Let

Oceans dry and

Valleys rise before I

Ever give you up. - Wedding vow of the Skidht people.

The 4205th year of the Illumination

"For the crimes of treason and actively working against the sacred prosperity of the kingdom, for harbouring and concealing members of the dangerous organisation known as The Lighting from the law, I, King Rathgar of Evermath, Lorden of Bellaron, proclaim this man to be a traitor to the realm, and he will henceforth be executed at sundown as is fitting for one of his kind."

The man fell to his knees, sobbing pitifully and pleading for mercy. The king only laughed cruelly and grinned at the man's cries. The guards hauled him roughly to his feet and shook him savagely until his sobs turned to a miserable whimpering. Then they swiftly marched him back to the grim and lonely cell that would be his home until his now certain beheading.

"Next," drawled the king, lounging back onto his ornately carved and studded throne as the next prisoner awaiting sentencing was dragged into the throne room, looking both pleased with himself and slightly bored.

And that,thought Derry,is the problem.He stalked out of the throne room, his face a blank mask, until it gradually crumbled and gave way to an expression as black as thunder. His father's derisive laughter followed after him. No one tried to stop him; he was known for his reluctance to condemn prisoners.

"A weakness," his father had said, scathingly. "Soft, like his fool of a mother."

Striding down the long corridors of the Greatstone Palace Derry threw open the doors of his chambers and slammed them shut behind him with such force that the paned windows high on the walls rattled and shook from the vibrations. He leant back against the doors, feeling sick to his stomach. Perhaps it was traitorous, perhaps it was a betrayal of his blood, but Derry hated his father. What kind of a king smirks as he condemns a man to death, or orders a thief's hand to be chopped off without considering what had driven the man to thievery in the first place? What kind of amanlaughs as he watches his prisoners and members of The Lighting in particular being brutally tortured? Several times Rathgar himself had made his victims scream with agony as he put out their eyes or seared their flesh with red-hot irons. Of course, none of the lordens would ever believe it. To those outside of the Palace, Rathgar was a good and generous king, who was liberal with gifts of food and money to the poor. He was youthful and handsome, and had already provided an heir to the throne from his deceased wife. He was a skilled speaker; a master of speech and persuasion. How else had he managed to convince the lordens that his elder brother had died a natural death? To the people of Evermath, King Rathgar was a saintly man who commanded loyalty from his subjects, was trustworthy and honest, and who never, ever caused pain willingly.

What complete rubbish. He enjoys it and he does it often, the sadistic bastard.

Pouring himself a drink from the wine pitcher on his desk with shaking fingers, Derry gave a half smile as a certain ex - slave slipped quietly into the room from an inner chamber. Jenna saw straight away the ashen pallor of his face and the clenched jaw that betrayed his frustration. Deragn Waulton might be the Crown Prince of Evermath, but he certainly did not take after his father. His father's fiery auburn hair and tall stature he had inherited, but his nature was gentle and his character kind. He watched as Jenna walked across the room and closed the gap between them until she stood before him, assessing him with her steady brown eyes. He met them with his own dark blue ones. He saw his sorrow mirrored in hers; a sorrow for him as well as for the poor souls who had been sentenced to death that day. Slowly she reached up and stroked his cheek.

"Derry," she said tenderly," you are far too good for this castle."

"What's the use of being good when you're powerless to change anything?" He asked bitterly. "He was bored, Jenna. He sat there and tossed aside people's lives like he was God Brael himself, and he lookedbored!"

"I know sweetheart, I know," she soothed.

His face softened. Jenna smiled as he drew her into his arms and buried his face in her hair.

"You're only eighteen, Derry. You can't - shouldn't - feel responsible for the actions of your father. Sometimes I think you carry the world on your shoulders."

"Mmm..." Derry pulled out of the embrace smiling, and tenderly kissed her, first on the cheek and then on her mouth. She tasted like summer. Feeling her warmth next to his chest he felt all his anger and annoyance roll of him as she stripped his black mood away. He suddenly felt as though he were holding something very precious in his arms. She was the only thing in his gilded and twisted world that was real and warm and kind. His mother had died shortly after his birth, so he couldn't remember much of her, but her warmth and a feeling of beinglovedhe did remember, and it was the same love he shared with Jenna that gave him some hope of a future.

"Derry! Derry!" a small boy burst into the room, a look of pure delight on his face. Laughing, Derry picked up the boy and swung him into the air, before tickling his little stomach and reducing the boy to fits of giggles. In revenge, the boy demanded to be sat on Derry's shoulders. Derry proceeded to take the part of a noble steed, and cantered around the large room, catering to the small boy's wishes. At last, Derry begged for some time to breathe. As Jenna watched the two people she loved most in all the world, she felt supremely happy. She thought back to the terrible day when, only twelve years of age, she had been brutally raped by a guardsman. She remembered standing before the king, trembling with fear and shame, her face bloodied and her body bruised, and recalled how he had refused to punish the guard who had been caught in the act.

"Do you really think that a slave has rights above those of a guard of the royal house of Waulton? If you were one of the more beautiful slaves I might have done it myself. As it is, Gurt did you an honour. You should be honoured, slave, that he lay with you. Your insolence offends me."

His words had torn her up inside and out, as he skilfully crushed her. Gurt himself pulled her from the throne-room by her hair, and she had cowered in fear at the thought of what he would do to her. Then Derry, kind, gentle Derry, only fourteen himself, had stepped in and had threatened Gurt with a wild fury that she had never seen again. His fiery hair had seemed to be alive with rage, and his blue eyes had sparked lightning. Gurt left the Greatstone Palace that very night, and Derry paid the slave-master the money that bought her freedom. When she found out that Gurt had left her with child, she had wept bitterly, for who would respect her or marry her now? She was merely a ruined ex-slave, of no use to anybody. She was sure that she would be despised, turned away from every threshold of every door. Again, like an angel, Derry had stepped in, took care of her and the child, offered, even at the age of fifteen, to help her bring the baby up. From then until now, Derry had been her protector and friend, and their feelings for each other had slowly, softly grown in time. Now, he was her entire world.

"Tern lad," he said, "I trust you've been looking after your mother like I told you?"

"Of course I did, Derry!" protested Tern indignantly.

"Good man," Derry praised, stroking Tern's head softly. As Tern beamed with pride at the praise of his surrogate father, Derry looked at Jenna. He loved her so much it almost hurt. They smiled at each other, lost in their bliss.

Gods, how beautiful she is. How lucky I am to be blessed with such a woman and child.

The bell of the second hour rang mournfully, breaking Jenna and Derry out of their shared reverie with jolt.

"I'd better be going, my love. I'm expected at some of the outer holdings of Bellaron."

"Of course," Jenna replied. He was always busy with jobs his father required him to do, usually involving the upkeep of farms or villages on the outskirts of Bellaron. It meant their time together was limited, but they couldn't risk being found out. Derry's father knew that some years ago his son had saved a slave girl, and stopped by to see her every now and again, but that was the extent of his knowledge. Jenna and Derry had agreed that it would be too risky for them to have their relationship outside the doors of his chambers. While Derry didn't think that Jenna would be punished, he did think that his father would probably have her sacked and thrown out of the castle. That, he couldn't risk.

Getting to his feet reluctantly, Derry gave Tern a hug and Jenna a quick kiss before turning to go.

"Wait!" cried Jenna. She ran to him and tucked into his pocket a piece of paper. "Don't read it now, read it later. Quick, go, you'll be late!" She kissed him again and pushed him gently out of the door. "Now Tern, how about going over your letters?"

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

Rathgar got to his feet and yawned. Six hours sitting on that god-awful chair, and his backside was feeling rather too sore for his liking. Six hours of listening and sentencing, listening, sentencing, listening, acquitting… too many cases to recall or remember. He did know however that there would be five executions this evening at the setting of the sun: three for murder, two for the combined offence of obstructing the law and aiding The Lighting.

Rathgar grimaced. The Lighting was a constant thorn in his side that he couldn't get rid of no matter how hard he tried. It had taken him years to get onto the throne, and The Lighting seemed determined to make things difficult, stirring up whispers of treachery and deception. All of which were true, of course, but that wasn't for his people to know. Not to mention the difficult Islanders. Rathgar strongly suspected that these two organisations that he hadn't yet managed to knuckle under his rule were in league with each other. Time and time again he had sent soldiers and assassins out to the Ring Islands to pillage and burn and rape, and each time they either vanished completely or came back heavily reduced in numbers. It was those cursed pirates. They obstructed the trade routes along The Bleakwash Channel, and the Islands were their domain. He would have to deal with both them and The Lighting before he could continue his plans concerning Werdittar, Veritath and Skidht.

A sibilant voice interrupted his thoughts. "Your greatnesssss, I come to report back to you on the matter which we discussssed." A slimy looking man with greasy hair and an almost babyish lisp was kneeling at Rathgar's feet. The king grimaced with disgust. He only kept Vesper with him because the man knew too much to be sacked and was too useful for a silent dagger in the night.

"Then tell me, Vesper, are the rumours concerning my son true?"

Rathgar thought of his son with disappointment. When he had been his son's age he had killed numerous men in duels, visited numerous whore - houses, drank voraciously and taught himself the art of torture. His son was depressingly weak. He took after his mother in that. The boy must be toughened up before he was killed by a noble seeking to steal the crown, or was slaughtered by those who wished to dispose of the royal line. He had heard rumours that his son was spending time with a maid. Too much time. It would not do for Deragn to fall for some poor serving wench - oh no, Deragn already had his future planned for him. Rathgar refused to let his son's romantic nature ruin those plans. The woman must be gotten rid of somehow.

"Yesss, your mightynessss. An ex - ssslave girl he ressscued sssome yearsss ago. A maid told me that the crown princcce hasss been sssseeing her and her bassstard ssson given her from her rape for almossst five yearsss now."

Rathgar's face hardened. It was high time he took his disappointing son and turned him into something that wouldn't shame his blood. Turning to Vesper, he smiled.

"Excellent work. Bring her and her son to me. We will show the people what happens to women who try to capture royalty with witchcraft."

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

Derry and his escort cantered into the stone courtyard late in the afternoon. The sun was just about to set. Surveying the farms had taken up the entire day, and the men were weary.

"Go to the food halls, get yourselves some ale. You deserve it," Derry encouraged. The guards shook his hand and clapped him on the shoulder before trooping of to their dinner. Derry threw the reins of his Freyrstallion to the nearest stablehand and ran quickly to the execution parade in the square.

A crowd of commoners and noblemen alike had assembled to watch the executions. They watched eagerly as one by one the six hooded figures were led onto the raised wooden platform where their crimes were to be read out before they were systematically beheaded, burnt or hung. Five of the six were hobbling - they had obviously been tortured. One man's fingers bent back at hideous angles, another had weeping wound across his back. They all looked broken both in body and spirit.

Derry bowed his head as the first man was hung for the murder of his cousin. His face was a picture of mad fear and blind confusion. When his body dropped yanking the rope tight around his neck, the man struggled and kicked until at last his face went purple and his figure went limp. As a member of the royal family, Derry was required to watch all of the executions that took place. His father had insisted on this rule two years ago, as an attempt to toughen him up. The first time he had seen a man being executed, Derry had vomited violently on the floor, earning himself fifteen lashes later from his father. Now he watched with a resigned horror, and a feeling of deep sadness. Glancing sideways, he caught a glimpse of his father's face. It was a face of satisfaction and pleasure. His father was enjoying it.

Look, all of you! Stop watching the dying men and watch my father. Watch his expressions of delight as he laps up the sight of thrashing limbs and terrified men! Look! Use your eyes and see him for the monster that he truly is!

No one looked. No one but Derry saw. He covered his face with his hands as the second last man was announced to be guilty of treason, and was duly beheaded.

"And now," spoke the king, rising suddenly from his chair, "we have something rather special for you." Derry looked up, feeling rather sick.

What victim has he cornered now?

He couldn't remember the figure from this morning. Wait a second... was that.. a woman?

"My good people, it pains me to announce that today, we have a witch in our midst!" The crowd roared with approval while simultaneously warding themselves against evil. "I am ashamed, and I beg your forgiveness, each and every one of you." The crowd hushed, wondering what was going on. Derry was confused. This was highly unusual. It was unusual in itself to have a woman accused of witchcraft, but for his father to apologise was unheard of.

"My son, who you know is most dear to me, is a victim of this witchery."

What?!

"He, your future king, has been hoodwinked. And I could have prevented it, if only I had found out earlier!"

What on earth is he doing?

"Behold, the face of a woman more deadly than any other. But do not be alarmed, my people. To prevent her from casting any more spells we have taken out her tongue!"

The hood covering her face was ripped away and the bottom fell out of Derry's world as he beheld Jenna's dirty, tear - streaked face. She had been beaten, and the rag covering her mouth was bloody.

Her tongue. He cut out her tongue. No. No. No.

"For these most heinous crimes, we sentence her to death by the flame! Only by the fire can her soul be cleansed."

No.

Jenna let out a piteous cry. Her eyes found Derry's and fixed with devastating desperation on his face. The crowd jeered and booed.

No.

"Let the execution begin!" The crowd were ecstatic, baying for her blood.

NO.

"NO!" Derry leapt across the platform shoving people out of his way.

"Restrain him," ordered the king. "He knows not what he is doing. He is being bewitched by this devil."

Guards surrounded him, dragging him back. He fought tooth and claw, hating them, hating them all for what was about to happen.

"NO! JENNA!! Let go of me. JENNAAAA!"

There were too many of them. The pushed him back, prevented him from reaching her as she was dragged towards the pyre and was tightly bound to it.

She still watched him, eyes wide with fear and horror and that same, terrible desperation. He struggled against the flood of guards, sobbing with fear and rage and hate.

Their eyes remained fixed on each other, terrified and bound together by a suffering that rendered their souls in two. The king himself reached for the torch and held it aloft as the crowd yelled for him to release the witch's hold over his son.

Time slowed down. Derry could hear his heartbeat, could feel all around him the fifteen men required to hold him down.

No.

"With this, I release you!" Rathgar threw down the torch and the pyre caught alight. Slowly the fire rose until the screaming woman was engulfed in the flames. The crowd cheered with joy as the sickening stench of burning flesh filled the air. Derry sank to his knees and wailed with her as the guards still restrained him. When her screams stopped he let out one desperate, heart-breaking cry. In the space of five minutes his life had ended. His soul was wrenched in two, and he shivered with a fever of disbelief. He curled up and begged Brael to kill him, to end this misery. What more was there to live for?

Tern.

Everything went black.

When he woke, Derry did not want to live. He stayed in his bed, where he had been deposited after the execution, and refused all food and drink except a little water. One moment he would be by his fireplace, about to throw himself in, another he would be curled up on the floor, sobbing. For three days Derry faded into being and not being, into hell and back out again. For three days he went to the edges of sanity and only just managed to return. On the fourth day, he reached into his pocket, and with eyes that were swollen and sore, read the words on the piece of paper that Jenna had given him before she had kissed him for the very last time.

"Dear Derry, you once told me that I was your light and that I was your brightest star. I realised something that I hadn't realised before. I have never told you that I love you. Well, here it is. Here is what the people of Skidht - my people, say when they bind themselves together for life. "Let oceans dry and valleys rise before I ever give you up." I love you Derry. If I am your star, then you are my sun."

Derry crumpled up the sheet and threw it in the fire with a violent motion. Then he cried for the last time, and opened his curtains to let in the light.

Two years later - The 4207th year of the Illumination

"Larkel Rosetta, I have told you, and I will tell you again until you get it into your head, that I will not tolerate such behaviour in this household. You are the daughter of a Lorden, yet you wilfully behave like a savage! Books and figures are not meant for the gentler sex. And don't you glare at me like that, young lady," squawked the Lordane of house Rosetta at her daughter, while waving about an accusing finger in the air.

Does she never shut up?! thought Larkel angrily. She was so, so desperately tired of being the daughter of a Lorden.

"And look, you've even got ink stains on your fingers. You look positively like a servant, child!"

Larkel hastily concealed her inky fingers up her long sleeves. It didn't make much difference, as there were blotches of ink all over her face too. She gritted her teeth as her mother went on and on and on and on and on and on and...on.

It's a wonder she doesn't drop dead from lack of air.

"..and now, Larkel, you leave me no choice. I blame your father. It was his idea to hire the man, and look what has happened. The tutor has got to go. I will not have you made any more wild than you already are. There are very few men who will marry a clever wife, and Brael knows you are far too clever for your own good. Lorden Depter of Clara has already withdrawn his offer for your hand. Meeting you in person was too much for him, I believe."

"What! Mother, no! You can't get rid of Maestra Wilkins! And Depter was an ignorant oaf. I wouldn't have had him if he begged!"

But Lordane Rosetta carried on over the protests of her outraged daughter.

"It's final, Larkel! He is leaving tonight, and don't run to your father - I have already spoken to him." And just like that, her mother swept out of her room, with a last warning to improve her appearance before the evening meal.

Larkel shook with anger as she glared at the space where her mother had been standing not a minute before. It was useless to try and oppose her dragon of a parent. If her father agreed, there was no way to prevent the Maestra's departure. She probably wouldn't even be able to say goodbye to him before he left.

Letting out a scream of frustration she strode to the window with long, purposeful strides, and flung open the window to let a stream of cooling air run across her heated brow. She surveyed the lush, rolling hills that made up her father's holdings, the famous purple trees that made up D'juenn's woodlands. She looked and saw the trickling streams that lay across this bountiful land, saw the orchards of Rosetta Castell below, with apples on apple trees just waiting to be eaten with a delicious crunch, and the sweet town of Rosetta surrounding the Castell. She saw the sun dappling the grasslands, saw the roads leading towards the capital city of Bellavon, and wanted none of it. If the price of owning such a paradise was the loss of her freedom and the cause of an arranged marriage to the highest buyer, then what did she want with gowns too beautiful to wear, or swan down mattresses and silken sheets. If only her father was not so rich!

With a sigh, Larkel stepped back from the window and padded over to her dresser. Another Lorden would in all probability be attending the dinner tonight, no doubt in order to look her over and see if she was a good choice for his son to take as wife. Her lip curled with disgust. As if she needed to be married off to some fool of a boy who was probably five times less intelligent than she was! Well, with any luck, she would be successful in dissuading him too, whoever he was. Flinging open the dresser with some aggression, she pulled out a dress and shook it out. Yes. This would do.

She didn't ring for her maid, but instead put on the dress herself, grimacing as the sleeves got tangled and the lace got snared in the hooks at the back. Finally, with much red - faced struggling, she managed to hook herself all the way up the back, and smoothed down the dress with her hands. Then, almost cautiously, she stole a glimpse in the mirror. Her green eyes noticed with some horror her appearance. Perhaps her mother had been right after all. Her hair was a bird's nest of tangled gold hair, and her unfeminine posture made the dress look somehow…cheap on her. It had been anything but cheap. She almost felt ashamed of herself. For although Larkel tried not to care for the superficial, and though Larkel sneered at the restrictions given to women in terms of education and freedom, she could not completely suppress that love of beautiful, delicate things that many women possess. It was not so much a desire to impress so much as a desire to look beautiful for her own satisfaction and pride. She might not want to get married, but that didn't mean that she didn't want to make a good impression.

Running her hands under the tap of her basin, she scrubbed off the last traces of ink from her hands and quickly rinsed off the spatters of ink on her cheeks. Then, sitting down in front of her mirror she pulled the pins out of her messy hair, and brushing it all out with a bone handled comb, she then pinned the golden locks up again, sliding in little emerald - jewelled hair pins. A few determined curls still escaped the hurried creation. Shrugging, she stood up and let the dress fall to her feet again. She was well aware that she was not a beauty, with her stubborn jaw, too wide lips and arching eyebrows, and she was also aware that her tall stature and flat chest made her look more like a man than was flattering. But she could live with that. Brains were, after all, far more important than looks. Still angry that the Maestra was being forced to leave merely because she had had ink stains all over her face, and possessed an insufferable mother, she strode out of her chamber with a very unladylike scowl on her face.

Throughout the evening meal, Larkel made her mother proud. Not only was she looking much better than her earlier state - all due to her mother's words, no doubt - but she was sitting upright and looked every bit like the Lordane she would one day become. Well of course, that was disregarding the wayward curls that had escaped her altogether slightly lopsided bun, and the glowering looks she flung both her parents from time to time, not to mention the suspicious curve of her lips that looked almost too like a grimace for her mother's liking…but it was an improvement. She ate neatly, the traces of ink had disappeared from her person, and her green eyes, which she had often been told by her mother were her one and only beauty, were brought out nicely by her emerald green dress. Yes, Lordane Rosetta was very pleased. She was pleased that Larkel was behaving, she was pleased that the Maestra who had filled Larkel's head with such nonsensehad left the Castell, and above all she was pleased that the old Lorden, Frendel of Zenith, was looking at her daughter with some approval in his eye. He had been looking for a wife for his heir for some time, and luckily the rumours of Larkel's bad manners had not been enough to put him off. Besides which, to strengthen the bonds between the neighbouring holdings of D'juenn and Zenith would be advantageous to both the families. Not to mention, nothing less than a marriage to one of the Thirteen would do for a Lorden's daughter.

The Lordane looked across to her husband, Lorden Alfric Rosetta, and felt her satisfaction increase. She had married her husband when she herself had been Larkel's age. Theirs had not been a union made of love - it had been one to settle a quarrel between the Vellanders and Rosettas - but over time they had become closer and affectionate in their older years. She had not failed him in giving him an heir, and it had been with great pride that Larkel's younger brother, Gareth, had been born. Larkel was now becoming a hindrance, since she was an unwanted daughter and unable to inherit, but Larkel would do well enough, as long as she was married soon and was married well. The Lordane looked with pity at her daughter who, in her eyes, lacked the finesse needed to succeed in court. Her daughter had inherited the Rosetta eyes, and had her own glorious Vellander hair, but was lacking in the womanly assets that would have snared her a husband long ago. Seventeen was far too old to be still unmarried. Still, the Frendels seemed willing, and it would be a good match, she was sure.

Larkel felt uncomfortable. The Lorden from Zenith seemed to approve of her, which was unsettling. Moreover, her mother had criticised her appearance only once, which was unheard of, and more importantly the seat she was perched upon was making her bottom go numb. It was hard and wooden, and unforgiving to the sitter who was without a decent cushion. She felt out of place in the finery, and longed for the solace of her chamber where she could be ugly in peace, and study her books and draw her charts.

Her spirits rose however, when the food was brought in. Normally her family dined modestly, but tonight, her mother had pulled out all stops. And what food! D'juenn was famous for its delicacies and use of spices from across the seas, and this meal did not disappoint. Tray after tray was brought in; choice selections of pork with the crackling on top, venison cut fine and tender, fish from the Bleakwash Channel and fish from the more exotic waters of the Principia Ocean. There were grapes from the Rosetta vineyards, and apples from the orchards, pears and even four oranges! There were strawberries and creams and sugars, and a sugar spun creation in the shape of a swan. There were truffles and mincemeats and delicious smelling cheeses. There were some smelly smelling cheeses too - but that was alright. It was a good sort of smelliness. Forgetting the presence of the guest, Larkel tucked in whole-heartedly. She practically groaned as a morsel of venison practicallymeltedin her mouth. She fleetingly thought of what a waste the meal was - wasted on just four people, as her brother was still too young to attend the dinner table. It was lavish and meant to impress - obviously her mother was planning on winning the Lorden over through his stomach.

 Who cares? thought Larkel blissfully. It was a delicious way to be introduced to a suitor.

Her eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she sampled small portions of everything - not large portions, which would earn her the displeasure of her mother. Just small, yummy, perfect portions.

She sighed contentedly when she at last set her fork down, defeated by a sole strawberry sitting on her plate, begging her to taste it's luscious red flesh. She smiled wryly at it, but turned away. If she ate any more, she would explode.

Her father smiled at her fondly from the head of the table, and she grinned back. They had always shared a love of food.

Servants came, and took the remains away, still piled high with uneaten food. Larkel suddenly remembered the purpose of the meal, and looked anxiously and Lorden Frendel and her father, who were conversing in low undertones. She shot a questioning glance at her mother, who motioned with her eyes to keep silent. At last, her father rose.

"Larkel my dear, the good Lorden Frendel has invited you to return with him to Zenith," he said formally.

In other words, she thought glumly, Frendel wants me to go with him so he can introduce me to his son.

"What say you to this generous invitation?"

As if I have a choice. She very nearly scowled at her father, but checked herself just in time. She saw the apology in his eyes, and gritted her teeth.

"I would be honoured, Lorden Frendel, to accept. You do me a great service with your invitation."

As she spoke the words, Larkel suddenly felt afraid. What if she never came back? What if she ended up marrying Frendel's son, and never returned to Rosetta? But she looked at her father for reassurance, and saw with guilt and some sadness his relieved smile. He hadn't believed she could do it. She would prove, both to him and to her mother that she could. She would endure.

Larkel lay in her bed that night, feeling apprehensive and unable to get to sleep. Her mother had rushed her away from the dining hall and into her chambers, sensing perhaps, that Larkel had been on the verge of confronting her father and demanding an explanation. When she had transported Larkel up to her tower, she had hastily bid her daughter goodnight, and had gone straightaway to sort out what possessions Larkel would need for the journey and for the stay. Larkel just supposed that she would have to sneak in a few books in with the trunks somehow.

Throwing off the bedclothes, Larkel padded over to the rosewood desk in the corner of her room. Her fingers traced the flowers that had been carved lovingly into the worn wood by a master craftsman. Using a roll of paper, she stole some flame from the fire burning softly in the ornate fireplace, and transported it to an oil lamp. The lamp and the fire threw a gentle glow around the room, and chased the shadows of Larkel's fear away. Sitting at her desk, Larkel reached for a chart she had hidden away from her mother in a secret panel concealed inside the desk, and spread it out on the wooden surface.

It was a wondrous thing, with spidery inky lines and delicate letters spread across the parchment to form a map of the stars themselves. It had been this that Larkel had been working on when her mother had so suddenly burst into her room, causing the inkpot to go flying all over her hands and face. Thus, this map was also the cause of Maestra Wilkins' departure. As Larkel had guessed, he had been made to leave before she had the chance to say farewell. She felt forlorn - in the whole of the Castell, the Maestra had been her one true friend, a kindly old man, with a knowledge that had been hidden behind his clouding blue eyes and sparse white hair. She recalled what he had told her, when he had arrived for her first lesson at the request of her father seven years ago and had found her crying over a cruel remark she had overheard from one of the servants. It had been something to do with "Teeth like a rabbit's," and "I pity her husband to be!"

He had calmed her and had said, "Knowledge is power, my child. With looks, what do you have? A face that will make you an object of men's desire, and the nemesis of every woman. You have a thing that is not real - that doesn't exist. It comes and it goes as swiftly as it came. It doesn't last, and one day the beautiful will wither and grow old like all the rest. But, with knowledge.." he had whispered with a reverent light sparking in his aged eyes, "you have the universe. You can trace the stars, and solve the patterns in the seasons. You can build cities and follow fire. "He had gone on in this manner for some time, with his hands weaving exotic isles and forging empires. Larkel had sat, spellbound, as she drank in his every word.

And now he was gone. Her father had indulged her for seven years, and now her blasted mother had put a stop to it. Larkel suddenly smiled. Maestra Wilkins had said that beauty would fade, but knowledge once it was inside one's head, could not be lost.

So you see, mother. I will have the last laugh!You can't get rid of my brains that easily.

Trailing her fingers along the paths that the planets followed along the sky, Larkel gazed out of her open window at the stars above. She watched the comets with their fiery tails, and saw the Evenstar burning brighter than the rest. Dipping her quill in an inkpot, she slowly and carefully drew what she saw. Her quill danced in time with the singing of stars, and she lost herself in her task, unconscious of thought, movement and time.

The servant who came the next morning to rouse the Lordane to be, found her where she had fallen asleep at last; her fingers stained with ink, her head on her arms, still sitting at her desk, with the open window above her turning golden in the soft light of the rising sun.

Larkel knocked on the imposing rosewood door to her father's private study. It was time to say goodbye. Lord Frendel was waiting to transport her to Zenith in a handsome carriage, and she was delaying the whole entourage from leaving. She had hastily bundled some ink and parchment, as well as some well-loved books and her star-chart into a small wooden chest, which she had hidden in turn under some expensive furs in a wagon that would be travelling to Zenith with them. This way, her mother wouldn't be able to prevent her from taking them.

"Come in," her father's low voice came from behind the door. She pushed it open and stepped into the familiar room, closing it softly behind her. As she walked to her father's chair by the fire, she smiled up at Antonov. Antonov was the head of the Setta bear that was the animal standard of the Rosettas. When she had been little, Larkel had been terrified of the snarling bear, with its sharp teeth and glass eyes that seemed to be made of nothing but ferocity. When her father had seen her terror, he had swung her up into his arms, and had told her the story of Antonov.

"Now, Larkel, this here bear, this is what you're afraid of?" She had nodded, burying her face into his beard. "Now there," he had chuckled, "that's just because you don't know old Antonov here." She had cautiously looked up from his chest, and peeked at the bear. "He and I are old friends, you know. Listen here, Larkel. This here is a Setta bear.TheSetta bear. Long ago, when our ancestors first came to D'juenn, the leader of the Rosetta tribe - we were a tribe, back then; your mother would be horrified if she knew, so let's keep it a secret, shall we - Alfric Rosetta, who I am named for, had a bear as a companion. The Setta bear and Alfric were the best of friends. Together they struck fear into the hearts of the foe, and were formidable in battle. When Antonov died of old age, Alfric made a standard with Antonov depicted on it. The bear rampant. The friend of the Rosettas. And this, is his head, mounted with pride, watching over the Rosettas to this day. Go on, lass, say hello now." Ever so cautiously, she had reached out her hand, and patted his grizzled muzzle, with a hand that trembled from the belief that the bear would savage her. It hadn't. It had stayed still. "See also, Larkel, he isn't just growling. Look at the corners of his mouth. If that isn't a smile, I don't know what is. He snarls at his enemies, smiles at his friends."

And now Larkel grinned up at her friend. He was a proud, fierce old bear, but really, his smile was so obvious now that she had the eyes to see it. Her father patted the chair next to his, and she made her way past the stacks of books and papers, and joined him next to the fire.

"Larkel, child," he spoke, before she had a chance to open her mouth, "it's for the best."

This made her angry, and the words escaped her before she had time to think. "Best for who?! I know that mother doesn't want me anymore, but I thought that you, at least, would have wanted me to stay! Am I really that unwelcome, just because I'm a girl?" The tears were now pricking at her eyes. "And what of Maestra Wilkins? Why did you make him leave - you know he was my only real friend here!"

Her father sighed, and put a warm arm around her stiff shoulders, pulling his daughter close to his chest, as if she were five years old again.

"Larkel, don't get upset. You know I hate seeing you hurt. Your mother does love you child, she just wants you married, is all. As the Rosetta's are one of the Thirteen higher nobles of Evermath, your options are limited. It would not do to marry you to a hedge - knight, would it? And do you truly believe your da doesn't love you?" His voice was soft, and very gentle.

She slowly shook her head, her face still pressed against his chest, as she blinked away her tears.

"As for the Maestra, Larkel, I didn't want him to leave either. Your mother though - well, you know how she is. Once she puts her foot down, she's a dragon to strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest of men. And it is true, isn't it, that girls don't usually get an education? You have been lucky, child. Cherish what you have been given, and believe me when I say that there was no way I could have convinced her mighty - ness to let him stay."

Larkel laughed at that. Her father was one of the King's most important Lordens. Alfric Rosetta was the Bear of the West, and a fearsome fighter, with an honest nature and an honourable approach. Yet even bears cower before their wives, especially those of the Lordane Rosetta variety.

Looking up at her father's twinkling green eyes, she smiled. "Very well, da, I will go. But I won't guarantee a marriage - if I don't like him, then I will not marry him. And that's final!"

Her father let out a bellow of laughter, and stroked her golden hair. "I would expect nothing less from a lass with your mother's blood running through her veins! And don't worry about the Frendels, girl. They are a good family. And they carry out the work of the King with diligence. They've been keeping the Islander pirates at bay for years, after all. The pirates shouldn't bother you. Frendel will keep you well protected."

Larkel rolled her eyes. "Father, if you think I was worried... Pirates are nothing but pirates! I know all of the tales, and I am willing to bet that half of them have been made up. All those ones about the Fury, and the Comtesse. It's laughable!"

Lorden Alfric grinned down at his daughter, so stout of heart, and behaving so like he had, at her age. He planted a gentle kiss on top of her head, and gave her one more squeeze before letting her go. She was growing up, and all too soon.

"Now, run along, lass. Your mother will be going out of her mind with the anxiety of seeing the Lorden Frendel on his way, and I bet you are keeping everyone waiting."

Larkel gave him one last wry smile, and quickly ran from the study, blowing Antonov one last kiss before darting down the passageways to the courtyard. Her mother scolded her for her tardiness for at least five minutes, and quickly packed her into the carriage.

As the whole procession slowly rolled out of the courtyard, Larkel looked up at the towers and turrets of the Rosetta Castell. She hadn't realised just how much she loved the place until she had to leave it. She watched out of the window until the Castell was out of sight. Then she sighed, and slumped back into her seat, preparing herself for a dreary journey east to Fort Gelan. Well, on the bright side, at least there would be plenty of opportunities to expand her knowledge. Who knows, she might even journey to the coast, and gaze upon the Bleakwash Channel! How she wanted to glimpse the sea. Perhaps she might also map out the Islands! With her heart set at ease by the prospect of adventure and learning as much as she could from her temporary new home, she relaxed, and managed to enjoy the journey for the next fifteen minutes, before boredom inevitably set in. As the Drone road stretched out before them, Larkel though the journey would never end. She was almost eager to reach the Fort. But she was never to get there.

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The rider in grey watched as the train of caravans and wagons rolled slowly past. His unremarkable brown eyes never wandered from his target: the fancy carriage conveniently drawing attention to itself, and standing out like a sore thumb among the other, duller vessels of transport. He gave a low whistle, and sure enough, heard the answering owl hoot. As the carriage rolled closer, ever closer, he waited for his chance.

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Larkel looked out of the window of the carriage in awe. They were on the cliff top, with the rugged, tough sea-grass, and the dense shrubbery and gorse along the sides. They had diverted from the Drone Road towards the Fort some time ago, but as they came closer to Fort Gelan, which was a grey dot on the bleak horizon, Larkel caught her first glimpse of the sea. It was a marvel. Like grey slate, yet shimmering like a delicate pearl. Her fingers longed to touch it, her feet itched to plunge themselves into it. She was astonished. She had never seen anything sovast.Her eyes drank it all up, devouring the sight. Lorden Frendel noticed her awe, and chuckled.

"You'll grow bored of it soon enough, my lady. Why, in a couple of weeks, you'll think it the dullest sight in the world. Admittedly, it isn't at its best right now. When it is sunny and the sky is blue, the waters do have some charm about them."

"I would never grow bored," Larkel whispered softly, her eyes still fixed on this undulating, rolling mass of mysterious vitality.

The Lorden smiled indulgently, and silence fell in the carriage once again.

Larkel was jerked out of her reverie by...it couldn't be...a gunshot?! Then chaos broke out of hell.

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The opportune moment had arrived. Blowing sharply on his fingers three successive times, the man in grey gave the command. First the men hiding in the undergrowth threw out ropes, tripping over the horses of the wagons at the front and back of the train. Three men dressed in tunics of animal pelts put a light to the carefully laid fuses, and the procession was engulfed in thick, billowing, choking clouds. Then it was pandemonium as horses screamed and bucked. The panicked guards in the Frendel livery of black and silver shouted to each other and desperately tried to make out their assailants. Some fired blindly into the air, others, terrified out of their wits, and unsettled by the screaming of their mounts, shot any shape they could make out in the grey clouds, mistaking friend for foe. Quickly, the band of men, with kerchiefs around their noses and mouths to filter away the smog, commanded by the now piercing whistles made by their leader, raced to the carriage, which had ground to a halt. Weaving their way in and out of their artfully created rubble, dodging frightened soldiers and groaning, wailing servants, they pulled open the carriage door and reached inside to draw out their target.

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Larkel felt sick with terror. What was going on? Screams were coming from outside, and the cries of men and women were mingling with the distressed sounds from the horses. She was blind. She couldn't see. She choked; tears started pouring from her stinging eyes.

"What's happening?" roared Lorden Frendel. "Guards! Guards!"

Gunshots were now loud and fast. Larkel closed her eyes and willed it to be a dream. All a dream. She was about to wake up at any moment. Hands grabbed for her roughly and flung her out of the carriage. She screamed, but then choked half way into her scream, so that it turned into a strangled sob. She could feel the fingers of men digging roughly into her arms, pulling her along the rocky ground.

It was so dark, she was choking.

She couldn't breathe.