend.” Dreah didn’t know it but her voice had softened and her heart was in her usually unreadable countenance. There was a quick flash of jealousy in Lady Josellen’s eyes. “Not that kind of friend,” said Dreah hastily, lying. “I have never been intimate willingly with a man. This friend is like a brother to me, a dear brother.” “Dane the mage is who you speak of,” said Josellen. “Yes, the mage,” said Dreah. “Your brother keeps him captive.” “Yes, I know,” said Josellen. “Can you tell me where?” she asked. Josellen looked frightened for a second. Dreah took the lady’s delicate hand in her own and the lady flushed with pleasure. Dreah hated herself for her duplicity, for using the lady’s feelings against her, but she had to save Dane. “He keeps him in the corner room at the base of the east tower,” she said. “Do you see him?” “Yes, almost every day,” said Josellen. “He is a gentle soul, but very withdrawn. He doesn’t speak often.” Dreah almost laughed at her description. To describe Dane as a gentle soul was a definite failure in judgement. “Is his door guarded,” she asked.

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“No,” said Josellen. Dreah got up then and Josellen helped her get dressed into her knight’s garments. She went to the door and opened it up. Two of the king’s men had followed her up and now stood guard outside her door. Good. It was what she had hoped for. No Grayriver knights. They looked at her stonily in obvious disapproval of her male clothing. She had half a mind to pull one of their swords and wipe that condescending look off their faces with it. If she wasn’t in so much pain she would probably have done just that. Instead she slammed the door shut again and turned back to Lady Josellen. “Can you prepare me a potent sleeping medicine and then take me to him?” Josellen gasped fearfully. “I will allow no harm to come to you,” said Dreah, hoping it were the truth. Josellen nodded and retrieved the necessary herbs from her medicine cache and handed the vial to Dreah. “I want you go to Sir Gui and Sir Alfred and bring them up here. Bring a gown with you, it doesn’t matter if it fits. I won’t be wearing it, but the guards don’t know that. Tell the guards that Sir Alfred and Sir Gui are here to assist you in getting me to wear female clothing to the wedding.” “Yes, but what is it that you hope to accomplish by this? Are you planning on leaving before the wedding? You will not get away. They will launch an immediate search for you. My brother will–” she broke off fearfully. “Don’t worry Lady it is Dane I plan to send away,” said Dreah. “I will go through with the wedding. I just can’t stand the thought of Dane

being forced to endure pain because of your brother’s displeasure in me.” “Yes, My Lady, it is cruel, and my brother can be very cruel when he chooses to be,” she said quietly looking away with some memory that Dreah didn’t know about and didn’t really want to right that moment. “Will you help me?” Dreah asked. “I would be forever indebted to you.” Josellen flushed again with pleasure. “You have only to ask. I will be back within moments with your friends. I think I know where to find them.” Josellen left and Dreah went to the cache in the corner and lifted the stone. Inside lay Dane’s magic ring. She slipped it into her pocket and replaced the floorboard then sat down trying to tune out the pain in her back. The pain medication was working somewhat but she knew that the pain would only increase as the day went on. It was not long before Lady Josellen’s musical voice sounded in the hall outside.

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Chapter Thirty-One The lady was using a cajoling tone and laughing prettily. It was only a few moments more before the door opened to admit Sir Gui, Sir Alfred and Lady Josellen. “Well what do you think of the king’s justice?” Dreah asked. “He will not yield,” said Sir Alfred. “I tried and failed, but he has made his choice and he will not waver from it.” Gui flushed angrily. “That the traitorous dog will put his perfidious hands on you is unbearable,” he hissed. Dreah paced with her hands clasped behind her back. “I am paralyzed until Dane is safely away.” “He wouldn’t want you to tolerate this for his sake,” argued Gui. “What do you want us to do?” asked Sir Alfred. “I am going to ask something of you, but if you do it, you will become hunted men. It might get you into trouble with the king, and Lord Rolf will become your enemy.” “He’s not already?” said Sir Gui sarcastically. “Whatever you want of me I will do it,” said Sir Alfred. “Good, then. I need you to hand me one of your swords. We will take out the guards and you two will get dressed in their armor and tunics. Let’s try not to kill them, no unnecessary bloodshed. ” She turned to Lady Josellen. “My Lady I am going to grab you and hold this sword to your neck. I want you to call the guards and act afraid. This is so that your innocence will be undisputed. Tell me now if you are still willing.” Lady Josellen nodded. “I am ready to help.” Dreah smiled and the lady smiled back almost shyly. Gui raised an eyebrow looking at Dreah questioningly.

Dreah sighed heavily placing her fists on her hips. She gave him a quelling look. He shrugged. “I’ve been bored anyway,” he said, drawing his short sword and handing it to Dreah. “Good, now Lady Josellen if you please,” she said grabbing the delicate lady and holding the sword to her neck. Gui stood up against the wall on one side of the door, Sir Alfred on the other. “Help!” Lady Josellen cried. “Please help!” The door burst open and the guards came through the door with their swords drawn. Lady Josellen performed one of her convenient swoons and Dreah leaped forward to engage the guards, while Gui pulled the door shut to muffle any sounds that might echo down the stairwell. From behind Sir Alfred had knocked one of the guards over the head using his helmet. The stunned man whirled around and Gui smashed his fist into the man’s face. He slumped to the floor. Meanwhile Dreah parried blows with the first guard expertly winding her sword around his and whipping it into the air. She caught the second sword and the stunned guard looked down at his empty sword hand for a second and found the two tips crossed under his chin. She nudged his beard with the swords and he looked up into her face. “Gui I need you to take that vial off the desk and pour a few drops of it into this man’s mouth.” The guard gasped in fear. She smiled. “Fear not, it will only put you into a nice rest for a few hours.” The man opened his mouth and drank the potion. Shaking with fear, convinced that he was poisoned. Sir Alfred was already removing the

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garments from the first guard. “You get the idea,” Dreah said. “Now remove your clothing.” “Why? What do you intend to do Lady?” the second guard asked suspiciously. She gave him a cold smile. “Fear not for your virtue young man. I promise not to molest you while you sleep. Now divest yourself of your clothing.” Grumbling about the king’s wrath and justice, the man disrobed and by the time he had finished removing his garments he was wavering unsteadily. Sir Alfred was already clothed in the king’s colors and Gui quickly dressed in the other set of them as the man staggered out of them, fighting the sleeping drought. Within a few moments he fell over comatose to the world. Only then did Lady Josellen ‘wake’ from her convenient swoon. “Quickly now, you two pretend to be escorting me to the wedding nuptials. Keep your helmets low and don’t look up. Lady Josellen will meet us at Dane’s door. He is being kept at the base of the east tower.” The two of them nodded and Lady Josellen left the room ahead of them gliding down the tower steps in perfect silence. Dreah pocketed the vial with the rest of the sleeping potion. Once they were outside the room, they threw the wooden bar in place over the door Together they slipped back out. They swept down the staircase in silence and glided down the long dark hallways that led to the east corner. This was the least used area of the castle. Lady Josellen was waiting there for them. She turned her key in the door and the four of them slipped inside. Dreah crossed the room quickly. Dane rose off the bed at the sight of her. “I’m okay Dane,” she said falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around him. He placed his hand on her cheek cupping it gently

then kissed her tenderly on the lips. She kissed him back tenderly at first but then let the kiss deepen with passion reassuring him she was okay, knowing how he must be suffering no less than her. Then he broke apart from her. “How did you get in here?” he asked. Then looked up at Gui and Alfred who were both watching him silently. They had never liked the mage, but it was obvious that he loved Dreah and she felt the same. “The Lady Josellen,” said Dreah. “Come there is not a lot of time.” “We have a way out?” Dane asked. “Sir Alfred and Sir Gui are going to help us,” she said rapidly. “Come, Lady Josellen. We need to bind you up so that it looks like you were forced to open this door,” Dreah said conscious of the fast approaching hour of her nuptials. “Lay down on the rug Dane,” she said. Dane didn’t question her. He lay down and let them roll him up in it. Gui lifted him over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you in the stables.” Dreah nodded. Sir Alfred had torn some sheets and was preparing to tie up Lady Josellen. “Wait,” said Lady Josellen removing her long cloak. “Take this My Lady, put it on. It will disguise you.” Dreah smiled. “It is not likely that there are too many ladies as tall as me. I would be better off in one of these, she said pulling open Dane’s wardrobe. She removed one of his long velvet robes and threw it over her head. Lady Josellen smiled. “May the goddess go with you Lady Rowena.” Dreah felt almost compelled to tell her that her name was not Rowena, but now was not the time. “May she protect you as well Lady Josellen. I will never forget the debt I owe you.” Dreah then followed Sir Alfred from the room taking the long way

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around the castle so that they emerged into the bailey not far from the stables. It was easy to make it without being noticed since there were so many people that were with the king and his entourage that she could be just about anyone. The black cowl was pulled low over her face. No one recognized her. They made it to the stables and already Gui had two horses hitched to a small cart. Dane was sitting in the cart. He looked up and into her eyes. His were soft and he looked at her with such intensity that she forced herself to look away. It was not easy to deceive Dane. His eyes were too probing, to knowing. Could he see her intent? Would he know what she planned to do? He looked so vulnerable that her heart squeezed tightly at the thought of what she was going to do. “How do I operate the magic ring?” she asked. “First remove all metal jewelry and any metal weapons. The invisibility will only last as long as you leave it on your finger and don’t touch metal. The metal will void the magic and you won’t be able to invoke it again. Also anything you touch with your bare hand will also become invisible for about a fifteen foot radius, so be careful what you place your hands on. Remember like I told you before you only need to say ‘Shadow of Terusa’ once you have it on and as long as you don’t touch metal the invisibility will last.” She nodded thoughtfully, looking down at her hands. He reached out and took one. “I was afraid when I saw you this morning. I’ve been sick with worry over you. As soon as we get far enough away, I will pluck some herbs and make a pain killer for you, something powerful enough to ease the pain.” Dreah swallowed. This was it. There wouldn’t be a better time or a more natural lead into it. She removed the vial of sleeping potion from

her pocket. “Actually Lady Josellen tended me and made a good potion for the pain. I am fairly pain free right now. I brought a little for you. The ride will be cramped and bumpy. It will help keep you more comfortable. This is bound to be a painful and bumpy ride for you too,” she lied handing the vial to him. “Good idea,” he said unstopping the bottle. She couldn’t stand the look of pure trust in his eyes as he swallowed the liquid. She busied herself with picking up hay while, Gui picked up empty wine caskets to disguise the cargo. A few moments passed and she came over to the cart to find him laying back. His green eyes were alight with anger. “Why?” he asked, his mouth nearly numb from the sleeping potion. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but I knew you wouldn’t agree to go without me. I have to stay and go through with it. Otherwise they will follow you within the hour. Please try to understand.” “Dreah,” he breathed, swallowing against the numbness, using his sheer will to fight against the potion. He judged by the level and rapidity of his drowsiness that there had been enough to put asleep three men. He wouldn’t wake up for several hours at least. “Goodbye Dane,” she said leaning down, she brushed her lips over his. “Don’t,” he rasped, using all of his effort to lift his good hand. He touched a strand of her ebony hair that had fallen down over his chest. A tear rolled down her face. “I’m doing it for you,” she said. He didn’t say anything, but tears rolled from his eyes into his soft golden hair. It was the first time that she had ever seen him cry. She leaned down and kissed him long and tenderly. Then she turned away from the hurt, the pain. When she looked back at him, his eyes were

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closed. Even a will as strong as his couldn’t battle the powerful potion long. “Take care of him Alfred,” she said. The old man nodded sadly. “Will you be catching up with us?” “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “But whatever happens, don’t let him come back here and don’t either of you come back here. I stay here until after they discover Dane is missing. That should give you time to get as far away as possible. I am hoping to catch up with you shortly after he awakens. Travel south over the old Savlanik Wanderer trade road. It leads to Sheenat where there is a ship port. Stay in a place called The Three Boars. There are merchant runs from there to Craemira. If I don’t make it there within a week, make sure that Dane is on one of those ships, even if you have to bind him to get him on it.” “Yes My Lady,” said Sir Alfred bowing deeply to her, she placed her hand on his grisled forearm. Then he turned back to Dreah. “Promise me that you will leave before he has a chance to touch you. Think of it like this, your mage wouldn’t want to live with your sacrifice for him. In many ways you know what it is like to be a man, but in this you would not understand. He wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of another man touching you, especially if you did it for him.” “Sir Alfred,” she said quietly. “I may not understand what it is like to be a man, but I am well aware of what it is like to be a woman and forced against her will. I would never give myself willingly to any man except for Dane, but in order for me to fight Rolf, Dane needs to be gone. Please go now friend and don’t look back.” Sir Alfred nodded silently and she slipped back out of the stables into the courtyard. Few noticed her passing. Many assumed that she was the king’s mage Xajosen, who was among the entourage. Dreah

slipped inside and stowed the black robe beneath a bench that sat at the corner of the dark stairwell. Often a boy or girl might be there peeling hola root to boil for stew, but it was still early in the day. She was reminded of the hour. She walked down the hall and entered unescorted, which caused the king’s eyebrows to go up, but little else. After all, she had arrived for the ceremony. He stood and Rolf stood up next to him on the dais. “My good Lady,” said the king amused. “You are dressed as if you wish to fight rather than wed, which is probably wise given the fact that many marriages are little more than blessed sparring matches.” The comment was calculated to entertain and lighten the mood. The knights and other nobles in the room laughed dutifully wether they felt like it or not. “I am the king’s to command,” she said with no inflection in her voice, no emotion on her face. “Come, my dear lady,” he laughed and held up a wine cup. “Come and drink. You have received your punishment, and I think you are rather improved for it.” A flush of anger rose inside her, but Dreah was practiced at concealing her emotions. She looked directly at Lord Rolf. His face was livid with anger. “I think my lady is attempting to shame me with her manner of dress, but I am not angry of course. Women’s gowns are much harder to get around. It only makes the consummation of our vows that much easier to achieve,” he said smoothly. Bald anger ran like fire through her veins for a second. And then came the giddy rush of power. He no longer had Dane. He could no longer use him against her. This thought gave her the strength to put on

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a false smile for his and the king’s benefit and make a glib comment calculated to anger Lord Rolf and please the crowd that was readily watching. “Your lordship is familiar with the ease getting through male clothing in order to consummate?” she asked, knowing that if they were enjoying festivities before the ceremony, they would not be quick to call for the hour of the vows. The longer she delayed it, the farther away Dane would be when he was finally discovered missing. “My ‘lady,’ is a shrew,” said Lord Rolf attempting to laugh off the comment easily, but she could tell that he was raging. For a second she feared his anger would make him irritated enough to leave the celebration in order to beat Dane. She swallowed and changed her tack. “I admit, that your lordship has a point. I can be a shrew at times, and I confess to a certain proclivity for eating bugs, which I believe can be attributed to my shrewishness,” she said lightly smiling openly at the king. The king’s eyes danced with merriment and too much alcohol. “So there you have it Lord Rolf. I hope Darkstone Keep is worth what you will have to put up with.” “Sire,” said Lord Rolf coldly. “I must confess that she is a rather difficult sow, but she has a certain love for pets and so I keep a pet of hers hostage to gain her cooperation.” Dreah understood the warning. She wanted to fling the goblet the king gave her into his face. The sadistic beast, but she knew that he had reached the limit of his tolerance. “Forgive me My Lord I will attempt to control my errant tongue,” she demurred gracefully wondering how Lady Josellen would judge her performance. “See that you do,” he growled in warning.

“Have a seat by his side lady,” the king ordered. Dreah bowed her head deferentially and then took her seat next to Lord Rolf. He sat rigid and angry. She picked up the goblet of wine, thinking that she would need to have a care with how much she drank, but she also needed to appear as if she wasn’t. Every time a guard came into the room she feared that the guards in the tower had been discovered. “Where is your most lovely sister?” asked the king. Rolf’s eyes swept the feast hall. “I am unsure Sire,” he said puzzled. Dreah’s hand shook and she spilled some of her wine. The king raised his brow. “The bride is perhaps nervous of the wedding night,” he commented. Rolf’s eyes narrowed on her. She took a quick gulp of her wine to hide the nervousness and swallowed the wrong way and broke into a coughing fit. All she could think of as she regained her breath was that she hoped the distraction had taken Rolf’s mind off his missing sister. She was not so lucky. “I thought she was going to come here with you lady,” he said narrowing his eyes at her. Dreah smiled, attempting to be pleasant although she was sure that her smile looked much more like a grimace. “She said she wanted to prepare the bridal chamber. There was some herb she was intending to pluck from the gardens for fragrance.” “Ah,” he smiled unexpectedly. “Must be livinia. She knows that I like the smell of it, but surely she would have been done by now.” “Yes, it is likely,” said Dreah thinking fast. She laid her hand on his arm in a familiar gesture and his eyes warmed slightly. “But she also mentioned making some salve for the pain in my back. It does hurt,”

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she said half choking on the words and hoping that her eyes looked like they were on the verge of tears. He smiled broader. “Lady you must really think me a dolt. I am certain that your back does hurt, but I am more certain that you would sooner die than admit it unless you had an ulterior motive.” Dreah bit her lip and looked down at her lap, not knowing what else to do. “Nothing you can say to me will keep me from consummating this marriage so resign yourself woman!” he said coldly. She gasped and this time she didn’t need to feign the fear. He suddenly lifted her chin and kissed her on the mouth. Dreah quelled the urge to scream and push him away. His eyes were warm. “I think we should proceed with the nuptials as soon as possible, before so much drink has passed your lips that you don’t remember our wedding night.” Nausea rolled in her stomach as he stood and announced that they were ready for the wedding vows. She couldn’t stand for a moment. He put his arm around her solicitously, and to everyone in the hall it looked as if they were both eager for the wedding bed. In a Nezidarian wedding very little was said by the woman. So Dreah’s replies were restricted to several utterances of ‘I will obey’ which she took to counting in order to stay focused on the here and now. Finally the temple priestess stood before the crowd wrapping a red cloth over their joined hands. “May the goddess Terusa bless this marriage with many fine children. Go with the grace of the goddess.” Then the crowd followed them to the Lord’s Solar that had been aired and prepared for the wedded couple. Rolf’s things had already been deposited in there. She went inside Two hours had passed since the cart with Dane had ridden over the drawbridge. They needed more

time. She steeled herself. She could do this. If she just closed her eyes and pretended like it wasn’t happening. The door to the lord’s solar closed as the crowd left with parting bawdy jokes and comments. Then he stood in front of the door, leaning back against it, watching her. “Take off those man’s clothes. They hide your beauty,” he ordered. She took a deep breath and undid the girdle very slowly, deliberately stalling for time. She coiled it carefully and placed it on the night stand. She pulled the billowing over tunic off just as slowly and folded it precisely into a neat square. “I said remove them. Do it quickly,” he growled. “But My Lord,” she said in mock innocence. “Ladies always have a care with their clothing.” Lord Rolf roared his impatience and closed the distance between them in two long strides. He took a hold of her black leather shirt and pulled. The cloth laces that held together the edges up the front to her neck, shredded. Fear seized her. Fear and hatred! She couldn’t possibly submit to him! In his brief proximity to her she whirled around and attempted to draw his broadsword, but he caught and checked her movement slapping her hard on the face. She staggered back, but didn’t fall. She backed away grabbing the two halves of her leather shirt around her, covering her exposed flesh the best she could. She cringed inwardly at the hunger in his eyes. Her breath came in fearful gasps against her will. She tried to hold it steady, but she couldn’t and she hated herself for her weakness. “You are afraid?” he asked, mildly surprised. “I thought that the great Lander d’ Avar feared nothing,” he said derisively.

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“What did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much?” she asked through partially numb lips. To her horror they had started to quiver. What was wrong with her? Surely she could handle this! Handle him! But no, a soft voice whispered inside. For all her speed and agility, she was unarmed. He was so much larger than her, so much stronger. Once he pinned her, there would be nothing to stop him. He laughed softly unbuckling his sword belt. Other than that he had no weapons. He stepped to the door and handed his weapons out. “It was rather clumsy of me to bring that in here. All other weaponry has been removed along with your male clothing. I have decided not to grant you a wardrobe. You will spend your days confined to this room for my pleasure until you learn your place. When you have learned to please me, when you have learned to submit and beg for me, I may grant you clothing.” Dreah’s throat stuck together as she stifled the cry that threatened to rise. He smiled. “You truly fear that don’t you?” he asked softly, coldly. “You fear a man’s touch? The thought of being a sexual plaything is abhorrent to you.” She said nothing, casting her eyes around the room, searching for something, anything that would keep him from his intent. “There is no escape,” he said quietly, savoring the moment. “The windows have been mortared. She cast her eyes to the velvet drapes that now hung where the windows used to be. He callously pulled one aside for her to see. “And the door that led to your mage’s room next to this has been bricked over,” he added when her eyes inadvertently went to the tapestry behind which the oak door had lain.

“Was it because I dared to become a knight? Is that why you hate me so much?” she asked. “Actually no,” he said simply. “I hated your father. He got Darkstone Keep when the old king should have given it to me. Then he gave the lovely Brianna to him as well. Later there was the loveliest maiden in the village the healer, Mynarika, your mother. I wanted her for a mistress, but Farlair denied me. He said he valued the village healer too much to force her into that sort of servitude, but then he took her as his own and later offered her up to the smith’s helper when her belly was swelled with his child. He seduced my own mother, who bore him a bastard child,” he said savagely. “My own dear sister Josellen, who I myself have had many times. I taught her to lust, to moan in pleasure. I taught her to beg and scream for me, just as I will teach you. When I am finished with you, you will deny me nothing. ” Dreah shrank back from that statement, gasping in outrage and horror. To her shame, tears gathered in her eyes. Josellen, Josellen was her half sister as well as his. He had raped her, for she knew the lady would never have gone to him willingly. “Do you begin to understand the depth of my feelings for your father? I will have everything that was his. I will be greater and more powerful than he ever was. Through you I will punish him in the grave.” “You are every bit as much of a monster as Spider was,” she cried in rage. To her surprise he laughed. “So that’s the real problem isn’t it. You are still haunted by Spider.” She wanted to deny it, but she knew anything she might say would betray the truth. How did he know about Spider?

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“I had wondered at that when you received the broach at Grayriver Castle. I tested my suspicions by placing a swamp spider on your cushion, but I must say that you hid your fear well,” he said smiling with genuine amusement. “I had no idea how very much I was going to savor this night. We are only waiting for the rest of our party to join us, before we begin.” “Rest of our party,” she said licking her dry lips. “Yes; I thought that the mage should have a special viewing of tonight’s show,” he said with a maniacal gleam in his eyes. “Goddess preserve me!” she cried. “You are insane!” He smiled slowly. “I have been called that a time or two.” “You are no better than Spider!” “You have no idea,” he said dryly. Just then a loud knock sounded at the door. “Ah that would be your friend now,” he said with slow satisfaction. Dreah held her breath. Had they somehow captured him on the way out of the keep? Had she gone through the ceremony and everything for nothing? He opened the door, and there stood two of his knights red-faced and fearful. “My Lord! The mage is gone! Your sister, we found her bound in his room.” “What?” Lord Rolf roared his rage. “Lock this door and triple the guard. Let no one pass and don’t open this door even if she screams bloody murder.” “Yes My Lord!” Dreah stared at the door after it closed. She was conscious of the heavy bar snapping into place. His words ran through her mind like so much water through a sieve. He was insane. His jealousy of her blood

father had made him insane! She cast her eyes around the room searching frantically, for what? A way out? That wasn’t possible. She needed a weapon, something she might conceal and fight him with. She ran to the wardrobe, yanked it open and sifted through the clothing. All his, but no weapons. She turned back and swept the room. An armor trunk with Rolf’s crest on it! She went to it quickly. It was locked with a heavy unbreakable lock. Her heart sank for a moment and then she felt over the top and down the back. The hinge pins were on the outside. Her hand shook with the small hope that gave her. The hinges were heavy. The pins tightly fitted. She looked around again. A hammer and a metal pin or nail is what she needed. Then her eye lit on her girdle. The belt buckle pin! She only prayed that it could hold up to the punishment. Now for a hammer. She picked up the chamber pot ever so grateful that it had been cleaned. She held the pin up to the hinge pin and tapped it with the chamber pot. At first it didn’t move, but slowly the vibration of her light tapping jarred it loose and the pin moved, but the buckle pin was starting to bend from the strain. And then broke. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She grabbed the end of the hinge pin and jammed the edge of her buckle between the hinge and the head of the pin. She pulled hard and it moved a little more. As soon as there was enough room she worked it the rest of the way out. Then she fitted that pin against the other and banged on it with the chamber pot. It came loose much quicker than the other had. She lifted the heavy wooden lid, throwing it back so that it fell over the useless lock with a bang. She let out an involuntary cry. Then her breath caught and for a second she held it. With trembling fingers she reached out and lifted the helmet that sat neatly on the black polished armor. She turned it over

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and there it was the cutwork spider on the silver beaver. It fell from her fingers back into the trunk with a metal clang. She fell back onto the wooden floor. Her heart hammered so hard that she couldn’t breathe. For a second the room swam in a sickening wave. Then a greater fear took a hold of her. If she fainted, she would be laying there a helpless victim when he returned. Slowly, methodically she recalled the breathing exercises that Dane had taught her. She slowed her breathing, her heartbeat followed. Then she got up and stared down at the suit of armor. How was it possible that this was here? But she knew, even though her heart revolted against the obvious, her mind saw the truth. Amatrice had merely capitalized on the fear that had already existed. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Rolf was the real spider, the other had been a conjuration of the faerie, a terrifying trap to get her to give up her power. And while Amatrice had played her game, the real spider had spun his web and now she was caught in the center of it. She was shivering now, not with fear, but pure hatred pumping hot and furious into her veins from her scarred soul. She struggled against it. She had let it go, let the lust for vengeance die away, but it was back and it was anywhere as powerful as the carnal lusts that drove Spider. She paced the room as was her habit when she felt trapped. Then she felt it, cold and hard in her pocket pressing into her thigh. The ring. She still had the ring. She looked over her body. The only metal on her body were the grommets in the lace holes on either side of her shirt. She took it off and laid it on the fire place then laid the metal edge of her girdle on it and pounded until she cut the strip of leather that had the grommets on it. She repeated the process on the other side. Then using the broken buckle pin, she poked holes into it. She took her tunic and

pulled at the silver trim until she had a long strand and threaded it through the lace holes in her leather shirt pulling it together. It didn’t quite close the gap, but no one would see it. No one would see her. She took a breath and looked down at the suit of armor. She would not let it hold her prisoner anymore. She pulled the tunic over her leather shirt then pulled out the ring and slipped it onto her finger. “Goddess let this work,” she whispered. And looked down. There was a golden shimmer around her. It sparkled over her skin and clothing. Then there was a sound at the door and it snapped banging outward against the wall. Lord Rolf stood on the threshold. She had to force herself to keep from gasping at the look of mania on his features. He was looking straight at her. It hadn’t worked! She was still visible. It took her a second to register what he said. “Where is she?” he hissed in menacing tones as he looked around the room. His eyes lit on the open trunk. He walked forward and looked down at the armor. He lifted the helmet and stroked it lovingly then set it gently on the bed. “The mage,” he said angrily. “Gather a search party and scour the keep. They can’t have gotten far.” While he stood there with the door open, the threshold was free. The guards stood on either side of the opening. They couldn’t see her. She was invisible. She edged toward the door, careful not to make any sound, careful not to brush against any metal. She moved over the threshold and onto the far edge of the wall. Then she looked back into the Lord’s Solar. Rolf stood there beside the helmet and she wondered how she had not known that it was him all along. Hatred burned within her. She could snatch a weapon and possibly take her revenge. The knights in the doorway couldn’t see her. She could draw one of their swords. The spell would be broken then, the magic of the ring null and

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irretrievable, but she might be able to run him through before he had a chance to act. What then? Came that nagging voice of her conscience. She would have her revenge, maybe or maybe not. Either way she would be doomed. If she killed him she would be condemned for murder and executed. Or she might die fighting him, or worse, she might live and be his prisoner. And once Dane awoke. He would come back. He would find a way to come back. Even if Sir Alfred bound and gagged him and sent him to Craemira. He would come back, and he would find that she was either dead or imprisoned. He would suffer. He would be made to suffer for her revenge. But her need to see him dead, clouded that.. Her mind and her lust for revenge warred with each other, but then the threads of love, Dane’s love reached out to her and wrapped around her heart, around her soul. Justice would one day come to Spider, and maybe even by her own hand, but not now, not today. She closed her eyes and turned away from Spider and vengeance, she did it for love. She did it for Dane.

Chapter Thirty-Two Dreah crept along the dark hall. Knights and soldiers scrambled frantically in their search. More than once she had been forced to backtrack in order to keep knights from bumping into her. She made it to the base of the east tower and moved toward the stairwell leading down to the kitchen exit. A cold blast of wind hit her as she reached the corner where she had stowed Dane’s velvet robe. She picked it up and pulled it tight around her. Immediately it took on a gold sparkle as it became invisible. She stepped out into the bailey. Large snow flakes were falling. While she had been in the hall and confined in the lord’s solar, a cold wind had brought with it the powder that now coated the flagstones. Everywhere there was activity. Rolf’s search party was only part of it. The king’s entourage was readying themselves to leave. The keep was a small one and could not support the king for long. The king’s business at Darkstone Keep was done, and much of the stores were depleted. Even the wedding feast had been meager. Her heart beat heavily. Her lungs drew in the sharp cold air and her first thought was for Dane. Dane who she had rendered comatose with sleep potion. His injuries made it hard for him to get warm. His bones ached terribly when it was cold. In a drugged sleep he wouldn’t even be able to cover up any exposed extremity. He might die of exposure if Alfred and Gui were not diligent. She moved into the courtyard and felt like a child playing leap-to as she had to dodge and leap out of the way of several people, who would have inadvertently bumped into her if she hadn’t moved. The wind bit at her fiercely and she started to shiver. She pulled the velvet tightly around her thankful that she had at least that meager protection. She slipped into the stables. There was not much activity there. Obviously

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they had not widened their search beyond the walls of the keep, at least not yet. Please goddess, she prayed, please let them get away. She moved to the stall where her warhorse stood silent. She reached out and touched him and the horse spooked reared neighing aggressively. She hadn’t thought of that. The horse was afraid. It couldn’t see her. She moved to another old horse that she knew to have a mild disposition, unlike the warhorse, but the result was the same. The horse stamped and whinnied frantically. Goddess! What was she going to do? Then her eyes moved to the far end of the stable where Long Leap stood quietly in his stall. No horse was stabled next to him. The knights had never lost their fear of the strange looking demon rider. She approached Long Leap cautiously. His red eyes seemed to look straight at her, as if they saw her. She reached out and he stretched his neck forward and nuzzled her fingers. He could see her! Dreah moved forward then and buried her head into his long mane. It was not braided. No one had tended the beast in Dane’s absence except to feed and water him. She supposed she should be grateful that they hadn’t let him die. “Long Leap,” she whispered stroking his silky black hair. “I need your help. Your master needs your help.” To her surprise the beast made a sound almost as if he understood her. She looked around. All the horse tack had metal on it. She found a rope and looped it around tying knots, quickly forming a bridle. He didn’t need a bit to control him anyway. Dane had always used a bridle without one, since Long Leap responded easily to leg pressure and voice command. She would have to make do without a saddle as well. She shivered slightly and took down some blankets from a hook on the wall, careful not to allow her fingers to brush the metal. She threw

them over the demon rider’s back and then climbed astride. As soon as she was mounted, the same gold light surrounded the demon rider. Since his three-toed feet were never shod, he was free of metal, which meant that nothing on him would be seen moving. The bruises on her back were aching her badly now and she could feel a slight trickle of blood dripping down her back where the cut from the strap reopened. She nudged Long Leap out the open stable door and rode him along the edge of the bailey. Activity still abounded. When she neared the portcullis her heart dropped like a stone in a river. Lord Rolf had ordered it to be lowered. She was trapped inside the walls of the keep until it was raised. The snow continued to fall and was gathering in some areas in thick white mounds. Much of bailey was free of it since the activity in the courtyard trampled and melted it away to nothing. She shivered and pulled him off to the side and they stood in a lonely corner watching the activity. The king was still preparing to leave. Then Lord Rolf appeared in the bailey from the hall. She clenched her jaw and forced herself to remain calm. There would be a day, another time. She had to let it go. She must let it go. Lord Rolf was bellowing orders and called for mounts to search the countryside. Dreah’s heart hammered as he gave the order to raise the portcullis. Long Leap stamped restlessly, knowing that it was their intent to ride out. She soothed him with a pat in his long black mane. She rubbed his neck and forced herself not to bolt, to wait. The snow on the bridge was fresh. Any cart tracks or horse prints that had been made before had been softened with added snow. If they moved across the bridge too quickly then the others would see the fresh prints and Long Leap’s prints were unmistakable since not only were they three toed, but nearly twice as wide as the hooves of even the larger destriers. Her breath

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came in clouds and she wondered if it might be seen. She raised her cowl to cover her nose and nudged Long Leap from the corner out into the bailey. She silently prayed to the goddess that the snow covered his prints in the corner before anyone noticed them. She nudged him out after the large contingency of the king’s men as they rode ahead to make sure the way was clear for the monarch. She crossed the bridge immediately behind the soldiers riding in the snow that the other horses kicked up, hoping that no one noticed the additional disturbance of snow in the wake of the horses. She held her breath for a moment listening for a shout behind her that would reveal that her passing was noticed, but there was none and after some moments of waiting the secondary guard rode out behind her followed by the king’s procession. She fell back a slight distance from the horses in front of her and rode between the two processions. They maintained about a half a mile distance so she rode in relative secrecy . She hated the feeling of being boxed in by her enemy, but there was no hope for it. She couldn’t cut across the fields as she wanted to because the snow there was fresh and white as a newly washed sheet. She saw some of Lord Rolf’s men trotting around the edge of the forest entering at places and sometimes lifting spy glasses to scan the edge of the far slope. She rode on in steady silence. Every minute she was forced to travel in this slow entourage, was a moment wasted. The cart carrying Dane would be slow. The only thing in her favor was the fact that they had left before it started snowing and would have turned south at the crossroads long before any tracks might have caused enough suspicion for them to follow. Finally they approached Langhurst Bridge. She followed the

procession to the edge of the bridge then shifted Long Leap down the side behind some large brush. Quickly she dismounted him, knowing that he would be visible for a few moments and hoping fervently that none of Lord Rolf’s men saw him there. Even the king’s men would send word back to the keep, even if the king couldn’t be bothered to help search for an errant bride who had run off. Her running off would not change Rolf’s legal claim to the demesne. She grabbed a branch and slipped back up to the road she dusted over Long Leap’s foot prints that led off the road to the river’s edge. Then she remounted Long Leap and he was once again invisible. The secondary guard had been a great enough distance away that they hadn’t noticed the momentary dark shadow behind the brush near the bridge. Then she steered Long Leap into the frigid water. He was tall enough that he could move through it. It was swift, but he was strong and he moved without protest, more sure footed than any horse could possibly be. Any sound they might make was covered up by the noisy bubbling of the rushing river. Soon Langhurst Bridge was no longer visible. She continued to move through the water for another mile. It was slow, but it was a necessary precaution. Then she neared the south road. She knew where she was. She would travel parallel to it for a time since the road would be one of the first places they would check, she wanted to keep it track free as far as possible. It was still snowing and she could only hope that any tracks she made since they exited the river, would be covered up by the snow before they were ever seen. The way over the hill was treacherous as snow drifts covered up uneven surfaces on the ground. A horse might have lamed itself on a few of the holes that Long Leap had sunk into, but the demon rider was sure footed. They crested the rise

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and she moved onto the road that was barely discernable beneath the snow as a swath that cut a deep line in the landscape. The cart tracks were not visible on it. She took a deep breath of relief at that knowing that they must have passed this point before the snow had started to accumulate. The sky was a dark pewter. Maybe an hour of daylight remained. She had to hurry, to make headway before darkness fell and made travel nearly impossible. Once Long Leap’s feet touched the open road she leaned down low over his back and wound her hands into his heavy mane. Her fingers were half froze and the thick fur helped shield them from the wind. She pressed her legs into his sides and said the Craemirian word meant to tell the beast to go as fast as it dared. She had ridden him before, but never for a great distance. Nothing could have prepared her for the speed at which the animal moved. He was smooth in his stride. Like a child’s sled he sailed over the snow covering more ground in an hour than a horse could cover in two. Then she saw the faint traces of cart tracks on the road and she willed her mount to move even faster. Then just as the last of the daylight was fading into shadowy night, she saw something dark in the middle of the road. She called for Long Leap to slow his gait. Then when she got nearer, she saw that it was a cart. One quick glance at it told the story of what had happened. One wheel was broken. It’s two pieces lay on either side of the axle. A deep water filled rut lay beneath it. A layer of ice sat jagged where the cart wheel had broken through and it had already re-frozen where the floating ice and debris from the wheel marred the surface. She dismounted and poked a gingerly finger through the layer. It was not too thick. As cold as the wind was, it would be thicker if it had been

more than two hours past that they had wrecked here. So much time was lost already. Long Leap lowered his large head and sniffed at the hay on the cart. Dreah spotted the silver phoenix feathers of her helmet. Sir Alfred and Sir Gui had left their armor as well. It lay in a heap beside the cart. She reached for her helmet. Invisibility no longer really mattered since it was almost dark and she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her father’s helmet behind. The minute her fingers touched the metal, the golden glow on her skin disappeared. Long Leap nuzzled the hay once again making a sound very like a cat purring. His long black beard came away clustered with snow. He stared at her with his red eyes that glowed softly in the deepening night. “Yes, we have to find him,” she said surveying the nature of the wrecked cart. She swallowed back the worry that plagued her and looked into his eyes. “You know, don’t you? I think the Craemirans are right, you are smarter than a horse aren’t you.”She patted his long muzzle and brushed the snow out of his long beard. He just looked at her with those glowing eyes and she kissed his nose and remounted. The wind was blowing bitter cold now, stinging her cheeks and blowing through the layer of heavy velvet. Her fingers were growing numb once again. Her teeth chattered painfully. Around her darkness had fallen. The last vestiges of daylight extinguished and the heavy clouds blocked out the moon and stars. The only discernable light was the soft red glow of the demon rider’s eyes. The snow no longer fell, but had turned to dry icy shards that the wind picked up and whipped through the air. She couldn’t see enough to see the road. She was so cold. There was no shelter. She prayed that Sir Alfred and Sir Gui had found a shelter and that Dane was okay. Tears gathered at the edge of her crystal coated eyelashes. She leaned

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in and wound her fingers once more into Long Leap’s mane. “Take me to Dane,” she whispered, and Long Leap sprang forward heading through the snow. Dreah didn’t know which direction he took. For all she knew he had turned around and headed back for Darkstone Keep. She fought the urge to make him halt, to take control. She would trust him. She needed help and he was the only one able to assist her. Long Leap never broke stride nor made a sound. The wind howled so loudly that she couldn’t hear his muffled footfalls on the snow. She only felt his heavy muscles working beneath her, driving through the darkness as if it was a clear day he rode through and not a blizzard. The air whistled and tore at her robe. Her fingers grew numb in her grip on Long Leap’s mane. She closed her eyes and leaned down over his neck, huddling, conserving what warmth she could. Fatigue was beginning to overwhelm her. She grew numb with the cold, then she felt warm, warm and tired. She sank, into the soft folds of sleep. Unable to maintain consciousness. She was vaguely aware of slipping from the demon rider’s back, slipping into the soft white blanket of snow.

Chapter Thirty-Three Dane stood inside the relative warmth of the cave. Snow flurries streaked over the entrance in a continuous blur. The opening faced away from the wind, but every now and then a gust would blow white crystals through it. His grip tightened on the tree branch that he was using as a walking stick. Behind him the two knights conversed quietly by the fire. The horses were right behind them up against the back wall. They had lain down on the stone floor, a testament to their fatigue. The knights didn’t talk to each other whenever Dane was near, as if they would somehow call down dark magic upon themselves if they did. He turned his back on them grimly peering out into the night. He had no spell components, no magic artifacts. He felt naked without them. “Dreah,” he sighed in frustration. Where was she? Without adumbrative dust, he couldn’t conjure any images that might reveal where she was. Images came to him, but they were images born out of fear and anger, not clairvoyance. He pictured her marrying Rolf, submitting to him, submitting to him for Dane’s sake. He tried to banish the images, banish the thoughts, but he couldn’t entirely. He had never felt more helpless and less like a man than he did now. “Unless you can magic away that storm, you might as well sit by the fire and get what warmth you can from it,” said Sir Alfred. Dane turned to look at the old knight. It was the first time he had spoken directly to him since they arrived at the cave. He walked to the fire, leaning heavily on the walking stick as he went. “When the storm lets up, I’m going back,” he said. Sir Alfred looked at him sharply. “There are only two horses. No

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one is going back. I have my orders mage. You will be on a ship for Craemira. It is what her ladyship wanted.” “I don’t care what she wanted. I’m going back,” Dane stated flatly, his lime green eyes hard with determination. “If you do that, you will make her sacrifice a worthless thing,” said Gui angrily. “It would have been better if you had died. She would have left then.” “I didn’t ask her to make the sacrifice,” said Dane evenly. “You’re not worthy of her. You never were. You and your magic. Look what it’s done to her!” “Now Sir Gui,” said Sir Alfred reasonably. “It does no good to point fingers and place blame.” “Maybe not, but it was his idea to mess with the magic in the first place. It’s what started everything. If he had left Dreah out of it, then she would never have been in this predicament in the first place. It’s the mage’s fault.” He turned his eyes on Dane. “Or do you deny it?” Sir Gui challenged. Dane nodded at the biting words. “Perhaps you are right,” he said quietly. “But none of that changes the fact that I will be going back.” Sir Alfred stood. “Your words do you no good mage. I know that you have nothing with you to work magic. You are no match for either one of us physically. You have no way to get back there. You could never walk the distance, even in the best weather. You have no food, no mount, no gold to pay for any of these things even if you could find them to purchase. You will do as I say, even if I have to bind and gag you to do it.” Dane looked away from the old knight and wearily made his way back to the front entrance, looking out at the storm. His leg hurt terribly.

His side and arm ached. The cold was especially hard on his old injuries. He hated his helpless body. He despised his dependancy on others. The old knight was right. Without spell components, what magic he still possessed was useless, but what the old knight didn’t realize was that in the morning the fire would be out. The ashes from the heart of it could be used. There were a few spells that he could produce that would enable him to take one of the horses and ride away. He stared out into the darkness. Was it a trick of his eyes, or was there something out there. A red glow, or was it the reflection of the firelight on the blowing white snow. But no, it grew larger, more distinct. The muffled thudding, a dark silhouette. Long Leap! It had to be. The demon rider came forward through the opening of the cave, scattering white crystal dust all over the rocky floor. Snorting heavily, nuzzling Dane, nearly knocking him over in his excitement. His own heart pounded with relief. Dreah was safe. She was safe. “Easy, easy,” said Dane, grabbing the makeshift bridle to steady the animal. There was no rider visible on his back, but Dane was certain that Dreah was there, still invisible maybe. “We can’t see you Dreah,” he said reaching out a hand to touch where she would be on the blankets. His hand passed through into nothing. Then he saw the helmet, tangled into Long Leap’s heavy mane. The white phoenix feathers gleaming un-phased by the wind and snow. He grabbed the cold metal. She had touched the helmet. She was visible. His heart plummeted. She had fallen. Behind him Sir Alfred and Sir Gui had risen, but didn’t approach the demon rider. Dane turned back to them. No one spoke for a moment then Dane turned back to Long Leap. “Kneel,” he commanded softly. The demon rider responded immediately, bending his forelegs. Dane slipped a leg over Long Leap’s

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back and grabbed the rope that made up the reins. “Take me to her,” he whispered. The demon rider rose and faced the windswept opening of the cave. Neither knight moved or spoke a word to stop him. They both knew that the beast’s appearance alone meant that Dreah was likely dead. If so, his life mattered little to them. Long Leap moved out into the blizzard once again. The animal was weary and cold. The wind tore at him almost immediately numbing his face and the exposed skin of his hands. The further he rode, the deeper his sense of hopelessness grew. He started shivering. The pain in his limbs was excruciating. He huddled over Long Leap’s mane and rode. His joints stiffened; his hands, feet and face grew numb. He fought the urge to sleep. Then Long Leap stopped. His red eyes lit a mound in the snow. Dark hair blew in the wind. Dane gave a cry of anguish, falling from Long Leap’s back in his urgency to get down beside her. “Dreah,” he gasped barely able to form the word with his lips. He used his waning strength to turn her over. Her skin was pale. Her eyes were closed. He was too late, too late. He grabbed her hand in his. He worked the ring off her finger, barely able to handle it with his numb hands. He slipped it over his finger and whispered an incantation. An orange glow surrounded him heat flowed back into his veins. He held his hand to her face and the red glow enveloped her as well, warming her. With some of the warmth restored to him. He pulled one of the phoenix feathers that dangled from the bottom of her helmet and waved it over Dreah’s limp form. She rose up off the snow, levitating. He guided her onto Long Leap’s back and mounted up behind her. The red glow had begun to fade from her again. He reapplied the spell. It would work for a time, but it was temporary.

His magic was too diminished to do more. The spells he had already enacted had drained his power and it would be several hours before his magic would be fully restored. He formed a picture of the cave in his mind and touched Long Leap’s head. “Take us back,” he whispered. Long Leap needed no further urging. He moved off into the night. Guided by an internal compass. His gait slowed. He was fatigued and the double burden on his back was sapping his strength. Dane reapplied the warmth to Dreah and himself, but it was weaker, and wouldn’t last as long this time. By the time finally rode back into the cave, his magic had failed, but the fire was there, burning in welcome. Sir Alfred and Sir Gui came forward, wordlessly taking Dreah from Dane and helping him dismount the demon rider. They laid her down by the fire, and Dane knelt by her side, still half frozen. “Dreah,” he said reaching out to her. He smoothed the ebony locks from her face. His finger brushed over her eyelashes. Meanwhile. Sir Alfred and Sir Gui placed hot stones into their horse blankets and tucked them up against her. She lay there unmoving for a time. Dane grabbed her hands and wrapped them into the folds of his robe. “Dane,” Dreah whispered. “I’m here,” he said. She tried to tighten her grip on his fingers, but her strength failed her. “Where are we?” she asked. “In a cave. It’s used by travelers along this road. We will be safe for the night.” “Do you think you were followed?” she asked. “Sir Alfred believes that we were not noticed. The cart broke down. I was still asleep, so I don’t remember much about it. By the time I was fully awake, we were here in the cave.”

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“I’m so cold,” she said shivering. “I know,” he said, moving up near her head, so she could lay her head and shoulders on his lap. “You must be in pain,” she said. “I’m fine Dreah.” He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her against him as best his crippled body would allow. “I’m so tired,” she said. “Then sleep Dreah,” he said. “You will be all right now. I’ll watch over you.” She closed her eyes in response and drifted off to sleep. When she awoke in the morning, her head was laying on Dane’s chest. His good arm was wrapped protectively around her. Her body was pressed warmly against his. Leap Long Leap was lying down next to them on his stomach with his front legs forward, his chin resting between them like a dog sleeping on a hearth. His long beard was coated in dust from the cave floor. His red eyes were trained on the two knights sleeping opposite him. Dreah smiled and reached out a hand. Stroking his mane. The demon rider started purring. Dane opened his eyes then feeling Dreah’s warmth next to him, he tightened his hold on her. Sir Gui stirred. “That beast has more oddities,” he said testily. His breath formed a cloud in the cold air. The fire had burned out in the night. Sir Alfred awoke and poked at the coals. Through long experience, he had a fire going again within moments. “We don’t have much in the way of supplies. The snow will be too deep to travel too far yet. And even if we did, our tracks would show up conspicuously so that if anyone were trying to follow us, we would be easy to trail. In a few

days, enough travel will have made it possible for our tracks to blend. If we are lucky we will have some melt off, but in the meantime we need some supplies.” “What are you suggesting?” asked Dreah. “There is a town a few miles from here. It’s not a big one though and not too welcoming to strangers. I have enough coinage on me to go in and get some supplies. You two would draw too much attention, and the beast is out of the question. They had a mage burning in this town just last year. Some old woman was caught using the arts and was destroyed for it.” “The pity here is that if she was a mage, she would likely not have allowed herself to be burned,” Dane said dryly. “The point here is that your presence would draw too much attention,” said Sir Gui. Dane sighed. “I need spell components.” “It isn’t likely that there would be a shop that sells things like that anyway,” said Sir Gui. “If there is an herbalist in town then there are components to be had,” said Dane. “Then tell me what you need and I will attempt to obtain it, if it’s possible,” said Sir Alfred. A little while later the two knights left the cave. Dreah lay back down for a little while. She was still so weary. Dane sat nearby tending to Long Leap’s mane. Dreah drifted off to sleep watching his graceful fingers move patiently through the hair. When she woke back up she saw Dane by the fire. He stirred it back up and gathered coals from the center of it, setting them aside. Dreah got up and stretched then took the pot that Sir Alfred had

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brought with them. She melted snow in the small pot then removed her borrowed robe. She dipped a square of cloth into the boiled water and washed herself as best she could. After a few moments she became aware of Dane’s scrutiny. His green eyes were riveted on the laces that pulled her shirt together. The gap revealed a swath of skin a few inches wide down the center of her chest and stomach. The silver ribbon criss crossed over it. His jaw clenched. “What happened?” he asked. “What do you mean?” she said flushing with a certain pleasure at the way she affected him. His gaze was smoldering with desire. “I mean at the castle, after you drugged me and sent me off,” he said, his eyes penetrating her. “I’m sorry,” she said lowering her eyes feeling suddenly naked under his gaze. “Please forgive me.” He swallowed tearing his eyes from the process of roaming down the creamy expanse of her throat. He leaned heavily on his makeshift walking stick. “I’m the one who needs to ask forgiveness Dreah.” “What for?” “For being weak, for being unable to save you,” he said. “Dane there is something I need to tell you about Rolf,” she said. “No Dreah! Please don’t tell me. I don’t think I can stand to know,” he said ignoring the image that came to mind of her allowing Lord Rolf to take pleasure in her body for his sake. “I hate myself because of it.” Dreah dropped the cloth back into the pot and walked up to him. He pulled himself up straighter, balancing on his good leg, so that he could come closer to looking into her face. He winced in pain for his effort. “Dane. If you are worried that he consummated the marriage with, me stop torturing yourself. It never happened. I got away before he

touched me with his vile hands,” she said placing her palms on either side of his face. His visage nearly crumbled with relief. “What I needed to tell you is that the spider that we fought, the one that Amatrice conjured was not the same one who molested me and the other women. It was not a demon that did it, although the acts he committed were demonic. It was Lord Rolf,” she said. He looked up sharply. “What do you mean?” “I mean when I was locked in the lord’s solar ostensibly to await his return to fulfill our marriage vows, I found an armor chest. I opened it up and there, inside the chest was the suit of armor he wore. Later when I was invisible I observed him with the suit of armor. It was his. It was him all along. Amatrice merely used my fear to get me to give up the magic.” “I had wondered,” said Dane. “I never said as much because I didn’t want you to resume your quest for revenge. I had considered that whoever it was might already be dead if it wasn’t the demon. When I healed you that time, it seemed to be the work of a human villain, not a creature of magic. Those usually leave an after-presence. I detected none.” Then he looked at her. “You left there knowing that, knowing that your worst enemy might be destroyed at your hands if you stayed?” “Yes, I might never have had the strength to leave if it wasn’t for you. I left there because I knew you would come back and try to save me if I didn’t. I chose you Dane. I chose our love over my revenge. I would do it again.” He swallowed, his eyes dark with anger. “I hate myself for not realizing it sooner, when I had the power to destroy him so easily.” “You can stop hating yourself,” she said. “I never realized it. I was

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blind not to have realized it before. But we are in no place now to try and exact revenge from him. We have to get out of here first. Formulate a plan.” “How did you get so wise,” he asked smiling wryly. “I had a really smart teacher,” she said pressing her body up against him and softly, placing her lips on his. His eyes drank in the sight of her exposed skin so tantalizingly revealed down the front. He looked at her with hunger in his eyes, but he knew that theirs was a love that could never be consummated. His own body would never allow what his heart so desired. “No, I can’t stop hating myself,” he said, breaking the contact between them, turning away from her. “I don’t understand,” she said, hurt by his dismissal of her. “I’ve told you before Dreah. It’s not possible for me to be with you, to touch you as a man. But that doesn’t take away the desire that I feel. I can never be your lover,” he said bitterly. Dreah turned away from him then. They were both quiet for a time. Dane went and sat beside Long Leap, attempting to untangle his mane again. The demon rider responded to the attention, by purring and rubbing his head on Dane’s robes. Dreah reached out touching Dane’s long golden hair. He shifted away from her touch. “Please– ” she whispered, her lip quivering with rare vulnerability. “Please don’t push me away from you.” A tear slipped down from the edge of her eye, tracing down her cheek. He swallowed clenching his jaw with regret. They were both hurt and they would both suffer forever all because of the wishes on the bridge so long ago. “Forgive me,” he said, pulling her forward. “I am

bitter when I should be grateful. I just wanted so much more with you. I wanted to be so much more to you.” “I wanted those things too Dane, but there is so much more to me and you, so much that we can still be to each other. Let’s just be grateful that Terusa has let us keep what we have. If we are not, she might take that away too.” He smiled sadly. “Yes I need to learn to be satisfied, if I can.” He looked away from her. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t possibly ever understand what it would mean for him to want something so near, and never have it. She had yet to taste the fire of sensuality. She didn’t know what she was missing, but he did and now he was like a man drifting on a raft in the sea, dying of thirst, surrounded by water. The sound of rapidly approaching hooves thudded in the distance. “That must be Gui and Alfred, but just in case it isn’t,” she said, getting up letting the statement remain incomplete. She rummaged in the corner by the gear and found a crossbow. She grabbed up the quiver, wishing she had her sword, but consoled by the fact that there sounded like only one rider. Dane got up as well and moved to the edge of the cave opening peering out. He held his ring ready. In one fist, he held some ashes from the fire. It was paltry magic at best, but it was better than nothing. She peered out into the snow-covered landscape watching the horse galloping toward her pulling the reins of a riderless horse. “Wait,” she said lowering her crossbow. At the same time he lowered his hand. The yellow light on his ring faded as he let the magic drift back inside. “It’s Gui,” he said. “Where’s Sir Alfred?” she asked worriedly. Dane turned away from the entrance and limped back into the cave.

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“He’s alone and he’s riding hard with Sir Alfred’s horse in tow. It’s not a good sign,” said Dane getting Long Leap ready to ride. Dreah watched Gui approach. When he got close enough, she ran out into the snow to meet him. “Where is Sir Alfred?” she asked. “What happened?” “Knights!” he gasped. “Grayriver knights. Sir Alfred is dead!” “Dead!” Dreah cried. “How?” “Cut down by four knights in the village square who recognized him. I was inside the herbal shop when it happened. I slipped out the back door. I encountered one knight on my escape. We fought, but I was able to defeat him and slip away to where we had left our horses. The road has been traveled. Several shod horses have ridden both north and south along the road. They will find our tracks and follow.” “Are you sure he’s dead?” she asked, swallowing back past the lump that threatened to close off her throat. She had been fond of the old man. She had counted him among the few people that were her true friends. “They took his head,” said Sir Gui gravely. Dreah closed her eyes against the image that came to mind. She knew she would grieve later, when she had the time, but now she needed to think about the living. Gui and Dane were still alive. She was still alive. “We’ve got to get out of here.” “It is only two days ride to Mirisan Harbor. From there we can get a ship to Craemira if that is where you want to go,” said Dane, but even as he said it he knew she would never leave, not with Lord Rolf in power, not with Spider running loose. Dreah sighed and turned to him. “I have to go back,” she said quietly, sheathing her sword and putting on her helm.

“I know,” he said. “It’s not for revenge; it’s for peace, the peace of my soul and the peace of this land,” she said as she mounted Sir Alfred’s horse. “You know it is probably suicide.” She hesitated looking at his bandaged leg and then into his sad green eyes. They seemed to have lost some of their light. “You don’t have to come Dane. In fact I want you to go to Craemira. Perhaps the elves there can use their magic to help you.” “And what about you?” “This is my fate. I began this. Now I can’t run away and leave others to suffer in my wake. I have to see it through to the end, no matter where that end may take me.” “It would be suicide,” argued Gui. “Exactly why I am going back,” Dreah said. Sir Gui clenched his jaw. “They mean business Dreah. Sir Alfred—” “Is dead,” she said evenly. “There is nothing that can be done for him, but there are others who might become Lord Rolf’s victims. I must survive long enough to put an end to his atrocities.” “You have a lot of friends in your demesne, many who would support you whatever your cause.” said Dane. “We could hide near Darkstone Keep until we are in a position to do something.” Dreah nodded. “Are you insane? Why are we going back there? I thought you were going to Craemira. Just because Sir Alfred is dead doesn’t mean we should go back?”argued Gui. “Lord Rolf is Spider,” said Dane quietly, his green eyes boring into Gui. “What do you mean? This is nonsense; Don’t listen to this nonsense

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Dreah,” said Gui, reaching out, grabbing the loose folds of her borrowed robe. “I was the one who told Dane,” said Dreah. “It is the truth. I am not going to force you to come with me. It is your choice, but we mean to stop him.” Sir Gui’s shoulders slumped. “I will go where you go, My Lady. You know that,” he said gazing at her with an expression that had become all too familiar to her. Dane looked away from the naked love shining from the young knight’s eyes. Sharp jealousy pierced through him. Gui was a whole man. He had the ability to love Dreah in ways that he could only fantasize about. Gui nodded grimly and they went inside the cave. Already Long Leap stood and Dane had thrown the blanket over his back. “This will be a grueling ride,” said Dane. She nodded. “I shouldn’t have let him go.” “It’s not your fault,” he said balancing on his good leg. Sir Gui’s mount was stamping impatiently at the mouth of the cave. “Which way should we go?” asked Gui. “The way they least expect,” said Dane. Gui turned back to getting his mount ready. The demon rider kneeled and Dane climbed onto his back. “In any case, I’ll not be going to Creamira either. You will need me where you are going and remember. I began this with you. It’s only fitting that we end it together.” Dreah smiled at Dane. “It will likely be your end too.” He signaled Long Leap to rise. “I’m with you. You know that. Like you said, whatever the end may be.”

She swallowed. “Then let us make it a good end, one worthy of the bard’s tales.” “I have a better idea let’s make it a good beginning. I’ve been thinking. Craemira is a beautiful place Dreah, but perhaps it’s time that we build a beautiful place right here on Jentannia. Let’s not go back to Darkstone Keep simply to fight and die noble deaths. Let’s go to win.” She smiled a rare smile that actually reached her eyes. “I have always been a sore looser.” She gathered her horse’s reins and glanced over at Gui, who was already looking out across the snowy landscape, impatient to be on the move. She looked back at Dane. “I know you mage. You must have a plan. Any back doors into Darkstone Keep that you know of?” “Actually I have a better idea than that. Let’s go see Master Schlemek.” “Master Schlemek?” she asked narrowing her eyes in curiosity. He shrugged. “The power of the goddess got us into this; I suggest we seek her aid to get us out.” “I think she would rather send me to the Pit of Despair,” she said dryly. Dane half smiled and patted Long Leap. “Go,” he said evenly and the demon rider streamed out of the cave. Dane guided him with silent pressure from his fingers. The demon rider responded readily to it. The three of them rode out from the cave into the lightly falling snow. They skirted through the woods. While the way was more winding, it was actually a shorter distance back to Darkstone Keep and the three of them arrived at the small vine-covered cottage of the master priest of the Temple before nightfall. “I’ve known for a long while that you would one day return here,”

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said Schlemek as he stared long and hard into Dreah’s face. “What made you think that? Didn’t you believe I was dead?” she asked. “I knew about the enchantment and I knew too that the day of reckoning would come. After the enchantment was broken and you were known to be a woman, I knew who you were.” There was no accusation in his eyes, only sadness. “You have suffered a lot of pain, but because of that pain you understand the need for change. You were born of the bound servant class, but you were meant to lead. Terusa has chosen you to lead the people.” Dreah swallowed. She didn’t truly believe she was chosen by Terusa, but there was truth in what he said. Her suffering had made her look beyond her own needs and help others. “I will rid the world of Rolf as he is evil, but the king will never let me rule Darkstone Keep,” she reasoned. Master Schlemek gave her a sly smile. “Then it is time for a new king or should I say– queen.” She sighed and exchanged a look with Dane. His face was impassive, revealing nothing of what was going on in his overactive brain. “I could never raise the forces needed to defeat the king,” she said. “News of your fate has spread throughout the kingdom. You are the heroine of the common man. You have already defeated Rolf and the king with the people. Darkstone, indeed all of Duidine is yours, you have only to demand it. Challenge the king to single combat. If he refuses, attack his knights. Their loyalty wavers as the rest of the kingdom does not favor the king and the peasants are revolting in demesne’s all across Duidine. Send out the criers tonight and tomorrow

make your demands. The nobles dare not oppose you. The people have made their choice and they have chosen you. Terusa has blessed it.” She looked at Dane. “What do you think?” He was quiet for a long moment. His mossy green eyes seemed to burn anew with an inner light she hadn’t seen since the night the enchantment was broken. “I think Master Schlemek is right. Terusa has chosen you to lead the people,” he said. “And she has chosen you to stand my side,” said Dreah. “Even if she didn’t choose it, I would be by your side,” he said. She reached out and gave his good hand a gentle squeeze. “Together then.” He smiled gently and swallowed past the tightness in his throat. She turned to the waiting messengers. “Gather the criers and send out the word.” Together they rode for Darkstone Keep. Rolf had left the castle, leaving only half of his loyal knights behind. Most of those manning the watch were once loyal to Lander d’Avar and still loved their vassal even though he turned out to be a woman, and a few, especially because she turned out to be a woman. Seeing her sitting on her stallion in her father’s helm, many remembered the battles they had fought both beside her father and beside her. So when one of Rolf’s knights gave the order for the archers to fire, the knights still loyal to her simply disobeyed the order and fighting broke out within the keep. Rolf’s knights, were outnumbered by those loyal to Dreah and were quickly defeated. The drawbridge came down, and Dreah rode unimpeded into her keep. Never had Dreah felt more accepted and more at home than she did when her stallion rode into the bailey and her knights and loyal soldiers fell down on their knees and saluted her return.

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Chapter Thirty-Four The next morning, she sent a messenger with a challenge to the king to single combat. Within a few days thousands had gathered in response to her call to arms and Dreah rode out of the castle with Dane by her side. Already they had reports of the king and his forces marching toward Darkstone Keep. She chose the ground in the field that lay below the Temple of Terusa. Already master schlemek had a huge fire going at the foot of the temple with hot cauldrons of stew and warm drinks for the gathering army. It was estimated that the king would arrive with his forces in two days. During that time the knights of Darkstone organized the peasantry into regiments. It had been Dreah’s policy as their overlord to have the peasantry trained in arms and warfare two months out of every year and now they flocked to her aid in such numbers that astounded even her. She had known her people loved her, but she had never before realized how much they had grown to respect her as a leader. She knew then that she could never leave to go to Craemira. Her destiny was to serve as a leader to her people. Within two days the king’s army appeared where the road parted the woods. The road led from the keep through a wide nearly circular field surrounded by the forest and butting up against the stone edifice of the curtain walls of the keep. Dreah had secured the bulk of her forces in the woods. The plan was to draw the king’s forces into the circular area, past the place where the woods limed the edge of the road. For that they needed him to believe that Dreah and her men were still in the keep. For that she had employed her younger half brother Shiraz, who had grown considerably and was in similar proportions to Dreah as at the age of fifteen he had yet to gain the body of a knight. He now stood on

the crenellated ramparts above the gatehouse in response to the arrival of the king’s forces. He wore her helmet to obscure his features. His raven hair was tied back and protruded from the back of the helmet. From a distance he might easily be mistaken for his older half-sister. In the woods, on either side of the field where the king’s forces were gathering, were Dreah’s soldiers. Dreah waited with a handful of men and two knights in the copse of woods toward the far end of the field. Dane held a crying stone that would enable them to hear what her younger half brother said to the king’s messengers when they came to demand terms. The forces on the left flank hidden in the woods were led by Gui, while Sir Manis led the knights and peasant soldiers in the woods on the right side of the field. They were all crouched, low waiting for the signal from Dane. Dreah stood and watched from her camouflaged position in the woods. This was unorthodox warfare that Dane assured her the elves had used to great advantage over the large organized armies of the Nezidarians when they tried to take Creamira. She surveyed the king’s forces critically. A group of knights approached the drawbridge and addressed her younger brother. They were too far away to distinguish any features but they looked like a group ready to frequent a bawdy house more than a group facing a real threat. Dreah bristled at the insult. Lord Rolf was among them. She took a deep breath, and it floated away in a white cloud. The drums of revenge pounded in her veins. For so long it had been the pulse of her entire existence. Old habits were hard to break. Yet now she had others to think about, not just Dane, but all her people. She couldn’t let her selfish needs jeopardize what they might gain. She turned to Dane. “Activate the stone.”

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He whispered a few words over the rock in his palm and it began to glow. She could hear the king’s laughter, and she looked to the far end of the field and watched as he raised a wineskin and drank heartily from it. “I will not fight a woman. Get thee back into your husband’s bed errant wife,” said the king, and the knights joined in a rollicking laugh. Shiraz turned to Sir Drake, one of Dreah’s most loyal knights. “Give me your bow,” he said flatly. Drake handed over the weapon and Shiraz notched an arrow and fired it down into the crowd, striking the golden crown from the king’s head. The knights below suddenly quieted as the king flustered and angry looked up at him. In the woods Dreah had to stifle a laugh. “Good one little brother. Your archery lessons have paid off,” she whispered. “You missed Lady,” the king said acidly. She saw Shiraz turn to her herald as she had instructed him to do when relaying messages to the king. She hoped this would not send off any alarm bells with the king, but she doubted it would since they were so busy laughing and joking with each other. Her herald’s clear voice rang out over the field. “My lady queen says she merely removed the crown from the swine dog who pretends to be a monarch. She could have killed you with the arrow, but then she would have been depriving herself of the pleasure of running you through with her sword.” “That aught to get us some results,” said Dane wryly. “Well I did tell the boy to be confrontational,” she said, half smiling. She looked at the far end of the field. The king had signaled for his forces to march in. They were now just inside the boundaries of the field and were taking up their positions in the field. Obviously using his superior numbers to make a point about the futility of trying to hold out

against him. “Nothing like making a war,” said Dreah sarcastically. “So I guess this means we are in no mood to compromise,” said Dane. “Since when have I ever been in the mood to compromise?” she asked only half joking. “Is everything ready?” “We are as ready as we will ever be and the longer we camp out here the more likely we will be discovered and the harder it will be to fight this war. Besides the people are cold and growing restless as I am sure you have surmised. I believe your brother’s glib tongue will have the desired results,” he said. “Yes but you forget I am still wondering exactly what results I truly desire?” “To be sitting in front of a fire wearing your golden crown tonight,” he said easily. The king spoke again. “Very well witch you will have your challenge. I choose as my champion none other than your lord and husband Rolf of Darkstone Keep and Gray River Castle so that he can defeat you, and then you will be given to the pleasure of my men.” A raucous laugh and some hoots of delight came from the rowdy mixture of knights at the king’s side. Laughing, he held up his hand for silence. “But only after your husband takes his rights first. Still, worry not woman, we will not kill you, but keep you for whoring all manner of men so that we might display to the world the fate of a woman who thinks to rise above her station. What say you to that?” Shiraz spoke to Dreah’s herald then looked stony faced down at the king and his men. The herald relayed his message. “Does Rowena, Lady of Darkstone

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Keep have your word of honor then King, before all of your knights and your men that if she defeats your champion, you will surrender your kingdom to her.” “Of course. I swear it,” said the king still laughing. “Do you swear it by your honor, your crown and your sword?” he herald asked with deadly calm. The king hesitated for a second then pulled out his sword and picked up his crown from the grass at his feet as he went down on his knee and swore. Dreah knew he had no intention of honoring his oath, but she also knew how much value knights placed on oaths and honor and she knew they would lose respect for him when he broke it. He stood then after taking his oath. “Now lady lower the drawbridge so I can make good on my oath. Or do you plan to fly down here to meet your challenge?” Dreah turned to Dane. “That’s the cue. Give your signal mage.” Dane withdrew his ring and some crushed herb along with platinum dust and words of magic whispered past his lips. A silvery fire suddenly sprang up behind the king’s forces on the far end of the field between her forces. This kept the king’s forces from being able to retreat. Dreah turned to Dane who was holding Long Leap’s reins. “Take care of her boy,” he whispered to his steed, patting the demon rider. She took Long Leap’s reins but hesitated for a moment before mounting. “Dane I—” “I know,” he said softly. She rode out of the woods alone at the back of the field in front of the wall of silvery fire. The startled army didn’t know what to make of her appearance on the demon rider at first. Perhaps they believed her to be a demon who had transported herself

there from the castle while she conjured the fire. The forces parted to give the king a clear view of the lone rider at the far side of the field. She wondered what he would do now. She didn’t have long to wait. She heard the command for the archers to fire on her. Dreah forced herself to remain absolutely still. She had thought the king might do something like this. She had to trust Dane to stop the barrage. She waited the few seconds for the archers to raise their bows and unleash their arrows in unison. Just before the arrows reached her they clattered on what appeared to be an invisible wall around her. The archers and the king’s forces were stunned momentarily. Dreah gave the signal for her army to move out of the woods on either side of the great field. Their job was to engage and destroy the king’s army. Dreah’s goal was to make it to the king. Dane rode out on her warhorse up beside her. She looked into his green eyes. He lifted his palm holding out silver dust. She looked at him and then back at the chaos on the battlefield as the king’s men reorganized to meet the flanking forces. He blew the dust onto her and whispered some words in magic. “And what is that supposed to do,” she asked as she watched and waited for the right moment to move forward. “Give you a long and happy life,” he said shrugging. “Does it work?” “Probably not, but there’s not much to lose.” “Well sprinkle some on yourself my resourceful mage,” she said lightly and kicked Long Leap into a gallop across the field toward the king and the knights who were scrambling to organize a defense of the monarch as archers from the keep fired down at them.

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How could he tell her that a long life for him would be torture. He knew what he had to do and he planned to do it. She didn’t know it but the spell he had placed on her would make her enemies eyes see her as him and him as her. It would not last long, but perhaps long enough for her to get to the other end of the field. He rode hard for the wall of flames, speaking a word to dissipate a small swath for him to ride through. The flames died instantly then leaped back to life behind him, cutting off the king and his guard.and he saw the king’s forces gather and give chase. He got down from the destrier landing in a painful heap. He cursed his weakness and twisted limbs as he stood in plain sight at the base of the steps to the temple. He had a few powerful spells that he had painstakingly prepared and there would be no second chance to cast them. He would have to summon all his strength and delve draw on his will to pull it off. They were iron clad and once they were cast he would be weak, too weak to stand, too weak to fight. Likely he would die, but that didn’t concern Dane. He was not afraid to die. In fact he was more afraid of the diminished life he would continue to have should he survive. He could only hope that he gave Dreah the chance to succeed, the chance for happiness. He eyed the young knight who rode beside her as she raced toward the king. It was Gui of course. He squelched the jealousy that rose in response to him thinking of her future with another. The king’s forces glittered in the twin light of the suns. Among the hundreds that rode out against Dreah’s forces, there were only two that she desperately needed to kill. The horses hooves thundered over the field, kicking up snow and dried grass, churning the field to mud. She rode straight for the center of the formation. Her eyes were gray slits beneath the cold steel of her helmet. Then her sword came into clashing

combat with the enemy. She sliced wide with her sword, cleaving one. She was good and she knew it. She wielded her sword with the speed and precision she was trained for. Strangely rather than engage her many scattered out of her way. She figured the appearance of Long Leap made them fear her inordinately. She would not believe that it was her reputation that scattered men in the midst of battle. Her objective was to the rear of the battle and she fought in that direction, clearing a swath as if by pure magic until she cut through the main forces and barreled down on the row of officers and the royal guards that surrounded the king just behind the archers. She drove Long Leap forward and miraculously none of the archers fired in her direction. She spurred Long Leap into their lines and heard the shrieks of surprise as she broke their ranks. She didn’t even slow her mount but drove him on toward her objective, the man in the glittering crown and the knight beside him wearing the spider helmet. With her sword held wide she was surprised even shocked when she met no resistance from the king’s guard. She rode low over her saddle as she headed into their ranks. Whatever power had protected her on the battlefield was not working to keep this group from seeing her. The king rode forward leveling his javelin at her. “Die mage!” he roared as he drove his horse forward, his javelin leveled at her. He would knock her from the back of her steed. He was too powerful for her to face him in a joust. She held her shield in place, and he rode for her, but at the last second she dropped over the side of the demon rider hanging onto the saddle as his javelin struck air. She swung back into the saddle and turned Long Leap to give chase to him. The demon rider was faster and it took the king a few moments to turn

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his horse and his mount had lost much of it’s momentum and shied in fear as the fast moving demon rider bore down on him. She moved in leaped from the back of her mount driving her blade to the hilt in his gut. He flew from his mount under the power of her momentum pulling her with him. They both flew through the air and landed with a heavy thud onto the slushy mud-covered field. In the fall his helmet was knocked askew and she knew immediately by the tumble of yellow gold hair that it was not who she had thought it was. She removed the helmet and brushed the hair aside. The man was gasping in his death throes, blood seeping from his lips. She sighed and picked up her sword then pulled his out and faced the royal guards who now came barreling down on her. Without her demon rider she did not enjoy an advantage. She stood there stock still as they thundered for her. The wind whipped her black hair around her, but that was the only thing that moved for a very long moment until they were almost upon her. Then she exploded into action. Whipping first one direction and then the other, ducking a swing and taking off a head she grabbed the back of one of the saddles and swung into it behind the rider. Before the knight could perceive what had happened she drew her blade across his neck and threw him from the saddle onto the ground. She kept the horse running with her eyes set on the other rider in front of her. When she neared his mount, she leaped from hers and tackled him onto the ground. Weighted down with plate armor, he broke his neck as he fell. She was alone once again and within earshot of the demon rider. The man whom she thought was the king was a decoy. And why had he called her a mage? Suddenly a heavy fear pierced her. Her eyes flew across the distance separating her and the temple. There was Dane, standing beneath the towering marble statue of the goddess Terusa.

Lightning crackled around him. The king and his guards were ascending the steps to his position. Where had they come from? But then she knew. In an instant it was clear. The king had never rode forth to parlay with her. He must have known all along that she was not inside the keep. He had watched and waited. He was moving to Dane because he thought he was her, just as his decoy had thought she was the mage. She leaped onto Long Leap’s back, barely paying any attention to the battle that raged in the center of the field. The demon rider easily leaped over the barrier of flame and drove toward the temple under her urging. She got to the base of the temple steps as the king was trying to get to Dane. Whatever spell he was wielding was keeping the king and his men from getting to him. Dreah reigned in and for a moment she was awestruck by the fearsome power that radiated from Dane as he threw lightning down at the king and his men. The king’s mages were using their staffs to protect their monarch, but their power was no match for the frightening figure on the steps. With his black cape billowing in the wind and his eyes beaming a frightening shade of pure yellow flame, he was an awesome sight to behold. “King Remedon!” said Dreah sharply. The king turned to her and was obviously confused for a moment until light shot from the staff of one of the mages. Long Leap reared just in time to protect her from the bolt of energy, but it struck the demon rider in the side and he let out a high pitched neigh as his legs buckled beneath her. She leaped free of him, but had no time to check if the wound was mortal. The mage had raised his staff again. She dodged another bolt by diving to the ground but she stumbled and lost her

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footing. For a brief instant she saw the mage raise his staff. She scrambled up but he was ready to loose another bolt at her, but the second he chanted the word, lighting snaked around him, throwing him several feet where he fell unceremoniously, his clothes hissing with steam, his face charred beyond recognition. Another of the king’s mages moved forward to take her on, but the king halted him. “She’s mine, you tend to the mage.” The royal mages turned their attention once again to Dane. Obviously the spell Dane wove to confuse them, was no longer in affect. Good. She wanted Lord Rolf to know who it was that ran him through, but first she must defeat the king. The king held his sword wide he strode back down the steps. Behind him the mages were fighting against Dane. She saw the strain clearly etched on his features. There were still three mages fighting against him. Right now she had to trust that Dane was in control of his fight. She seized a lance and ran towards the king. She calculated the length of the lance. In the last second she dug the but of the spear into the ground and propelled herself through the air in a flying leap. On her way down she drew her sword and she buried it to the hilt through the king’s chest as they both tumbled in a crash to the muddy ground. The rain drove down now around her as she rolled off the king and leaped to her feet. Blood ran down her with the rain. Her eyes were fixed on the raging knight in spider armor whose back was turned to her as he strode up the steps toward Dane. She pulled her sword free of the king’s body and followed her nemisis. Killing the king seemed a minor victory, a minor success. She needed to kill Lord Rolf who was even now advancing on Dane wielding some shining red stone in his palm that was capturing Dane’s

energy. The charred bodies of the other mages were scattered on the steps, hissing in the rain. Dane had used a lot of energy to defeat them and now he was on his knees, his face contorted with the effort to control the magic that he had summoned. The sounds of the battle seemed to fade into nothing, she felt as if she were moving in slow motion though her legs moved forward at a dead run up the steps. As she neared the battling duo, the air itself crackled magical energy. There were nearly four hundred steps separating her and them. She was halfway up the steps when she began to yell at the spider. “It’s me you want!” she cried as she ran upward. He turned to her and laughed then hurled the red stone in his hand down the steps at her where it exploded. She flew backward and landed with a bone cracking thud on the steps then tumbled down to the nearest landing where she lay gasping in pain. In that moment Dane, released from the energy of the red orb, pulled out a spell component with shaking hands. He breath was ragged and labored. Already the mystic sphere had sucked away most of his magical energy, but he still had enough, just enough left to make one final spell. Lord Rolf moved down the steps toward Dreah. He had his bow knocked and ready. He could have killed her from afar, but he advanced on her. He drew his sword with his free hand. Dane whispered over the component. He glanced one final time to where Dreah lay dazed and injured from the explosion. “Lord Rolf,” he yelled as loud as he could. The knight turned back toward him. His eyes dark in the shadows of his helmet. Dane summoned the last of his magical will then blew over the dust. Just as he did so, the Spider, realizing what he was doing raised the crossbow and fired at the mage.

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Dane felt the steel go deep between his breastbone. He fell back onto Terusa’s white marble feet. His red blood spilled beneath her statue, mingling with the rain. He looked up at the lightning streaking above him in the sky. “I tried,” he whispered. “I tried, but I failed. Goddess forgive me– Dreah forgive–.” Below him on the steps, Dreah had seen the arrow hit Dane. The spider descended the steps and stood above her, where she lay sprawled on the landing. She was going to die now. There was nothing that could stop it, but she wanted just one last moment with Dane. She wanted to hold his hand as her life slipped away. Perhaps in death they could be together as they never had in life. But she knew even that much would be denied her. He kicked her backward and she landed a few feet from her sword. It was out of reach and even if it wasn’t he would be watching for her to grab it. She didn’t have the strength. The spider laughed cruelly. “Pathetic end,” he said smoothly. He placed his heavy boot in the center of her chest. She coughed and struggled against him. For the first time in her life she was nearly defeated, but something inside of her would not allow her to give up. Her knife pressed into her side, cold and solid. He was so busy gloating that he didn’t notice her draw the weapon. She took a deep breath and drove the blade up, even as she felt her broken ribs grind against her muscles painfully. She hit his thigh and he leaped back cursing. She wasted no time. She ignored her battered limbs, rolled over and seized her sword, without anger, without any thought of revenge. She staggered to her feet while he was trying to staunch the blood spurting from his thigh and she swung the blade wide, severing his head. He probably never even knew it was her who did it.

It fell still encased in the spider helmet and bounced unceremoniously down the steps as his headless body toppled over. She didn’t even take the time to watch it drop. It no longer mattered. Her revenge was nothing. It was hallow and without substance. What really mattered was Dane. She dropped her sword and tossed away her helmet then struggled up the rest of the steps to find him bleeding beneath the enormous statue of Terusa. He looked like a sacrifice to the goddess. She fell on her knees beside him. “Dane,” she said, her lips shaking, she threw off her helmet. His eyes fluttered open for a moment. They were no longer beaming flames, but the cool moss, calm and at peace. “I was never meant to live,” he said weakly. “Your mother saved me then, but Terusa has wanted me all my life.” Tears filled Dreah’s eyes. She looked upward at the benevolent yet cold visage of the Goddess. “Don’t go Dane. Don’t leave me,” she said, but she knew he was leaving her. He looked up at her then and reached up with his good hand. His long graceful fingers traced the edge of her face. “I only ever loved you,” he said. “As I loved you,” she said. His hand fell back and his chest rose and fell one last time. The rain fell onto his metal medallion pinging softly. It ran in rivets down the statue. Dane was gone. She looked up at the statue again. “Why?” she whispered. “Why when I did everything you ever asked of me?” She waited. No answer came back to her. There was only the sound of the rain. “Take me instead. I will give my life in place of his,” she cried. “Do you hear me! Take me instead!” She buried her face in her hands.

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“I cannot take you, not yet, Dreahalla of Queen of all Duidine.” At those words Dreah looked up. Beside her stood a woman, clad in shining white and glowing softly. She knew immediately who stood before her. She was too weak to say more, too tired to and heartsick. She sank back weakly beside Dane. The woman knelt beside her and reached out and touched Dreah in the center of her forehead. Heat and pain flooded her limbs. Her blood pounded in her head. For one brief second Dreah thought the goddess had decided to take her as she had requested. There was no regret at dying, not now. But then the goddess lifted her hand and Dreah lay there gasping and weak in the aftermath of her touch. Her wounds were healed. “Goddess,” whispered Dreah. “You still have a great destiny to rule this continent, to bring together the kingdoms and unite the people. You must bring magic back to the people of Duidine, no small task for a lifetime,” said Terusa. “I can’t bring back magic without a mage,” she said numbly, looking down at Dane. “Of course not,” said Terusa. “And frankly he is the best there is.” She reached over and touched Dane. The arrow disappeared and his body mended. No longer did he have the scars of his youth. His body gasped with air and the mage sat upright. For a moment he didn’t speak but looked at his hand and arm that were normally mangled and bent. He looked to his mended leg. He was restored to the way he had been during the enchantment. Reading his thoughts Terusa said. “This is no spell. You have been healed.” “Dane,” Dreah whispered in a choked voice.

Dane propped himself up on his elbows and looked for a moment at the apparition of the goddess. “Why have you done this? What do you want in exchange.” “Dane!” Dreah gasped. Terusa rolled her eyes. “You try and do a favor for someone and this is the thanks you get.” She appeared amused as she stood back up looking down at both of them. “Though you are right. Every favor has a price. You have both passed my test. Now you must fulfill your destiny as my servants.” Dane raised his brow and exchanged a look with Dreah. “Destiny, sounds like a high calling,” said Dane Dryly. “The very highest,” said Terusa smiling as she faded away into the rain. They both lay there for a few moments until Dane pushed himself up. “You heard the woman. You have an important destiny to fulfill.” Dreah laughed. She held her hand out to Dane and helped him stand. “Yes and I will be needing your help my mage.” Below them the battlefield had grown silent. They walked hand-inhand down the steps of the temple.

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“Your royal highness, the lord of Wintergaard Castle has arrived to attend the coronation and pledging ceremony,” said Gui. Dreah didn’t turn at the sound of his voice. In the month since the battle with the king, she had barely had a moment’s peace. It seemed as if every waking hour of the day was taken up by sending and receiving messages, securing support from the kingdom’s barons. Wintergaard Castle was the one of the largest demesne’s in the kingdom and the only one that she had not been sure of before today. She let out a long sigh, unaware until that moment how much the strain of not knowing, the prospect of more fighting had placed on her. The landscape beyond the royal castle of Highwind Tower rolled away covered in a layer of pristine white snow. Her eyes were focused not on the Wintergaard contingent, but on the darkly clad figure mounted on the demon rider. Dane was returning today. She had not seen him since the morning after the battle. They had spent one night of mutual insatiable passion, but then came the reality of winning the battle and what that meant. Too much had needed to be done to secure the kingdom from any would be contenders for the throne and invasion from the neighboring kingdoms. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest at the sight of him. A warm feeling crept through her limbs despite the draft blowing in around the windows. They had made no promises to one another and she wondered now if he would be happy by what she had to tell him. They had not talked of a permanent attachment with each other, though she knew he loved her. Still he had avoided her questions about them and their relationship and had volunteered to head up the delegation to secure her barons’ fealty as if the thing of greatest

importance was her place as queen of Duidine. She, on the other hand, could think of little else but their night of love. She wondered what her royal advisers would say if they knew how much of her time was actually spent thinking about Dane instead of the business of state. He had spent past month riding the kingdom ensuring loyalty and spreading the word of her decisive victory over the king, while she had spent it setting up administration and advisors to the crown. She had known he would be returning today because the coronation was set for the following morning and all but a few of the lesser barons had sent back replies pledging their loyalty to her. “Highness,” Gui began after several moments of silence. She had almost forgotten he was still there. She forced herself to turn away from Dane’s approach and face Gui, whom she had appointed as the new lord of Darkstone Keep. “We have been friends long Gui. Call me Dreah for goodness sake,” she admonished gently. He smiled. “Your highness knows I would never address her so familiarly especially when I have a request to make of her concerning her ward, the Lady Jaquline.” “A request?” He blushed to the roots of his hair. “I wish to ask for royal permission to marry her. She is the daughter of one of my vassals, as your highness knows, and the match is looked on favorably by the lady.” She looked into his eyes, searching for traces of the desire he had once had for her and she was happy to see that there was only affection and loyalty reflected there in his friendly blue eyes. She knew Lady Jaquline was responsible for the transformation, and she could give

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only one answer since Jaquline had spoken of nothing but Gui since she had arrived at court two weeks prior. It seemed the lady had transferred her infatuation for Dreah to Gui, and that was a circumstance that made Dreah happy indeed. “I will allow you to give the lady the news of your impending nuptials,” she said still smiling. Gui fell down on his knee and kissed her signet ring. “Thank you your royal highness. You have made me the happiest knight in the kingdom.” She laughed softly as he made a hasty exit. No doubt to give the good news to his lady love. She turned back to the window. Dane was nearly at the gates now. She smoothed her hands down the front of her gown self-consciously. She had given in to the arguments for royal decorum and dress and Lady Jaquline had supervised the construction of a royal wardrobe while Dreah had the royal armory fashion her chain mail and armor fit for a queen. After all there was only so much she was willing to give up, and certainly her knightly skills would be honed on a regular basis whatever the argument against it. She absently fingered the pearls sewn into the front of her grey velvet gown. It was liberally studded with diamonds and pearls. A magnificent silver and pearl headpiece adorned her head with a single teardrop diamond dangling down the center of her forehead on the end of a glittering silver chain. She had flatly refused to wear a wimple. She had made the royal seamstress hem the gown so that it would not trip her up when she walked. Some things would not be tolerated and tripping up was one of them. The lady had fretted about her ankles showing when she sat, but had complied with the request, albeit reluctantly. Dreah was sure that the lady had never had such problems

with the former queen. She had a messenger take a scroll to Dane informing him that she wished to see him privately. She didn’t want the eyes of all her barons watching her as she greeted him. She had thought of little else but him for the past month, every time she sent out a writ or decree she thought of him. As she practiced swordplay with the knights, she contemplated the things she had learned from Dane about fighting, and as she dressed in her royal finery she remembered the feel of his hands on her body. Now he was here and she was trembling with passion. It seemed like an eternity before the door to her royal solar opened and he stepped quietly inside. She felt the cool air rush in with him, still clinging to his velvet robes from the ride to the castle. He stopped for a moment looking at her, taking in her appearance. She realized he had never seen her dressed as a woman, and as his eyes roamed over her figure, she thought the cumbersome garments worth every tedious hour she had spent with the seamstress. For a long pause neither of them spoke. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered. He came forward then and she went into his arms. He crushed her to him for a long moment they both stood reveling in the nearness, the way their bodies molded together. “Dreah,” he said with a constricted voice then stopped himself. She was no longer the bound servant or even the minor baron of Darkstone Keep. She was now the ruler of Duidine. In his month away he had heard of the daily marriage proposals to the new soon-to-be-crowned queen. He knew her advisers would argue that she marry for political purposes. He didn’t know what to expect now. He pulled back slightly. “Your royal highness. Please forgive me,” he said.

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She looked up at him. Her grey eyes flashing angrily. “If you dare call me royal highness again, I will have you burned at the stake.” His brow rose. “We both know how that will turn out.” She smiled up at him. “Kiss me,” she said looking at his full lips then back up at his eyes. He swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can stop once I start.” “Who said I want you to stop. I mean to have you mage. By royal decree you are to stay here with me and pleasure me all night.” He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. A soft tantalizing kiss that left her hungry for more. “And what would your royal advisers say about that.” She pressed her body closer and worked her hands into his robe. “That my royal mage knows how do magic in more ways than one.” He leaned in and kissed her neck. “Mage?” he asked. “My mage lover,” she said arching her throat as he trailed kisses down. “I don’t want to be your lover,” he whispered. “Then what would be you be?” she asked sighing softly as he worked the laces of her gown. “Husband and consort,” he whispered as his head moved lower, capturing a nipple. She moaned deliciously. “I’ll give you my kingdom if you give me pleasure.” Her blood was pumping hot through her veins. She was melting beneath his touch. His fingers worked the ties of his robe. “There is only one kingdom I want to rule,” he said trailing kisses over her body as he pressed her back onto the royal bed. “What kingdom is that?” she sighed.

“Your heart,” he said softly looking down at her, his mossy eyes glazed with love and desire. “Then work your magic my mage,” she whispered twining herself around him.