"Dragon: Ch 1 - 2" by Sarah Colley

Chapter One

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            A cool breeze swirls around the soaring gray stone towers of Castle Lunraco, the ancient seat of power and training grounds for the Order of the Silver Dragons.  The wind is chilliest at the height of Tower of Leanon; a perfect match in sweeping design as the other five towers, spread out to anchor the points of the hexagon structure. Captain Savia leans forward, resting her hands on the smooth ledge for balance, and looks out across the green meadow below. The trees at the clearings edge are changing in response to the chill wind and the promise of the coming winter, the green foliage having been replaced almost entirely with an array of burnt orange and red. Staring out she can feel the approaching darkness, the seasons seeming to mirror the conflict she knows is coming, a problem that will not simply pass with the return of spring. She sighs in reluctant defeat at the looming trials ahead and tucks an errant strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

It’s a lovely fall day, heartling, why the heavy sigh?” Ryil asks, draping an arm around his wife’s waist, his blue cloak fluttering in the breeze.

It is only lovely because the trees are preparing for the cold of winter,” she points out, the irony that they are must beautiful before they die, not lost on her.

The blond man snorts and replies with accusing fondness, “Cynic.”

I am not a cynic. I’m a realist.”  Her husband was right, not that she would admit that to him anytime soon.  She was far too cynical sometimes. It had always been her nature, ever since she was a child in her father’s house. Savia looks over at her husband, her heart swelling with love second only to her god. Leanon had fated her to have him, of that  she was sure, but it certainly made it easier that her father had not stopped her, not in joining the Order, or in marrying a simple man with no house.  Ryil had raised himself within the ranks, becoming a Captain of Altec, even so, she had expected him to insist upon marriage to the son of another noble house when she made her request, but then, her father never ceased to amaze her. 

There is a difference?”

Savia jerks her arm back playfully, carefully controlling the power of her thrust to ensure she gently elbowing him without causing harm.  Doubling him over from a blow was not likely to earn her any points. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head at his antics as he clutches dramatically at his chest. “Some gallant knight you are.”

What does being gallant have to do with getting elbowed by my wife?” he inquires with a mischievous grin; blue eyes full of mirth.

Everything,” she assures him without elaboration. 

Dropping the playful banter, he puts her hand on his arm and nods his head towards the arched entrance to the stairs.  “Come on, if we don’t get to the hall soon we will get stuck sitting with Indatlin,” he points out with a look of only half faked horror.  

She laughs and shakes her head. “Gods forbid.”  Taking the offered arm she moves with him down the dizzying spiral stairs of the tower, grateful that the passage to the air bridge was less than half way down the tower.  Moving along the top of the outer wall they stop midway, turn and ascend one of the six soaring open air crossway that all arch up and down from the midpoint of the walls to deposit the knights at the base of the central palace.

Savia stops.  Looking down on the practice arena below, she watches the swirling green, blue, and red of the squires, the music of their clashing blades floating through the courtyard.  The sound of metal on metal is distinctive, a sword against a sword is always the same, yet in battle the singsong beauty is replaced with only the sound of death herald by the clashing steel. The images of Arafia torn apart by the ravages of a war for the crown return to her, never hovering far from her conscience. “I wonder how many of them will be called back to their houses if Emperor Koneff cannot bring order.”

Ryil looks away from the fighting of the figures in blue to give his full attention to his wife, knowing the issue has been weighing heavily on her. “Do you really think there will be an open attack on House Jorin?”

Yes,” she replies without hesitation.  “If there is chaos, I have no doubt the houses will use that to their advantage to strengthen their position under the guise of protecting their borders.”

Frowning, not with the thought of war, he was after all a follower of the War Goddess, but with concern for his comrades he says, “That could put all of us in a very difficult position. Do we stay with the Order and go to the aid of the Emperor, or do we return to our own house and ally with the wish of our Lord or Lady?” Shaking his head in regret he adds, “In either case, we must turn our back on one duty.”

I hope the honor of the houses will not put us in that position. If my father calls me back, I truly do not know what decision I will make. Stay, and honor my vow to the Dragons, or go to my father and fight with my house?” she asks, desperately hoping the day will not come to put her in the position of having to answer.

I do not think Lord Tachir will put you in that position, but even if he did, I cannot imagine your house fighting on any side but the emperor’s.” 

 “Leanon willing, it will not come to that.” 

With a look of utter disgust on his face, Bran quickly makes his way across the soaring walkway, careful not to look down.  He hates heights and not for the first time, wished he could strangle the designer of the castle when he thought cross spanning walkways over the interior of the castle would be a good idea. What was wrong, he wants to know, with walking on the ground like rational people? Positioning himself in the middle of the path, he inclines his head to the two captains, amazed as always, with the odd pairing of the followers of Altec, goddess of war, and Leanon, god of justice. The two did not go hand-in-hand in his book, but he supposes war could use the temperance of justice more often. “I am sorry to bother you.  I assume you are both on your way to dine?”

We are, Bran, but if you are willingly up here looking for me, I presume Councilor Mearcon requires my attendance?” Savia gives a sympathetic smile to the flighty aid, his fear of heights well known to the castle.

He nods his head, but instantly regrets it when the world seems to move with the motion.  He really, really, hated that damn architect. “If you are not detained, he would like you to see him in his office.” 

Of course.”  Removing her arm from Ryil’s, she gestures gracefully for Bran to lead the way, following him through the passages of the ancient castle in silence. She offers no conversation to Bran and he seeks none from her. The only sound between the two is the clicking of their boots on the bare floor.  The vivid green tapestries hanging on the walls do little to absorb the sound. Walking through the door, she inclines her head in thanks to Bran.

Savia stands before a large man sitting behind a smooth wooden desk. His face and arms bear the scars of many battles, his black hair, graying at the temples, shows the sign of his age, but his gray eyes are alert and thoughtful.

My Lord Councilor.”

Mearcon waves his hand to the plush green seat before his desk. “Please sit, Savia.”

Taking a seat, she cocks her head to the side and smiles across the desk at her mentor.  Knowing him well enough to guess his purpose, she says, “So, someone died, is about to die, or you are sending me somewhere.”

He grins at the striking redhead and answers with amusement, “Close. I am sending you somewhere because someone is either already dead, or about to die.”  Sobering, he shakes his head. “Seriously, Savia, I have received a request from Lord Xaron of House Serress. His daughter, Lena, has gone missing. He suspects this to be something other than a simple kidnapping for money, and has requested you by name.  I would assume whatever he truly believes is going on is rooted in politics.”

That would probably be a safe bet. His house and mine are allied and have been for many generations. In fact,” she adds, “Lena is a distant cousin. Lord Tachir married my father’s cousin.” 

I am aware of that and it’s this which concerns me.”

Xaron’s estate is not far outside of Arun. Did one of the Order offer aid?” she inquires, leaning forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees and twining her fingers loosely together. 

No. Lord Xaron has managed to keep the disappearance a secret, but I doubt he can keep it up for too much longer. While I can understand that desire, I will not put you at risk either. I have sent orders ahead to have one of the knights stationed in Arun meet you at the estate. You will need to leave at first light.”

Of course,” she says, rising to her feet.

“Gods grace on you, Savia.”

Fate will decree.” She bows respectfully before striding from the room.  Frown deepening almost to a scowl, she makes her way through the castle to the suite she shares with her husband.

You look troubled,” Ryil observes as she walks into the cozy chamber. Plush rugs lay on the stone floor, warming the room. The rooms themselves are divided into a central main receiving area, a study off to one side and a bedroom to the other.

Taking off her green cloak, she hangs it neatly on the peg behind the door and nods. “I fear the chaos we spoke of may be closer than we thought.”

Why? What’s happened?” Ryil reclines in a wide armed grownas wood chair, its matching mate a perfect match for the table of the same, all products of House Kajir, whose craftsman truly know no equal.  Resting atop the polished table is their dinner; two glasses of Tulor wine, a tray of soft white bread, a variety of cheese and two steaming bowls of vegetable and drylock soup.

Savia crosses the room, unsurprised to see he brought dinner up from the main hall for them.  He is always so thoughtful whenever her duties prevent her from eating her evening meal on time, but then, he was called away just as often. It was amazing neither of them had starved to death yet for the all the meals they missed.  Taking a seat, and drawing one leg up, she tucks it under herself. Pushing back her hair, she picks up a soft roll and takes a bite before responding.  “I am going to Arun at the behest of Lord Xaron. It seems his daughter is missing and he does not trust the local Silvers enough to handle it.”

Does Councilor Mearcon think something sinister is going on?”

I do not think he knows, but if Xaron does, that is enough to be worried about. I have never heard my father speak ill of him. When House Eyon attacked, it was Lord Xaron that rode at my father’s right. He is not a man given to flights of fancy or groundless fear.”

Arafia has been off balance since Emperor Montoff died.” He sighs at the thought of the fragile peace, shaking his head in regret. “Koneff is still so young. I know he has Prince Monuel and Empress Leeottra to aid him, but that will not bring the houses back under control. If only he was older…” 

It’s our job to make sure House Jorin survives long enough for him to grow into the same kind of ruler as his father was.”

I only hope another house is not foolish enough to attack without cause.”

A follower of Altec who does not want war?” she asks with mock disbelief.

Ryil grins at her. “Oh, of course not! I love war, but only when it for a good cause.”

She arches her brows.  “Defending the Emperor is a good cause.”

Undoubtedly; but not if we are defending him because of the ambitions of another house.” Reaching out for his spoon, he frowns at the lack of silverware on the table. Getting up, he moves with determined steps over to the wooden chest resting in the corner of the room. “Alright you little fur ball, give them back,” he demands.

The small black and silver head of the tulock, standing no more than two feet, pops out of the chest and stares defiantly at the knight, intelligence shinning in his black eyes.

I mean it. Don’t think I won’t turn that chest over to find them.” Grinning with the thought of confiscating all of the familiars stolen treasures, he adds, “Maybe I will see what else you have in there...”

Lurk chatters wildly, shaking small paws at him before vanishing back into the trunk, the lid slamming down with a thud.

Savia grins, watching the pair.  

Savia.”  He turns, looking at his wife in exasperation.  “Make that damnable creature give my silverware back.”

“Come on, it’s cute,” she says, her lip twitching with amusement, she fights to keep from doubling over in laughter at the antics of the two. Lurk, bring them back.

The tulock opens the lid reluctantlu and climbs out, two silver spoons in his mouth. He looks at Ryil, giving him a wide berth and scurries over to Savia.  Climbing up on to her lap, his nose twitching, he offers up the spoons with a pointed look back over his shoulder at Ryil.

She scratches her familiar’s head affectionately and takes the spoons from him.

That is disgusting,” Ryil grumbles, taking the spoons from Savia, holding them between two fingers in an attempt to touch as little of them as possible. He vanishes into the bedroom, returning a few moments later, wiping the spoons off with a towel.

Savia laughs, unable to help herself any longer. Be nice.  Taking the clean spoon she says, “You know he cannot help himself, he has a weakness for shiny objects.”

More like a weakness for things that aren’t his!” he says with a pointed look at Lurk.  “I swear, I am getting wooden spoons and keeping them locked up!”

The tulock shakes his fury fist at him, chattering in protest. I am going back to my box.

Ignoring the animal, he returns to the previous conversation. “What if the Emperor is deposed?”

Then we will be honor bound to support the new Emperor and shall have to trust Leanon feels the people of Arafia would be better served with someone new upon the throne.”

And if it’s the will of man, not Leanon that’s guiding this?”

The will of man is the will of Leanon,” she replies with conviction.  

He laughs and shakes his head. “I should have seen that answer coming.” Rising to his feet, he walks over and draws his wife up and protectively into his arms. “I worry for you.”

Do not. One of the Order will join me in Arun.” She tips her head up, pressing her lips tenderly against his, kissing him deeply before adding softly, “and if it is the will of Leanon that I join Alctexia it will happen regardless of where I am.”

He snorts. “Just do what you can to make sure it’s not his will that you join the goddess in death.”  Ryil grins, his hands gently roaming across her body, memorizing her by feel to hold close to him during their separation. “I happen to enjoy having you as a wife. I mean, what are the odds I am going to find another noble daughter to marry?”

Savia punches him in the arm. “Careful, Chiron and Lunar might take exception to you scoffing at their gift.”

Well, I can’t have the gods mad at me, so I suppose you shall just have to come home in one piece,” he replies seriously, unable to fathom a life without her. 

She presses close to him, leaning up for a long lingering kiss, her desire smoldering in her eyes. She wraps her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest, and murmurs huskily, “I guess I will.” 

* * *

Savia turns away from the window and looks to Lord Xaron, full of sorrow for the grief stricken father.  The graying Lord is dressed in the yellow and green of his house, his clothes rumpled and lacking any adornments. His hair is tousled and the dark circles under his eyes betray his lack of sleep.  “Allow me to express my grief at the loss of your daughter, Lord Xaron. I assure you; I will do all that I can to find her and bring her home to you.”

I have every faith in your Order, Captain Savia, and you in particular.”

Tell me of her,” she asks, trying to recall the girl, sure she has met her at least once or twice at formal functions between their houses, but unable to conjure up an image.

Xaron nods his head, sinking down into his chair, and replies sadly, “Lena is the pride and joy of my life. She is my only child and I am afraid that I tend to spoil her, but what father could deny his child?”

Savia smiles kindly and taps her breastplate.  “Certainly not mine, as evidenced by the fact I am standing here now and not off managing some noble’s household.”

A love of our children is something Lord Tachir and I have in common,” he says by way of agreement, adding, “and I for one think he made a very wise decision in allowing you to join the Order of Silver Dragons.”

She inclines her head slightly in thanks for his support before returning to the subject at hand. “Councilor Mearcon was vague on the details, but I assume you suspect treachery?”

I do. How else could Lena be taken from within the heart of my own lands?”

Moving away from the window she takes a seat across from the Lord of House Serress. “How many guards did she travel with?”

“She had two personal guards, but there are numerous patrols on the estate.”

Frowning she asks, “Were they killed?”

Yes, very clean.” He shakes his head over the casual disregard for their lives. “It did not seem like there was much, if any, of a struggle.”

So either they knew their assailants, or they did not realize they were in danger until it was too late.”  Savia leans forward, listening intently to the details, her mind racing to put the pieces together to form a whole she can work with.

Exactly, and neither possibility sits well with me.”

What can you tell me of the rising she was taken on?”

She left around midmorning for a trip to Arun. One of the patrols later discovered her litter and her guards dead, but there was no sign of Lena.  That was five risings ago.”  Looking at the young woman seated across from him, Xaron sees his own daughter in her; proud, but not arrogant.  He cannot help but wonder if he will have the opportunity to see Lena at twenty five cycles. 

And still you have found no traces? No contact has been made?” Savia frowns, a cold knot taking hold of her stomach.

None,” he says, leaning forward, his face looking even more haggard as he speaks.  “You see my concern. This is not the act of a noble house, they would know taking Lena would mean war.”

I cannot imagine any house would willingly take on a Blood Feud right now.”

Yes, and all a Houseless could hope to gain would be money, but there have been no demands made.”

What of merchants?  You do control the major trade route between Arun and Luxon.”

But what could they hope to gain? They would have to reveal themselves to ask for anything and once I had Lena back, I would wipe them out.”

Savia considers the situation, her fingers tapping against the arm of the chair. “What of suitors? Lena is sixteen cycles, is she not?” Carefully she refers to the girl only in the present, seeing no need to cause the Lord further grief by drawing more attention than is needed to the fact his daughter was most likely already with Alctexia.

Yes. There are offers, there always are. She will be the Lady of House Serress and many houses want to strengthen their positions through marriage. Luckily for her, she is allowed a little more leeway in her choice due to the very fact she will be the Lady of the House.”

If too many vultures start circling I am sure I can find you a brother she can marry,” she offers with a mischievous laugh.

He grins conspiratorially with her. “I am already speaking with your father. He keeps offering up Lanew.”

Picturing her little brother, she frowns, unable to see him as other than a boy of twelve cycles. “But he is just a boy.”

“He is seventeen cycles now,” the lord assures her with a laugh.

I feel old.”  It’s hard for her to believe so much time has passed since her last trip home.  She will have to rectify that when her assignment is complete.

Welcome to my life.”

Savia smiles and gets determinedly to her feet. “I will bring Lena home, Lord Xaron, I give you my word.”

Xaron rises from his chair and inclines his head in respect. “I know you will.” He watches her walk away, not having missed that she did not promise to bring Lena home alive, only to bring her home.

* * *

Sighing to herself, Savia passes out of the stone archway and into the brilliant light of Gal. Shielding her eyes with a raised hand, she looks out across the sprawling estate. The surrounding fields are lush and green, the road lined with colorful trees and flowers. The estate obviously did not produce anything of value so close to the manor, that fact alone spoke volumes for the wealth of House Serress.  Lowering her hand, she takes the reins of her black war horse. Patting Sorin’s neck, she swings up into the saddle, urging him along the path towards Arun.

Looking down the road she watches the approach of another knight.  His hair is short and dark, his face haggard despite his relative youth. The red cloak at his shoulders identifies him as a follower of Alctexia, which she finds odd. Not that she doubts his abilities, but another follower of Leanon or Altec, perhaps even a healer of Frolon, would be more appropriate, it seems to her.

The knight bows his head respectfully to the woman. “Captain Savia?”

Yes.”

I am Gradon.  I was sent from Arun to join you.” He glances around the estate and asks, “What is going on?”

Savia looks him over, trying to gage his character.  “Lord Xaron’s daughter is missing and our job is to find her.”

I see.”

Shifting in the saddle, she leans forward, stroking Sorin’s neck affectionately. “Tell me, Gradon, are you any good at tracking?”

            “Very.”

Then I shall follow you. I know it has been a few risings and there have been many here, but do what you can.”

Gradon dismounts and gives his reins to Savia. He raises a hand and begins to chant under his breath, his hand taking on a soft red glow.  Walking quietly down the path, his boots leaving no footprints, he keeps his eyes on his hand, moving it to the glow, the strength altering with his path, stronger when he is on track, weaker when he is not.

Savia rides behind him in silence, watching with interest as he works his spell. She has seen trackers before and it always impresses her to see them work.  She obviously knew more of their abilities than Gradon suspected; he had asked for no point of contact.

Stopping, Gradon bends down, placing a hand on the ground. “They went this way.” Holding his hand out, eyes half closed, he walks among the growth, avoiding the fallen trees and underbrush with ease. Coming to a stop, his hand returns to normal. “It ends here.”

Savia looks around the quiet woods in search of an answer and frowns. “Magic.”

Undoubtedly.” Gradon bends down and starts searching the area. “This is pointless,” he finally says in disgust.

Not entirely.” Savia swings down from her mount and moves to the spot where Gradon indicated the trail ended. “Everything is not always what it seems, Gradon.” She lifts both of her hands and draws a symbol in the air, a shimmering silver pool that looks like molten silver mixed with water, appearing in the air before her.

Gradon gasps in surprise, barley managing to hide his dismay. “Shani.”

Not that gifted.” Savia glances at him, denying her skill until she determines exactly what involvement he has with the kidnapping. “I know a few spells, that’s all.”

What else can you do?” He looks at her with interest, careful to keep his distance without looking as if he is.

            “Not much, I am afraid.”  She motions to the shimmering pool. “Quickly, before I lose the threads of the spell.  It’s another’s magic I am drawing on,” she lies, “this spell is beyond my level.” She takes Sorin’s reins and steps aside. “You should go first.  I am not sure if this will remain open once I step through.”

Gradon swings up onto his horse, draws his sword and nudges his mount through the shimmering silver pool of light. Savia mounts Sorin and runs a hand along his sleek black neck, shaking her head. “Foolish.” She speaks softly and glances around before withdrawing a stone from her bag. Chanting softly, she draws a second symbol in the air and tosses the stone to the ground before nudging Sorin, who tosses his head and looks back at her. “Come on, Sorin, you have been through a portal before, don’t act squeamish now.”

Sorin looks at her and back to the portal.

            She laughs.  “Oh, stop whining and get through that portal and I promise there is an apple waiting for you.”

            Stepping through the portal, she emerges on the other side into a lightly wooded area.  “Well, no monsters or fire pits at least.”

Gradon laughs and shakes his head. “I suspect we will find a road not far from here.”  He glances at her again.  “Are you alright? You took longer to cross over; I was concerned you had lost the spell.”

I am well, thank you. I was delayed to avoid just such an occurrence.  I wanted to make sure I had the spell as strong as I could before stepping through,” she motions to the now empty space where the portal was.  “As you can see, it did collapse after me.” She smiles and moves on, not wanting him to dwell on it. “I would tend to agree.  With the road that is.” She looks around and nudges Sorin forward. “Let’s find out.”

Both horses trot along through the light foliage, crossing the grove easily.  The lands of House Jorin were lush, as with most places upon Arafia, winter would drop the temperature only a few degrees, hardly enough to need more than an extra blanket at night to stave off the chill. Lunraco was one of the few places in the empire, thanks to the mountains, to know a truly cold winter.  Emerging onto the main road, they travel in silence, not going far before the first signs of the imperial city rise up before them.

            “Luxon,” Savia says, the sight of the city never failing to inspire awe in her.   

            “They cannot be as stupid as to bring her here?”

            “Would you look here for a kidnapped Lord’s daughter?”

            “Well, no,” he says grudgingly. 

            “Then I would say they are very clever and perhaps there is hope the girl is still alive.”

Gradon glances at her. “Alive is relative.”

“True, for now, we just need to find her.” She looks to him. “Can you track her again?”

            Raising his hand, he starts to chant, his hand glowing red. “Yes.”

            “Good, now, can you track her without showing everyone that your hand is glowing? Not exactly the best way to stay inconspicuous.”

            Gradon slips his hand into his cloak and grins. “Oh, I don’t know.  What’s so odd about two Silver Dragons and a glowing red hand?”

            “Nothing at all.” Savia laughs and casts her gaze back at the growing height of the imperial city’s white walls.  Riding forward, they cover the distance to the city in short order.  Looking up at the expansive arch of the main gate, she passes through the open spiral doors, noting with appreciation that their intricate design is only for show.  The strength of the wall is held by the solid stone that can be dropped down before the gate to make the wall smooth and impenetrable.

Gradon motions slightly and turns down one road after another, taking them through the bustling city, guided by his spell. He halts before the ‘Broken Barrel’ tavern, located on the edge between the very bad and the not-so-bad section of the city. “Here.”

Then let us get a drink and a meal, shall we?” She swings down to her feet lightly.   “We will watch before making any move.  It’s impossible to say if they are still there, and to start with, we do not even know who they are.”

Pushing the tavern door open, she let her gaze swept casually across the room, resting no more than half a moment on any one subject, but in that time she had the entire layout of the room filed away in her mind.  The bar ran the length of the back wall across from the main door.  A raven-haired serving girl dressed in a simple blue dress leans against it, enjoying a moment’s reprieve, as she waits for her drinks. A curtained off door is behind that. Stairs to the right of the bar lead upstairs to what she assumes are either living quarters or rooms for rent. The main room contains six sets of tables, two of which are occupied. The first, closest to them, and the door, held two men, both drinking heavily. The first man is short and squat, with a leather apron and soot covered shirt of a nondescript gray color that, judging from its soiled appearance, may have once been white.   His companion is wearing dusty breaches and a shirt that is closer to white, but still stretched the bounds of the color due to the layers of body soil and dirt embedded in it. Sitting at the table nearest the stairs, is the other patron, a man dressed in an ebony cloak that conceals his body from scrutiny. 

Gradon tips his head to the side, swings a wooden chair around, and straddles it.  Leaning forward, elbows on the table, he calls out, “Stew and beer!”

            “For me as well.”  She nods to the girl and sits down gracefully across from Gradon, refraining from commenting on his lack of manners. She figures in a place like this, not acting so would draw much more attention.          

            Savia nods her head in thanks to the girl when the food is laid out on the worn surface of the table.  Spooning the stew, which was surprisingly good, with slow bites, she casually she scans the room. The door opens and a young man, dressed in a simple but clean tunic of brown, with soft black breaches, walks in.  Upon further study, however, she notes the material does not seem to be coarse and his boots are not worn down.  His skin is clean, showing no dirt from a days labor. Intrigued, she watches the young man; who is certainly not the peasant he pretends to be; walk across the room and takes a seat at the table with the hooded man.

His back to her table, she is unable to read his lips, so settles for reading his body language instead.  The man leans forward, talking intently with the other. Tensing visibly, he moves closer, almost touching the face of his companion.

            “Let us get some rooms for the night, across the street perhaps?” she asks, returning her attention to Gradon, confident she will have the opportunity to watch the man again. 

            “Yah, sure.” He swings the chair around, placing it back at the table before turning towards the door, dropping a coin to pay for the meals.

            Savia rises, following Gradon from the tavern and back out into the street. She reaches a hand out to pat Sorin’s sleek black neck, then takes his reins into her hand and leads him across the way to the small inn a few buildings up the street from the tavern “Here, I will take your horse as well, if you want to go in and get us a room?”

Only one?” Gradon asks with a half teasing tone, the hope might agree to more hanging just below the surface.

            “Yes. It’s only practical. There is no need to waste the money on two, and considering the area, and our lack of knowledge of whom we seek, I think it’s pertinent to stay together, don’t you?”

            “Yah, I suppose so,” he says, the embers snuffing out.

            “Good.” She leads the horses into the small stable, situating Gradon’s mount before leading Sorin in next to the mare. “Now, you behave out here, Sorin.” Savia looks down at the muddy straw, obviously old and in need of changing, then looks around the dismal area and gives a resigned sigh. “I know it is not the best, but we have to stay here.” She reaches a hand in to her bag and offers a shiny gold apple to him. “I know you want a break from the saddle, but if I am right, we will not be here long and I need you ready to go.” She scratches his neck, fluffing his silver mane.  “I promise a whole bushel of apples for this when we get back.”

            What about me? You cannot expect me to stay out here with the horses. Lurk pokes his head out of the saddle bag, taking the piece of bread Savia offers at his appearance. 

I know you do not want to stay out here either, but I must move quickly. How about a new blanket and your very own spoon when we get back?

A whole set. He chatters and looks at her, twirling his bread around in his small paws, eating it in a circle.

Alright, a whole set.  She pets his head affectionately for a moment before turning and heading into the inn.

Gradon motions from the foot of the stairs. Nodding her head, she moves from the door, her gaze taking in the surroundings.  Like the tavern; a bar runs the length of the back wall, a curtain hides the kitchen, with stairs to the right, the only difference is that only four tables are spread out in the main room. Joining Gradon at the bottom of the stairs, she follows him up.

Here we are.” Opening the door, he steps in and to the side so she can enter.

Making her way into the room, she frowns at the sparse decorum, sure the bed will be almost as hard as the floor and it will only be by the grace of the gods that it’s not infested.

* * *

Gradon opens his eyes, lies still, and listens for the sound of rhythmic breathing from Savia. Content that she is sleeping soundly, he quietly gets to his feet and gathers his belongings.  Tip toeing out the door he moves down the hall a ways before stopping to pull on his boots and fasten his sword belt.  Fully dressed he leaves the inn and makes his way to the back entrance of the ‘Broken Barrel’.

Did you escape that pain in the ass?” the cloaked man asks with annoyance.

Startled, he jumps at the question from the darkness. “Damn Merick, give me a heart attack why don’t you!” Removing his hand from his sword hilt, he answers, “And yah, left her sleeping in bed.”

Good.”

What’s going on?” he demands in a low hiss. “Why has no ransom been sent to Lord Xaron yet? Was that your contact you were with earlier?”

Merick shrugs in dismissal. “Don’t know.  There’s been a delay.  We are supposed to take the girl tonight and don’t you worry none about who I am meeting with.  You just do your job.”

Well, we had better hurry up; Savia will only be thrown off for so long.”

What were you thinking leading her here?” His voice rises in anger.

There was nothing for her to find, and better I keep as close to the truth as possible, or she will know something is up.”

Great,” he says in annoyance.  “A real Silver Dragon poking around is all we need.”

Gradon’s replies sullenly, “I am a real Silver Dragon.”

Sure, and I’m Emperor.” Merick laughs at the absurdity of the thought. “Come on, let’s go get a drink while we wait for the brat to arrive.”

Savia frowns and slips back into the shadows of the building as their voices fade away.  She was right to have followed him. She had hoped she would be wrong and there might be another explanation for why Gradon was able to track Lena without asking for anything of hers. He couldn’t be a real Dragon, well, he could be, she relented, but that thought was even more disturbing to her than someone impersonating one of the Order.

She waits and watches; sure the man they spoke of will soon arrive.  Almost on cue, she is rewarded by the appearance of a cloaked man entering the alley, a bundle over his arm.  Moving around him silently she reaches out and puts a hand against his neck, a faint silver glow radiating from her hand. Withdrawing her hand, he falls forward, dead.

Catching his bundle before it can fall to the ground; she lifts it against her chest. Pulling back the blanket edge, she peeks within, forcing herself to stay quiet at the sight of the pale girl. They were bastards, but now was not the time to make them pay. Glancing around, she moves as swiftly and silently as she can with the unconscious girl in her arms. 

Entering the stable she calls out, “Sorin!”

The black warhorse lifts his head, looks around and clomps out of the stall and over to her. He kneels down, giving her easy access to his back.  She places the girl over the front of saddle and swings up behind.  Adjusting Lena gently, she places her across her lap, carefully cradling her.  Sorin heads towards the gates at an even clip, entering into a full gallop once they clear the city walls.

What is going on?

I have found Lena, but we are in a bit of trouble. Stay in that bag and do not come out until I tell you.

I can help.

Not this time, my friend. Just stay out of trouble.

The bundle in her arms whimpers in pain and shifts, beginning to struggle weakly against the arms that hold her as she starts to come around.

Shhh…Lena,” she pauses and adds, “cousin, it is okay, your father sent me, I am here to help.” She strokes the girl’s hair soothingly, feeling her relax against her during the short trek back to the grove. Savia dismounts and then gathers Lena into her arms, bringing her to the ground, where she lays her carefully and removes her blanket.  The girl is pale, her flesh a mass of bruises, welts and scrapes. One eye is black, her lip swollen and bloody.  Her dress, once the vivid yellow of House Serress, is blood stained and tattered. “Oh sweet Chiron,” she breathes.  “What did they do to you?”

Lena looks up at her with dull brown eyes and makes an incomprehensible wail.

I know it hurts, but I will have you home soon, I promise.”

Lena shakes her head in the negative.

Home, Lena, back to your father,” she says again, fearful the girl is too far gone to understand.

She shakes her head again insistently, her brown eyes pleading with her cousin to honor her wishes.

I…okay, Lena.” Savia lifts her head at the sound of hoof beats in the distance. “Damn.” She looks down at the girl’s wounds, taking quick stock of them again.  There are so many, the poor thing surely already had a foot in the Hall of Souls, but there was just no choice.  “We have to use a portal to escape them. Do you know what that is?”

Lena nods her head in understanding, preferring the odds she will end up with the Goddess to the thought of returning to the hands of her captors.

With these wounds, it’s going to hurt, but there is no other way.” She gathers the slight form in her powerful arms. “Hold tight to me.” Savia turns her head as Gradon and the two men from the tavern ride into view.

Gradon calls out, “Savia, wait!”

You are lucky my duty to this girl comes first, Gradon, or I would kill you for your hand in this plot. You are no longer a Silver Dragon, if you ever were. Any who see you will have orders to kill you. I hope the pay was worth it!” The air around her sizzles, the pool of shimmering silver light forms before her at her silent command, the powerful spell anchored earlier to her waiting ward stone.

Damn!” The cloaked figure swears as the portal forms in the air. “You didn’t tell us she is Shani!”

I didn’t know!” Gradon insists. 

Shani or not, it won’t matter in a moment,” the young man says confidently.  Leveling his bow, he lets the first arrow fly; the shaft implanting itself firmly in Savia’s unprotected shoulder.

The Captain grits her teeth, biting back her cry at the arrow finding its mark. Ignoring the pain she focuses on the form of her cousin and keeping them both upright  

Sorin leaps through the portal with a powerful thrust of his hind legs.  Savia jumps after him, shielding Lena with her body as another arrow finds its mark.  Both women cry out in agony, the silver liquid closing in around them.

Chapter Two

___________________________________________

Councilor Mearcon sits quietly in the rooftop garden, enjoying the reprieve from his duties. Rolling his broad shoulders, he cracks his neck and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh night air. Smiling, he rests back on the smooth stone bench and listens to the sound of the small fountain. He lifts gray eyes to the dark sky; he identifies the Gods in the gleaming points of light.

His attention is brought back to the garden by the air beginning to sizzle and crack. He rises to his feet, stepping back as the black form of Sorin leaps through the shimmering silver portal, followed by Savia.  Arrows fly past all three to plant themselves in the ground and the knight.

Savia groans when the second arrow finds its mark in her side, the red shaft standing out violently against her flesh, but still she holds firm to Lena.

Close the portal, Savia!” Mearcon calls out urgently.

Savia mumbles with sarcasm, “No, I thought I would leave it open.”  The shimmering portal closes and she falls to her knees, slumping forward, still clutching Lena.

Bending down next to the two women, the Councilor orders to his serving boy, “Send in my guards, then go run and fetch Captain Ryil and Councilor Avira, and not a word of this to anyone else, you hear me, boy?”

The boy, not more then twelve cycles, nods his head, his blue eyes large in wonder.  He looks with awe at the horse and women who so magically appeared.  Scrambling to his feet he takes off running, foot falls echoing behind him, he descends the stairs.

 Mearcon gathers Savia’s wounded form gently into his grizzled embrace.  “Oh you silly girl, what have you gotten yourself into?”  He looks up as his personal guard rush onto the tower top and slowly rises to his feet, the limp form of Savia in his powerful arms. “Lisim, please get Lena, gently, she’s hurt.  Konor, I need you to stay with Sorin until I find a mage who can Step him off of this blasted tower.”  He glances meaningfully between the two knights.  “I do not want anyone beyond us to know they are here, understood?”

Both knights nod in unison. “Yes, Councilor.” Lisim moves to Lena and gathers her gently into his arms. Konor walks up to Sorin, pats his neck reassuringly and scans him for any stray arrow wounds.

The Councilor leads the way to his private suite, moving across the spacious main room to his sleeping quarters.  He gently lays Savia down on his bed, careful not to jostle the arrows any more than necessary.

“You sum…” Ryil stops mid-word, his blue eyes locking onto the bloodied body on the bed. “Savia…” His voice catches in his throat and he moves to his wife’s side. “What happened?” He looks over his shoulder at Mearcon, then at the knight standing behind him, the limp form of Lena still held gently in his arms.

Apparently, she ran into some trouble. The knight who was to meet her did not come with her, so I can only image what has happened.  She came through a portal in a hail of arrows,” he adds to explain the wounds.

She used a portal, with a wounded charge?” He looks to Lena’s form, still hidden under the green blanket.

And she may well have had her own wounds before riding through. Whatever conflict happened on the other side was such that she felt she had to risk the Stepping.”

Ryil gently caresses Savia’s pale face.  “Heartling...”

Councilor Avira walks into the room. The yellow wrap draped over her shoulders, swirling angrily with the hem of her silver gown, matching her mood. Her irritation at the summon falls away with the sight before her.  Quickly taking stock of the situation, she places a hand on Ryil’s shoulder, saying gently, “I need to attend her.” 

He looks up, rising to his feet for the woman. He bows low, surprised to see the Councilor of Frolon, but on second thought, he supposes he should not be. “Councilor.”

Moving closer, she carefully examines the wounds, a scowl forming on her face.  The first arrow protrudes from Savia’s left shoulder, the second from her lower back, lodged deeply into her profusely bleeding flesh. “Frolon guide me,” the councilor whispers reverently and takes the first arrow shaft between steady hands, breaking it off.

She withdraws a silver blade from within deep within the folds of her gown and carefully cuts away Savia’s light green shirt, red with blood, revealing the damage done by the arrows. “Hmmm…” she murmurs, inspecting the wounds with a skilled eye. “Poison.”

How bad?” Mearcon asks, resting a comforting hand on Ryil’s shoulder.

It is by Frolon’s grace that I will heal her. Had she not come here...” her compassionate voice trails off.   “Please send for a runner to fetch Shaia and instruct her to bring two healing packs.”  The yellow robed figure flicks her gaze towards Lena, rising to her feet she moves over for a quick inspection of the second woman.

You called for me…” Shaia’s soft voice trails upon entering the room.  She moves directly to the girl in the knight’s arms. Looking over the still unconscious form, she moves one edge of the blanket and quickly inventories her injuries before nodding to the Councilor, handing her the bag in her hand, a match for the one over her shoulder.   With a pointed look at the men gathered around the room she says, “I need a private room so I can attend her.” 

            “Of course, Healer, please use the next room.” Mearcon motions to the closed door to the left. “It is normally used by my servant.  It’s sparse, but there is a bed and privacy to be had.”

Thank you.” She looks to the dark haired knight.  “Please move her into the room, gently as you can.”

            “Yes, Healer.” He moves carefully into the next room and places Lena softly on the small bed. With a respectful nod to the Healer, he leaves her alone with her patient.

Avira moves back to the bed.  Rummaging through the pouch, she produces a colorful array of herbs, oils, vials and bowls.  She frowns and looks to Mearcon, making a ‘turn around’ motion with one finger. “A little privacy, Councilor?”

Of course.” He averts his gaze politely, but stays standing where he is.

The Healer gently removes the remaining clothing from Savia’s body, her hands carefully running across her skin, looking for signs of further trauma under Ryil’s unwavering gaze. 

Her God watches her well, Ryil, she will recover, in time, and once she is awake, we will know the truth of what has happened.” The Councilor speaks careful words as he glances at Ryil, cautious to keep his eyes averted from Savia’s naked form.

Avira lifts the blade, chanting softly until it glows, before turning back to Savia. “She is going to struggle a bit. Please hold her as steady as you can.” Waiting for Ryil to get a firm grip to begin, she leans forward and carefully digs the arrowheads from her wounds, murmuring comforting words as Savia groans and struggles weakly against the pain.  The light hiss of the blade sounds, the smell of charring flesh rising up. 

The blade, Councilor, Savia and the sheets all ending up bloody with the effort. “I have the tips,” she says at last, dropping the arrowheads into the bowl resting on the grownas wood table with a clank. “All I can do now is bandage the wounds with a healing mix and hope the poison can be drawn from her system.” Taking the second bowl, she smears the foul-smelling contents within over Savia’s wounds

            Ryil looks down at his wife with deep concern, wishing for all his life he could switch places with her. “Are you sure that will fight the poison?” 

            “Unless I am mistaken.”

            “I do not mean to imply that you are, Councilor.”

            “I know, Ryil.” She smiles kindly.  “The poison is primarily from the Alctex plant; it is a very deadly mix, when used as it has been. If she had not come directly here, or if I did not have the correct ingredients, she would have died for sure. Whoever shot her wanted to be very certain she did not live to tell whatever it is she knows.” Pointing to the white bandages, bright red with blood; she says, “You are a warrior.  You know wounds.  As you can clearly see, these were meant to be fatal.” Avira considers for a moment.  “I suspect it was her motion and the disruption offered by the portal that prevented them from being such.”

            Mearcon speaks up from behind the two. “When will she wake?”

            The Healer turns and looks up at him.  “If she manages to convince the goddess not to take her; a few risings, maybe half a moon.  It is hard to say for sure.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “Is there no way to wake her?  I need to know what happened.”

            “The risk is too great; if I try to wake her now the shock may well kill her and then you will never have your answers.”

            “Very well,” he concedes.

            Ryil turns back to the pale form next to him, hardly noticing as the Councilor gathered up her bottles and bowls.

            “I will check on her in a while.”

            He looks up and bows his head in sincere thanks. “I thank you, Councilor.”

            “It is my pleasure, Ryil,” she inclines his head in sympathy and leaves the room.

            The female Healer steps out of the small room, her yellow robes swishing around her, she stops at the doorway to the bedroom, a deep frown marring her lovely face. “That poor child has been brutalized.” She shakes her head sadly. “The things done to her…”

            “Is she awake?” Mearcon asks, coming to stand with the two Healers.

            “No, nor will she be for some time. As you know, traveling through a portal when wounded is not recommended, it tears the body apart. Her wounds were serious before she entered; now, she clings to this life by a thread.”

            “You did well, Shaia,” Avira assures her. “Do not speak of this to anyone until I give you leave.”

            “Yes, Councilor.” She bows her head in respect to the two and exits the suite.

Frolon will be busy if he wishes to keep these two from the halls of Alctexia.”

Mearcon sighs and sits down, stretching his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. He leans back, closing his eyes. It has been a hard couple of hours, seeing that Savia and Lena were both attended to. Mostly though, it was the incessant waiting for one, or both of them, to wake up, or succumb to the call of the goddess.  “I had better send a message to Lord Tachir.  I do not relish telling him that she is hurt, but I would fear for my life if I did not and the goddess takes her.”

People will notice the Lord of House Aracien is in the castle, love” Avira points out gently, taking a seat next to him.

“I know, but I will attempt to keep it quiet. I am hoping those who attacked them will think she succumbed to the poison and we are unaware that anything is going on. Until Savia is able to give us the details, it is all we can do to protect them.” 

* * *

Mearcon pats Ryil’s shoulder. “Come on, Ryil, let’s get you a drink and a bite to eat.  Give Avira some space to attend your wife.”

I am not really very hungry,” Ryil says, getting to his feet none-the-less and moving away with the Councilor, glancing back at the room as he does.

I know, but you will not do her any good if you pass out.” Pouring a glass of amber liquid he holds it out to the knight.  “Drink something at least.”

Taking the drink he sinks down into a chair, feeling drained to the very core of his being. He can not imagine life without his wife. Swirling the glass he stares into the amber liquid.

Drink, or Savia will have my hide when she wakes up,” he says with a grin.

Mine too, I suppose.” Dipping the glass back, he drains the contents in a single shot.

Laughing, Mearcon shakes his head, teasing Ryil good naturedly.  “You war mongers sure can down your spirits.”

Ryil gives a roguish grin. “Have you ever had a meeting with Councilor Issydel?  I don’t think it’s possible to sit at his desk and not drink. You either have to learn to say what you want in half a sentence, or learn to drink.”So I hear,” he replies dryly.  </span> <span style="color: black">Setting the glass aside he sighs and rubs his temples. Resting his elbows on his knees he leans forward, head down.</span> <span style="color: black">Mearcon watches him, allowing him to sit in silence, understanding the mental battle he is engaged in.  After a time he finally suggests, “You could go to the temple.” <p>I have been praying to Frolon every moment since walking into that room.” Ryil shakes his head. “I think the god is tired of listening to me.” <p>Frolon is never tired of hearing from his children,” Avira says gently, emerging from the bedroom. Returning to her seat, she smoothes out the folds of her dress and adjusts the yellow wrap around her shoulders.  </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Bran rushes into the room, almost falling over himself in his haste. He was growing tired of important visitors. Grumbling about the amount of bowing he was doing and the pile of work mounding up while he was stuck on door duty, he inclines his head to the three. “Councilor, Lord Tachir has arrived.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Mearcon blinks at the haste of the arrival and shakes his head. He surely used a portal to arrive so fast; his favorite child indeed. He is not looking forward to this. “Show him in.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Ryil pales visibly, the last little bit of color fleeing his face, he rises to his feet with the councilors and faces the door. He watches the cloaked figure enter the room and suddenly feels faint. He knows he does not have to kneel to his wife’s father, but in this instance, he feels nothing short of it will show the proper respect, or pain for the situation.  “Lord Tachir.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">The lord inclines his head to the two councilors before moving to the kneeling Ryil. Reaching out, he brings him to his feet. “You do not need to bow, my son.” He looks at the man, referring to him by the title of respect he did not have to give, but that he always felt him worthy of. He makes his daughter happy and it took a strong man to take a woman to wife who will never give him an heir. <p>She is so near the goddess,” he says in anguish. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Tachir reaches up and drops the hood of his deep green cloak, revealing the strong jaw line, black hair, and the same vivid green eyes of Savia. He turns his attention to Mearcon. “What has happened?” he demands briskly.<p>I sent her to aid Lord Xaron and this is how she came back. Unfortunately, I do not know more than that. Savia fell unconscious moments after Stepping from, well, I can only assume Arun, as she was at the main estate of House Serress.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Tachir frowns deeply. “Why did Lord Xaron require aid from the Silver Dragons, and that of a knight captain no less?” <p>You know Lena, his daughter?” <p>I do. We are currently in marriage negotiations for her and my son Lanew.” His frown deepens into a scowl. “Has something happened to the girl?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Mearcon sighs; he could see where Savia gets it from. “She went missing, and her guards were found murdered. Lord Xaron requested Savia on account of the blood alliance between your two houses. I sent her to investigate and she came home with Lena, who is in just as bad shape, and brought more questions than answers.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Tachir nods and turns to his son by marriage. “Take me to Savia.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">* * * </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Savia stirs with a groan and blinks, focusing on the small fury face staring back at her, worry shinning in the black depths of its eyes.  <p>Get off her chest, you little fur ball,” Ryil orders in annoyance.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">The tulock turns his head and chatters at the knight, shaking his paws at him. <p>Now, now, boys, play nice.” Savia lifts her hand and strokes her familiar’s head, smiling over him at her husband. “I feel like I was run over by a herd of drylocks,” she adds, picturing the large gray beasts trampling through a glade. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Ryil grins in agreement. “You look about as good.”<p>Mmm…some husband you are.” <p>Do not listen to him, he has not left your side,” Tachir says, taking a seat carefully on the edge of the bed next to his daughter. <p>Father?” Savia blinks, sure she is dreaming. </span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">“Yes.” The lord smiles faintly. “Councilor Mearcon summoned me when you arrived.” <p>Then I was closer to the goddess than I realized.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">He reaches his hand out and smoothes back her red hair tenderly. “We are blessed that she did not take you.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Lurk moves to the pillow, curling up on the edge. <i> You had us all worried.</i> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"><i> <span style="color: black">I know my friend, but all is well. I hope you did not drive Ryil too crazy. </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"><i> <span style="color: black">I only hid half the spoons</span></i><span style="color: black">, he assures her, lifting his nose and twitching it in amusement. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Savia grins at him and then returns her attention to her father and husband. “How is Lena?” <p>She is a strong girl. She will pull through.” </span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Savia puts a hand to her head, the risings a blur of images and foggy memories. “How long have I been out?”<p>Half a moon.” <p>That long?” she asks in surprise. <p>The poison of the Alctex plant is very serious. We are lucky you are not in the Hall of Souls with the goddess,” Mearcon says unobtrusively from the doorway. <p>The arrows?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">He nods. “Yes.” Entering the room he stops at the foot of the bed. “Can you tell us what happened?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Savia strokes Lurk’s head absently with one finger. “I met up with Gradon, whom I thought was the knight sent to meet me from Arun, at Lord Xaron’s estate.”<p>He was. I confirmed with the guard captain, although unsurprisingly, he has not been seen in Arun since your attack.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black"> She nods curtly.  “I was suspicious from the start when he was able to track Lena without asking for any personal item to establish a connection.” Shaking her head at his actions, she explains, “I followed him anyway, hoping he would lead me to her.  I knew he had contact with her, and even if he did not know where she was, he was most certainly involved.” </span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Lord Tachir frowns. “Do we know what house this Gradon belongs to?” <p>Houseless,” Mearcon supplies with disgust. </span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">“Too bad. His house might have led us to the root of this.” <p>He led us to Luxon,” Savia continues.  “It was not long before Gradon led me to Lena, although I am sure he had no idea I was aware of his involvement or he would not have been so careless.”  She snorts at the incompetence of the man. “If not for the man who shot me, who I am sure is their leader, and certainly of a noble house, I would seriously question how they managed to pull the kidnapping off at all.”   <p>You are sure he was a noble?”<p>Yes, father, I am.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">The Lord of House Aracien scowls, considering the many houses that would benefit from the act. “Go on,” he finally says at length. <p>I killed the man who had her and ran.” <p>How did you get injured, Savia?” Mearcon inquires, impatient to access the continued threat from the group of men.  <p>Gradon and the men he was with caught up with us outside of the city. That is why I had to Step even though Lena was injured.” Pausing she imagines the pain she had put the poor child through. “I did not have a choice. They started shooting arrows as I opened the portal.” <p>Why did you return here and not to Lord Xaron, daughter?” <p>Lena insisted.” She shakes her head, still confused over her cousin’s instance. Why would she not want to return to the safety of her own house?  “I was going to take her back to her father, but she became very agitated at the idea. I do not know why, but considering the state she was in, I was not going to argue with her. I figured we could sort it out on this side.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Mearcon lets out a breath, hating the idea of forcing the young girl to relive the pain of her capture. “We are going to have to speak to Lena.” <p>I will.” Savia sits up to the chattering protests of Lurk. <p>I am with the fur ball on this one,” Ryil says. “You should be resting.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"><i> <span style="color: black">Yes, listen to the dolt. </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">She shakes her head, mind made up. “We need to know why Lena did not want to return to her father. If she will not talk to you, she may to me. She was awake before the Stepping, she should remember that I helped her.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Grim faced, Lord Tachir nods.  “If my daughter feels sufficiently recovered, then let her try speaking with the girl.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">* * * </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Lena sits on the bed, her back to the corner of the room, knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, fingers strung loosely together, with her chin resting between her knees. She lifts haunted brown eyes and watches Savia enter the room. Recognizing her cousin, she makes no move to pull away.   </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Moving forward cautiously, Savia asks, “Lena…do you remember me?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">The girl nods her head. <p>Do you think we could talk?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Lena looks at her, tears welling up in her eyes at the request. She will never speak again; Avira had told her as much. No healing touch of Frolon would restore her voice. It would have been a kinder fate to kill her, she thinks, for what kind of a ruling lady would she be without a voice? </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Lifting the edge of a flowing sleeve, Savia wipes the girl’s eyes gently. “I am sorry…I know this must be so hard for you, but Lena, I need to know what you know.  Most importantly, I need to know why you did not want to go back to your father.”  She offers the quill and parchment she entered with. “Write for me?” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Taking the items with shaking hands Lena begins to write.  Tears run down her cheeks, splattering the parchment on her knees as she labors to compose her tale. She pushes herself through the pain, recalling every detail of her ordeal; hopeful she will know revenge and prevent her house going to war. Finishing, she hands it to Savia, falling back, mentally exhausted from the effort. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Savia quickly reads the words, her ire rising with each sentence. She shakes with barley suppressed rage by the time she finishes. Her heart breaking for the battered girl, she reaches out and gently caresses her face. “Thank you, Lena. You rest now and I will be back, I promise.” She smiles at her, seeing she is comfortably in bed before stepping out of the room.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: center; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">* * * </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Lord Tachir turns to his daughter. “What have you learned?” <p>That I am going to kill them, very, very, slowly,” she replies through gritted teeth. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Councilor Mearcon nods. “We would all like to see them pay for what was done to her.  Can you tell us who <i>they </i>are?” </span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Savia sits down on the plush couch next to Ryil.  “She does not know very much. She was, thankfully, unconscious for much of the ordeal.” Shaking her head, she goes on. “The reason she did not want to go back to Lord Xaron is not because he had any hand in this, but to protect him. She heard her captors speaking and believes they intended to kill her and leave evidence that Prince Monuel was involved.” <p>That would assuredly start a war between House Serress and Jorin,” Tachir observes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Mearcon nods in solemn agreement.  “If you wanted to weaken one, or both houses, that would certainly be the way to do it, if you were too weak to attack outright. Serress would have cause, which means the Order would be kept out of it, significantly evening the field.”  <p>That is assuming Jorin or Serress is the target.” Ryil inclines his head toward his wife’s father. “Your house is allied with Lord Xaron, and assuredly House Ajeni would be with Jorin.  If they went to war, would your resources also not be thrown into the fray?” <p>They would indeed.” <p>That could very well start a war that would shift the entire balance of power. House Jorin is weakened from the death of Montoff already. Koneff cannot lead his armies,” Mearcon says, considering the implications. <p>He still has the same commanders his father did, his armies could stand.  The question would be, would he allow his advisors to dictate?” Ryil speculates, his mind playing out the battle. <p>Whoever is behind this is obviously counting on him making foolish mistakes.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">The councilor glances over at the pair.  “Or they are counting on the combined forces of your house and Serress to win.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Savia frowns. “Let us assume for a moment that we would destroy House Jorin, what then?”<p>You become a princess,” Ryil says. <p>Or Lena does,” she replies. <p>But they thought she would be dead. Although, I doubt leaving Serress without an heir was the only goal, as they could have done that when they kidnapped her without all the added trouble.”  Mearcon glances between them.  “Going on the assumption it is the Emperor and House Jorin that is the target, regardless of who ends up on the throne, what possible good does that do?” <p>Perhaps it is not who ends up on the throne, but who loses it that interests them,” Tachir says thoughtfully. <p>We need to figure out who is behind this and what their ultimate goal is. Arafia cannot afford a war between so many houses.  It will be devastating to commerce.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Tachir rises to his feet. “I agree.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">Savia looks to her father.  “What of Lena?” </span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">“I will take her with me.  I can keep her presence a secret much easier than you can.” <p>My people are loyal,” Mearcon assures him. </span> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black">“I do not doubt it, Councilor, but you are very large in numbers here, nor is it only your people. Without knowing who is involved, and in light of Gradon’s involvement, she will be safer with me. She is family, if only distantly. We will look after her.” <p>Is someone going to tell her father she is alive?” Savia asks.<p>No. His grief must be real. If we tell him she lives, he might reveal the information even without meaning to and those who took her might try to finish their plan. If they realize she heard anything, it is a guarantee they will. Everyone must think she is dead.” Tachir looks over at Savia, imagining his own pain at the thought of thinking his child dead. “It is cruel, but there is no other way. For the good of the Empire, she must be dead to everyone.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; line-height: 150%"> <span style="color: black"> </span></p>