Year 3632, the Sixth Age, the forty-third day of Winter

It was early evening as he walked into the city of Fārlon, the capitol of the largest southern island in Skelledaris. The orange glow from the street lamps cast the sandy roads in a dramatic light and made the shadows and alleyways seem much darker. Despite it being nearing the middle of Winter it was a warm night which had followed a warmer day.

The archipelago of Skelledaris was made up of five large sand islands covered in palm trees and occasional mangroves. Surrounding the largest of the islands were hundreds of smaller islands with similar plants and in the pale blue waters between them were many beautiful reefs. The small islands made up the millions of sand islands that riddled the Golden Sea form north of Crydon all the way to the Southern Kingdoms.

Each of the large islands of Skelledaris was ruled by a Lord who was a banner man of the King of I’ender. But even though each of the five largest islands was granted to a different Lord, it did not stop the other Lords from desiring to take rule over more than the one given to them.

In the Ages past each island had a specific and ancient name, but over time those words were forgotten and now people just referred to an island by the name of its capitol city. So as it was Lieut had made his way from Yandill, where Captain Elza of The Sparrow had dropped him off, and he ventured to the south east across Darra and now onto the island of Fārlon.

These islands of Skelledaris had been some of the only lands which had completely untouched by the war between Cardonian and Lienthor. The locals reasoned it was because their populations were small and mainly consisted of farmers and fishermen, although Boquōre did boast a sizable navy and army, but both of which were not called upon for the battle on the Morrow Plains. So to the islanders it seemed as if no war had ever happened. The only conflicts the people of Skelledaris saw were the disputes between the Lords of each island, but those rarely turned bloody.

As Lieut made his way through the dark streets in search of a tavern he reflected on his trip with Elza. After her initial horror of seeing the Fog come out of his head Elza had agreed to take him to Skelledaris as she pursued a smuggler. During the voyage she had asked him many questions about what had happened after they had parted company in the volcano of Fog on Crystallis Isle. Reluctantly Lieut answered as best he could, and also explained that much of his memory was vague. But most of Elza’s questions had been about Raith, and Lieut could see that Elza was indeed the blonde haired woman his brother struggled to remember. Although, he never said as such to Elza.

The chase after the smuggler was exciting enough to Lieut, and whenever he had some time away from Elza and her questions he stood at the fore of the ship hoping they would catch the smugglers and he could find some enjoyment.

But alas, just as it seemed as if they would catch up, the smugglers schooner reached Skelledaris and they lost the vessel among the many islands.

Elza did not seem overly worried as she told him that she knew where the smugglers were heading and she believed she could catch them yet. But that was where Lieut had parted the company with Elza and disembarked at the port of Yandill. Elza wished him well and made him promise to tell Raith to look for her whenever he came across his brother again.

But it was then that his mission to find Princess Xanthia had taken a turn for the worse and no one he spoke to knew, or even heard of any half Yineth around the islands of Skelledaris. After a day wandering about Yandill in search of information, and hoping that Kreha would show up suddenly and point him the right direction, Lieut heard a tale of a bright flash in the sky towards the southern islands. It was not much to go on, but such was the quality of leads that he had to work with.

Lieut caught the next ferry to the island of Darra to continue his search and followed the tale of the bright flash in the sky. But he found nothing in Darra so he took the next ferry to the southernmost island in Skelledaris: Fārlon.

Pushing through the doors of the large tavern Tropical Thunder Lieut pulled back his hood and glanced about the tap room. It was a busy night so not many people took note of his entrance or his walk through the tables to the bar. A large fire crackled and a minstrel was playing upon a raise dais and entertaining the patrons. Those who had noticed Lieut’s entrance mumbled between themselves in surprise, but none confronted him.

“We don’t get many of you lot around here,” the barman remarked as Lieut lent on the wooden bar top. “You here about the trouble some of the fishermen been having with the local mermaids?”

Lieut shook his head, “I have been following this story about the flash of light in the sky. What can you tell me about it?”

The barman rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Thinking it might be more of your kind ‘ay? We all heard tales of you Nevāranciens coming down in them big ships out of the sky, but none came to Skelledaris. Still none as far as I can say.”

“What can you tell me about the flash light?” Lieut asked again, his irritation obvious.

Again the man rubbed his chin, “Well now you might want to talk to ‘ol Barrett over there. He was telling some of the patrons what he saw several nights back.”

The barman pointed to the end of the bench and to a middle aged man with scruffy salt and pepper hair and a trimmed beard. Lieut considered the man curiously as he walked to the end of the bar. This man Barrett was not some drunken fisherman who liked to tell stories, and rather he seemed a hardened traveller with road worn clothes and a sword at his hip.

“The barman said you can tell me about the flash of light in the sky,” Lieut said as he stopped by the man.

Barrett glanced up and when he saw who asked him the question he quickly glanced about the tavern.

“Not much to say,” Barrett said as he turned back to the drink in his hand, “There was a bright flash and that was it. What does a Nevārancien care anyway, your ships never came to Skelledaris.”

“It has nothing to do with Nevārance,” Lieut replied simply.

“Personal business then,” Barrett nodded and again looked about the tavern.

“Just curious,” Lieut replied evenly, “Where did it happen?”

This time Barrett looked up from his drink and studied Lieut closely through squinted eyes.

“The very south of Fārlon,” Barrett said suddenly, “Right at the southern tip. Now if you would excuse me, I am retiring for the night.”

The road worn adventurer stood up and moved to leave, but the barman called after him.

“Hold up Barrett,” the barman called out, “You still waiting for the meal for three or do you want me to send it up to your rooms?”

Barrett glanced quickly to Lieut and back to the barman, “Send it up, thank you.”

With that Barrett quickly headed up the staircase to the rooms on the second floor, leaving Lieut to watch the man curiously.

****************************************************

The door of the three bed room swung in quickly and Barrett returned with a concerned look upon his face.

“Where is the dinner?” Vythe asked, “I am starved.”

“We need to leave quickly,” Barrett said grimly.

“What? Why?” Xanthia exclaimed as she rose from lounging on the bed.

“A Nevārancien down stairs is overly curious about the flash of light that brought you to these islands my lady,” Barrett replied.

Vythe sighed loudly, “What did you tell him you fool?”

“Vythe,” Xanthia snapped, “Do not talk to Barrett in that tone. He was the one that saved me after I nearly died from that teleportation, remember.”

“Which would not have happened if you had just listened to me to begin with,” Vythe rebutted in frustration.

“Enough, we need to leave,” Barrett said before Xanthia could reply, “We should be able to make the last ferry to Darra. Vythe, Xanthia, you two go out the window and down the drain pipe. I will leave by the tap room so the Nevārancien will dismiss any curiosities he might have.”

“But I can’t climb,” Xanthia exclaimed, “My arm is not yet fully healed.”

Vythe sighed loudly again as he moved to the window, “It will heal again. Let’s move.”

“Climbing down drain pipes is so undignified,” Xanthia huffed but she moved to join Vythe at the window.

“I will meet you out the front with the horses, Barrett,” Vythe said before he slid down the drain pipe.

*************************************************

Lieut swallowed a mouthful of water from his clay cup as he continued to ponder the strange encounter with the man Barrett. In truth he was tired of this chase that Kreha had sent him on and he was beginning to think that the Princess was not even in these islands and Kreha had simply made a mistake. But the strange reaction and responses to his questions that Barrett had made kept coming back into his thoughts. He could tell that the man was hiding something from him. But what?

In his contemplation he missed seeing Barrett move through the barroom and out the doors. But when a serving girl came down from the stairs with a full plate of food he realised the truth.

“That’s for Barrett’s room girl,” the barman called, “How many times do I have to tell ya?”

“He ain’t there, the rooms empty,” the serving girl called back in annoyance.

Lieut was up from his seat in a flash and darted from the tavern, just as he ran out onto the streets three horses thundered out of the town and towards the ferry to Darra.

A slight smile came to Lieut’s face as he watched them go. He always enjoyed a good hunt.

***************************************************

Vythe glanced over his shoulder as they rode quickly out of Fārlon, in the light of the street lamp he saw a Nevārancien watching them leave. Vythe’s mind suddenly flashed back to the time he was sailing with Captain Buckley on the Lusty Mermaid and saw a Nevārancien watching them from the prow of the chasing ship. He could see now that these two moments were no coincidence. Vythe also realised that he had been incredibly lucky to come across Princess Xanthia before that Nevārancien.

After Captain Buckley had left him at Boquōre Vythe went about looking for the tale about the bright flash in the sky. Luck was with him and the first tavern he came across he heard the tale and he also learnt that it happened in the south, likely Fārlon. So taking the earliest available ferry he arrived in Fārlon in short order and went about finding the source of the tale. In little time he found his way to a small cabin in the hills south of the city of Fārlon where the man Barrett almost killed him with his incredibly skilled swordsmanship. But Xanthia limped from the cabin with her arm in a sling and called them to stop the fight before any serious injury was sustained.

During the time at Barrett’s cabin Vythe learnt of Xanthia’s near death experience after she fell from a great height when the teleportation landed. As he waited for her to be strong enough to travel Vythe also learnt that Barrett was once the Captain of King Arendt’s elite guard, and was forced to retire when Arendt proclaimed that Barrett had become too old to be of use.

Once Xanthia had healed enough, the three of them began the trek back to Crydon.

Vythe let out a small laugh as he remembered thinking that this trip was going to easy. But luck had been with them so far, and it seemed as though it still was, for as they came to the ferry to Darra he could see that the last trip was just about to be underway.

“What good fortune,” Vythe laughed as they dropped from their horses and moved onto the ferry.

Barely moments later the ferry pulled away from the shore and moved silently out into the reef littered channel between Darra and Fārlon.

“Luck is with us it would seem,” Vythe smiled to Xanthia and Barrett as they leaned against the back rail of the ferry.

“Only just, look,” Barrett remarked grimly as he pointed back to the shore where a dark figure stood in the lamp light and tall black horse beside him.

“Those Nevāranciens scar me,” Xanthia remarked and she shivered.

“He will likely take the first ferry to Yandill in the morning,” Barrett growled, “Try and cut us off as we head to Boquōre in search of a ship to Crydon.”

“Hopefully we can lose him in the many streets on Yandill,” Xanthia smiled.

“Where were the other two though,” Vythe said thoughtfully, “The Grey Company usually travel in groups of three. Barrett?”

Barrett shrugged, “I think there is only one of them.”

“How odd,” Vythe mumbled, “Who could have known Xanthia was even here in Skelledaris, let alone alive?”

Barrett nodded grimly, “It doesn’t sit well with me either.”

“Who would want me dead anyway?” Xanthia asked in despair.

“Perhaps not dead,” Barrett replied, “But many would look to ransom you to your father if they could.”

Vythe nodded and looked back to the ferry dock which was now lost in the night and disappearing behind many small islands. He believed that they would be safe enough until they reached Yandill, but that did not stop him from constantly being on edge. With a sigh Vythe looked back over the side of the flat bottomed ferry and to the glowing reef below him. The waters of Skelledaris were so clear that he could almost make out the individual reef plants that glowed a light blue and the many coloured fish that swum about.

Vythe had heard tails of the mermaids of Skelledaris luring men over the side of boats with beautiful songs before dragging them to the bottom of the ocean. But on his first ferry trip between Boquōre and Fārlon the mermaids that he spoke to were quite friendly.

He continued to stare in wonder at the glowing reefs for the several hours it took before they docked at Darra. Cautiously they moved into the city where they found a small inn to stay the night. But Vythe and Barrett both found little sleep and the next day as they headed for the ferry to Yandill they were both tired and irritable.

Barrett rode in the lead followed by Xanthia, with Vythe watching the rear. But despite their overly cautious approach they came across no one who gave them more than a passing glance. So Vythe spent the whole ride silently complaining about the strangely hot weather in these islands and looking curiously at the unusual landscape. Here in the sand islands it was mostly flat with little grass covering the white sand. A few small mountains stood out, all covered in palm trees and other such plants. The only undergrowth around the palms was woody bushes with harsh leaves and small berries. But the shrubs provided enough cover for the small animals that foraged around on the ground.

They soon came to the ferry dock that would take them to Yandill, but they had to wait for it to arrive. The waiting time seemed painfully long, but Vythe entertained himself by watching several mermaids sun bake on some rocks out in the water. It was even more enjoyable considering mermaids can transform the fishlike tail into human legs when on land and back into a fish tail when in water. So as it was the mermaids appeared like any other human maid sunbaking naked on a flat rock.

This strange morphing ability of the mermaids was the reason they were also know by the name of Nilyain, which roughly translated from elven to mean water human. This rough translation prompted many scholars to come to Skelledaris many years ago to try and discern how the mermaids morphing ability worked. Of course no real conclusion was drawn and many thought they were just humans who cast magicks upon themselves to be a fish, or vice versa. This caused many stories to come about proclaiming that the mermaids would steal village girls to turn them and teach them their malicious ways. But the famous Dional Atborough cleared up these stories in his large book about the mermaids called Goddess of the Sea. Vythe remembered reading that books quite thoroughly in his youth for it had some nicely detailed pictures.

Vythe smiled at the memory and concluded that real life mermaids were far better than the ones portrayed in the book. His overattentiveness of the mermaids clearly irritated Xanthia, especially when she was trying to talk to him.

The ferry arrived soon enough and Vythe watched the water drift by the boat in boredom as the hours slipped by.

As they began to near Yandill, Vythe began pace irritably around the ferry hoping that they had beaten the Nevārancien to the city. Some relief came when the dock came in view and there was no silver haired warrior waiting for them.

They all breathed a sigh of relief as they rode from the ferry and moved into the busy city streets. But the tension quickly mounted when Barrett pointed out a silver haired warrior behind them heading in the opposite direction. Thankfully they had not been spotted and they did not wait around to test their luck.

Before Vythe followed his companions he looked back at the Nevārancien in the distance a strange feeling tugging at his gut. But by now the warrior was too far away to note any distinguishing characteristics, apart from his silver hair and sword on his back.

Vythe pushed away the strange feeling and followed Xanthia and Barrett through the twisting streets. Most of the streets were wide and sandy and twisted confusingly throughout the wooden houses. The wood of the building was mostly weather worn with no paint and the rooves tiled with grey slate, and most stood a few feet off the ground on wooden supports. Vythe was glad that they stuck to the main road, and even though it moved through the city in a confused manner he dreaded to think what it would be like among the narrower paths that broke off from the main road. However it was not long until they moved through the wooden gates and out of the city where they urged their horses faster across the sandy island.

Inüer was warm on Vythe’s back and a cool breeze blew in from the sea as they trotted by the palm trees. Cresting a ridge Vythe glanced back to the city of Yandill just in time to see a black horse gallop from the gates which caused his gut to twist uncomfortably.

“Damn it,” Vythe swore loudly, “The Nevārancien is on our tail, we need to move quickly.”

Barrett and Xanthia did not need to be told twice and they kicked their horses into a gallop along the wide white sand road. Many times Vythe looked over his shoulder expecting the black horse to thunder down upon them, but whenever they were on a long stretch of road the Nevārancien was still far behind them. Although, it did seem that the warrior was gaining ground.

The Leviathan Bridge which connected the island of Yandill and Boquōre was soon before them. Its great stone serpents snaked out from the banks on either side of the waterway before rising up and meeting in the middle, their dragon-like heads nearly touching fifty feet above the actual walkway. The grey stones of the bridge had each been crafted to look like scales and the heads of the Leviathan’s were carved with incredible detail. So high was the arch of the Leviathan Bridge that it allowed even tall masted ships to sail underneath without hindrance.

The bridge was built many Ages ago as a sign of peace between Yandill and Boquōre. The old bridge had been made of wood and in had been burned to cinders by one of the sides during the conflict between the Lords of the two islands. No one on the islands these days recalled what the dispute had been about, nor why the bridge had been burned in the first place. But they were incredible proud of their serpentine bridge and told stories of how their ancestors had built a particular part of the magnificent structure. 

But Vythe was not taking his time to marvel at the magnificent bridge or ponder its history, for when he glanced over his shoulder the Nevārancien was much closer than he thought comfortable.

****************************************************

Lieut wore a smile as he raced his stolen horse towards the Leviathan Bridge, despite the setback in Fārlon and the further trouble he came across in Yandill, he was now right on the tail of his prey.

He could see the Yineth ears of the Princess just ahead of the bodyguard that was watching the rear of the group. A strange feeling gnawed at him every time he considered the black gold vest the bodyguard wore, but he shook away the strange feelings and focused his mind on the task.

The grey stone of the Leviathan Bridge clattered loudly under the hooves of his horse and many travellers jumped out of the way as he pushed his powerful steed onwards. Passing the midway point of the bridge and under the towering Leviathans he could see that he had made up much ground. His victim’s horses were not a fit as the one he had stolen, and even now after a long chase the large black stallion was still running hard.

The bridge vanished behind him and still his horse powered on, gaining ground with every long stride and flicking sand high into the air. Soon he was close enough to make out the design of the bodyguards vest and again the strange feeling twisted his gut. Stubbornly Lieut pushed the feelings away and urged his horse on faster.

The wooden walls of Boquōre soon came into view and it looked as if his victims would still make the city. But it mattered little now, he was hot on their tail and nothing could stop him from getting to them.

To his surprise the lead bodyguard stopped his horse and wheeled about, telling Xanthia and the other bodyguard to continue into the city, which was barely a hundred metres away.

The bodyguard, who Lieut recognised as the man Barrett, drew his sword and charged towards him.

Lieut smirked and drew forth his own sword just in time to deflect the tip of Barrett’s blade. He could have continued into the city in pursuit of Xanthia but Lieut knew that this man Barrett would continue until one of them was dead.

Lieut reined his black steed to a halt a hundred metres from the gates and dropped from the saddle, preferring to fight on foot instead on the back of a horse.

With his sword in both hands Lieut calmly walked towards Barrett who had made for another charge on his horse. The ground trembled and Barrett came upon him, the man’s sword swung for Lieut’s head, but he easily deflected it.

Lieut could tell that the horse Barrett rode was not familiar with mounted combat and had likely spent most of its life in a field grazing. Which meant it was unlikely to trample him and would shy away if he went to strike it.

Again Barrett charged in sword tip leading the way. At the last second Lieut darted to the other side of the horse and away from Barrett’s blade. Lieut’s movement to the side and the flash of his blade across the horse’s eyes balked the steed as he knew it would and caused Barrett to pull up shortly after their engagement.

Lieut was beside the horse in a second his sword slicing for Barrett’s gut. But the old soldier was skilled enough to drop from the horse as soon as he could and Lieut was their ready to face him on even footing.

Lieut could see that this man was skilled with a blade, so he began cautiously and circled Barrett so his back was to the city gates.

“Sir Barrett,” Lieut heard a female voice call out behind him, but he did not take his eyes from his victim.

“Go Xanthia,” Barrett yelled back, his eyes never leaving Lieut’s, “Go while you still can.”

A sly smile came to Lieut’s face, “As should you, sir knight.”

Barrett flicked back his cloak confidently and took up a solid defensive posture.

“I was the Captain of King Arendt’s elite guard for forty years,” Barrett announced, “Not once have I been beaten.”

Lieut smirked and shook his head in amusement, “Obviously, otherwise you would already be dead.”

“You will not defeat me today, and you will not take Princess Xanthia,” Barrett continued his confident declarations, “I will kill you.”

“You could not be more wrong,” Lieut said coldly.

Lieut was the first to move and he lunged at Barrett with a swift stab to the man’s chest followed by a pirouette and a slice low. The sound of metal rung out and Lieut continued to gage his opponent’s skill with clever attack routines. But Barrett was up to the task and had excellent technique and his counters were cunning. What Barrett lacked was speed and strength he made up in technique and the man knew it as well, cleverly he had set his foot work to cover that disadvantage as best he could.

But Lieut was too skilled and too strong, and he could see that Barrett would tire from his relentless assault soon.

As the metal rung out and white sand was kicked up many people came to look on from the walls of Boquōre. But as Lieut glanced towards the gate during a moments break in the combat he could not spot the princess among the onlookers.

This battle with Barrett quickly changed from an enjoyable fight to an annoyance. The smile that had been on Lieut’s face vanished and was replaced with a cold glare at the man who was delaying him.

It seemed as if Barrett noticed the change in Lieut and tightened up his defensive moves despites the obvious lethargy that was starting to take a hold of the man. Barrett tried hard to defend but Lieut soon saw his chance to end the fight.

Lieut pushed ahead with a series of cuts and stabs which forced Barrett backwards in his defence as he laboured for breath. The end came when Lieut darted forward, his sword slicing upwards blasting Barrett’s defences high. Lieut continued his momentum and quicker than Barrett realised Lieut twisted on his toe and changing grip of his sword drove the tip deep into Barrett’s chest. Someone from the city screamed and Barrett’s sword fell from his hands.

Lieut pulled his blade free and Barrett slumped to his knees, an expression of surprise upon his face.

Lieut turned from Barrett and flicked the blood from his sword before returning it to the clips on his shoulder guard. He heard the sound of Barrett’s body slumping to the sand as he made his way casually towards the city gate. Curiously his stolen horse trotted up behind him and followed him into the city.

 The crowd of people parted before him like a wave on rocks and he walked confidently through the gates. He had almost moved completely into the city before one of the guards gathered enough wit to try and stop him.

“Hold you,” one guard shouted, “Murder is a crime.”

“I was attacked first if you recall,” Lieut replied dismissively, not stopping his walk.

The guard stammered a few words but could not come up with a reply.

“Wait, you,” Lieut suddenly said as he turned on the guard.

The guardsman nearly fell over in shock and he adjusted his helm nervously.

“A half Yineth came through here with a man with a black and gold vest,” Lieut said, “Do you remember?”

The guard shuffled back a step and nodded quickly.

“Which way did they head?” demanded Lieut.

The guard stumbled over a few words.

“Speak,” Lieut commanded, becoming annoyed with this buffoon.

“They are now guests with Lord Wondell,” the guard replied.

“De’im,” Lieut cursed and turned away from the guard and headed into the city, the black stallion still following him.

Lieut thought it unlikely that Xanthia was seeking refuge with the Lord of Boquōre, especially considering that Skelledaris was under the rule of I’ender. So the only other explanation was that Lord Wondell realised who Xanthia really was and decided to try and find profit on the matter.

Lieut sighed angrily, it was a bad idea to try and storm the castle but at the same time waiting around to see what will happen was not a fun idea.

“Where are you when I need your help Kreha?” Lieut mumbled and began to search for a tavern to linger in.

**************************************************

Alongside Xanthia, Vythe was roughly shoved through the decorative halls of Lord Wondell’s castle. But he hardly took note of his surroundings for he was still in shock from seeing who that Nevārancien really was. Continuously he told himself that it was not possible, that it had to be some other Nevārancien, but that was not true. He realised that he should have connected the dots the moment he saw the silver hair instead of the usual dull grey that all others from Nevārance had. But the second he got a good look at the sword in the Nevāranciens hand, that black curved blade with a burning silver edge and lion head pommel he knew it could not be any one else but Lieut.

It was such a sudden and incredible realisation that he did not take note of his surroundings until he and Xanthia were standing in front of Lord Wondell in his throne room.

The young Lord lounged comfortable on a large throne with one leg slouched over the arm rest. His coral crown sat crookedly on his brow and he wore only a light linen shirt that was unbuttoned halfway down his tanned chest. His pants were of the same material as his shirt and upon his feet were only leather sandals. At each side of the throne stood scantily clad maids who were fanning the Lord with large palm leaves.

Lord Wondell was not like any Lord Vythe had ever come across, but such was the way in the islands of Skelledaris, other areas of Essinendeür always say: that it is only ever Summer in the isles of Skelledaris.

As Vythe looked about he realised that this building was not much like a castle at all and it resembled more of a holiday estate in Vythe’s eyes. The throne room was large and open with palm like plants standing by the glass doors. The many wide doors that led outside onto a patio and garden, and each of the doors were wide open letting the gentle breeze waft in and blow about the white curtains.

“Lanart,” the Lord called to a thin dark haired man at the foot of the dais, “Who are these people that you have brought before me?”

The man called Lanart looked awkwardly from Vythe to his liege.

“My Lord this is the half Yineth Princess Xanthia, daughter of King Lienthor,” Lanart said as if it were obvious.

The young Lord removed his crown and fixed up his dark hair before placing the crown back on his head at a similar angle.

“So why is she here?” Lord Wondell asked impatiently.

“My Lord, don’t you remember the story of King Lienthor’s daughter being assassinated,” Lanart stammered, “It was the reason why the war between Lord Cardonian and King Lienthor ignited.”

“You did not answer my question,” Lord Wondell sighed angrily.

“Clearly she is not dead my Lord,” Lanart explained.

“Still you do not answer my question.”

“My Lord, of course you see how having her in your possession can strengthen your position,” Lanart explained as if he would to a child, even though Lord Wondell was obviously nearing his mid-twenties. “We could ransom her to Lienthor for a large amount of money. Or you could force a marriage and claim the throne of Krnōrel.”

“But Skelledaris is under the rule of I’ender,” the Lord rolled his eyes.

“My Lord, that does not mean that it always has to be as such,” Lanart smiled condescendingly.

“Don’t talk to me like I am stupid,” Lord Wondell snapped, “You know I don’t like it when you do that. And why would I want to marry her, she is not as half as attractive as the tales say, besides I have plenty of women here.”

To accentuate his point he pulled one of the fan girls onto his lap and began fondling her. The maid giggled as the Lord whispered something in her ear and ran his hand up the inside of her thigh.

Vythe could see Xanthia wanted to impart some words of her own after the Lords quip about her beauty, but she wisely held her tongue.

“Then ransom her to Lienthor, my Lord,” Lanart sighed.

“Maybe later,” Wondell waved at them, his interest completely held by the girl in his lap, “Put them in the dungeon.”

“My Lord,” Lanart cut in, “The dungeon is no place for a Princess.”

“A dead Princess,” the Lord snapped back, “To the dungeon with both of them. Put them in the same cell so we don’t waste space.”

“My Lord, that is not dignified,” Lanart argued.

“I gave an order,” Lord Wondell snapped angrily, “To the dungeon with them until I have made up my mind.”

With no chance to say anything Vythe and Xanthia were roughly pulled away and out of the throne room. After a few turns and a short descent they were stripped of their equipment and both shoved into a small and hot cell with only a single bed.

“The nerve of that little wretch,” Vythe sighed loudly as he took a seat on the bed.

But Xanthia remained by the bars staring forlornly at nothing.

“I can’t seem to use any magicks here either,” Vythe remarked, trying to coax Xanthia into a conversation, but it did not work.

Many minutes of silence slipped by and finally Xanthia moved from the bars and sat next to Vythe.

“I can’t believe Sir Barrett is dead,” the half Yineth said softly and began to cry into her hands.

“His plan would have work if it were not for this foolish Lord Wondell and his advisor Lanart,” Vythe said as he undid a few buttons of his shirt and vest, and Xanthia just continued to cry.

Xanthia’s word stuck with Vythe as they sat there sweating in the hot cell. Why did Barrett need to die? For it was indeed Lieut who killed him. Why was Lieut chasing them down if he did not already know who they were, and then why did he even fight Barrett instead of explaining that he and Vythe knew each other?

Such questions nagged at him as he sat in the heat and wondered what to do.