

DAWN TREADER PRESS

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Ian Alexander 2010

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

Praise for Ian Alexander's bestselling debut novel

ONCE WE WERE KINGS

"...an amazing epic adventure that will take the reader on an unforgettable journey like no other.  
"... I was immediately sucked into the story..."  
"...absorbing me and surrounding me with amazing imagery, emotion and distinctiveness like none other I had ever read before."  
"...truly poetic."  
"...a generation bridging epic fantasy that is sure to span and hold strong through the test of time as well as our ever changing society and circumstances of readers everywhere."  
"...I often found my heart gripped within sadness, as well as bursting with joy."  
"...action, adventure, intrigue, romance and even shape-shifting spirits."  
"...the ending is the perfect segue into future books.  
"A true classic in the making."  
**~Cafe of Dreams Book Reviews**

_"... a page-turning epic fantasy adventure..."  
_"...right out of the Golden Age of fantasy..."_  
_"...elements of Tolkien...the Belgariad, the 'Adept' trilogy by Piers Anthony, and a healthy dollop of C.S. Lewis' Narnia Chronicles."_  
_"...Ian Alexander provides a spark, a momentum often absent in other epic fantasies."_  
_"...Compulsively readable..."_  
_"...an admirable debut novel."_  
**~Michael Bellomo, Amazon Bestselling Author**_

_"... an epic fantasy tale of pure delight..."  
_"_Joshua Graham _transitions from writing suspense and thrillers to the fantasy realm as Ian Alexander with flying colors."_  
_"...invokes awe in the reader that I've only felt with J.R.R. Tolkien, David Eddings and before them both, C.S. Lewis."_  
_"..a page turner with a very driven plot..._  
_"What doesn't this book have? Magic, shapeshifters, powerful deities and characters that you love and love to hate..."_  
_"...will stay with you long after you've gotten to the end and leave you wanting more."_  
_"This is one of those books that you cannot miss in 2011 if you're a fantasy lover."_  
**~The Top shelf**_

_"... an amazing adventure..."  
_"...a fast-paced, action-packed adventure that hooked me from the start and kept me glued to the pages until the very end."_  
_"...incredible action, adventure and characters..."_  
_"...The characters practically leap off the page, they are so vivid and real! "_  
_"... rich symbolism with a great message..."_  
_"...values and a message that you can feel good about..."_  
_"...I would definitely be the first one in line for more Ian Alexander novels!"_  
**~Life in Review**_

_"Ian Alexander's ONCE WE WERE KINGS sets new standards for epic fantasy."  
_"ONCE WE WERE KINGS transcends the qualities found in such great works as "The Chronicles of Narnia" to "The Lord of the Rings"._  
_"... a true master of the written word."_  
_"...a thoroughly magical story filled with memorable characters, danger, hope,inspiration and romance."_  
_"Alexander's ONCE WE WERE KINGS should sit on the highest shelf of your library."_  
_"A sparkling story that will leave the reader breathless and wanting more."_  
**~Susan Wingate, author of DROWNING and the award-winning BOBBY'S DINER series**_

_"... [Ian Alexander] delivers a very pleasing fantasy epic."  
_"...seems to parallel some of our own socio-political climates, in regards to terrorism, racial and cultural biases, religious biases..."_  
_"...many pleasant surprises..."_  
_"...definitely recommend it, especially to those who are fans of novels such as Narnia"_  
_"...I look forward with great anticipation to see what occurs next with some of the characters from this [book]."_  
_"...You won't be disappointed."_  
**~Rhodes Review**_

Legend of the Tiger's Throne

Joshua Graham

Winner of the 2011 International Book Award

writing as

IAN ALEXANDER

TEN THOUSAND YEARS AGO, there lived a young tiger named Chúa Giê-xu. Chúa Giê-xu once dreamt that he had given away his last meal to a wolf, during a time of famine and drought. Everyone knew that tigers despised wolves, as they were lowly and base. So he found this dream particularly distasteful.

"But it is a wondrous vision, my son," said his father, the King.

"I can see no meaning in it."

"Place little confidence in what sees the eye of flesh. For all is not as it appears, in heaven and on earth."

Chúa Giê-xu kept his father's words in his heart and gave this dream no further thought.

As the years passed, a great famine and drought did indeed sweep through the land. Weakened by starvation, Chúa Giê-xu's beloved parents both died at the talons of the Vultures of the Forbidden North. These vultures had invaded and begun a campaign to take the kingdom at its darkest hour.

The last of the remaining aristocracy and surely a target of the vultures, Chúa Giê-xu fled to the hills. There he grew emaciated and weak, having found no food or water for days. Finally, he came upon a dying rabbit who, upon approach, bowed low and said, "My Lord."

But Chúa Giê-xu was much to weary to answer. He simply lay on his side, panting and observing the little rabbit.

"My Prince," said the rabbit. "We are without a ruler. If you die here, the vultures will take the throne and all will be laid waste. We shall all become carrion for their sustenance."

"There is nothing to be done," said Chúa Giê-xu, "For I am feeble and about to die."

"Not so, my Lord. I am near expired. Kill me and partake of my humble flesh, so that you may live, and that I might die with honor in service to my prince."

With regret, Chúa Giê-xu did as the noble rabbit asked, and carried her body towards a clearing in the center of the forest. There, he came upon a large, grey mass which at first looked like a rock. Until it moved and turned its head, revealing long, pointed ears.

The very wolf of which Chúa Giê-xu had dreamed in his childhood! And he too appeared to be dying. It was at this very moment that the prince's past, present and destiny converged. Before him stood a choice: to ignore the low-born wolf and suffer it to die, or to do as he had dreamed and give him his last meal.

"Look not upon me, my Lord," said the old wolf, "for I am unworthy of your grace."

Compassion arose in Chúa Giê-xu's heart. The wolf's voice, his very trick of speech, so reminded him of his father, incongruous as it was. But this was the basest of base, the lowest of low. Wolves dare not even breathe the same air as Tigers, how could he show him such kindness?

Above them, three black vultures flew in circles. If Chúa Giê-xu were to give his meal to the wolf, he would soon faint from exhaustion and the vultures would perhaps begin to feast on his entrails even before he were dead.

And yet, his dream became more than a memory. He felt compelled to obey its prophetic edict. So Chúa Giê-xu stepped forward and said, "Wolf, look upon me. For it has been foretold that I should show you this extraordinary kindness. I know not why, nor to what end, but I shall do so, though it cost me my life."

Even as his eyes grew dim, his legs grew soft, Chúa Giê-xu brought the meal to the wolf. One of the vultures swept down from the air, the other two followed. But at the moment he released the rabbit from his jaws, a blinding white light flashed throughout the hills.

Bolts of lightning shot out from the ground where the rabbit and wolf had been and destroyed not one, not two, but all three vultures, who had been the pretenders to the throne.

All around him, the brilliance enveloped him warmly, brought strength to his weary limbs, lifted his head. Chúa Giê-xu opened his eyes, and before him in the place where the wolf and rabbit had been, stood the regal forms of his mother and father, both adorned no longer with striped, ember-colored coats, but dazzlingly arrayed in white, as of snow!

"Well done, my son," said the King. "By your sacrifice and obedience have you restored my kingdom."

And as Chúa Giê-xu gazed down, the once alluvial hills turned green. Before his very eyes, the entire kingdom came back to life, waters springing forth from the earth, animals chittering, flying and roaring. "Mother, Father. I do not understand."

"Because you did not keep your gift to yourself, and because you did not trust the eye of the flesh, you have proven worthy, Chúa Giê-xu. And you have earned your right to the Tiger's Throne."

It is said that Chúa Giê-xu reigned with wisdom and justice and mercy for a thousand years, before his own descendants began to see visions of a new Heaven and Earth.

Preview from

ONCE WE WERE KINGS

IAN ALEXANDER

Dawn Treader Press

Smashwords Edition

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2011 International Book Awards

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The Door's Open

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The Accidental Acquittal (Death and Taxes)

The Accidental Healer

The Accidental Hero

The Accidental Rebel

The Accidental Poltergeist

Historical and Fantasy

Four Gifts for Aria

Legend of the Tiger's Throne

ONCE WE WERE KINGS

Joshua Graham

writing as

IAN ALEXANDER

ForAlexander and Madeleine,

My beloved children

FORE WORD

Gathered round the wide and level stump of the Great Ancients' Tree, the Twelve Elders of the Sojourner's Council stood within the stone walls of the courtyard and rejoiced that the fulfillment of Shamis the Stargazer's prophecy was now at hand.

By the alignment of the northern constellations they knew that the time of deliverance drew nigh. By the anomalous tide shifts and the unprecedented lunar phases, they knew that the dark reign of Malakandor would soon come to an end.

What they knew not was that a traitor lurked amongst them.

Oreus, the chief elder stood and raised his chalice. "Brethren, thou hast honored the name of Valhandra with longsuffering and steadfast hope." He turned to the elder on his right. "Hephesta the Wolf-Hearted, thou hast endured three wars over the course of five hundred years."

With deep humility, Hephesta arose and inclined his head.

"And Bereus, the Tiger-Hearted." He too arose. "Thou hast served as the stalwart protector of the royal line beyond three hundred years." This continued until he turned his attention to the final elder. At seventy-nine years of age, she was the youngest, most spry of them all.

"And thou, dear youngling, Lucretia, Raven-Heart." At the very mention of her name, the council began to applaud to such effect that a flock of wild night birds flew blackly from tree branches into the deep and purple sky. A fleeing cloud. "Unto thee do we bestow special honor. For fearlessly hast thou employed the gifts bestowed upon thee by Valhandra for a cause predating even thine own birth." Once again Oreus regarded the entire council. "Would that we possessed such faith as our beloved sister, when we ourselves were but fledglings."

Completely aware of the effect her beauty had upon all who beheld her, the impostor who had killed the true Lucretia and taken on her likeness now feigned a smile and inclined her head.

"Rejoice brethren, for our redemption is nigh," declared Oreus. "And now, among the faithful, in the villages of Talen Wood, in the great Citadel of Valdshire Tor, yea, verily, in thine own hearts," once again he lifted his chalice and cleared his throat, "Prepare ye the way for the beneficent reign of the Great Deliverer!"

They all responded lifting their chalices. "The Great Deliverer!"

"The Deliverer." The false Lucretia scoffed quietly as she tapped her cup against those of the other council members. She smiled again at the old men as they imbibed of the ceremonial Dragon'sblood Wine. Noble warriors though they were, able-bodied and powerful though they were, she could not help but laugh at the pathetic manner in which they would meet their demise.

First, Hephesta fell. Clutching his throat, his eyes widened with something entirely alien to those who'd known him and certainly to himself:

Fear.

A chorus of confused cries filled the courtyard. All gathered around the fallen Hephesta. The impostor did not join in. Rather, she watched with satisfaction as the pulverized Shikar stone mixed in the wine began to take its toll.

One by one, they fell. Ancient warriors who had arrogantly considered themselves immortal. Just like Hephesta, now writhing, now frothing. A most pleasing sight indeed.

Now, the impostor did not even attempt to restrain her smile.

Having witnessed the violent throes of death and realizing what was happening, three of the surviving Elders—Oreus amongst them—stopped short of drinking the poisoned bloodwine. They saw her laughing and charged forward, swords and crossbows at the ready.

"Lucretia, what hast thou done?" cried Oreus.

Timena and Cerbeas trained their weapons upon her.

"You have not only betrayed us, but all Sojourners," said Cerbeas as he drew his crossbow.

"And it is you who have betrayed the true ruler of this world!" Her hands trembled. If only she could fly this very moment. But she had prepared for this, trained her reflexes, her mind.

"You have turned against Valhandra, Himself," said Timena.

"Valhandra is dead!" The impostor stood defiant. One hand still in her pocket, she fingered the razor-stars fashioned out of smooth Shikar stone. Their very presence weakened her, but not for long.

Oreus lifted his staff. The orb atop glowed blue and white. The impostor knew better than to hesitate. "Wouldst thou compound the pain of this betrayal by compelling me to deal with thee as I must?" His eyes now brimming azure pools, Oreus pointed his staff.

"But I am not Lucretia, old fool!"

Stunned, Oreus hesitated.

The impostor let out a feral cry and leapt into the air. She forced her eyes shut and invoked utter blackness around her entire being. In one swift motion, she flung the three Shikar razor-stars at Oreus, Timea and Cerbeas.

The first struck and lodged itself into Oreus' forehead. He let out a roar and fell to the ground, convulsing and howling in pain.

The second caught Timea in the leg just as he began to transform. He cried out and fell to one side, trembling and foaming.

The third grazed Cerbeas just as he completed his equine transformation and flew from the slaughter and bounded clear over the stone wall.

Unhampered by the fetters of a human body, the impostor flew up and looked for him. But to her dismay the night did not betray her quarry. Even from this vantage point high above the courtyard, she could not see him, though he had galloped into the night in the form of a mighty stallion.

It mattered not. Cerberas had been grazed. If he survived, it would not be for long. She would simply report that the mission was prosperous. And this would more than suffice, unless her master condescended to having the bodies counted.

Alighting on the Great Table of the Ancients, the impostor smiled with satisfaction. The only remaining testament to their existence would be the carcasses, whatever had not yet been picked apart by vultures.
Chapter One

Six Months Prior

In the blackest of nights, a fortnight before the seventeenth birthday of a slave named Render, the moon, full and blood-red glared down upon Talen Wood, a ways from the Citadel walls of Valdshire Tor. Three boys bent upon nothing good approached the lad as he lay down, trying to sleep. Renders's master—last seen with his beard bathed in drivel—reclined in his chair, a drunken stupor barely veiling his cherry-nosed countenance.

Outside the damp broom closet better known as Render's room, in that fetid cottage in which he and his master dwelled, one of the boys tapped furtively on the wall.

"Render. Hssst!Render."

"What? Who's there?" So poor was his vision he could barely see the fingers before his face, for the sands of slumber had encrusted his eyes.

"Come on, Render. Are you going join us or not?" He recognized the voice of Kaine, his elder brother. He too was a slave belonging to an old master on the other side of Talen Wood. Some two years his senior, Kaine led this band of mongrels who, despite all their capers, had always eluded capture. They were the closest thing to a family he had.

Atop the ledge of the window sat a black cat, not unlike the one he had seen a day or two prior. It ceased licking its paw and washing its face. With turquoise eyes, it stared straight into Render's. Throughout Render's life, black cats appeared frequently, though he had never been able to take one as a pet. The cat looked over to Kaine and his companions, then back at Render. It leapt down from the ledge, almost daring Render to follow.

Kaine appeared in the window and grinned. "Coming or not, Rend?"

"After last time? I shouldn't go anywhere with you again." But something about that cat drew Render's curiosity. The way it regarded him, as if it knew of something interesting, an adventure or a pirate's chest full of gold and trinkets. Perhaps a magical sword.

Render stole past his snoring master and out the door.

"Come now, you old tortoise," said Kaine, the oldest of the boys. He stood at least a head taller than Render. Kaine brushed his fire-red hair out of his eyes, smiled and slapped a heavy hand onto Render's shoulder. "Hungry?"

"Do birds fly?" Render's master afforded him but one meal each day, though he toiled without respite in his stables and fields and barnyard from the rising of the sun till dusk.

"Well,they'rehungry." Kaine tossed a glance to Folen and Stewan, the twins. When they faced each other, they looked like reflections. Beneath the dirt lay bespeckled cheeks which in the daylight took the hue of apples. This more than betrayed their tender age of eight years.

How diverse a band.

Yet one thing bound them in common. They were orphans, all of them. And all of them slaves.

Searing pain like a branding iron scathed Render's back when he stretched his arms to yawn. Wounds from yesterday's lashing reopened. He winced and groaned but dared not reach back to touch it. "You'd better go on without me," he said. "If Bobbington catches me..."

"On then," Kaine said, raising up fistful of tree branches fashioned into spears. "I heard dinner grunting by the stream."

Render's eyes opened wider, though it brought no clearer vision in the gloom. "You don't mean—?"

"A boar," whispered Stewan, excitedly.

"Wild, fat boar." Kaine handed Render one of his spears.

"Do let's go," Folen said, pulling Render's sleeve. He held up a glinting dagger which he'd undoubtedly stolen from a traveler who'd taken pity on him, and stopped to give him a piece of bread.

"Yes, do let's," Stewan echoed.

"I don't know."

Kaine leaned down and whispered, "Big. Fat.Juicyboar."

Charging into the wood, Render joined in and let out a mighty cry of ancient hunters. The thought of fresh meat teased the tips of his tongue.

Less than half an hour later, and arguably twice as hungry and frustrated than before, they returned. The entire village now lay quiet as a graveyard. The boar had proven a most crafty beast indeed, and escaped. Grunting merrily into the bush, it seemed to mock them.

Bested by a pig.

The shame.

Thankfully, darkness blanketed the night. Not a soul stirred. But this did nothing to prevent Render's stomach from making a formidable growl. At that very moment, amidst Folen and Stewan's giggles, the black cat climbed up onto a barrel just outside the door and mewed.

"Hello," Render said and walked over, with confidence.

"Wait," Kaine whispered. "Don't frighten it. We can cook it."

"Not to worry. I've got a way with cats. They trust me." Render took pity on it, however. It was but a bag of fur and bones. From deep within his pocket he pulled out a scrap of salted fish, stolen from his master's cupboard, and put it under her nose.

Mroooow! The cat hissed and scratched his hand.

"Ow! You horrid little beast!" A pale beam of moonlight revealed three dark lines growing deeper and wider on Render's hand. Straight across the oddly shaped birth mark which to him always looked like an ancient symbol. Like those found in the archeology books he'd liberated from Bobbington's shelves.

Render sucked the salty blood from the wound and glared at the vicious creature. It sat quite satisfied with itself on its hindquarters. Glowering down at the dried fish scrap, the cat knocked it off the barrel and into the dirt with its paw.

Render huffed. "There's gratitude for you."

Laughing and slapping his thighs, Kaine said, "You've got quite a way with cats, indeed." He raised his spear.

"You're not serious," Render said.

"Quite." He crouched low, pointed the spear at the cat. It arched its back, flattened its ears, and with a hiss, bore tiny white fangs.

"Come on, she's hardly worth the effort." Render grabbed Kaine's arm. Folen and Stewan had raised their spear and dagger as well.

Kaine huffed. "It nearly tore your hand off, and you mean to defend it? Stand aside, we're going to have dinner if I have anything to do with it."

"No!" Render's shout echoed through the hills rousing the barks of several dogs. A chill rain through his blood when he heard Bobbington snort and awaken inside the cottage.

"Render! REN - DER!" he roared. "By the scrolls of Malkor, where are you!"

"Now you've done it," Kaine said and gathered the two younger boys. "Better run with us."

"And when I return?" Sweat seeped through the opening in his scabs and burned. "You know what he'll do to me."

"Suit yourself." And with that Kaine flew off with the boys.

The door blasted open.

The cat leapt off the barrel and into Render's arms.

The sight of Bobbington, his lardy, hairy belly hanging over his pants, and the whip in his fist made Render's hands tremble. Had he the stature or strength, he might well stand up to the brute.

Render had neither. Nor did he possess the fortitude to escape for orphaned as a babe and sold as a slave, this was the only home he knew.

"Wretched vermin!" Bobbington said, his foul breath steaming up into the night. "You dare run? In the middle of the night? Have you so soon forgotten the last time you tried?"

The wounds on his back permitted no such relief. "Sir, I—"

"And what is that, eh?"

Render glanced down at the warm, furry creature of destruction, sitting in his arms and purring. "It... it's a cat."

"I can see that, you fool! Bring it here so that I can gut it and sell its innards to the fiddle maker."

Render turned the cat away from him, as if she might be offended by Bobbington's words. "What a ghastly thought!"

"It's just a mangy cat. Bring it here, boy!"

"No!"

That was the moment that changed everything. Bobbington's lips shook, his right eye twitched. With great malice, he uncoiled the whip. Render had been lashed many times before, but now he feared for the cat.

"Go," he said, and placed it on the ground. "Run!"

Bobbington blinked, his mouth gaping in surprise. "Why you...you insolent little—! Stand still and receive your due!"

The cat ran a few steps towards the wood, then stopped and turned around. With its back arched it watched.

"Five lashes now," Bobbington said, "then ten more after I drag you back inside!"

Teeth clenched, eyes unblinking, Render stood there, gazing into Bobbington's inebriated countenance.

He was prepared.

Bobbington lifted the handle of his whip, wound back his arm as far as he could without falling.

Render mustered all his courage.

His shoulders crept up. His neck tensed.

And then...

He ran.

"What—?" Bobbington sputtered and lashed out. But Render was out of reach. Bobbington, surprised as Render, fell forward landing face first into the dirt.

The cat flew into the thicket.

Render followed, arms and face clawed by dry branches. The frigid air seared his lungs as he ran.

Bobbington gave a great shout. "Come back here, boy!" His heavy footfalls grew nearer. "I'll flay you and that flea-ridden cat!" In his condition however, it was doubtful he could ever catch him. Nevertheless, Render ran faster still.

Letting out a growl befitting a creature many times its size, the cat raced over to the only possible hiding place.

"Not there!"

For lack of a better plan, Render followed. Straight into the black cave, which neither he, nor Kaine, nor anyone with half a brain dared set foot.

In he charged, following the lunatic cat.

Chapter Two

Pallid moonlight entered from between the vines which dangled over the cave's mouth like the fingers of a hag. Sliding his hand along the rough, damp wall, Render continued to step deeper inside. The air hung thick and old. It reeked of moss and other decaying things which he hoped not to discover.

"Boy!" Bobbington's voice boomed into the cave. Again he called, but this time a bit quieter. "Render?"

Just then, something rather large and heavy brushed past Render's hand. He gasped and braced himself against the cave wall as the firm, sinewy form, covered with bristly fur pressed up against him.

He saw nothing, but felt the creature's warmth and heavy footfalls thumping ahead. Then, the rumble of a deep growl filled the entire cave, like that of a great lion or bear. A cold tingle danced up Render's back.

"If...if you think this is amusing...." Bobbington's voice broke. "You'd best quit this foolery right now and come out."

He dared not move.

The growl started again.

"What in all that is—? Render come out at once!"

Render's heart pounded so loud in his ears he feared it would betray him. Just when he could stand it no longer, the growl sprang up into a terrible roar.

Bobbington let out a girlish scream.

A mad rush of leaves and branches.

His quickly fading cries.

Bobbington fled. Faster than one could have imagined, considering his weight and condition.

With his ear turned to the cave's entrance, Render listened to the roar once again echoing into the wood. Whatever beast had frightened Bobbington away would surely return for Render.

And the cat.

Where was that foolish little animal, anyway?

Better the monster eat her than me, he thought. But then, from the front of the cave came a tiny sound. Something that struck him as both odd and alarming.

"Meow?"

If he didn't already suspect delirium, Render would have remained completely still, within the cave until dawn. But how was it that the cat stoodthere, near that dreadful monster? And alive?

Unless...

Render approached the cave opening, standing as tall as he could for he had heard that if one were to confront a bear or a mountain lion, one must stand as erect as possible and shout loudly.

Steady now.

Ready to shout....

He waited a moment, then leapt out into the open.

"HYAH!"

But there was no monster. Had it hidden behind a rock? A tree? Waiting to pounce and shred him to ribbons? To the left, he directed his eyes. Then to the right. Above and behind. Nothing.

No monster.

And then...

"Meow?" Warm, and furry, the cat rubbed against his bare ankle, just above his shoe. Render jumped back and gasped. "Oh, it's you."

"Mrow." The little rascal. With a tilt of its head, it gazed up at Render as if he had gone completely insane. But then it continued to circle his legs, leaning in and rubbing warmly against them. Had it no fear, no sense?

He scooped the cat up into his arms and stared down the hill. Below, oil lamps mounted on cottage walls flickered. The hinges on his master's door—his former master—squeaked. Bobbington had a habit of complaining such that his neighbor's could hear of his woes and perhaps commiserate. Instead, they took to avoiding him.

He could be heard now, muttering on about how Render had become more trouble than he was worth. Bobbington rushed in and shut his door with a heavy slam that reverberated throughout the village.

"Well then," Render said, rubbing the cat behind its ears, "We'll not be going back, I suppose." It purred as he slipped it inside his leather vest, sharing some much appreciated warmth.

From the top of Smyth's Hill, Render's shadow stretched down to the bottom and made him look enormous. He gave the farming village, the place he'd called home for as long as he could remember, one last look, then turned to face the moon. Amber light, brighter than he'd ever seen before, almost made him shade his eyes. Within his vest, the cat moved. It too stared at the strangely bright, strangely hued moon. To Render's surprise, it turned its eyes to his, as if to speak.

"I've never seen anything like it before, either," Render said, and scratched gently under the cat's chin. Its throat trilled as it leaned its head down in the crook of his thumb and forefinger. From where he stood, Talen Wood ended behind him. Before him however, an open plain stretched for about a mile and dropped off.

A howling wind chilled Render to the bone and nearly threw him off balance. He held cat tighter and reestablished his footing. "You all right?"

Its claws dug into his forearm.

And as quickly as the gust came, it passed, swaying tree branches below. Like ripples in a lake, the tops of the trees shivered.

He'd never wandered this far from the village before. But up ahead, he knew of a rocky precipice—the largest of several—which dropped so far, no one had ever returned to say just how high it stood over the plain. Further East, miles past the white desert valley, a battalion of mountains lined the wasteland like sentries. The Handara Mountain Range. The tallest summit, towered far above the others like a commander inspecting warriors under his command. Render's pulse quickened at the sight, for he had never gotten such a clear view before.

What lay on the other side?

Lacking proper education afforded only to the genteel people of Valdshire Tor's grand citadel, all he'd heard were tales, legends and rumors.

An escaped slave now, Render imagined life as an exile, crossing to the East. As far from Valdshire Tor as he could get. After all, to return meant certain capture—or re-capture, rather. He'd heard rumors of young slaves being turned over to the traders because they either displayed defect or were not particularly useful. And as he'd now proven himself a useless slave, Bobbington would probably have him hunted down, hauled off, and killed. Like the runt of a litter.

"Sort of like you, eh, cat?"

It buried its head deeper into his vest. At least he would not travel alone. He was glad of the company. But how would he traverse such a distance and so treacherous a terrain?

As if the ground had heard his question, a rumbling underfoot drew his attention to the wood. The cat stiffened as the whinnying of horses and the thunder of their hooves approached.

Render tried to run. But with nowhere to go but down, he froze in place. Three riders wearing red tunics over chainmail shirts and hoods approached from all sides.

With all his might, Render dashed into the fast closing space between two of the horsemen. The sickening sound of scraping steel filled the air as the dark riders unsheathed their swords.

Glints of reflected moonlight flashed.

Render was stopped in his tracks by the cold, sharp edge of a sword under his chin.

Chapter Three

"Halt, if you fancy the head upon your neck," said the mounted rider. "Or continue and leave it behind as a token." From her tone and the shining decorations on her armor, Render gathered she was the leader.

She scoffed. "What's your name, boy?"

Not a word escaped Render's clenched throat.

"Seems to've misplaced his tongue," the rider to her right said.

"Speak boy," said the leader, leaning down so that the ends of her dark hair touched Render's face. "Or I'll find that tongue of yours with my dagger."

"Please, ma'am. My name is Render." The cat squirmed. He held it tight and out of view.

"Where're your parents?"

"Dead, Ma'am."

She let out a hearty laugh and the others joined. "Perfect." Pointing her sword down to the foot of the hill, she said to the rider behind Render, "Bring him back with the others. That ought to be the last of them."

"Yes my lady," he said in a gravelly voice. Between Render's shoulders, the point of the soldier's sword urged him downwards.

"If he resists, cut off his ears," the leader said, all humor gone from her tone. "If he tries to strike you, cut off his hands. If he tries to run cut off his feet. And if he tries to call for help..."

"I understand."

"As best you should," the leader said. "The wagon is nigh full by now. You know where to bring them."

"Aye."

"Hyah!" With slaps on their horses' rumps and a clinking of spurs, the dark rider and her remaining subordinates rode off.

Down the hill, Render now saw a horse drawn wagon, covered with a heavy canopy. Its driver sat at the reins, waiting.

When he stepped in, or rather, was shoved in, Render's captor forced him to sit upon a bench. "I won't hesitate to dice you into vittles if ye try anything," the horseman said. He then shackled Render's feet which were chained to those of some other unfortunate souls, whose faces were obscured in the pitch black wagon.

Like his fellow prisoners, Render dared not speak.

The door slammed shut. A thin beam of light stole in from the small square windows around the top of the door and walls. Immediately, the wagon lurched forward. Every bump in the path jarred him.

From the stuttering breaths, drawn through clenched teeth, Render could tell that there were children around him in that cramped space.

"I want to go back," came a pitiful murmur.

"Me too."

"Quiet!" hissed a familiar voice.

Render blinked in surprise. He sat up straight and inclined forward and whispered, "Kaine?"

"Keep to yourself, whoever you are, or I swear, I'll knock you down, kick open the door and toss you out. Then you'll be dragged to death, or they'll think you're trying to escape and...and—"

"Kaine you idiot, it's me, Render!"

All went quiet. Save for the rolling of the wheels, the blowing and snorting of the horses and the humming of the driver.

"Render?"

"It is you then, isn't it?" Render's heart leapt.

"Over to the light where I can see you," Kaine said.

"You first."

"Bother! Isn't it just like you to quarrel so?" Kaine exhaled sharply. "All the same, let's go to the edge so that we can see each other in the light."

"Right."

There at the end of the wagon, their eyes met and lit up.

"Why, itisyou."

"Of course it is," Render said and grabbed his arm. He could not help but smile. "We're going to be killed!"

"Yes! Isn't it fantastic?"

If there was any joy at being taken prisoner by dark knights and horsemen, or whatever they were, it was in finding his brother and the twins. Not that Render wished ill upon them. It was just better not to face this alone. He asked the twins if they were all right. They were, but felt frightened. Though he had no basis for saying so, Render assured them that all would be fine.

Kaine stared down at Render's vest. "And what have we here?" At the opening of his vest, the cat rested with one paw casually draped over the other. It glared at Kaine with flattened ears. "How in the world didthathappen?" He asked.

Render lifted it out and placed it on his lap, soothing it with strokes along its stiff back and tail. "As I said, I have a way with cats." Still staring at Kaine, her claws gripped Render's pant legs. "Anyway...I think she likes you."

"She?" Kaine scoffed. "That beast is too fierce to be a she."

"What do you know of cats?"

"What doyou? I'll wager my slingshot that it's a boy."

"That so?" Not about to back off from a challenge, especially one which he knew he could most certainly win, Render held the cat up and lifted her tail.

"Reeeow!" She swung around and swatted Render in the face. Then she jumped out of his hands and went into the dark part of the wagon.

"You win," said Kaine.

"I told you so. Now, if you would be so kind and hand over your slingshot."

"Of course. As soon as I get back to retrieve it from my master's home."

Home.

The very word caused a twinge in Render's chest. Never had he known such a place that he could truly call home. Growing up a slave robbed him of something so important, so fundamental to being human: a sense of belonging.

Oh, of course he belonged. He belonged to Master Bobbington, as did cattle or sheep or any other livestock: property. But Render envied children who went home to warm dinners, whose fathers took them hunting, taught them their wares, whose doting grandparents served as purveyors of forbidden confections. Such things he beheld only from a distance, remembered only as a dream.

The carriage came to an abrupt stop. A great deal of yelling and commanding alerted Render. The cat returned to sit upon his lap.

Kaine, pulling the slack between his shackles and Render's, stood on his bench and peered through the slits in the wagon cover.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer.

"Kaine!"

"Shhh!"

Folen and Stewan whimpered, the chains of their fettered feet scraped the floor. The cat, back on Render's lap, sat up and inclined her ears towards the window.

"By the decree of The Lord Mooregaard, Lord Duke of Talen Wood, advisor to King Corigan, open the gate!" It was the horseman who threw Render into the wagon.

"Where are we?" Render whispered. A cold drop of perspiration rolled down his spine.

"You're as observant as you are good with cats." Kaine clicked his tongue. "A blind man could see."

"See what?"

"That we're at the gate."

"What gate!"

"The Citadel, moss-brain."

The cat stiffened and leapt from Render's lap. She then climbed up and squeezed through the window in the door.

"Hey!" Render didn't bother trying to stop her. So distracted was he by sounds outside. They were so alien, he hardly noticed that she'd gone. Without realizing, he held his breath.

Heretofore, he had only heard stories of the great Citadel, where streets were paved with gold, where the highest forms of art, science and heraldry flowed. And where those unfortunate enough to be deemed criminals suffered unspeakable horrors.

"Don't you understand?" said Kaine, excitement hanging on every syllable, "We've been appropriated."

"Appro...?" said Stewan.

"It means," Render said, "we no longer belong to our masters."

Folen leaned over and whispered. "You mean, we're free?"

"I mean we're being sold."

Chapter Four

The Empire of the East

In the Eastern Empire of Tian Kuo, during the rule of the Lohng Dynasty, the greater part of the population lived in rural villages outside the capital walls, without the amenities of the Emperor's city. This had not been the intention of the Emperor, but rather that of his widow, the Empress Dowager, soon after his demise.

Though they were afforded marginal protection by imperial troops during wars, for the most part these villagers were left to their own devices. This is not to say that they were what one might consider provincial, uneducated or uncultured. On the contrary, much of Tian Kuo's fading cultural, scientific and spiritual wisdom found its roots in the written and oral traditions of outcast cultures such as that of Xingjia.

Towards the Western border of Tian Kuo, between the Myng River and the Lohngdi desert, lay a peaceful hamlet set within tall palms and flowing silvery brooks. The inhabitants of Xingjia were an uncomplicated people. But many of them had once been scholars or government officials, and possessed an ancient wisdom, from which many a great storyteller and seer had emerged.

And then put to death.

For their beliefs were considered the dangerous superstition of the wealthy land owners, the so called "oppressors of the masses." But that was over two centuries ago. Ancient history.

Now, to the Tianese Empress, the people of Xingjia were nothing more than a backwards people that had best keep to themselves.

"Ahndien," Mother called, cutting vegetables at the stone table in their wooden house. "Father will return soon. Go out and fetch those Kai roots."

Barely hearing, Ahndien carefully turned a withering page from theBook of Didactic Songs in Praise of Falun Darahand attempted to recite Song Number One Hundred and Six,The Fall of Mah LhaKor,in the ancient tongue.

"Ahndien!" Mother called again.

"Yes, Ma! I'm coming." Still holding her book, her face buried in its pages, she began walking back towards her house. Before she could complete the final line, the book was yanked from her hands. Her mother's annoyed eyes took its place.

"Ai! You are just like your father! Nose in book, head in clouds! Don't you know that we need to have dinner prepared for his return?"

"But Ah-Ma," Ahndien said, grabbing at the old leather-bound book which she had taken without permission from Ah-Bah's library.

"Go get the roots now," she said, and shook her head. "Always talking superstition like your father."

"But Ah-Bah says that everyone has a spirit, a potential to—"

"Ai! Enough! You are nearly a grown woman. How will you ever find a husband if you keep going on with these childish fairy tales?" She handed Ahndien a satchel packed with nuts, dried pork, a steamed bun, and a flask of water for the journey to the Huangtoa hills, where the Kai roots grew. "Where is the spirit potential to put rice on the table? Hmm?"

"I'm hungry," said Shao-Bao, her little brother.

"Yes Ah-Ma." Ahndien lowered her head, tied the pack around her waist and shouldered the empty buckets. "May I at least take Ah-Bah's book with me?"

"When would you have time to read?"

"Please, Mother?"

Her stone carved countenance softened. A smile emerged from Ah-Ma's features and she lowered her arched shoulders. "I tell you. You'll end up an eccentric word-eater like your father." She handed her the book and huffed. "If you are lucky, you'll end up with a husband who will put up with all this..." she waved her fingers dismissively. "This nonsense!"

Ahndien bounced on her toes and clapped her hands. "I won't waste any time. I promise."

"You can read while you take your lunch."

"Yes." Ahndien rummaged through the closet making an extraordinary amount of noise. There she found father's antique sword and made sure Ah-Ma wasn't looking when she strapped it to her waist. She winked at Shao-Bao and went to the door.

"Be home before dusk," said Ah-Ma.

She was already out the door and on her way.

The midday sun began its indolent ascent into the sky and warmed Ahndien's shoulders. She took a sip from her flask and wiped her brow. With a red ribbon she tied up her long, ink-black hair and gazed out at her surroundings.

How lovely the mountains were this time of the year. Green with life, intoxicating jasmine blossoms, new life emerging all around. Taking it all in with a deep breath, Ahndien felt a profound connection to the very land on which she stood.

Directly above her in a tree branch, nested eagle chicks cheeped for their mother. Perhaps it was the great bird's shadow among several that had flown over Ahndien several times since she reached the hill. A shrill cry told her that this was the case. The eagle returned with a small rodent in its beak and alighted in the nest to feed her young.

Ahndien reached into her satchel and pulled out a small wooden flute which she only played when she left the village, for the old songs grandfather had taught her vexed mother so.

Five notes. In improvised sequences, she created a song which originated from her heart in reaction to the inspiring landscape. At the first piercing note which split the air and echoed down to Xingjia below, she expected the birds to fly off in surprise.

Indeed, the birds flew.

But instead of flying away, they all gathered around her, some on the branches, some at her feet, and some on her shoulders—a secret pleasure Ahndien had enjoyed since her eighth birthday when Ah-Yeh (grandfather) gave her his flute.

Her otherworldly pentatonic song filled the mountain and she began to march around a fallen tree trunk. A procession of sparrows, rainbow finches and even a wild goose followed.

When she stopped, the birds cocked their heads to the side. Down below the people in her village went about their business. She felt a twinge of guilt. They are all working so hard at their chores, and here I am enjoying myself. But her heart took flight when she looked down into the village and saw a broad shouldered man entering the village gates.

"Ah-Bah!"

Mother and Shao-Bao, ran up to greet him. He had returned from the symposium earlier than expected.

"Little brothers and sisters," Ahndien announced to her winged friends. "Thank you for gracing me with your company. But now I must make haste."

The birds, now encircling her, stood perfectly still. As she unpacked her food, preparing to give her entire meal to her avian friends, a rustling in the bush caught her attention.

Chittering into the sky, every bird flew off.

Ahndien called into the thicket. "Hello?" There was no wind, so someone or something must have been there. "Please, show yourself." She reached for her waist and unsheathed the sword that mother did not know she'd taken. Her mouth grew dry. The rustling drew closer.

Chapter Five

"Ah-Ba!" Shao-Bao cried out, ran and leapt into his father's open arms. For all his shortcomings as a husband, Myanwu conceded that he always redeemed himself many times over as a father.

"Shao-Bao, be careful. You'll hurt your father's back."

"Beloved," her husband said wrapping his free arm around her shoulder. He kissed her forehead. "Forgive me for arriving early without sending word."

"Nonsense, Bai Juang," Myanwu said, her ears warming and not from the midday sun. "How was the symposium?"

Bai Juang set his son down and pulled a toy bird made of bright colored feathers and handed it to him. Shao-Bao squealed in delight when his father pulled a string and the bird began flapping its wings.

He turned to Myanwu, and though his smile remained, the light in his eyes was dimming. "I have been away from my family for two weeks. I don't want to bore you with matters which do not concern you."

"Husband," Myanwu said,slightlyhurt. "I only meant to—"

He stood and regarded her sharply, then moved his eyes to Shao-Bao. For a moment, Myanwu could not understand his reticence. Apprehension hollowed her stomach. He only acted that way when—

"But where is my little Empress?" said Bai Juang, a warm smile washing away the tension. Myanwu let out the breath she'd been inadvertently holding.

"Ahndien has gone to gather Kia roots. Did you not hear her flute?"

"Ah, I thought that might be her," he said and put his pack of books down. "Perhaps I should go join her."

"Ah-Ba?" Shao-Bao said, now whimpering. He was facing down into his cupped hands, sniffling in little hiccups. When he looked up at his father, two large tear drops rolled down his plump cheeks.

"What is it, little warrior?" he said and knelt down to open his hands.

"It's broken," he sobbed. "Won't fly anymore."

"Ai!" Myanwu scowled. "You always break every new toy your father—-"

Bai Juang held up a hand, took his son into his arms and let him bury his face into his shirt. "Do not fret. Nothing that has been damaged is beyond repair."

Would he spoil his son as he had Ahndien?

"Run along, son. I will repair this for you later." From his bag, he produced a small picture book and handed it to Shao-Bao. "I believe I made you a promise before I left?"

His wet eyes opened wide and his frown inverted. "The Dragon Adventures of Kronis the Great!" The boy hugged his father's neck and ran into the house. "Thank you, father!"

Bai Juang straightened up and smoothed the wrinkles in his cloak. He turned to Myanwu and shrugged with repentant eyes. "I know what you are going to—"

"Bai Juang," she said, sharply curbing her indignance. "Would you simply fix everything for your son, rather than teach him to take care of his property?"

"He will learn."

"Not at this rate."

"He needed comfort."

"You always chose the heart over the head."

Bai Juang put his elbow in his hand, rubbed his dark beard and pondered this. His eyes deepened and his lips pulled thin. Then he stepped over to his wife and put a strong arm around her waist. "I choose the heart over the head because it was the only way I could win your hand." From behind his back he pulled out a Golden Fire Orchid.

And the walls fell.

She wanted to remain angry at him for leaving her with the children for weeks at a time, for being more devoted to his cause—a dying one at that—than to his own wife. But what stopped her were these two things:

First, deep down, she too believed in his cause; because she believed in him. Never had she met a man of such integrity and conviction. If Bai Juang believed something, it must be true. And second, he always knew the paths of diplomatic warfare when it came to their conflicts.

"Where did you...?" She took hold of the flower and wanted to cry.

"My bride. How soon you have forgotten. "Twenty years ago today," he pointed to the hills, "at the foot of that very mountain where our daughter gathers Kai roots, you and I met for the first time and—"

"Bai." Myanwu took the flower and sank into her husband's embrace. "I will never forget."

She remained there, holding him tight, glad that he was home. Even if it was only until his next three week trip to and back from the symposium. He was a good man. And she treasured these moments.

Then, at the sound of something she hadn't heard since she was a child, Bai's body went stiff.

"No."

From the outskirts of Xingjia, atop the sentry towers, a clarion call resounded. "Shao-Bao," Bai Juang's eyes darted to the village gates. Myanwu dropped the Orchid and ran to the house not realizing that she had trampled and torn the delicate petals on the ground.

Frantic, she vaguely heard her husband shouting to the men running back into the gates, calling all men to arms, "How far off? How far off!"

The only reply she heard was, "How can this be! Where are the imperial guards?"

Already inside the house, Myanwu found her son, rushed him down into the hidden room beneath the house, and held him close.

Out in the courtyard, someone cried out, "Torians!"

She winced. Above them, someone was overturning chairs, ransacking the cabinets and dropping dishes and utensils to the ground.

Shao-Bao let out a gasp.

She covered his mouth. Held up a finger.

The crashing of furniture and items being kicked aside onto the floor grew closer. Louder.

Then, the worst thing that could have happened, did.

The door hinges above them squealed. Where was Bai Juang?

The door to the hidden room flung open.

Myanwu and her son screamed, their eyes squeezed shut.

"Where is it?" Bai Juang said, his eyes round with panic."

"What?

"Where is my sword!"

Chapter Six

"Come out." Affecting all the courage she could, Ahndien grasped the hilt of her father's sword tighter still. "Show yourself...and...and I won't hurt you."

The rustling in the bush stopped. Curiosity overtook caution and Ahndien stepped forward, ready to strike, though Father's sword felt a bit too heavy to swing with any effect. When she reached the place from which the rustling sounds came, she took a deep breath, held it, and with her foot, pushed away some of the branches.

"Please," she whispered. "Answer me." Father had warned her not to wander off to the top of the hill. There are vicious mountain lions that devour little children, he had always said. Her heart beat like the festival drums of the New Year, yet fear had not seized her. Not entirely.

She pulled the branches aside. "Aha!"

Just then, a small man, slightly hunched in the back and wearing the white garb of a monk, turned around and gasped. "Ai!" He lifted his walking stick as if to strike. But when he saw Ahndien's face, he lowered it. "What do you mean, startling an old man like that? Why, I might have..." he coughed, sputtered, pounded his chest. "I might have mistook you for... for a bandit!"

"I'm sorry," she said and rushed to his side. "You didn't answer."

"Eh?"

"You didn't answer me when—"

"Eh?" he turned his head. "Speak into this ear, my child. The hearing's not what it once was."

"Never mind." She helped the old man out into the clearing where she had set her things down. "Have you eaten yet?"

"My food is knowledge, wisdom...and truth!" From behind the white beard that stretched down to his chest, a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The monk bore a striking resemblance toAh-Yeh, her grandfather who lived with her family until he passed away last winter.

Ahndien thought his bones would surely creak as he sat on the tree trunk and rested both hands on his cane. "Was that you, playing the song of the Fenghuang?"

"Feng...what?" This had always been her secret, not so much the music, but her way with the birds. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Of course you don't." His round belly rolled like grass jelly when he laughed. "And yet, you do."

She should have felt apprehensive speaking to a stranger, alone on the mountain like this, but for some reason she did not. He was too frail to be any sort of threat. Perhaps it was the way he spoke, the way he laughed. Just like Ah-Yeh.

"My name is Lao-Ying." He leaned forward on his cane.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, sir," she replied. "I am—"

"Ahndien, daughter of Xing Bai Juang," he said. His hazel-green eyes sparkled. They seemed unusually sharp for a man of his age. "I have waited long to meet you."

"But how do you know me?"

Before he could answer, a strange sound rang out into the mountains from below—the sound of horns, rapid and urgent. Lao-Ying arose and bounded to the edge of the hill. With a hand he shielded his eyes. "And so it begins."

"What is it?"

"Something that should not have happened for another ten years."

Ahndien came to his side and looked down at her village. Her heart sank at the sight of the trebuchets, large monstrosities on wheels, pushed by soldiers in red vested chainmail and armor. Flying high with the army's advance, a flag with the image of a crimson, winged creature stood tall on a pole.

"What are they doing?"

Lao-Ying took her elbow and tried to lead her away. "Come along, child. Come."

"Wait." Just then, the three trebuchets stopped a good distance from the village walls. She looked harder at the flag, the soldiers and realized. "Are those...?"

Lao-Ying lowered his gaze and shut his eyes. "Soldiers of Valdshire Tor."

"Western Demons!"

The Torian soldiers lit the cauldrons in the center of the slings and flames burst upwards. In swift succession the trebuchet's massive arms swung forward, hurling the flaming projectiles at the village.

"No!" Ahndien tried to run. But something restrained her with alarming force. She looked down at her arm. Lao-Ying had taken hold of it.

In a low and regretful voice, he said, "It is too late."

A thunderous explosion erupted from the center of the village. Cries of terror arose with plumes of fire and billowing black smoke. Like a swarm of red fire ants, Torian soldiers with swords, crossbows and all manner of weaponry charged into the village.

Ahndien broke free and ran down the path. Even at her best speed, the village was at least half an hour away.

"Please," shouted Lao-Ying, "You mustn't!"

Chapter Seven

The sharp sound of curtain rings ripping across a rod, followed by a blinding light jarred Render from his sleep.

"Arise!" boomed a husky voice.

Render rubbed his eyes. Had Bobbington fallen ill of the throat? Had he dreamt the entire thing last night? But when he saw Kaine waking up in the bed across the chamber, and Folen and Stewan as well, Render knew it was not a dream.

"Up now, you den of sloths. All of you!" A rather large and rotund man with flaxen hair stood at the door. Dressed in a brown cloak, he very much resembled one of those Malkoran scholars, illustrations of which he'd seen in the moldering books of Bobbington's library.

Folen yawned and nudged Stewan who, laying next to him, was still asleep. "Come on, sleepy head, wake up."

"Who are you?" Kaine said to the scholar. "And where are we?"

"You will address me as Sir Edwyn," he said gazing down the side of his considerable nose. "And you have three minutes to clean up and change into those." He pointed to the neatly folded bundles at the foot of each of their beds and then gestured to the basins and pitchers at the end tables. Sir Edwyn clapped his hands, making Render wince. The sound of it resounded throughout the cavernous stone walls of their chamber, which, when compared to his room in Bobbington's cottage, seemed more like a cathedral. "Quickly now. When I return you had best be ready."

When he shut the door, a profound echo thundered through the chamber. Render looked about. Smooth stone walls decorated with intricate tapestries, shimmering curtains which must have been made of exotic Eastern fabric. His bare feet stood cushioned upon a thick rug of violet and blue and gold. But where were the shackles?

"Are you certain, Render?" Stewan said.

"Of what?"

"That we've been appo...appro-pee-ated?"

"Of course we have," Render removed his shirt and splashed water over his face from the gold rimmed basin on his bedside table. The other boys followed his example. Then to his brother: "Haven't we?"

"I'm not quite so certain now, truth be told." Kaine dabbed his face with a towel. Then with a wicked grin, he said, "I wonder if they might be preparing us for a brutal execution."

The twins gasped. Their eyes grew the size of plums.

"Stop it Kaine," said Render. "Must you frighten them so?"

"I'm merely saying..." Kaine shrugged. "I mean, who's to say we're not going to have our heads lopped off and stuck on the points of spears and marched through Talen Wood as an example to other slave boys who try to run away."

"Do stop it," Folen said. "Please!"

Render agreed. "Enough, Kaine."

But on he went. "Or perhaps we'll be thrown into an arena with hungry mountain lions, and be mauled for royal sport. You know, like those Sojourner zealots, ages ago. That's what happened to them, you know." He pointed to his spotless white shirt. Render knew too well where his brother meant to go with all this. When he was the twins' age and they'd steal into the wood to share stolen food, Kaine would try to frighten him with drivel as this. "The blood shows much better against this pure white shirt. All the better for spectators at a distance who—"

"I said, enough!" Render's shout came as a surprise to all, not the least of whom, himself. But it wasn't clear if it had been irritation at his brother's teasing or the actual fear it instilled.

Kaine smirked. "Well, aren't you the pickled puss?"

Render pulled his belt tight. For once in his life, he wore new, clean clothes that didn't reek of sweat. He smiled at the twins. "Bother him," then went over to help Stewan with a clasp on the back of his vest. Fine trappings indeed for slaves. "We should just do as Sir Edwyn says." He turned to help Folen tie up a lace on his shoe.

"Oh yes," Kaine said. "He seems nice enough, don't you think?"

Render didn't bother to look up when neither of them answered. When he stood up and turned around, however, there at the now open door stood Sir Edwyn, a scowl etched into his brow. He clapped his hands twice and motioned for the hallway.

"Where are we going?" Folen said, clinging to Render's arm. "We want to go back!"

"Your life as you have hitherto known it..." Edwyn heaved a dour gaze upon them all, "...is over."

Chapter Eight

Sir Edwyn walked before Render, Kaine and the twins and would have appeared harmless if not for the armed guards with longswords marching beside him.

Flecks of dust floated in the morning beams of sunlight which entered through the windows above. The corridor stretched eternal and turned not even once before they finally arrived at a large wooden door. There, two armor clad sentries stood with pikes crossed over the entrance. Above the archway hung a sculpture. A pair of winged creatures—difficult to discern without staring unduly—one of them black, the other red. Both of their talons clutched an auric orb. With bat-like wings and scales, Render decided they must be dragons.

Edwyn clapped his hands twice. The pikemen slapped their hands to their sides, stomped a foot, and uncrossed their weapons affording passage through the slowly opening door.

Edwyn gestured forth.

As Render and his companions stepped forward, dread filled his thoughts. His throat became so parched that he wanted to cough. But so frightened was he that he resisted the urge. If this was the end, would it be an execution by beheading, or a mauling by wild beasts?

No one dared utter a word.

They entered, and for a moment the light inside was so bright his eyes could not adjust. When they did, he would no doubt find himself before an executioner, or a tormentor, or mountain lions or tigers ready to make a meal of them all. Render took a deep breath, resolved to stand in place until he felt the point of a sword in his back.

"Welcome, my young friends!" A strong and familiar voice said, just as Render's vision cleared. Standing before them, a lady dressed in an extravagant scarlet gown embroidered with intricate aureate piping and patterns smiled and with a welcoming hand stretched out. Her raven hair struck a stark contrast with paper-white face. Her lips shone with such a deep shade of crimson they stood in stark contrast to her hair and eyes, which were dark as midnight.

She stood there in the center of a vast courtyard with the morning sun shining down from a blue sky, in which barely a lambswool cloud floated.

"I trust you've a healthy appetite?" She waved her slender fingers with red, claw-like nails toward the dining tables behind her. Scores of children, all finely dressed, sat on benches along these tables. Their ages ranged from about Folen and Stewan's to as old as Render himself. "My fine young men," the lady said, "do join us for breakfast."

The aroma of freshly baked bread, boiled eggs, and cooked meat made Render's mouth water. But a thought soured his mood. "What are they doing?" he whispered to Kaine, "fattening us for the kill?"

"Does it matter, really?"

Folen and Stewan had already taken their seats, their eyes large with hunger before the feast, the likes of which none of them had ever seen, much less partaken of.

"And now," she said, a bright smile widening across her face, "With the compliments of his Majesty, Corigan, High King of Valdshire Tor, enjoy this, your first of many such meals, as the adopted children of his kingdom."

Without hesitation, Kaine and all the other children let out a cheer and dug into their food, forks and knives barely employed.

"Rejoice children! For the High King has turned his countenance upon you. He has bestowed his favor upon you and liberated you from the yoke of superstition, the oppressive hand of slavery."

It was then that Render realized who she was. The harsh, yet fetching tone of her voice, the way her ebony hair fell over one of her eyes when she tilted her head as she emphasized a word, or scrutinized some of the children. He nudged Kaine's arm with his elbow. "It's her."

"What are talking about?" Kaine said, his mouth so full he was barely intelligible.

"Dear children," she said, her voice rising above the din of happy, hungry slaves now proclaimed royal wards. "I am Lady Volfoncé, advisor to King Corigan."

Kaine put his fork down and took a harder look. "Well, I think she's lovely."

"You would." Hadn't he heard the brutal threats she made prior to throwing Render into the wagon last night?

"Who is she then?"

"Don't you see? She's the one who abducted us last night."

Chapter Nine

To this very day, the gentrification decree which had been issued years before Sir Edwyn's birth continued to bring rescued children of all ages from round the kingdom into the citadel walls. In fact, Edwyn himself had been one of those refugees from the zealot insurrections, to which King Corigan had finally brought an end and along with it, "The Age of Inscience."

Edwyn sniffed with disdain as the children ravaged their meals like a pack of famished dogs. None of them displayed the slightest modicum of civility. This, and no doubt many other things, would have to be taught.

Amongst this last litter—orphans, alleged Sojourner children and slaves—was to be his class of pupils. The boy called Render and his friends already seemed troublesome. According to the registration records, Render's former master Bobbington had kept, the lad might have been a child of Sojourner parents who had died in a preemptive raid on insurgent soil.

The very thought brought a sharp twinge between Edwyn's ribs. He was only slightly older than Render when his own parents had died because of Sojourner superstition. Consequently, Edwyn had become an orphan.

So, as was the case for these children slopping down their fine breakfast like pigs at a trough, Edwyn had been brought up a ward of the King.

A disguised blessing, perhaps.

Lady Volfoncé continued to lecture the children on their assignments, while Edwyn and the other mentors stood by the walls observing their new charges. Scarcely a child lifted his head when their name was called and matched with their tutor.

But Render did.

Though his older brother and two young friends continued eating with their bare hands in spite of the proper utensils within easy reach, Render stopped and attended when Volfoncé called.

"Render, Stewan and Folen of lower Talen Wood," she announced. "You shall henceforth submit to the care and authority of Sir Edwyn. Your tutor."

Render stood up. "What about my brother?"

"Shut up!" Kaine hissed, and pulled him back down to the bench.

Volfoncé smiled. "As Master Kaine is the only one of this class near the age of cultivation, he shall be under the tutelage of The Lord Mooregaard."

Across the courtyard, the wickedly handsome Don raised a black-gloved hand ever so slightly and half turned it, indicating his presence to his sole pupil. He then turned and bowed to Lady Volfoncé. As he straightened up, from behind his dark goat-like mustache and beard, a smile whiter than snow emerged.

Never one to admit it, Edwyn had always envied Mooregaard's status as a knight of the Order of the Scarlet Pendragon. What was it about him? His sword, his chainmail, his commanding stature?

Inclining her head in response, Lady Volfoncé continued with the introductions. Edwyn stood patiently awaiting his trio of students. This time, he thought, for once in my seven years as a royal tutor, please let them be different. Not just sheep incapable of independent thought.

By the time Volfoncé finished the introductions and all thirty-one students had been matched with their tutors, she clasped her hands together and said, "Now then. Any questions?"

"Yes, Milady." A girl at the far end of the courtyard stood. She may have been about nine or ten years old and didn't notice that she had put her splendid red gown on backwards.

Volfoncé covered her mouth to suppress a laugh. "Yes, dearest."

"Besides mathematics, astronomy, literature and physi...phizzi.."

"Physical Sciences, precious one," Volfoncé assisted, endearment beaming from her countenance, "among other disciplines."

"Yes, physical sciences. Aside from those, will we be taught....uhm...Oh, bother, what is it called...? Oh yes! Will we be taught magic?"

Volfoncé retained her smile, but her eyes dimmed under arched brows. She stood silent for a moment. The backwards dressed girl blanched and sat right down with a wordless apology on her face.

"If by magic," Volfoncé said, low and foreboding, "you mean, illusionism, and sleight of hand, as performed by court entertainers, you've clearly misunderstood the elevation of your station."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said the girl, "I... I just meant—"

"There is no other kind of... of... magic!" Volfoncé glared down her upturned nose. "Never forget that you have been called to royalty. The future of this great kingdom is with you, oh blessed children. And in this future, there shall be no trace of that terror imposed upon the gentle and learned people of Valdshire Tor by those fanatical Sojourner zealots. Do I make myself clear?" Slowly, her gaze swept across the courtyard scrutinizing every eye, now affixed to hers. "To all of you?"

Not a sound.

"Very well, then." Volfoncé spread open a fan and flapped it at herself. The warmth in her tone and demeanor returned. "There shall be time enough for all questions, dear ones. But you shall take them up with your tutors."

Even Edwyn breathed a sigh of relief. It had been nearly twenty years ago when Edwyn himself sat at those tables and received his orientation by Lady Volfoncé. And while she seemed only to grow more beautiful with the passage of time, her formidable presence never abated.

"Now, children," she said, sharp as the tip of a dirk. "Line up before your tutors. Your orientation begins presently."

An excited commotion ensued as each of the children got up and went about finding their assigned mentors. Edwyn stood tall and haughty as his three new students gathered around.

"Folen?" he read from a list written on vellum.

"That's me."

"Stewan?"

"Here, sir."

"And finally," he looked down at the last boy, whose face was turned and watching his brother walking off with Lord Mooregaard. "Render."

The boy did not turn his head.

"Render!"

"Yes!" Jolted, he spun around with a gasp. He bumped into Folen, who shoved him back nearly causing him to trip over his own feet.

Hapless.

A pair of whelps and a day dreaming youth. Edwyn sighed. The coming year promised to be every bit as stimulating as those prior. He rolled his eyes. "Follow me."

Chapter Ten

The old man's warning continued to resound within Ahndien's mind. But nothing could stop her from flying down the mountain trail and back to her home.

As she came to the foot of the hill, less and less of her burning village could be seen above the tall palms and bamboo leaves. But the acrid smell of burning huts and the dark tendrils of smoke clawing into the sky was more than enough a signpost.

Branches and leaves scraped her arms. Father's sword rattled against her side as she ran down the dirt path. Foolish! Why had she taken the sword, to protect herself from rabbits? How would Father defend the family?

She must have been running for at least fifteen minutes. Burning air filled her lungs with each breath. Her legs defied the pain. Each step brought her closer to the fumes. But the shouting, the commotion, the sound of struggle diminished as she got nearer.

Tears blurred her vision.

Gasping, choking, knees failing.

No! Keep running.

Soon, too winded to continue, Ahndien stopped.

Still in the distance, now with the sun setting behind black, billowing clouds of smoke, she saw the village a bit further down the path. If only she could run for another minute. Then she'd arrive. But what then?

Doubled over, hands on her thighs, Ahndien leaned back against the smooth striped trunk of a bamboo tree and wept bitterly. The old man up at the mountain top had been right. Itwastoo late.

Now, the only sound she heard over her own sobs and coughs were those of the Torian soldiers. Laughing and swearing in that accursed accent, that twisted dialect of the common tongue which represented the demons of the West. It could mean only one thing:

They were leaving.

On the tips of her toes, she stepped forward taking care not to make a sound. Between the trees she now could see the entire village burning. Except for the remaining Torian soldiers poking through the ashes, no one stirred.

Ahndien tried in vain to swallow the tension lodged in her throat. Where were Ah-Ma and Ah-Ba and Shao-Bao? And everyone else for that matter? If only she could get past the leaves and branches. But she dared not move. She held her breath as a pair of Torians walked by, not a stone's throw from her.

Just then, a loud shriek rang out above.

Ahndien let out a gasp.

Immediately she covered her mouth and braced herself behind a tree.

"What was that?" one of the soldiers said.

"You fool," the other said and pointed upwards into the sky. He laughed. "It's just a bird. See?"

"You're the fool! It's a vulture. Coming to pick the bones clean."

For fear she might wretch, Ahndien held her mouth tighter.

"By its marking, you idiot," said the first. "A blind man could see that it's an eagle."

The second soldier did not reply. He kept staring up. His lips started to move, but now words came out. Then he began to point. Finally, he said, "Whatever it is, it's coming at us!"

At that, they both ran, cowards that they were, and mounted their horses, just as the bird—the size of a horse—landed on the ground where they had fled. The magnificent creature tilted its head, jerked it side to side, surveying the destruction. It almost looked sad.

The eagle was every bit as terrible as it was beautiful. But Ahndien dared not move. Its razor sharp talons and beak were more frightening than a Torian sword. It let out a piercing cry, which caused the fleeing soldiers to blubber as they fled. Then the eagle itself spread its massive wings and sent a strong gust that bent the tree branches to the point of breaking as it flew off into the sky.

Finally, after it had vanished, Ahndien drew a deep breath. It was time. Tears stinging her eyes and the hilt of Ah-Ba's sword shaking between her fists, she descended the path to the burning village.

"Ah-Ba?" she whimpered, entering the gates. "Ah-Ma?" Neither responded. "Shao-Bao?"

Nothing.

She pushed the draping palms aside. All at once her heart sank. Strewn all over the ground were men, women and their children. All dead. Some of their clothes continued to burn. Others lay in pools of blood. None moved.

Every hut, burned to the ground or in the process. Carts overturned, fruits and vegetables scattered and crushed. The hideous stench of what Ahndien could only imagine was burning flesh made her stomach twist. The word "no" kept repeating silently on her lips.

Then something arrested her steps, her very breath.

Past the south wall, which had been smashed open, the clinking gears and grinding wheels of those monstrous siege engines and trebuchets pulling away caused the hair on the back of her neck to prickle. Ahndien dropped behind a fallen cart and gasped. Her entire body quaked. Every breath stuttered between clenched teeth. Her knuckles went pale, as she strangled the hilt of Ah-Ba's sword.

A large shadow from above passed over. The giant eagle.

The Torian soldiers' voices faded into the forest along with their monstrosities. It could not have taken but a few minutes, but to Ahndien it was an eternity.

Now came the dreadful task of looking for her family through the bodies and debris.

Let them be alive. Please.

When she arrived at the well, where ten paces to the south her house should have been, her knees grew weak. She fell upon them. The sword dropped from her hands and clanked against the rocks.

"Ah-Ma!" she cried out. "Shao-Bao!" In the fallen doorway of her hut, Mother lay still, face down with her arm draped over Shao-Bao. Arrows protruded from their backs and smoke continued to rise from their clothes. "No!"

She tried to get up, to run to them. But it was no good. Instead, she fell on her face and cried out in anguish. Like everyone else around, her family was dead.

She wanted to scream. Release the horror, the dagger of sorrow and regret that impaled her heart. But, for fear of betraying her presence, she held her hands tightly over her mouth as she rocked back and forth, shaking her head.

No amount of sobbing could dislodge the pain in her chest, her knotted innards.

"Ah-Ma!" The words caught. "Ah-Ma. I'm so sorry."

And finally, the sight of poor little Shao-Bao, clutching a toy bird, would have overcome her utterly. But she noticed that Ah-Ba was not present.

"Ah-Ba!" she cried, abandoning any care or reason. Where was he? Again she cried out, "AH-BA!"

If only she could just lie down and die there, with her mother and brother. She would have spent the rest of the day, on her knees, sobbing.

If not for the feral snarls of a wild animal, approaching from behind.

Chapter Eleven

The low-pitched growl vibrated in the ground through Ahndien's sandals. From the depth of the sound, it must have been that of a very large predator. Slow and steady, she reached for the handle of the sword, slipped her hand through its lanyard and grasped it.

All at once, the creature's furious roar flew above her, just as she spun around and swung the long, straight blade of Ah-Ba's sword. A wash of tawny brown flashed before her and she let out a shout. Before she could even complete the stroke, a deep and dull pain caught her forearm. Ahndien cried out in pain. Her eyes felt as if they'd bulge out of her head when she saw it.

Her arm, now about to be crushed or torn off, lay in the cruel grip of a mountain lion's jaw. Its glassy brown eyes fixed hard upon Ahndien's, not blinking, almost daring her to move.

Then, as if the shock were not complete, something even more freakish happened. With its jaws still clamped, the mountain lion gazed straight at Ahndien, as if it would speak to her. And that is exactly what happened.

// Little girls should not play with swords //

"What?" she cried out. The beast's fangs bore down harder, increasing the pain. Though she was aware of this pain, she was too confused to care. "What manner of evil is this?"

// You had best Drop It...//

The mountain lion snarled, his otherworldly voice both aristocratic and sinister.

//...Someone might get hurt //

Two more mountain lionsleapt over the burning ruins of Ahndien's neighbor's house and into the courtyard. Her blood went cold.

I must be going mad, she thought. How can this creature speak?

With her arm in the beast's jaw, neither its mouth nor tongue moved. Nevertheless, she would not relinquish Ah-Ba's sword.

The other two mountain lions stalked closer. The one biting down on her arm yanked and shook her arm.

// The sword or your arm? Decide! //

Ahndien shuddered. It was clear now. The creature did not speak aloud. Somehow, she could hear its thoughts. Whether or not the massive feline knew this, she couldn't be certain.

The beast clamped down harder still. Ahndien let out a sharp gasp.

Just then, a large shadow passed over them. What followed happened so quickly it was near impossible to recall the details.

A shrill cry from above.

With glassy eyes, the beast gazed into the sky, alerted with apprehension.

The two other mountain lionsstepped back.

Ahndien's arm was free. Just as a swooping wind and flapping sound rushed down. A wash of brown and white surged past her eyes. She fell back and hit the ground.

When the dust cleared, she turned her gaze upwards. Well into the distance she discerned what appeared to be an eagle,theeagle, soaring high into the air and clutching a kitten in its talons.

Only, it was no kitten.

For on the ground, the mountain lion who had attacked her stared with its mouth agape. In the grasp of the bird's talons was one of the two mountain lions that had come to assist him.

Ahndien squeezed her eyes and blinked twice. How could this be? The eagle was enormous! Then screaming in terror, the mountain lion fell from the massive eagle's clutches and hit the rocky ground with a bone cracking thud.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Ahndien bolted to her feet sword at the ready. The eagle returned causing the remaining two mountain lions to flee from the village gates and into the bush. Ahndien feared the colossal bird of prey would come for her next.

But it changed its course.

Instead, the eagle sailed over the tops of the green bamboo and palm trees. Leaves rustled with the passing wind.

And then it vanished into the thick of the woods.

Once again, it flew out with its quarry flailing about in its talons. Ahndien dropped behind the crumbling wall of a demolished house and peered out at the spectacle. As it did before, the great eagle dropped the second mountain lion to its death from a frightful height.

// Be still //

She jumped with a start.

Swung around.

Looked to the left. To the right. It was not the voice of the mountain lion. No, this voice rang with aged sagacity.

// Fear not //

Right away, she lowered her arched shoulders. Let out a suspended breath.

Still clutching her father's sword, Ahndien kept her eyes on the woods just outside the gate. The eagle had flown out of view. But somewhere in the thick of the woods, she feared, one mountain lion lurked. The one that attacked her. Whether it had fled or if it lay in wait, she could not tell.

With her hands clutching the sword so tightly it shook, Ahndien waited an eternity. She dared not take her eyes from the fallen tree branches along the path outside the village gate. She remained so still the only sound she heard was the pounding of her heart. This did not subside with the passing of the time. Instead, as the stirring in the brush grew closer, her heart pounded louder, relentless.

Poised and ready to slash at whatever came through, Ahndien bit down on her lip. The crunching sound of pebbles and burnt twigs grew closer. She drew a profound breath; wanted to shut her eyes and swing blind and wild when it arrived.

A rustling in the distant branches caused her to stiffen.

Something was coming.

Chapter Twelve

The rare word or two spoken by Sir Edwyn barely left an impression in Render's mind. As they walked about the citadel, Render's jaw slackened. In awe, he gazed at the tall edifices made of smooth white stone, the spires of cathedrals which clutched at the sky. According to Edwyn, they, along with all other such buildings, had long since been converted from great houses of archaic superstition to the modern services of the government.

"As you can see, this is the center of commerce for—" Edwyn stopped, glanced down at his feet, where a black cat stood, its tail erect. It then circled and rubbed its face against his leg.

A warm, tingling sensation rushed through Render's body, up through his neck and to the top of his head.

"Away, vermin!" Edwyn shoved it away with his foot. Render tried to conceal his disappointment, though Folen and Stewan simply laughed.

They passed by a fountain in the middle of a public square, which, as Edwyn informed them, was called Hawthern Fountain. A small crowd looked on as two young men fought. They were clad in armor, their swords and shields clanging with every strike. Each of their tutors, mounted on horses, held banners with their respective coat of arms emblazoned upon them. On occasion they would call out a short burst of exhortation.

"Behold," Sir Edwyn said. "When you have mastered a certain degree of proficiency in heraldry and combat, your training—all of it—the arts and letters, the martial arts, will culminate in a final exam, like the one these young men are taking."

"My word," said Folen. "Won't they get hurt?"

"There are rules to the combat exam," he said and turned to Render. "You shall learn soon enough."

Leaving the cheering crowd, the clashing weapons, Render and the twins followed their tutor past the fountain. Render kept looking back to see where the cat had run off to.

"As royal pages," said Edwyn, straightening his tunic, "you shall take residence in my lord, The Lord Agon's manor." He pointed to a walled castle to the left of the cathedral, the name of which escaped Render. The castle's outer boundaries stood by the very walls of the citadel. "Each of King Corigan's Lords take their official residency within the capital walls. Castle Mittelvald, there on the Eastern Wall of the citadel, is but one of several. It is there that you shall each receive your training."

When they arrived, a lancer clad in gray armor signaled the gate keeper. A moment later, the massive bars whined as they yawned open with reluctance.

"It's huge!" Folen craned his neck around as they proceeded up the paved promenade. Sweet jasmines, tall verdant trees and babbling fountains filled Render's senses. The grass must have been the greenest, most finely cut he had ever laid eyes upon. But surpassing all the grandeur of the courtyard, beyond the lush and perfectly level shrubs, a grand castle rose up from the ground. From the windows in the corner turrets hung banners with a coat of arms. Red, with the same dragon symbols Render had observed back at breakfast.

"For the duration of your training, you will study alongside with one other young squire," Edwyn said. "He is not your age, Render. But he is one or two years your elder, my twin pupils." Folen and Stewan barely nodded, so affixed were their eyes on the castle's open door.

When they entered, a young boy about thirteen years old came forward. He wore rich clothing, a small sword at his side, and a fine purple cap on his head. With an upturned nose he stood at the threshold with his arms crossed over his narrow chest. "Sir Edwyn, good day."

"And to you." Edwyn inclined his head.

"And what are these?"

"New students."

The young squire looked up at Render and frowned. "Students? These are provincial slaves. Why, I've never seen the likes of these here." He sneered at the twins. "Apart from slaves."

Render's ears grew hot. "I'm no slave!"

"Oh? Surely you don't mean to—"

"Nor am I a servant." Render stepped up such that the obnoxious little rat stood just beneath his nose. Neither of them moved.

"Do you know who I am?" said the squire, his white face now flushing like an apple. "I doubt you even know who you yourself are. But I'll tell you this: It's all about lineage. For you see, I am..." He turned to the tutor. "Sir Edwyn, would you be so kind?"

Edwyn's chest heaved. With lead-weighted words he announced, "Master Branson, son of the Lord Agon. The Lord Agon, who, thrice decorated for valor, is alone honored with the Scarlet Wreath." He turned to Render. "Master Branson is the son of your benefactor."

"How impressive," said Render, devoid of all sincerity.

Finally, with impassive eyes, Branson stepped away and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Quite. If the good Edwyn insists that you are to study with me..." he rolled his eyes at the don, "then so be it. Hmph. I could use the diversion."

"Branson," said Edwyn, "Shall The Lord Agon soon return from the campaign?"

"Cursed if I should know," the boy said in a tone far older than one would expect for an adolescent. "As if my father would condescend to telling me of his affairs."

"I only thought that—"

"You are here to instruct and prepare me for knighthood, though it ought to be mine by right of birth. It's bad enough that your attention is now divided between me and those...those mongrels."

"'Tis by royal decree, young Master. And by your father's wishes."

"I need not like it." Branson tilted his nose up and began to sniff around near the twins. "Do make certain they are bathed before dinner!"

"You stinking pile of cow dung!" Folen charged forward. Despite the shouts for him to stop, Folen leapt and toppled Branson. Straddling the young squire's chest, Folen repeatedly struck him.

Finally, Render and Edwyn grabbed his arms. Yanked him up.

Eyes wide with anger. Branson climbed to his feet. He drew his sword and rushed for Folen. But Sir Edwyn took hold of his wrist and restrained him.

"Unhand me! Unhand me now!"

"With all due respect, Master Branson, it was your discourteous disposition and words that entreated such a reaction."

"I demand satisfaction!"

"What would your father think of this? I am certain he would have a thing or two to say to you about your temper and woeful lack of decorum. These are, after all, royal wards and your father's guests."

Pulling his hand free, Branson huffed and sheathed his little sword. "Not a word, Sir Edwyn" he said. "On your honor."

"I am duty bound to report all to my Lord."

It was then that Branson's icy features thawed. More and more he began to look and talk like a boy of his age. "Edwyn, please. You mustn't. If father finds out, why he'll...Well, you know what he'll do."

Edwyn nodded gravely.

"It's not fair! I've worked so hard. And has he ever once said, well done, my son? No! He just drives me harder and harder. Can't you see why I am so ill-tempered?"

"Serves you right!" Folen said, rubbing his knuckles.

"Yes," Stewan said. "It does!"

Branson reached for his sword. Pulled it out partially. His mouth twisted open to speak—no doubt something foul. But Edwyn cleared his throat, which brought the petulant squire back under control. Branson smoothed his shirt and affected a proud look, eyes half open and glared down his nose at the twins. "Let us forget this unfortunate incident, shall we?"

None of them answered. Folen and Stewan looked to Render.

"We shall not speak of this matter again," said Render. "Neither to each other nor to your father."

"Good. That's more like—"

"As long as you agree to one thing," said Render. Edwyn's eyes betrayed the smile hidden behind his hand.

Branson opened his eyes fully. "What is it?"

"As we are to be fellow students, you must treat us as fellow students. As equals." Render extended his hand.

For a moment longer than would have been polite, Branson stared at Render's hand as if it had just been pulled from a cesspool. But finally, he took it, smiled a crooked smile and said, "Fellow students."

"Fellow students."

Branson took his hand back and began walking inside. Mid-stride he stopped and looked back. "But equals?" He shook his head and scoffed as he left.

Chapter Thirteen

Exhausted, Ahndien did not know if she had any strength left to defend herself against whatever was approaching. The soft but purposeful steps got closer. Trepidation gripped her heart tighter with each one.

"Ahndien."

She gasped, swung her sword back preparing to strike.

Held her breath.

Then from behind the bushes, he appeared.

Worn, ragged and limping.

At first she thought, Ah-Yeh? But then she realized he was not her grandfather at all. It was that voice. //BE STILL...FEAR NOT // The one she had heard in her head. Only stronger, more confident.

Still shaken from the mountain lion attack, Ahndien blinked and stood perfectly still. She dared not move. Then, when she saw who it was she lowered her sword and stepped forward. "Oh, it's you."

"Are you all right?" Lao-Ying hobbled over on his gnarled walking stick. The question barely settled into her mind. Darkness enshrouded her thoughts. With disembodied awareness, she knew that overwhelming sorrow brewed within her, but somehow they failed to connect with her thoughts, her words.

They're gone, she tried to say, but no sound passed her lips.

"Yes, I am all right. I think."

Lao-Ying sighed wearily, took hold of her arm and turned it over. "You are bleeding."

"All of them. Gone."

Ahndien fixed her gaze upon the smoke rising from the village. Ah-Ma and Shao-Bao lay dead just ahead of her. A cold tear rolled down her face but she didn't move, barely breathed.

Lao-Ying muttered something, walked over to Ah-Ma and Shao-Bao and covered them with a large sackcloth. He turned around and searched Ahndien with concerned eyes. "I am truly sorry."

But her heart and her voice were entombed in ice. All she saw were ethereal images layered over of the hills. Flames shooting into the air, a few fleeing villagers running from the accursed Torian soldiers, who shot them with arrows. This echo-like vision seemed much more vivid than witnessing them firsthand. It disturbed her more than if it was actually happening before her eyes.

Lao-Ying returned and guided her to sit on a large rock. He ripped open her sleeve and with a strip torn from that sleeve tied it tight around her forearm, just above the puncture wounds. "What did the mountain lion say to you?"

The question echoed in her mind. But all she could think of was her village, her friends, her family. All gone. She continued to stare into the hills as the images continued to flood her consciousness, if it could be called consciousness. Her lips moved and, as if someone else had spoken, she answered the old man. "It wanted Ah-Ba's sword."

"Sword?" He pulled the ribbons tight. A sharp pain oozed from the holes in her arm. But Ahndien neither cried out, nor flinched. She didn't even blink. Lao-Ying rumbled. "Why would they...? Unless they thought that—"

All at once, like floodgates bursting, the reality of it all overcame her. She let out a painful cry that resounded through the woods.

"Ah-Ma!"

Ahndien tore herself from the old man's caring hands and rushed to the charred remains of her mother and little brother. "Ah-Ma!" All her cries melded into an unintelligible melisma of sobs and words and screams.

Tears mixed with soot and ash muddied her face. She fell to her knees over the bodies. Now, the only word she could utter was, "No." She choked back another sob. "No, no, no, no!"

She had only left for a short while. And in that time, her family, her village, her entire world had been destroyed.

"Ahndien," Lao-Ying said in a hushed tone. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"No!" she bolted up, expecting the old man to lose balance and fall on his back. But instead, he straightened up and regarded her with empathy. This moved her little. "It is your fault!"

"My—?"

"You distracted me, delayed me! All the while my family was being murdered by the filthy Torians!"

"How could I have possibly—?"

"You knew! I don't know how, but you knew! That's why you...Why I didn't..." She could not speak another word because the next wave of sobs and convulsions overtook her.

"Ahndien," Lao-Ying said, "To assign blame—"

"Ah-Ba!" Through her tears, anger arose. Where was he? When his family needed him most? She grabbed the sword and hacked at a tree branch over and over until the blade became lodged. "Wherewereyou!"

Ahndien resheathed the sword and leaned an arm on the branch. Her tears fell and slapped against a fallen leaf. Sorrow, rage and despair boiled to the surface. When her vision cleared, something on the ground caught her eye. Glinting in the setting sun, it sent a tingle through her veins. Ah-Ba's pendant, the leather neck strap torn open. It never left his person. He had been here.

And to the side of the pendant, large drops of blood coagulated in the dirt. A trail dug into the ground suggested that he had been dragged on his knees up to a wagon, where tread marks from its wheels took over.

She spun around to Lao-Ying, standing erect, his walking stick abandoned behind him. "They've taken my father!"

He lowered his eyes and bowed his head.

"I've got to help him." Ahndien yanked the sword out of the tree branch and slung her satchel over her shoulder. She knelt by the cloth covering the remains of Ah-Ma and Shao-Bao. With reverence, she rested her hand on them. "For the honor of our family," she said in a grave voice. "I will avenge you."

"Ahndien, wait." Lao-Ying stepped forward and reached for her arm. "Do not act rashly."

Her sword flew out of the sheath and sang a ringing, metallic song just as its sharp edge found its way right before Lao-Ying's chest. "You willnotimpede me again, you frail, old coward of a man!" Her heart pounded like Lunar Festival drums, fire coursed through her blood. Her chest rose and fell, her teeth clenched. A single tear drop burned a trail down her cheek.

But Lao-Ying didn't so much as blink. He took a deep breath and stood taller than Ahndien could remember. "Kill me, and you will never know the answer."

"Answer?" She hadn't yet asked any question. "To what?"

"To the questions that arise from reading that." He pointed to her satchel. "Your father's book."

A cold wind passed over her and caused her to shiver. How did he know it was in there? She jutted her jaw out. Leaned forward and pressed the sword into his shirt. "I have no questions."

With the steadfast fortitude of a man half his age, Lao-Ying gazed right into her eyes and said, "But you shall."

Chapter Fourteen

"Your riddles do not interest me," Ahndien said, certain the blade would break the old man's frail skin if she pressed in any further.

"I offer answers, not riddles." He tried to back away, but Ahndien kept the edge of the sword against his chest.

"How do I know you are not in league with the Torians?"

"I am not."

"How can I be certain?"

"You cannot. At least not presently. You can only trust me. Or not."

Regardless of his age, this man could not be trusted. She would cut the tiresome old man's heart out. Ahndien let out a frustrated grunt and swung the sword.

Lao-Ying's only reaction came so quick Ahndien never saw it happen. Before the blade ever reached him, he was upon her, his hand grasping her right wrist with crushing force. All strength from her arm, her hand, her entire right side drained out of her. Instantly, she dropped the sword and it clanked twice on the ground.

"You are most assuredly your father's daughter."

"How did you—?" She would have completed her sentence if not for the transformation in the old man. Before her very eyes, he began to radiate with wisps of white light, its warmth spreading out and caressing her face.

"You have his fighting spirit, his heart of justice."

"He is a scholar."

"And the brash temper of his youth."

The white brilliance washed out Lao-Ying's features, his cottony beard, his winged eyebrows. This continued until all was light. And his voice began to envelop her thoughts.

// But if you humble yourself, You will learn great things. You will fulfill all FOR WHICH you are destined //

Like a roaring fire, Lao-Ying's brilliance rose above her. Ahndien stooped down and turned her eyes upward. "Is it you?" The sun had fallen behind the hills and the sky had turned to blood and wine. But Lao-Ying's radiance illuminated the entire village as though it were midday.

When she could see clearly again, she beheld a great figure directly above her, against the deep violet backdrop peppered with stars. A rush of wind blew down from the figure's wings.

"Was it—?"

// It was and is //

The Eagle. The great bird of prey. The one who had snatched up the mountainlions and saved her from their deadly jaws. "But I...I don't understand."

As he descended, a cloud of dust floated up around her. Ahndien covered her face and backed away, yielding to the massive bird whose wingspan covered more than two huts.

// There is much to be done. We must leave this place //

With as much caution as awe, she approached. Touched the dark, brassy plumage. His feathers were surprisingly velvet. And yet, they seemed stronger than iron. Lao-Ying—the eagle—lowered and turned his gold-crested head such that his black pearl of an eye gazed straight down at her. His beak seemed more powerful and deadlier than any sword a human could wield, his feathered legs ended with yellow rapier-like talons. And yet, she did not fear.

// The path before us is as long as it is arduous //

One final look to her ravished village.

One final glimpse into her past, all that she held dear.

Ahndien's knees faltered.

The entire world began to sway.

Lao-Ying leaned towards her. As Ahndien fell, she reached forward and with both hands grasped at one of the feathers in his wing, expecting to pluck it and drop to the ground.

Instead, she found it as firmly rooted as aXuh-Suhtree in the rocky side of the mountains. And before she could fully appreciate what was happening, that feather, no, the entire wing yanked her upwards, sending her hurtling into the air.

Too awed to let out a cry, Ahndien's mouth gaped silently, though no breath passed through. She flew high above the tall bamboo trees. And then, a mass of brown, black and gold rushed past her. The next thing she felt, just as she began to fall from the apex of her ascent, was a swift tug on the back of her shirt. Her entire body jerked to a stop, father's sword rattling at her side. As quickly as she had been caught in Lao-Ying's formidable beak, she was lowered onto his back.

She let out a childish shriek. "You're flying!"

If ever a giant bird could smile, Ahndien believed she had just seen it. He nodded, turned to face forward and let out a fierce eagle call that resounded in the hills.

// Hold fast, Ahndien //

She attempted to wrap her arms around his neck, but could not clasp her hands together.

// Grasp the feathers of my nape //

"But, won't that hurt?" What followed was not so much words in her mind, but what could only be described as laughter from the great bird. Ahndien swallowed. "If you say so." She slipped her hands under the golden, leaf-shaped feathers and wrapped the shafts twice around her hands like rope. So strong, yet so flexible.

Presently, she became aware of the rising and dipping of her own body as she straddled Lao-Ying's tree trunk of a neck. As they floated up higher with each flap of his wings, the wind grew stronger. The village below grew smaller.

Clouds of black smoke arose from the center of her family's hut. A sharp pang twisted inside her chest.

Ah-Ma.

Shao-Bao.

Fading behind as they soared away.

Sharp blasts of wind streaked tears across her face. She sniffed wetly and wiped her eyes on her shoulder. One last look, please. Then stretched her neck back, but could not see her home. Her left hand releasing a feather, she twisted her trunk around. Right away, she lost her balance. Nearly slippped over the right side of Lao-Ying's neck. She shouted in terror.

// Ahndien! //

The entire horizon fell diagonally as Lao-Ying banked upwards on his right and reestablished Ahndien's balance. She spun around, leaned forward and grasped as many of his feathers as she could. As she leaned against his neck, her heart pounded so hard he must have felt it.

// Are you all right? //

Silently, she nodded, her face buried in the silk and steel feathers.

// I'm sorry, Lao-Ying. I wanted ONE a last look //

He righted himself and soared towards the top of theMaw-ShuhMountains. From his beak, a sound rose above the beating wind, like steam escaping a large and tightly covered cauldron. A sigh.

//Look back and you SHALL surely fall //

// I understand //

// And now, dear fledgling, the time has come to leave behind that which cannot be recovered, and confront that which cannot be escaped //

Chapter Fifteen

For the most part, aside from the occasional insult and jab, Render managed to remain distant from Branson, who kept to himself anyway. This suited Render well enough.

Under Sir Edwyn's tutelage, instruction had in earnest begun. No one was more surprised than Render when it was discovered that he possessed a multitude of talents in various disciplines.

Perhaps it was due to that unquenchable thirst for knowledge. The very thirst which over the years had driven him to liberate the multitude of books from Bobbington's dust-blanketed library—if you could even call it a library. They were probably artifacts he'd either inherited or found. Render had never actually seen Bobbington read.

Now, with unlimited resources at his disposal, Render devoured knowledge like a starved cat. Which did he enjoy most, Astronomy, History, Philology? And then, there were the arts: painting, sculpting, and music—the lute became his instrument of choice. There was always one more line of music to master, one more vista to paint. Sir Edwyn had to chase him from the classroom nearly every night.

After two and a half fortnights, the only discipline in which Render failed to excel was the one he cared for least: The Martial Arts. Weapons, armor, tactics, and mounted combat. Of what use were these to him in this enlightened society which was now his home? How much more satisfying to wield a paintbrush than a longsword.

"Daylight is fleeting, Render." Edwyn stood at the door to the Artist's Chamber. He stretched and yawned and said, "Need I remind you of the rules, again?"

"I'm almost finished," Render murmured, unsatisfied with the way the blazing amber hues of the setting sun illuminated the back of the mountains in his painting. At least, he presumed it was sunlight. Still, something in it resembled fire, a beautiful inferno behind the hills.

Sir Edwyn approached and peered over his shoulder. He then made that growling noise which meant he was trying to understand. He pointed at the painting "Surely you've never been there before."

"How could I? This place exists only in my thoughts, my dreams."

"Oh, no. No, no, no. I assure you, this place does indeed exist. But there is little chance you have been there. Perhaps you've seen other paintings? Though, I doubt—"

"I have been seeing it in my dreams, in my sleep and during my more contemplative waking moments. But never have I seen it with my eyes. Nor have I derived such a landscape from other paintings or drawings. It's original."

Edwyn rubbed his beard and squinted. "So real, though. Are you certain you haven't ever been there, beheld it?"

"I've been a slave since childhood. Aside from my little adventures with Kaine and the twins, I've never wandered far from Talen Wood. At a great distance have I seen the eastern mountain range, from the top of Smyth's Hill. But it looks nothing like this."

"No, it does not. The view from Talen Wood could not reveal this westward perspective." Edywn pushed his way in front of Render who, without question, stepped aside. "What you have depicted here, and with remarkable accuracy I might add, is not visible from Smyth's Hill. This here is the tallest of all mounts and deepest into the desert. It separates Valdshire Tor from the Eastern Kingdom."

"Tian Kuo?

"Yes." He pointed to the subject of the painting, lit up with a fiery glow. But the sun didn't set over the Western side of that mountain. That was what seemed wrong and caused Render to suspect that the light he painted was not in fact sunlight, but perhaps fire. Edwyn continued. "This is Mount Handara, subject of legend and lore. But more importantly, it is a natural barrier between us..." he pointed out the window to the east, "...and them."

How had he seen it so clearly? And why? Render gazed upon the painting which for some reason did not seem like something he could have created. Although he recalled the sensation of the brush in his hands, the strokes against the canvas, and the image coming to life before his very eyes, it all seemed oddly detached. As if someone or something else had painted it.

"In any case," said Edwyn, beginning to clean up the classroom, "it is late and you were supposed to have been in your room by now."

Render placed all his brushes in the can of solvent, washed his hands in a basin. As he wiped his hands on a cloth, he thought of the twins, whom he had not seen for the past two weeks.

"Sir Edwyn, how are Folen and Stewan?'

"They are well. Somewhat lacking in motivation, but that is understandable." He began leafing through Render's finished paintings, stopping every once in a while to gaze thoughtfully at those that caught his eye. "It is you with whom I am more concerned."

At this Render paused and regarded his tutor, though Edwyn, too engrossed in the paintings, did not reciprocate. "Am I not learning to your satisfaction?"

"Quite the contrary. I have never had a student that I needed to warn off from working so hard. You stay up at all hours, unless I find you and send you to bed. You drive yourself twice if not thrice as hard as most ordinary students. All this work is admirable, but—"

"I was a slave. Or have you so soon forgotten?" Edwyn looked up. Render smiled and pointed to his paintings, to his lute on the table next to his history books and his poetry. "This is not work. This is joy. Freedom."

His mentor returned the smile and clapped him on the shoulder. "Would that all my students took your view."

"All my life, Sir Edward, I have felt I was meant to be someone of worth. Not by fame or acclaim, mind you. Just something more than a slave. Someone who, before he dies, will have left some kind of mark, no matter how small, on this world. Of this I am certain: I wasn't destined to live and die without purpose."

"And just what purpose would that be, young squire?"

"It was my hope that you could help me discover this."

"Perhaps I shall." Edwyn stretched his hand to the open door. "But not tonight."

Only torch and candle light illuminated the stone hallways of the castle. The sweet smell of wax filled Render's senses as they walked. Their shoes made the only sounds other than their scarce words. Render spoke quietly if at all. "What of you, Sir Edywn?"

"What of me?"

"You never speak of yourself. Surely you have discovered your purpose in life by now." They reached Render's chamber, which thankfully he shared with no one. Edwyn unlatched the door and it creaked open. He gestured for Render to go inside. "Well?"

"Perhaps another time, Master Render."

"But—"

"Good night."

Trying to hide his disappointment, he took a deep breath and inclined his head. "Good night, Sir Edwyn."

Carefully, lest the ancient hinges awaken all nearby, Render shut the large wooden door. With his back against it, he took a deep breath and set his candle on the desk next to him. He went to light the lamp near the bed when he noticed the cool sheet of moonlight flooding through the open window. So pleasing was this light that he decided blow out his candle and gaze outside.

From his window he beheld the moon and stars above, and the high wall of the citadel below. Not long ago, he had lived outside the walls of this great and ever-expanding Torian capital.

A lifetime ago.

Now, he lived in the castle of the Lord Agon. Neither slave nor servant, nor a ragged boy scraping the floor for a morsel. He was Master Render, a knight in training, royal ward of the High King Corigan.

As he drew the curtains, shutting out all light, something dropped to the ground.

"Hello?" Instead of the lamp, he reached under the pillow for his dagger. Steadily, Render got to his feet. Squinted into the blackness as he drew his blade.

He was not alone.

Chapter Sixteen

The edge of Sir Mooregaard's broadsword glinted in the moonlight. Just moments before it came slicing down over Kaine's neck. Letting out a terrified gasp, Kaine felt a surge of fear rush from the bottom of his feet straight up his mail-clad back.

"No!" Kaine fell onto his side and rolled.

Mooregaard's sword hit the pavement, a finger's width from his ear. Sparks flew as it scraped the stone, sending pebbles and dust into Kaine's face. The loud clang echoed in his head. He leapt to his feet and spun his own broadsword around his head and pointed it forward.

"Had I not been so charitable, Master Kaine, you would have stood a head shorter."

Kaine laughed nervously. "Not your charity, but my speed."

Pale beams from a very full moon painted the walls and floor of the courtyard, illuminating a vulnerable position on Mooregaard's left. With both hands, Kaine swung his broadsword for a swift cut at his opponent's forearms, sure to relieve the black knight of at least one of his hands.

If only things went as expected.

In an instant, Mooregaard parried the attack with such force it knocked Kaine off his feet and onto his side, then flat on his back.

Again.

Barely enough time to react, he felt the wind of a blade thrusting down into his face. A brutal way to die. He shut his eyes even as the blade came smashing down, crushing, piercing.

Mooregaard scoffed. "So much for speed!"

Kaine touched his forehead, felt around for the blade that must be impaling it. But the absences of wet, sticky blood and pain permitted him to open his eyes. He turned his face upon his left check and felt the rough stone surface of the floor as well as something cold and smooth. All he could see was the reflection of his own eyes in the sword, still wobbling as it stood stabbing the stone brick on the ground.

Sir Mooregaard grabbed Kaine by the wrist and pulled him to his feet with such force Kaine feared his arm would dislodge. "As I said, young squire," Mooregaard said, laughing heartily, "Charity."

"Considering you twice nearly relieved me of my head, I'll agree." Kaine bent down and retrieved his sword and sheathed it at his side. "But at this rate, your charity will be the only way I will ever become a knight."

"And you know this based upon what point of reference?" Mooregaard came over and put his arm over Kaine's shoulder. He thought he might collapse under the weight of his mentor's arm. "How long have you been training?"

"A month or so."

"Have I any other students in my court?"

"Well, Sir, I...No, you do not." He wondered about Render, Stewan and Folen. So engrossed in his training, Kaine had only now thought of his brother and the twins.

"Have you ever tested your mettle against another?"

"I have not."

"Then all you know is that you are not superior to me." At last, Mooregaard took back his arm. He then clapped Kaine on the back, nearly tripping him face-first onto the ground. "Do you think it coincidence that you are my sole pupil?"

"The Lady Volfoncé said that it was because of my age."

"And what does age have to do with it?"

He didn't know, never thought to question it. Kaine shrugged.

"Your deductive facilities concern me more than your combat skills." Mooregard, who towered over Kaine, gestured to the fire pit in the center of the courtyard. To the fire he followed the Don, the chief knight of The Order of the Scarlet Pendragon. The knight's formidable shadow, cast from the dancing flames, took a strange form which barely resembled its owner. Kaine rubbed his eyes and blinked. But it stretched out of sight. He stopped at the fire and waved Kaine over with impatience.

"You exhibit the qualities of a fine leader in the army of the High King. Even so, you must prove your worth. Your loyalty. You must know all that is at stake before you commit to so noble an enterprise."

"And now, Master Kaine," Mooregaard grasped his shoulders, just as Kaine had imagined his own father might have. Mooregaard swelled with pride and gazed straight into his yes. "You are ready to know the truth."

Chapter Seventeen

A cold bead of sweat crept down Render's back. Someone or something lurked in the room, of that there could be no doubt. A scraping sound caused the hairs on his neck to stand. If it were a rat, it must be of a monstrous size. And if it were a thief or assassin, it must be very light on his feet.

Render unsheathed his dagger and reached over for the curtain. The lamp and sword lay across the room.

Out of reach.

Even breathing felt too dangerous. With his dagger pointed blindly into the middle of the darkness he grasped the corner of the curtain between his fingertips. In just a moment he would flood the darkness with moon beams and confront the intruder.

Stillness.

It's probably the wind, he thought. But even as he exhaled, something hit the table knocking things onto the ground. Without wasting another second, Render threw open the curtain. In an instant, bright moonlight filled the room. He jabbed his dagger into the air, swung around, searched for the intruder.

Nothing.

No one.

"Hang it all!" It couldn't have been his imagination. Render tried to slow his shallow breaths. Sure enough, lying there on the cold stone floor was his candle, separated from its pewter stand. He bent down to pick it up and then thought he heard something behind him.

On his bed.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he tightened his grip on the handle of his dagger.

Behind him, a soft, rumbling sound pulsed. Slow, steady.

In one swift move Render spun around and thrust his dagger forward.

"Aha!"

There, resting on the pillow was the intruder. It's greenish-blue eyes calmly examining him.

"What? Where did you—?"

The black cat lifted her head and stood up on all fours. She then yawned, leaning downwards on her forepaws, tail pointed up, and stretched. Eyes affixed on Render, she moved just slightly above the pillow's edge.

"Wait," said Render approaching her. "Aren't you that cat...back at the cave at Smyth's Hill?" Again, she lifted her head and regarded him with such clear eye contact Render could have sworn she was answering him. He just knew.

Then she sat, coiled herself up again, looked at Render, down at the pillow, and again back at Render. The purring started again and she rested her head over her paws.

"What in all of creation?"

She must have climbed the wall and the tree just outside the window. A million speculations floated in his mind. But Render found himself too tired to sift through them all. He sheathed his dagger and placed it on the table.

The cat, though she rested her head on his pillow, continued to eye him. As if she were waiting for him.

"What? You think I should get some rest? You're not my mother, you know." The expression never meant anything to him before. But this time it caused a twinge in his heart. He had never known his mother. What she looked like when she smiled, how she would speak tenderly to him. He whispered, "Not my mother..."

At that her ears flattened, eyes narrowed, and gave a guttural growl.

"Fine." He lifted the blanket and prepared to get into bed, but the cat did not move. "Oh, come on now." She shut her eyes and ignored him. Annoyed, Render tried to nudge her. Then he tried to lift her but strange as it seemed, he could not. Her eyes still shut, it almost seemed like she was smiling. Right. As if a cat could smile.

"Bother that." Render simply climbed in and put his head on the pillow just beneath the cat who, to his great annoyance, insisted on resting a warm paw on top of his head, no matter how many times he moved it away.

Even so, her presence came as a welcome surprise since he hadn't really seen anyone for weeks. Stewan and Folen lived and studied in an entirely different part of the castle. And Branson, thankfully was never around. Besides the weekly communal dinner, Render lived in solitude most of the day.

Despite his annoyance, the undulating purrs and warmth from the cat comforted him. Since his former life as a slave there hadn't been any of the ubiquitous cats to whom he'd grown so accustomed to, save for the one Sir Edwyn had shooed away the first day Render walked through the citadel.

To be completely honest, he missed them.

Perhaps I'll keep her.

Though, it seemed, she had already decided to keep him. Nevertheless, as fulfilling as these days of training and education were, a companion would be welcome now.

Only one concern surfaced as he drifted off. Something made painfully obvious the last time he went to the market with Sir Edwyn.

He detests cats.

Chapter Eighteen

Seated by the fire ring with The Lord Mooregaard, who had just nearly decapitated him, Kaine trembled in anticipation. "My Lord," he said, "For what truth am I ready?"

Mooregaard paced behind him, slowly, back and forth. "Before I tell you, you must answer a few questions. And with complete honesty. Can you do this?"

Kaine turned to face him. "I think so."

"Very well then." Mooregaard stopped, and stood before him with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "By our very nature, we are beings ruled by belief. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Well, Sir, I—"

"Belief, however subjective, is ruled by choice, by perception. For example, what do you believe yourself to be? A boy? Or a man?"

Kaine pondered the question, unsure of how best to answer. "Well, I am of age. So I suppose that would make me..."

"Quickly, think not too long upon it."

"A man. Yes, I am a man."

"And not a boy."

"A man, Sir."

Mooregaard's chest swelled as he took in a deep breath. "Had you answered any other way, I'd have been disappointed. Indeed, you are a boy no longer. Particularly because you have proven yourself an able fighter. And judging by your many victories in the game ofLeit, you are most perceptive in the ways of strategy."

Though pleased by the affirmation, Kaine began to perspire. The heat from the fire ring grew increasingly uncomfortable. But he dared not move. Not just now.

"As a man, my dear Kaine you shall be defined not so much by your words, nor by the beliefs you profess. Nay, you shall be defined by your actions and choices. Particularly the difficult ones, the ones of ambiguous nature."

"I see." But all he really saw was the vision of himself a minute or two from now, burning as the flames melted his flesh. The flames from the fire ring were getting too hot. "Lord Mooregaard, if you don't mind terribly—"

"Do not interrupt. We discuss matters of grave importance. Now then. On to the questions."

"But sir—"

"Not now! We must press forward, for tomorrow your future will be determined. But first--—"

"Sir, please!" Kaine stood up. The wind from rising and stepping away from the fire alone cooled him enough to afford some relief.

"Sit down, boy. Or I swear, I'll tie you down!"

"Yes, My Lord." Kaine obeyed but sat on a chair. Away from the fire ring. From this moment on, he'd be able to give his undivided attention.

Mooregaard cleared his throat. "Now, then. Kaine, what is your purpose as a citizen of Valdshire Tor?"

"To serve my King, protect and defend my land from attacks both exotic and clandestine. But first and foremost, from the unseen enemy that is ignorance, superstition."

"Yes, yes. Any student can recite the pledge of royal fealty." Mooregaard pointed the tip of his sword straight at Kaine's heart. "What do you sayyourpurpose is?"

Kaine tugged on his collar which suddenly felt tighter. "I'm not certain."

"I see in you valor, honor, all of which are hallmarks of a great leader, a leader of the next generation."

"But how do you know?"

"Youwilllead. But I must know if your priorities are in order. First: Given the choice of obeying your Lord, or commander in combat, or even your king, or obeying your conscience, your ideas of right and wrong, which would you chose?"

"My conscience."

"It is well spoken. Commanders, kings even, are all but mere men, all fallible. A true leader leads by conscience, not the approval of man. Now, second: Given the choice of obeying your conscience or violating it, to aid a friend or even, a loved one, which would you chose?"

Immediately, Kaine thought of the one person to whom this might one day, however hypothetical, apply. His reply was not as swift this time. Would that he'd never face this question in real life. "Well... I suppose, I'd still chose my conscience."

The ebony knight drew his lips into a taut line, set his eyes in an austere gaze. "Few have understood the implications of these questions. Fewer still have answered as well. And only they can be entrusted with the truth, because only they shall know how to act upon it. Verily, I say, you are indeed ready."

For the rest of the night, Kaine sat rapt in wonder at all Sir Mooregaard taught him. The history not only of Valdshire Tor, but of the world, all that could be known of it, from every aspect: Technology, culture, science and even an explanation of Valdshire Tor's ancient enemy.

"For as long as anyone can remember, before all written history," Mooregaard said, now seated before Kaine, "we have been at war with the Sojourners, those religious fanatics of the East In the name of their deity, Valhandra, these honorless cowards attack the innocent, sparing neither woman nor child. They employ terror where no decent warrior would imagine unsheathing a sword. They know no battle ground for their cowardice drives them to attack the unsuspecting during times of ostensible peace."

"Why do they war against us?" This was something he pondered since childhood. According to his former master, the Sojourners attacked the village of his parents and killed them. He and Render were not quite three and two years old, respectively, barely able to feed themselves. Both brothers were taken away, traveled westward for three days and sold to the people of Talen Wood into a life of slavery.

But now, to their great fortune, King Corigan's annexation of the backwards village had reversed all that. And it seemed fate had smiled upon Kaine, affording what might well be the chance to avenge his parents' death.

"Why do the Sojourners attack us?" Mooregaard huffed. "For our belief in universal freedom. Our way of life, some might argue."

"Might you expound on that, our way of life?"

Mooregaard sat back in his chair, rested his elbow on the hilt of his sword and cleared his throat. "Torians are rational, scientific, intellectually and culturally minded, we believe in tolerance of all people, despite our differences. But Tian Kuo is filled with fanatical zealots."

"Why have the Sojourners killed so many? What is it they want?"

"They wish to impose their superstitious ways on all. In the name of Valhandra, they hate, they terrorize, and they murder."

"My parents..." They too fell victim. For that reason had he been reminded and taught to fear, to hate the Sojourners, since childhood. Quickly, he pushed the grief into the recesses of his mind. "Do not all nations fight over religious ideals?"

Mooregaard straightened up, removed his helmet and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "My young squire, if you have learned nothing else, mark this well: The people of this great kingdom are not beholden to any man-made superstition. Religion is but a walking stick for the feeble of mind. Any modern man with a sound head on his shoulders knows this. All this talk of magic, and the spirit realms, why, it's the stuff of fairy tales, nothing more."

"Lord Mooregaard," he said, his voice breaking. "Do you know anything about the attack on my parents' village?"

Mooregaard stood, sheathed his broadsword and held Kaine's own weapon out to him. "The hour grows late. You must be well-rested for your combat exams tomorrow."

"But I should like to know more about--—"

"In due time. Remember, your knighthood, your very future depends on fulfilling this course of training. And as I have repeatedly said tonight, you are ready."

Chapter Nineteen

They had flown for two days away from the sun setting over the Eastern summits which stood like a fortress that separated the two great kingdoms. It had been Ahndien who wanted to stop and rest before entering the western mountain range, not so much because she felt tired, but because she was afraid.

Something about those snow covered peaks had always called to her, her sense of adventure. And at the same time, as she and Lao-Ying drew nearer, a cold dread darkened her heart like an overwhelming shadow. Such as when the moon stands before the sun and throws the entire world into darkness, when it ought to be light.

"We are not far from Handara," Lao-Ying said, now in his frail human form. The air was crisp and laced with the minty scent of pine. It sent a chill through Ahndien's body. The breeze, pure and clear, seemed to blow right through her body.

"I feel like we should wait." She sat upon a large rock, unbuckled and set her father's sword at her feet. "I'm not quite ready."

"In more ways than one, you are right." At some point, he must have started a fire, but Ahndien had not been paying attention. Her eyes and thoughts were drawn to the mountains with overwhelming ambivalence.

"I am going to get food, please fill the flask with water." He pointed to the glassy stream which flowed relentlessly down. Following its course, Ahndien saw how it ran all the way from the mountains down past this place. From the air, she had traced it past her village. This led to the Emerald River, which served as the main water supply for the great city of Tian Kuo.

"Are we having duck again?"

Lao-Ying grinned, his cottony eyebrows arching. "Would you prefer something heartier...mountain lion, perhaps?"

"No, thank you. Duck will be fine."

The old man laughed quietly and leapt into the air. "I won't be far."

"Are you sure?" The thought of being left alone made her heart beat forcefully.

"All can be seen from above, remember?" Before his body even began to fall, he transformed again. His gigantic wings kicked up leaves, branches and stones as he flew off with a piercing eagle's cry.

"I'll never get used to that." She stepped over father's sword and went to the babbling stream. With her hands cupped, she plunged them into the water. It was so pure, so cold she just had to take a drink before filling the flask. The first handful soothed her so much that she almost forgot about the lingering pain that she'd been carrying but stuffed away like too much clothing into a sack. Her mother, her little brother, she'd never see them again.

Oh, but the water did refresh her so.

It seemed to refresh her spirit as much as her thirst.

She would try not to cry for her family just now because if she did, she feared she would never stop. And how then would she go about finding Ah-Ba and return the sword?

His sword.

One of which she had taken without permission.

She could only hope that he'd been able to use the other one of the pair to defend himself against those Torian dogs. She had never felt so sad, so alone in all her life. Her vision blurred as a pang twinged the center of her chest. Quickly she wiped the tear before it could fall.

To soothe her thoughts, she took the flute from her pocket and began to play a cheerful song. But her own hiccupping breaths caused the melody to stutter. With a deep, wet breath, she sighed, wiped her upper lip and tried again.

For as long as she could remember, the only songs she ever played were simple tunes that Ah-Ba had taught her. Some of them she made up as the inspiration afforded. This time, the most beautiful melody she had ever played filled the hills. It was a long melodious line, still based on the five-note pentatonic scale so prevalent in the music of Tian Kuo, but its meter, phrasing and accents...there almost seemed to be words.

A patch of blue sky opened in the clouds and the sun shone warmly through. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that every tree branch--—fallen or on the trees surrounding her--—was filled with birds of many kinds. Sparrows, crows, doves, even owls and eagles (the normal-sized kind.) Each of them cocked their head at one point or another to get a better look at Ahndien as she played this song—a song that felt as familiar as a distant memory.

Four songbirds alighted on her shoulders and sang along while she played. Ahndien stood and began to stroll through the trees, an entourage of birds chirping, twittering, and fluttering gently around her.

This continued as she strolled by the side of the stream, delighted at her newfound friends. She'd always noticed that birds came to her when she played the flute, it was nothing particularly unusual to her. But this time, she felt a connection with them, a sort of kinship, for lack of a better term.

Turning back into the woods, Ahndien repeated the song, her eyes shut, taking in the sun on her face, the fresh pines, the harmonious bird songs, until something stopped her like a wall of ice.

Not even opening her eyes, she knew something was wrong.

The birds had stopped singing.

Ahndien lowered the flute from her lips.

Opened her eyes.

There, standing about a yard before her, stood a large gray wolf waiting to pounce, its sharp teeth snarling with malice.

[END OF EXCERPT]

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

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