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City of Stone continues the Iacean saga. Selcott, a wayward prince of Guithannan, unravels a scheme involving saexum – invaluable gems that are inextricably bound to individuals soon after birth. In his attempts to foil the plans, Selcott's suspicions fall on both the Expatritors – the private organisation of warriors with immense political and social influence – and the Guithannan Army. He must ultimately assume the responsibility and reality of his royal heritage that he had always eschewed.

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City of Stone

The Iacean Book Two

by

Ken Lim

http://selarenarchive.wordpress.com

Chapter One

Seen from afar, the city of Guithannan was an ink-blot on the landscape; a mass of inextricable black stone that barricaded the only pass through the Stonepeak Mountains. It appeared to all an unnatural formation of rock so it seemed reasonable that people all over eastern Iacea called it Guithannite, for the city it was. No one could conceive of how the surrounding forest could have spewed forth this rock, preformed into a city of stone. Scholars and academics from Brookholm to Ryneusk argued endlessly on its origin. Those who claimed that such explanations were pointless and trivial were inevitably ridiculed by their colleagues - then the arguments over the theories of its origins started anew.

When the sun fell and torches and lamps were lit, the Guithannite alternately sapped and reflected the meagre light. Locals told stories of unfortunate crimes that were committed in the cover of darkness even though street-lamps were lit directly overhead. There were tales of the Royal Boulevard appearing bright as noon in the middle of the night from nothing more than the usual complement of lamps. For many, the city felt alive. Guithannan breathed as its inhabitants breathed. From its wells of water to its walled fertile fields, it gave to them and could take things away.

None of this mattered to Selcott as he clung by his fingertips to an eave above a fatal drop to the courtyard below. His thoughts raced through everything he could do to rescue himself - perhaps the rumours of the city being alive were true. And if they were, perhaps the city wanted him to die - afterall, what was the reflection or absorption of torch-light but the Guithannite becoming smooth or rough? He had taken his usual route above the Expatritor novice dormitories while sneaking out after curfew. This time his footing had not been so sure. Or, since his last nocturnal excursion, the roof of the dormitory had inexplicably become as smooth as the finest Arjezen silk.

The notch in the eave that served as a rudimentary gutter began to cut into Selcott's fingers. He tried clenching his fingers, tried to gain more purchase on the roof. At the same time, he swung his boots forward. No, nothing but the cold spring air. The eave was set too far from the wall. Side to side, then. It had to be - for so many reasons, he couldn't possibly drop to the ground.

Suppressing his inadvertent grunts, Selcott swung himself left and right, to and fro. With every motion, he could feel his fingers slip and he would silently panic as he tried regaining his tenuous grip. Left and right. To and fro. He could feel his forehead begin to drip with sweat. His hands were becoming slippery. If any guards were to glance in his direction, he would surely be discovered.

Then, his boot caught the eave, a fragile moment that he needed to capitalise on. Selcott gave himself one almighty heave and pulled himself onto the roof. He scrambled up and then lay down on his back, boots comfortably lodged in a nook in the patterns on the Guithannite roofing. Selcott sighed and closed his eyes to the stars; the cool air brushed gently over him. He reflexively touched his nondescript collar that circled his neck. Safe. He could only hope the nightwatch hadn't noticed anything.

He frowned slightly as his aching fingers unconsciously stroked the Guithannite, searching for something to grasp if he happened to fall again. He realised that the rock was now as it had always been. Rough, seemingly hewn from the side of one of the Stonepeaks around the city. Selcott opened his eyes and rolled his head to the side. The moonlight revealed what his hands suspected. There was no reason why he had slipped off the textured rock.

Selcott shook his head to himself as he clambered back up the incline, close to the roof's peak. It would not do to be spotted by his Expatritor superiors as a silhouette against the moonlit sky. He crept along the black rock, half-crouched, and couldn't suppress a smile to himself. As always, it was all worth it.

The crisp night air calmed him, cleansed his thoughts with every breath. He could see Guithannan illuminated by torch and lamp-light over the Expatritor compound's wall; the inhumanly-crafted arched walkways between towers and intricate columns flickered with orange in the darkness. From any height, the Guithannite structures awed Selcott no end - he knew that no one could truly appreciate the convoluted artistry of the city's intricacy from the ground. It had to be from the rooftops.

At the end of the dormitory roof where it adjoined one of walls of the Grand Hall, Selcott paused. He almost sighed. He didn't know of anyone else who explored the city as he did - not even his best friend Delmorgan. No one truly understood. And his family was far too preoccupied with other things. For a split second, he second-guessed his parents' motive for sending him away to become an Expatritor novice. No, they wouldn't have asked an organisation to accept him simply because they had a dormitory, so that he'd be away from the Palace. And a curfew, to keep him reined in. Not a single guild in Guithannan would have done so, let alone the Expatritors.

Selcott gently hauled himself up the outside of the Grand Hall, mindful of the nightwatch consisting of both senior apprentices and fully-fledged Expatritors. However, he could vouch, at least as far as he and his squad were concerned, that guard-duty was considered to be a pointless chore. What possible danger could a fully-operational Expatritor compound face in the middle of Guithannan, one of the largest city-states in the land? The city itself was patrolled by the Watch, its walls were manned by Guithannan army regulars and the surrounding townships and villages were under the care of whichever group of army Lances had been rostered for that week.

Nevertheless, he quickly scanned the walls for signs he had been spotted. Finding none, Selcott slunk into one of the Grand Hall's arched windows. The Guithannite - from which the entire city was created - had formed in this instance several open shafts near the ceiling of the Grand Hall. From his studies, Selcott knew that all attempts to seal the shafts with glass or wooden slats had failed; virtually any effort to carve, shape or even scratch Guithannite failed. Thus, craftsmen of all skills and backgrounds had been unable to find a way to attach any permanent covering over the Grand Hall's high windows. Yet by virtue of the original designers of Guithannan, who or whatever they were, rain and snow were funnelled back outside by a short series of shield-like protrusions just within the openings - nothing else was required to keep the inside dry.

Selcott comfortably latched onto the rain-shield and rested for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the even gloomier interior. He instinctively craned his neck around the crossbeam that led to an opposing window on the other side of the hall. Nothing stirred below. A couple of candles lit the empty hall and its deserted longtables and benches. Before dawn, the hall would come alive again as the kitchen staff prepared for the morning meal. For now, the place was Selcott's.

He flexed his fingers and leaned forward onto the Guithannite beam. He gripped it with both hands, balancing his weight with his legs. Although he had taken this trip many times before, Selcott was painfully aware of his most recent misfortune; it wouldn't do to fall here. Gingerly, he made his way across the beam, a seemingly immeasurable distance in the air. Each movement was its own, reaching forward with his hands and then pulling the rest of his body along. He dared not look up at the other end.

Then, he was there. He inadvertently sighed and grabbed the window's protrusions. It wasn't far until he could leave the Expatritor compound.

The compound's wall almost skirted the Grand Hall; it was still too far to cross. And due to the unfortunate positioning of a street-lamp on the avenue just outside, nightwatch guards could easily spot anyone on that section of the wall. Selcott checked for activity and satisfied that there were no witnesses, clambered outside, then onto the Hall's roof.

His usual route of escape lay further down the east wall where the parallel avenue outside the compound was not so brightly lit. There, an unused Guithannite structure adjoined the wall for an easy escape to the rest of the city. It was nothing more than a squat shed full of debris and unwanted junk. Selcott briskly skittered to the end of the hall's rooftop and lowered himself onto the intricate carvings that adorned the outside of the Grand Hall. In the daylight, they were nonsensical patterns and swirls but in the night, they made good hand- and footholds.

When he was close, Selcott dropped to the roof of the abandoned structure with an almost inaudible patter. So, his soft novice boots were good for something.

Then, Selcott froze. A voice sounded from within the building. He crouched and checked the walls for guards as if they could have heard his silent panic.

There shouldn't have been anyone inside the shed, let alone at night. It was unused, just like so many other buildings and towers within Guithannan that no one had ever found useful or livable. But Guithannite, as far as anyone knew, was indestructible. The city was as it was. So the buildings remained, as did this one.

Selcott lay down on the stone and placed his ear against the roof. He could only hear some muffled mutterings. Snatches of improbable words. A midnight meeting in the unused shed behind the Grand Hall was too much to resist. Selcott silently picked himself up and crept towards the compound wall where the shadows were deeper. Then, he lay down again, this time with his head overhanging the eaves. His collar scratched against the Guithannite.

"... use is it without..."

"... not for me to worry about..."

Selcott couldn't comprehend much more. He wriggled forward slightly even though it threatened to tip his balance over the edge. The muffled voices inside sounded familiar but they really could have been anyone. On the other hand, the accents were definitely Guithannan; whatever plot was being hatched, no easterners or northerners were involved.

A couple garbled words escaped. The voices were lowered and Selcott's hearing was stretched. Then, he heard something unmistakable. "Saexum." Selcott's hand instantly went to his collar and the embedded gemstone it bore - his own personal saexum.

It was almost taboo to speak of someone else's saexum unless the person was family or a close friend; even then, it was spoken of privately. For two people to speak of a saexum, their own or someone else's, in the middle of the night, hidden in an abandoned building, meant that something suspicious was afoot. Initial shock forgotten, Selcott hung his head over the eaves to snatch more of the low conversation.

There were several more unintelligble murmurs then the unmistakable tones of parting. Footsteps crunched in the debris discarded in the squat structure. One set faded from hearing while the other paused for a moment. Selcott dared not move from his position lest the scraping of his clothes against the Guithannite building gave him away.

The rasp of metal and flint floated up. Moments later, Selcott smelled the tang of freshly lit tobacco. The footsteps sounded again and Selcott slunk back. The ajar door opened and a figure smoking a pipe appeared. He wore a hooded cloak to protect against the night's chill; Selcott hadn't a chance in recognising him.

The figure strode off towards the compound's north gate.

Selcott let out his pent up breath and relaxed, unaware of his own tension. Even though he hadn't heard anything definitive or damning - let alone identified the schemers - Selcott trusted his instincts and they were telling him that he had witnessed something that no one should have.

Saexum were private. Even if most were publicly visible - his own was embedded in a plain Audonian-crafted collar that he had worn since his Naming - it was ungraceful to speak of them without invitation. Selcott guessed that it had much to do with the fact that Naming ceremonies were the same rituals that bound a saexum to a baby soon after birth; the True Name used in such ceremonies was guarded with one's life. His parents had never told him why he and his siblings needed to keep their Names secret, only of the necessity and that it had nothing to do with the fact that they were of royal blood. It was something more basic, common to everyone, Guithannian or not. They hadn't even told Selcott his true Name until he was fifteen and understood its importance. Naturally, Selcott immediately asked what the Names of his brother and sisters were. His parents weren't amused and neither was Keilaine, his closer sister, when he asked her directly. Selcott didn't bother with Endron or Magdyna, his elder brother and sister - they were always busy with their families and assisting with the running of Guithannan.

Selcott sighed and began to make his way back to the dormitory; his appetite to explore the city was doused with the night's events. He took special care to avoid the nightwatch on his rooftop route, using the extra time to muse upon what he had witnessed.

Selcott slipped into the novice dormitory without a sound and crept back into his narrow cot.

Immediately, an oil-lamp sprang to life beside him and he bolted upright.

Orange flickered across the stern face of his captain, the Master of Apprentices, Cerlen Lentard. "Good evening, Selcott," he said blandly. "Did you have a pleasant stroll?"

Chapter Two

Selcott pushed the food around his plate as his father continued ranting. "Exactly why you find the need to throw all of your opportunities back in my face, in your mother's face, I'll never know! Do you know what we had to organise for the Expatritors to accept your apprenticeship?" Selcott shook his head silently. "No? Of course not!"

Martreas Wrienswing, Lord of Guithannan - Selcott's father - took a breath. He seemed split between taking another bite into his dinner or another bite into Selcott. Elleva, his mother, took advantage of the pause and said, "What we mean, dear, is that we want you to make something of yourself. It was nice of Cerlen Lentard to alter the official records of your discharge to `errant duties' rather than what was there originally."

"Yes, mother," Selcott said automatically. He glanced around the opulent dining table where his immediate family sat. Endron and Magdyna were ostensibly in discussion with their respective spouses and children. Keilaine ate her meal in silence but Selcott knew that she was hanging on every word uttered at his end of the table. It was fortunate that their cousins, uncles and aunts were not around to heighten his embarrassment.

Elleva continued, "After the fiasco with the Expatritors and their apprenticeships, it was all we could do to get you into their organisation. Now that's gone, so you must understand that it puts your father and I in a very difficult position."

"Yes, mother." Selcott frowned slightly. Expatritor apprenticeships had always differed from that of other crafts; they accepted only those who could claim that a family member, past or present, had served as a fully-fledged Expatritor. They were also the only organisation to demand payment from their apprentices in addition to their service. Martreas had initiated moves to quell this practice, to bring the Expatritors in line with the guilds and craftsmen of Guithannan whose apprentices paid with only their service. For whatever reason, he had failed.

"What are we to do with you?" Elleva sighed and took a thoughtful mouthful of wine. As soon as she placed the goblet back on the table, a nonplussed look crossed her face; there were no servants in this dining room. It was a part of the Wrienswing's private living quarters in the Palace where few, if any, servants were permitted. Martreas refilled his wife's goblet with wine.

"Perhaps we could send him to the university," Magdyna said.

Selcott wrinkled his mouth at that suggestion. "I have no desire to spend my days in a stuffy room with books and old men talking of nonsensical things," he said.

"I quite enjoyed my studies there."

"You were a teacher's pet," Selcott replied.

Mag shrugged and smiled. "Be that as it may, it has led me to the life I have now. I couldn't be happier." She finished with a knowing look to her husband, Lengeres. Selcott rolled his eyes at Keilaine and she grinned.

Endron, their eldest brother, put his fork down and said, "Father - what about a craft? Sel may never outgrow his ways but at least we may put some of his energies to something practical. Perhaps even creative."

"You're speaking as if I have no say in the matter," Selcott said.

"Have you ever proven to anyone that you deserve to have one?" Martreas asked pointedly.

"It is my life," Selcott said. "I will live it as I choose."

"No," Martreas said. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table, hands clasped. "It is not. Despite your every insistence, your full name includes the title of Prince. You are a Prince of Guithannan just as I am its King and your mother, the Queen." Martreas gestured around the intimate dining room, its gilded edges and lavish tapestries disguising the indestructible Guithannite beneath. The entire family fell silent. "This, all of this exists by virtue of the trust placed in this family by the people of Guithannan and its surrounding lands. This carpet is not ours, nor the cutlery or food. Even the clothes you wear. None of it is ours. It is the property of the people and we are here because we are responsible for their well-being, their safety and their futures."

"But you are the King!" Selcott said. "Guithannan is not ruled by its people or its representatives like Brookholm's Circle of Seven."

"Technically, that may well be true," Martreas conceded. "There may be monarchies elsewhere who rule with an absolute fist but that is none of my concern. It is not how I would ever rule this city and its lands. You know by now that I would rather us live as the rest of Guithannan lives, by the same decisions and laws. By whatever twist of fate that brought this family to rule Guithannan, I want our legacy to be treasured.

"Your life is not yours to live. Your life shall always be in service to the people of Guithannan, to the city."

"Maybe I should become a Dhagaram," Selcott said with measurable sullenness. His siblings chuckled.

"Do not be so foolish," Elleva said. Her motherly tone was at once chiding and loving. "You're too good to waste your life wandering Iacea with nothing but the clothes on your back."

Keilaine smiled and said, "He might learn to fight like a Dhagaram. Spirits know Selcott learned nothing from the Expatritors."

"Shut it!" Selcott answered back.

"No, you shut it!"

"Hush, the both of you," their mother said.

Selcott fell silent even as Keilaine visibly bit back another retort. She scratched her saexum's collar as she always did when they were having fun. They shared a look of mock anger as their father cleared his throat.

"Perhaps Keilaine is not so wrong," Martreas said.

"Father?" Endron said. He glanced at Anneth, his wife; she wordlessly returned his concern. Even Lengeres ventured a choked, "What?"

Martreas said nothing for a few moments as Selcott's family looked at each other in disarray. Selcott suddenly realised that his father had been hatching something ever since his private tutelage had concluded at age fifteen. For a time, he had apprenticed with an armourer but disliked the heat and the sheer effort. He followed that with a stint with Lengeres' business but apart from the trips to Brookholm and the towns in between, it was a dull time; Selcott had no head for numbers. An idle season or two followed, moping around the Palace while his family and friends were busy; even Keilaine was successful beyond her apprenticeship with her dress-designing and tailoring venture. Then, Selcott's apprenticeship with the Expatritors began.

"Father?" Keilaine said. "Do you mean for Sel to study the teachings of Dhagara?" Even Selcott had to admit to himself that he did not look forward to the prospect.

"No, no," Martreas replied, still somewhat thoughtful. "But you were right about something." He rubbed his wrist through his sleeve; his saexum rested in a skin-tight bracelet of a similar construction to his children's collars - they had grown and expanded with Selcott and his siblings while never constricting them. Sometimes, however, they itched for no apparent reason. Selcott rubbed his neck, dreading his father's next words.

"What is it?"

Martreas pushed aside his gilt-edged plate and said, "We had hoped for the Expatritors to have trained Selcott but obviously that is now impossible. We have only one other alternative. The Guithannan army."

Selcott's stomach churned. His parents made decisions far too quickly, in his opinion. Or perhaps they had already planned for this. "Is this my life in service?" he said with a grain of sarcasm.

"Yes," his father said. "It is no secret to Brookholm, Ryneusk or Denosto that none of the heirs to Guithannan have served in the military." He waved away the beginnings of Endron's protest. "I know, I know - you have all had the finest tutelage that we could afford. But in the eyes of the east and the north, private lessons in fencing or archery mean nothing. Learning of warfare through history - nothing!" Martreas sighed. "Keilaine might wield a sword to match the finest in the Royal Guard but I would not put her in the midst of battle."

"And me?" Selcott said.

Elleva looked at Martreas. He flicked his eyes to her for a moment and then said, "When I am gone, your mother will be on her own. And when she is gone, Magdyna will take her place. She will need you - all of you - to run Guithannan." Martreas' gaze bore directly at Selcott. "I do not wish for your cousins to be involved here. There must be someone to lead the army should Guithannan ever go to war. Even with the assistance of Endron and Laine, Maggie cannot oversee everything. Selcott, you must be the one to lead the military. This is your service to Guithannan."

No one said a thing. Selcott dared not break the silence. He glanced around the room, suddenly realising that their parts in the future of Guithannan had been planned long before their births. Such was the way of royal families. Did Magdyna and Endron do the same with their children? Selcott felt a small pang of jealousy as he watched his nephews and nieces continue eating, oblivious to the conversation. Their lives were still so simple.

"All right." Selcott felt the words come out of his mouth before he realised it. "All right."

The mid-morning bustle of Guithannan slowed Selcott's stride to a virtual halt. He shifted his rucksack over his shoulder, skin beginning to rub raw through his thin shirt. He was carrying only his hastily packed essential belongings; hopefully the rest of his gear would follow soon.

Selcott craned his neck over citizens heading towards their places of businesses or the morning market. The crowd thinned and he resumed wending his way towards the main Guithannan army barracks situated near the western end of the city.

As he wandered towards the compound with no particular time-frame in mind, he felt someone approach from behind. Unsure of whether he was about to be pick-pocketed, Selcott slid a hand over his dagger stashed behind his belt.

A familiar voice said, "Isn't the morning lovely for a stroll?"

Selcott turned. It was Cerlen Lentard, his former captain in the Expatritors and the Master of Apprentices. "Yes," he replied.

Captain Lentard wore nothing to denote his position within the Expatritors apart from the small stitching on the sleeve of his nondescript shirt and the plain sword he wore at his side. Selcott could not even identify where the Expatritor's saexum was located; it was not surprising as many people did not display their saexum as publicly as the Wrienswing heirs did with their collars.

The captain walked alongside Selcott for several wordless seconds. Then, he said, "You could have made something of yourself with the Expatritors, Selcott."

"I never really cared, Lentard," Selcott said coolly. If his tone bothered his former superior, Cerlen Lentard did not show it.

"Nevertheless," Captain Lentard said, "There are not many Guithannans who can claim ancestral links to the Expatritors - much less, royal Expatritor links."

Selcott said nothing. He remembered his father's mission to reform Expatritor apprenticeships - in addition to demanding payment as well as service, there was the ancestor rule. As far as Selcott knew, no one from his father's or mother's family had ever been an Expatritor.

As if reading his mind, Lentard said, "You ruined a unique opportunity for yourself, Selcott." His authoritative voice, so at ease with commanding novices, almost caused Selcott to miss a step. "I feel I have always treated you with the respect you deserved, your lineage aside. I'm simply disappointed."

At that, Selcott stopped in the middle of the street and turned to face Lentard. The crowd flowed around them seamlessly. "What do you want from me?" Selcott asked. He almost glared at his former captain. "I am no longer an Expatritor novice."

"I thought that you would have been able to recognise the chance you had within the ranks of the Expatritors," Cerlen said calmly. "I suppose I am here to give you some friendly advice. Think of it as my last act as your commanding officer."

"What is it?"

Cerlen's hard face took a grim expression. "Your posting with the Guithannan army may be the final apprenticeship open to you, Selcott. You're closing in on your twentieth spring - younger novices, fifteen and sixteen, would have the edge on you at most guilds." The Expatritor paused and shot Selcott a tight smile. "Be careful, Selcott. Spirits guide you."

Selcott nodded slowly as if digesting the words. Cerlen had spent his entire life with the Expatritors - what did he know of anything outside the order? "Thank you for your concern, Lentard."

"You are welcome, Selcott." Cerlen saluted casually and began to turn away. "Farewell."

Selcott waved back amicably while holding back a grimace. "Farewell." For a moment, he watched his former commanding officer head back down the street they had walked. Lentard's words quickly dissipating, Selcott continued on towards the army compound.

He hoped the barracks weren't too far for Delmorgan to visit. Perhaps even Keilaine would as well - and if she ever came by, so would Cassine, her closest friend. Selcott smiled with the thoughts of his friends visiting and Captain Lentard's words were forgotten.

Cerlen nodded to the sharp salutes of the Expatritors guarding the gate to their compound. As he passed by, they returned to their posts, watchful gazes on the street and random passers-by. Cerlen knew by name almost all of the Expatritors ordained in the last seven years from his time as the Master of Apprentices. Although he occasionally yearned for field-duty, he did not miss the constant risk of being skewered by a Zhandouran sword - or any other of their strange contraptions. Besides, the Master of Apprentices held a position of power and respect that no field-Expatritor could hope to achieve, no matter how many battles were fought and won.

The cool late spring air billowed his loose shirt; Cerlen almost regretted having to change into Expatritor armour. Civilian clothes had made a welcome change in attire. He sighed inaudibly and continued to the keep.

It was fortunate that Guithannan had provided a compound that was so well suited for the Expatritor's base of operations in the city. Expatritors in the eastern city of Brookholm may well possess the Caelestus that figured so prominently in Expatritor - and Brookholm - history but as with the entire city of Guithannan, the Expatritor structures here were impervious. From the high walls to the fortifications and keep-like structure, the compound was perfect for military purposes. Cerlen could not quite recall why the Guithannan army did not occupy it, however, the more he pondered the matter, the surer he was of a struggle that had taken place many years ago for this particular piece of territory. More's the better that the Expatritors owned it now.

He passed through the keep's unguarded portcullis and gate-house, footsteps suddenly echoing over the encroaching Guithannite. His eyes slowly adjusting to the dim interior, Cerlen ambled to the staircase that led to Signe DuFay's office of the Charge Minor - the highest commanding rank of the Expatritors in Guithannan. The current Charge was Ferrenus Raudolian in Brookholm and Cerlen knew that it irked Signe DuFay no end that such a despicable man was the absolute second-in-command of the Expatritors. Cerlen kept his opinion of both Signe and Ferrenus to himself - his respect of the offices they held far exceeded that of the respective persons - but even he was loathe to take orders from a Brookholmer, much less Ferrenus. The Saeculus - currently Karradros Osteyrus in Brookholm - was nothing more than a figurehead although he was the commander of all Expatritors.

Cerlen had once overheard mutterings in a small local tavern that Karradros' ineffectiveness stemmed from some family connection to the Brookholm Circle of Seven; it seemed all very sordid and Cerlen, with no patience for foreign politics, disregarded it all. Yet now, as he ascended the stairs to the commanding officers' rooms, he wished he were more knowledgeable about such things especially if he were to aspire to things greater than a Master of Apprentices of the Guithannian contingent.

Cerlen mounted the last step to the level that held the offices of the commanding Expatritors. It was an austere area of the keep, more so than even the barracks. He passed the sparsely occupied desks, captains filling out paperwork, novices assisting with the scribing. At the end of the open floor was Charge Minor DuFay's office. The door was closed and under the watch of a young Expatritor. The guard saluted Cerlen, who returned the gesture.

The young man opened the office's door slightly. "Sir. Captain Lentard is here."

"Send him in," Signe said from within.

"Very well." The guard opened the door fully and waved Cerlen inside.

"Thank you for coming," Signe said as Cerlen entered the sparse room. The walls were mostly bare, Guithannite exposed - apart from the scrolls, maps and other trappings of commanding the Expatritors, only a handful of small military souvenirs adorned the room and its shelves. Signe DuFay rose from behind his oak desk and rounded the room to shake Cerlen's hand. It was a cold, weak hand - one that had not wielded a sword in years.

"Not at all, Signe." Cerlen couldn't help but note that Signe seemed older than their last meeting, wizened, as if something other than the leadership of the Guithannan Expatritors weighed upon him. It had only been a day or two.

"I sent a novice to fetch you earlier this morning but no one could find you."

"I had a few errands to run in the city," Cerlen said calmly.

"Of course," Signe said with a smile. "Forgive me. I sometimes forget that we all have lives outside the Expatritor compound." He sat down and waved for Cerlen to do the same. "So, did your meeting go well?"

Cerlen hesitated, rubbed a finger on the wooden arm-rest of his chair. "It did not go as planned," he said. "I must also admit that I do not know how it was supposed to go."

"I see," Signe said. He steepled his fingers. "Were you offered an object to purchase?"

"No," Cerlen said. "Was I meant to purchase something? A trinket?"

Signe shook his head slowly. "Something else." He seemed about to say more but remained silent.

After an empty moment, Cerlen ventured, "I am not familiar with midnight meetings with strangers, Signe."

"I understand, Cerlen. I understand. But this was important - I could not trust this task to anyone else."

"Will another meeting be planned?" Cerlen asked. "Now that I know I must purchase this object for you, I can broach the subject more succintly."

"Yes," Signe said. "But perhaps I will do this myself." He changed his tone of voice immediately. "What of the third division? What of their apprentices?"

Cerlen recalled what he could of that group before replying. "They are fast learners. There should be a greater than average retention come their final testing."

"Excellent news. Excellent news," Signe said. "That, coupled with the return of the second division from patrol duties should bolster our forces considerably."

"I see," Cerlen said. He did not dare enquire further even though it was peculiar that the Charge Minor, particularly of late, was engrossed in numbers and battle-readiness. The city of Guithannan was protected on three sides by the sheer cliffs and crags of Stonepeak Mountains while the main gate opened to a winding road exposed to any sort of bombardment from the city's battlements. Surrounding towns and villages were well-protected by local militia under the command of the Guithannan army; in any case, bandits were rare and quickly dealt with by Expatritor and army alike. Did Signe perceive a threat that was not obvious to Cerlen? Perhaps his post as Master of Apprentices kept him from certain information. Yet, it was inconceivable that Brookholm, the closest major city, would invade Guithannan and the settlements under its rule. Even using The Highway, Brookholmer troops would have to march inland from the coast for almost four weeks.

The thoughts of improbable conflict disturbed Cerlen. He had a sudden urge to go for a walk through the city again. "If that is all, Charge Minor?"

Signe nodded. "You have done well, Captain. Please resume your normal duties - I will contact you if there is anything else I especially and discreetly need."

Cerlen stood and saluted. Signe returned the salute and Cerlen crisply turned on his heel and left.

Chapter Three

"Oh, stay still!"

Keilaine frowned as Cassine, her lifelong friend, continued fidgeting in her seat. "It's impossible to pin the collar properly if you keep moving!"

"I'm sorry, Laine," Cassine said. "The fabric itches."

"I know, I know. Only a few more to go." Keilaine's harsh tone belied the gratitude she had for Cassine, who took time away from her own family's business to help Keilaine prepare the prototype design for a new blouse. She wasn't even certain that this piece was going to be popular - the fashion trend seemed to be heading for flash and fancy. Keilaine's new ideas were more suited to an older era - simple but elegant. This one in particular was more form-fitting than the current styles. She hoped it would work.

"There, finished," she said as she took a step back to survey Cassine.

"Can I take it off now?"

"Yes. Carefully."

"Of course!" Cassine leapt off the stool and retreated behind a lacy privacy divider. "Have you spoken to Selcott about his new apprenticeship?"

Keilaine caught herself staring out the window into the bright morning sunshine. "Not lately. I suppose he is enjoying it, otherwise I'd hear no end of complaints, no end of couriered messages."

Cassine laughed from behind the screen and Keilaine smiled. She knew that her best friend had a soft spot for Selcott and anything remotely amusing he did was a great source of entertainment for Cassine. If the two married, it would be a great boon to Cassine's family who were of only minor nobility - the Rosdeney estate was not only tiny compared to others, it was situated near the forest of Shadowdeep - problematic with its wild creatures and proximity to the borders with Eldaros.

"I still can't believe he was kicked out of the Expatritors," Cassine called out.

"Why not?" Keilaine asked. Of all people, Cassine should not have been surprised. She knew more of Selcott and Delmorgan's exploits than even Martreas and Elleva.

"I guess," Cassine said, trailing her voice. She emerged from behind the screen wearing her own dress and the new blouse laid carefully across her hands. She placed it on a large oak table in the middle of the studio.

"Thank you," Keilaine said as Cassine joined her by the black window-sill. Unlike the rest of the room, the window-sills had not been painted - not that it mattered since paint always seemed to chip and peel from the Guithannite within days.

From this level within the Palace, they could see across the southern portion of the city. Although most of the smaller structures were obscured, the soaring towers and walkways were brilliant in the morning sun. Even though the Guithannite was as black as night, it still seemed to glow, to shine of its own accord. Many of the higher walkways and arches were now privately owned - the lower walkways had been designated public property long ago - but Keilaine held no fascination with them unlike her younger brother.

"Do you think anything could knock those down?" Cassine said, almost to herself.

"No," Keilaine said, "but I wouldn't want to cross any of those tower-to-tower bridges in a high wind."

"Didn't Valedros take you on a tour once?" Cassine asked, referring to one of the Expatritors assigned to Palace guard-duty.

"He did!" Keilaine said with not a little indignation. "He promised that we weren't to cross any walkways higher than a couple stories but before I knew it, we were near level with the spire on the Miner's Guild tower!" Keilaine smiled despite herself. "He was so pleased with himself too!"

Cassine giggled. "You must have had fun though. Don't deny it!"

Keilaine glanced at her friend and grinned. "I did. We did." Although Valedros could be exasperating at times, it was the same mischief that set him apart from the other Expatritors assigned to Palace guard-duty. Martreas, Keilaine's father, often spoke of the Expatritors' detail of the Palace in wary tones as if he were unsure of their purpose; afterall, the Palace was guarded by the Guithannan Army as well as specially trained Royal guards. Valedros was different, somehow.

"Have you beaten him at chess yet?" Cassine asked archly.

Keilaine grinned at her best friend. "No, but he says I'm getting better. It's just a game."

"I heard that the Expatritors use chess to train in warfare."

"Oh, really? Who told you that?"

"I don't remember," Cassine said with a shrug. "It would explain why Valedros is so good."

"He's not that good," Keilaine replied, smirking. "I'll beat him next time."

A raised voice sounded outside the room. Suddenly, the door to the make-shift studio opened. A fully-armoured Expatritor entered, immediately followed by a Royal Guard and Guithannan Army Brand. Keilaine and Cassine started to their feet. Keilaine frowned in what she hoped was a most haughtily regal expression.

"Apologies, my ladies," the Royal Guard said with a quick salute. He glared at the Expatritor, his cerulean royal tabard contrasting starkly with the Expatritor's virtually nondescript armour; the Expatritors' breastplate was etched with a stylised capital `E' over two crossed swords.

"We could not stop him," the Brand added. "Not without..."

Keilaine nodded then turned her attention to the Expatritor. "What is the meaning of this, Expatritor?" She did not recognise him with his helm on.

He seemed to scan the room, then said, "Nothing, Princess. This room is not what I was seeking." The voice was not Valedros' - perhaps it was one of the new Expatritors.

"This is unacceptable, Expatritor," Keilaine stated flatly. "I will have words with your superior about this intrusion. Remove your helm. What is your name?"

The Expatritor did not move for several long seconds. Keilaine felt her palms grow sweaty. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cassine start to fidget.

"Answer the Princess," the Royal Guard commanded.

"No." The Expatritor turned on his heel and began walking towards the door. Both the Royal Guard and the Brand moved to block his way.

The Expatritor's hand moved to his sheathed sword. The Guard and Brand glanced at Keilaine for instruction, hands also wavering over their weapons. Keilaine's mind raced - she had no idea if the Expatritor would indeed shed blood within the Palace but perhaps the two soldiers could subdue the Expatritor together. It was possible. But what if they could not?

Consequences playing out in her imagination at impossible speed, Keilaine finally had to shake her head. Only a split second had passed but it had seemed like minutes, hours. The Royal guard and army Brand parted, allowing the Expatritor to leave the room without incident and without a word. Cassine sighed and collapsed in a chair.

"My Lady?"

Keilaine resisted the urge to pout. She was no longer a child, she was one of the heirs to Guithannan. "Brand, please follow that Expatritor and find out who he is." The Brand saluted quickly and sprang outside. "Guard, please file an incident report with your Captain. The Expatritor's intrusion was not proper or warranted."

"Yes, your Highness," the Royal Guard said with a nod. "It will not happen again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Keilaine said lightly. "They are Expatritors."

The Guard bowed slightly. "Yes, Highness."

"Thank you, you may go. Please come back with your report so I may put my seal on the document."

"Yes, Princess. Of course." The guard bowed again and left the room, closing the door after him. Keilaine retired to a chair next to Cassine, brooding about the boldness of the Expatritors lately.

"So," Cassine said, "that was pleasant."

Keilaine looked at her friend and she returned her wry smile. It was hard to believe that Valedros willingly kept such company. For some reason, an ache in Keilaine's stomach bloomed the second she imagined that Valedros could become as cold as the other Expatritors. That would be truly unacceptable.

Selcott slipped in the mud again, dropping to his knees with a wet slap. A plume of sludge slopped over his legs and Selcott sighed slowly.

"Wrienswing! Get up!" The Swordmaster's stern voice was irresistable. Atreni Warson had supposedly been trained by Expatritors but after leaving their service, had spent some time in the Arjezeh with the Zhandoura; their curious martial arts counterbalanced the Expatritors' heavy-handed approach. As far as Selcott was concerned, the Swordmaster's ways were as harsh as his upbringing suggested.

Almost everyone in the fallow field glanced in Selcott's direction, their faces a mix of curiosity and pity. He ignored them as he regained his footing; he had never been forced to train in mud during his time with the Expatritors but his Lance-Leader, Eithon Ostyr, seemed to revel in devising more gruelling tests with each session. The fact that other Lances as well as the Swordmaster had joined them for this particular exercise in mud was not heartening to Selcott in the slightest.

Their attention returned to Atreni Warson who stood at the eastern edge of the field, leading them in basic sword techniques. Selcott resumed his combat-ready stance and slicked the mud off his wooden practice-sword. The drills began again in earnest.

Selcott's initial joining of the Guithannan army had been low-key, perhaps even a non-event. He was the only novice in his Lance - the others being Brands - but it was normal practice in the regular army for novices to be placed on their own so that their Lance-Leaders could be more closely involved with their training. If Selcott passed the final assessment, he would then become a Brand under Eithon's command.

In his estimation, Selcott completed the final movements of the drill perfectly, coping with the mud under his boots with diligent calm. Eithon's movements, however, were as flawless as Atreni Warson's; the only other person in Selcott's Lance who was comparable was Ashnur, the Dhagaram. As Warson began a new drill - one that concentrated on high, powerful lops - Selcott could not help but wonder why a Dhagaram would join the army. He was a follower of Dhagara, an itinerant scholar who lived hundreds of years ago. Perhaps the army had hired him rather than Ashnur coming to them - Dhagara's Way also involved a great deal of armed and unarmed combat techniques.

Selcott caught himself staring at Ashnur, trying to ascertain where the Dhagaram kept his saexum, instead of following Warson's lead. To the bemused glimpses of his fellow trainees, Selcott could only clumsily imitate the Swordmaster's drill. Silently, he berated himself. He hated being the fool.

At noon, the Lance-Leaders called a break for lunch. Selcott's muscles ached, his legs burned from sloshing through mud all morning. They had had to pack their rucksacks for the day's trip as there were no fallow fields available to them within the Guithannan city walls. The fifty or so novices, Brands and Lances headed to the edge of the field where their rations and water rested.

"Selcott!" Eithon barked.

"Yes, Lance-Leader?" Selcott managed to scramble to his superior's side, almost tripping over the mud.

"Collect the practice swords used by our Lance. We need them to be cleaned for the afternoon session."

"Yes, sir," Selcott said. He tried to keep his tone even, something learned from the Expatritors.

"Then, you need to prepare the staves," Eithon ordered. "Make sure they are not cracked or damaged in any way."

"Yes, sir," Selcott repeated. Eithon continued towards their supplies, apparently with nothing more to say. Selcott added, "Will there be someone to help me? I won't be able to have lunch and get all of that done in time."

Eithon glared at Selcott over his shoulder, as if the mere effort of doing so was offensive. "You will complete your tasks before eating lunch, novice. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir." This time, Selcott could not keep the sullenness from his voice. Expatritor novice or Guithannan army, some things did not change.

As he wandered the area where his Lance had been training, Selcott couldn't help but notice that everyone in the other Lances were carrying their own equipment - some were already wiping them down by the crude wooden fence and eating their meals. Selcott sighed as he grabbed another practice sword discarded in the mud. His fingers squirmed across the slimy oak.

It took the better part of half an hour to collect the weapons, trudge to the stream, draw water and then wipe down the practice swords. All the while, his Lance-mates watched him - they were all Guithannian apart from Jabuj, whom Selcott suspected was part Zhandouran. Their gazes emanated the group attitude that they were still undecided about Selcott. The only exception was Ashnur, who was slightly older than their Lance-Leader. But there was a calm stoicness about Ashnur; even as the rest of the Brands kept an eye on him, it seemed that Ashnur had already made up his mind about Selcott. Selcott just didn't know what it was.

By the time Selcott finished his duties and neatly stacked the weapons by the fence for easy retrieval, Eithon Ostyr called for the other Lances to resume the session. Atreni Warson nodded and led the way back into the muddy field. The Brands and Lance-Leaders followed the Swordmaster, leaving Selcott with his rucksack half-open and lunch still uneaten.

"Spirits," he muttered.

"On yer feet, Selcott!" said Gording, one of the Brands in his Lance. "No time for eating!" He leapt over the fence and shared a chuckle with the rest of their Lance.

Selcott frowned at them, refusing to scowl in anger. As he continued rummaging through his pack for his lunch, he felt a light touch on his shoulder.

"Hurry, Selcott," Ashnur said with a quiet voice.

"I'm hungry!" Selcott replied.

Ashnur stopped and turned to face him. "Selcott, this is a test - a very simple one by Eithon's standards. You know what you must do."

Selcott shrugged. He found his bread, cheese and meat. "What good is it if I faint from hunger?"

"What good is it to be punished for something so simple?" Ashnur answered.

The smell of the food set Selcott salivating. He had had nothing to eat but porridge that morning. "I don't care." Selcott stuffed a hunk of bread into his mouth, followed by some smoked meat.

Eithon had noticed the exchange between Selcott and Ashnur and began slogging back to the edge of the field. "Novice! What are you doing?"

Selcott replied, his words garbled by the food. Ashnur bowed his head slightly and rejoined the others who had already begun the new exercise. Their Lance-Leader stormed up to Selcott and repeated, "What are you doing?"

"I'm eating! What does it look like?"

With a whip of his gauntleted fist, Eithon knocked the rest of the bread from Selcott's hand. Then, he tossed the block of cheese and smoked meat onto the ground next to the bread. Before Selcott could react, Eithon slammed a boot into Selcott's lunch, grinding it into the mud and dirt.

"Get back into the field and continue the drills."

Selcott rocked back onto his heels for a moment, stunned by Eithon Ostyr's audacity. Then, he said, "You're a bastard - that was my lunch!"

"This is my training session. You're a lazy leech." Eithon stepped closer, leather armour creaking. "Get back out there. Now."

"Damn you and your whore mother!" Selcott spat out. "You can't deny me food! Damn your training!"

Eithon's voice grated, "Get back out there or spend the rest of Nava on yard-duty."

Selcott didn't move. He was hungry, tired and certainly wasn't in the mood to comply with orders from anybody. Seeing his defiance, Eithon said, "You are under my command, Novice Selcott Wrienswing. I have the discretion to release you from your service to the Guithannan Army and while that may seem like a grand idea to you, I doubt that your father would agree with that sentiment. Now, you have a decision to make - get back in the field with your sword in hand or get out of my sight."

He knew of Selcott's dilemma, of course - he had probably been informed by their Captain, Borril Janssen. And it hadn't taken long for the rest of the Lance to realise that Selcott was indeed the youngest of the Wrienswing brood. As much as he wanted to leave, to take up a simple trade, Selcott knew that there was nothing for him to take up - he had squandered all of his past opportunities with Lengeres, the guild of blacksmiths, the Expatritors. And despite all of his bluster and backchat to authority figures, Selcott had no desire to be the most famous of the Wrienswings - the famous failure.

With a grimace - there was no way that Eithon would get his way without Selcott letting him know how he felt - he snatched a practice sword from the make-shift rack and stalked onto the field. Eithon wordlessly followed him and they dropped into step with the muddy drills. For the first time that day, Selcott practised his bladework next to Eithon; he could almost feel the anger emanate from his Lance-Leader's swipes through empty air.

When Selcott had the chance, he glanced at Eithon and the rest of his Lance; even though he knew it was rude, Selcott noted that some of their saexum were visible. From his cursory examination, he guessed that none were gemstones of any real value - perhaps he had learned something from his time apprenticed with Lengeres' business. The majority were plain unassuming rocks that could have been found in a riverbed and for all Selcott knew of his fellow soldiers, they probably were. As Selcott stepped through the final phases of the two-handed sword drill, he felt ever more conscious of the ruby saexum hugging his neck in its Audonian-crafted collar. It was brazen, a proclamation to everyone who met the Wrienswing children that even though they eschewed titles, they were not simply nobility, they were royalty. Everyone knew that any rock or stone could become as fine a saexum as any other but people being what they were, from whichever city-state, gems were still sought after and revered.

The afternoon ended with simple sparring against one another with quarterstaffs. Due to his proximity, Selcott ended up pairing with Eithon - he showed no reaction or emotion as they began the exercise. Strike, block, repeat. The crackle of oak against oak ringing across the field was strangely calming. And even with Selcott's sluggishness in the mud, it was overly basic - something easy, something to relax over. Strike, block, repeat. Strike, block, repeat.

Then, Eithon's staff smacked Selcott's hand. He inadvertently yelped and let go of his weapon to tend to his hand.

"Careful!" Selcott said, gripping his sore knuckles with his other hand.

"You were being complacent," Eithon said. He seemed more curious than anything. "Never relinquish your weapon, Selcott."

"Right!" Selcott said sarcastically. "I'll remember that the next time you try to break all the bones in my hand." In actuality it was uninjured - Eithon had administered nothing more than a light rap.

"Pick up your staff."

Selcott sighed audibly and retrieved his staff from the mud. Eithon added, "I cannot emphasise how important it is that you hold onto your weapon in a battle. If you lose it, you will have to fight with your hands and feet - and you are no Dhagaram."

"Right." Selcott swung his staff at Eithon in the spirit of the sparring drill. The Lance-Leader parried it effortlessly then somehow disposed of Selcott's weapon and tripped him, all in a single step, a split-second. Selcott fell awkwardly into the mud, only realising what had happened when he was already on his way down. As his tunic became soaked and the chill crept onto his skin, Eithon leaned over him and offered a hand.

He said softly, "One day, you will thank me for this."

Selcott grunted in reply as he stood up. Eithon studied him for a moment and Selcott briefly wondered if the Lance-Leader were examining the ruby resting against his neck. No, Eithon had unspoken thoughts, perhaps something about royalty's place in the army.

Instead, Eithon called over his shoulder, "Let's pack it up!" Selcott felt privately relieved that his Lance-Leader's attention had been turned away. Atreni Warson nodded and repeated the suggestion as a booming command; the rest of the Brands, novices and Lance-Leaders began trudging out of the field.

Selcott found himself walking alongside Ashnur, whose clothes were still amazingly pristine. The splatters of mud from the weapons being swung around seemed to have actually avoided him.

"How goes it, Selcott?" Ashnur asked as they neared the edge of the field.

"Well, all things considered," Selcott replied. The reminder about the fate of his lunch still bothered him.

Ashnur nodded, as if he could read Selcott's mind - then again, he was a Dhagaram so perhaps Ashnur could read his mind. "Do not let Eithon's way disturb you. This was your first training excursion, was it not?"

"Yes."

"Eithon seems a difficult Lance-Leader at first. These excursions are his method of toughening those under his command and I have no doubt that Captain Janssen would not say a word against it."

"Would he have ordered this training session?" Selcott asked as they retrieved their rucksacks.

"Perhaps," Ashnur said. "More likely, that when Borril Janssen was Eithon's Lance-Leader and Eithon was a novice, Janssen had used this very training drill. And Captain Janssen had probably experienced it when he was a novice. And so on."

"I understand," Selcott said. "But was destroying my lunch really necessary?"

Ashnur shrugged, a curious smile crossing his face. "I do not know. But you have studied history, no? Has Guithannan ever fallen to invaders? Has the Guithannan Army ever failed to protect the city?"

It was a rhetorical question which Selcott, and every other Guithannian knew the answer to. Guithannan, ever since its discovery by Brookholmer pioneers, had never been successfully besieged. Even though the Guithannite was indestructible and the surrounding terrain was impassable, the walls still had to be manned by the Guithannian army. Every would-be conqueror of Guithannan presumed that their supplies would be wholly consumed and while this was partly true, the wells and fields inside the walls always provided enough sustenance for the defenders, as long as they were rationed sparingly.

As Selcott pondered on Guithannan's history learned years ago, Eithon ordered his Lance together, as did other Lance-Leaders with their own Lances. They formed up in double-file, rucksacks on their backs, practice weapons stowed away.

Swordmaster Warson was nowhere to be seen - he had probably already ridden back to the city on his horse. Technically, Atreni Warson had been the highest ranking officer so now it fell to one of the Lance-Leaders to give the order to march. As if by instinct, everyone turned to Lance-Leader Ostyr.

"Lances!" Eithon yelled. "Single-time, march!"

The miniature division moved out in unison along the packed-dirt road in time with Eithon's marching chant. Their boots were a rolling thud that echoed across the land. At least for Selcott, this part of being in the Guithannan Army was no different to the Expatritors. With the sun edging closer to the western horizon, they would probably reach the outer settlements at dusk and arrive in the city proper at night. Selcott heaved his pack into a more comfortable position for the long hike back.

After a minute or two, Eithon stopped calling the march tempo, satisfied with the pace they were setting. Soon after, spontaneous conversation broke out amongst the Brands - something which would normally be punishable if they were stalking an enemy. Selcott added nothing to the various conversations as his comrades spoke about the greatest taverns, the comeliest bar-wenches, the tastiest roasts.

"Selcott?"

He turned his head and nodded at Ashnur. "I'm fine," Selcott responded. "A little hungry."

"I know." Ashnur produced a small buttered bread roll and handed it to Selcott. He said, "This is from Eithon. Don't say anything; he doesn't want you to know it's from him. He wants you to have it."

"Eithon?" Selcott said in a hush. "But, why?"

Ashnur smiled wryly. "He's not a bad person, Selcott. He is your Lance-Leader and he is responsible for your training. Have you ever had a tutor or mentor whose methods you did not understand, who may have seemed cruel?"

Selcott didn't answer at first. He knew exactly what Ashnur was referring to. The private tutors hired to educate the Wrienswing heirs had often been enigmatic in their methods, particularly in the martial arts. It was never until much later that things became obvious. "Are you saying that Eithon is being a donkey's arse in order to teach me a lesson?"

"At the very least, you won't forget the day you missed your midday meal," Ashnur said. "If we are ever sent to war, I expect we will miss many meals. You'll remember today and know that you'll get by without it."

"I suppose." Selcott shrugged and devoured the small roll in seconds. "Thank you."

"Thank Eithon," Ashnur said. "But you can't, not today."

Selcott smiled. They marched on, passing the outlying farms that dotted the foothills around Guithannan. The Stonepeak Ranges surrounded them in almost every direction - only to the east did the land soften as it descended to the more forgiving plains and eventually, the eastern coast of Iacea. Selcott sometimes missed the travelling that was available to him when he worked for Magdyna's husband, Lengeres - his business contacts were mainly in Guithannan and the coastal city of Brookholm but it was the occasional long-haul to Denosto, Ryneusk or Eldaros that made Selcott look longingly over his shoulder. While Brookholm, Guithannan and the southern Thaellan settlements were more alike than dissimilar - their shared heritage assured that forever - the northern city-states were fascinating and sometimes weird by comparison. There was something to be said about the forest of Shadowdeep that enshrouded Eldaros and shielded the north with folktales born from its otherworldiness.

"Missing something?" Ashnur asked.

Selcott grunted uncommittedly. He changed the subject. "You probably found today's drills easy."

Now it was Ashnur's turn to respond neutrally. "I have learned much from my time in the Guithannan Army."

"But Dhagaram learn Dhagara's Way, don't they?"

Ashnur nodded slightly. "That is true."

"So," Selcott said, "you would have already known everything we did today."

"Some of it," Ashnur replied with a wave of his palm. "Dhagara's Way is changed from person to person."

"But Dhagara's Way is Dhagara's Way," Selcott said. "Even if it may only be the truncated version, it is written down for everyone to read."

Ashnur nodded as they plodded onwards. "That is true but Dhagara's Way is ephemeral, flexible like the reed in the river. It stays rooted and keeps a solid base but bends with the tide and flow, the circumstances."

"And the fighting?" Selcott smiled; he knew he was pushing the issue.

Ashnur said nothing for a moment and let the stomp of boots and the occasional quiet chatter wash over them. Their march was beginning the gradual ascent to the pass through the Stonepeaks that Guithannan effectively blocked. Selcott could feel his legs and feet straining to keep the pace.

"Combat is a part of Dhagara's Way," Ashnur said. "Even in the shortest extracts of his writings, there are mentions of his technique - always enough to replicate some aspect of it."

"Do you think you could handle an Expatritor with your bare hands?" Selcott said. "Or would you need a weapon?" At this, Ashnur raised an eyebrow. Even Selcott was not sure if his own question was intended to mock the Dhagaram.

"Perhaps," Ashnur said. "I have never had to confront a trained warrior without a weapon. Why are you so curious about Dhagara's Way?"

"I just find it strange for you to be in the Guithannan Army," Selcott said. "Shouldn't you be wandering Iacea and spreading the teachings of Dhagara?"

Ashnur grinned. "I have found that texts of Dhagara's teachings have already been spread. Everywhere I've been, Dhagara's Way has preceded me."

Selcott glanced at the Dhagaram quizzically. "Exactly where have you been?" Ashnur could not have been that much older than him, certainly no older than Magdyna or Endron.

"Guithannan, of course. I was born here. I have travelled to most of the Thaellan settlements to the south, the city-states to the north - Ryneusk, Denosto and Eldaros. I have also ventured into the Arjezeh wasteland and lived for a short while in Arjezeh city."

"You've been to Arjezeh?" Selcott asked incredulously. "What is it like? Is everyone Zhandouran? Is there water? How many people live there, in the desert?"

With a slight chuckle, Ashnur said, "It is an amazing city, much larger than Brookholm and Guithannan put together. Different - while Guithannan is the city of stone, Arjezeh City is like the jewel of the desert wasteland. There is plenty of water underneath the city and yes, there are many Zhandoura. Most still live traditionally in the wasteland but almost all come back to Arjezeh from time to time."

"And beyond the Arjezeh?"

"I have not been further west," Ashnur said. "When I lived in Arjezeh city, I studied some of the maps and history of the western states. I do not know how accurate they were but even they had some records of Dhagara."

"And you came back to Guithannan."

"Yes. Despite my own aspirations, I still needed cirrens to live, just like any other person. I had no trade."

"You can fight."

"That is true," Ashnur said with a quick nod. "That is why I joined the Guithannan Army. I have no love for the Expatritors. You may be aware of the troubles brewing in Brookholm with the Circle of Seven and the Expatritors."

Selcott shrugged. "Some. I haven't been well-informed as of late."

"Well, you would be well-informed of your father's attempts to curtail the Expatritors within Guithannan." Ashnur continued as Selcott raised his palms in mock defeat. "In my travels, I saw the effect the Expatritors had on the cities in which they had established themselves. And I become rather fond of the Zhandoura, whom the Expatritors despise." Selcott could not contest that statement. "So, I could not in all honesty join the Expatritors, even as an auxiliary."

"Are there Expatritors in Arjezeh?"

"No," Ashnur said. "Thankfully. As much as the Zhandoura revere Dhagara and follow his way, I doubt they could ever accept an Expatritor outpost in the Arjezeh - no Zhandoura could be that tolerant of their enemy. It would most certainly be considered to be an act of war."

Ashnur did not have to mention to Selcott the last time the Zhandoura went to war. According to Guithannian and Brookholmer history, they had invaded eastern Iacea six-hundred years ago, ransacking every Expatritor fortification, outpost and supply-waypoint without even so much as touching the citizens of each town. They followed the Lohate River until they reached Brookholm on the coast - there, they were stopped by the Circle of Seven. At the Circle's insistence, the Saeculus of the time issued a formal apology to the Zhandoura for the Expatritors' initial attack on Zhandoura in the Arjezeh. The Zhandoura promptly withdrew their forces and returned to the Arjezeh. Although there had been several skirmishes and incidents since then, the Zhandoura had never committed such an unstoppable army to a single purpose again. No one had ever dared them.

"Do you wish to return to the ranks of the Expatritors, Selcott?"

Caught musing, Selcott said nothing for a moment. Then, "What? No, of course not." Instinctively, he reached for his saexum's collar and rubbed the skin around it. "No. I would never go back to the Expatritors. Even if I did, they would not accept me."

"Then you would seek the teachings of Dhagara?" Ashnur asked.

"Perhaps. It was mentioned as a possibility. But is there any real purpose for someone like me to become a Dhagaram? How would I afford to eat or live in a house?"

"I am not the person to ask." Ashnur flicked a stone from his path with a quick turn of a boot. Selcott couldn't help but admire the Dhagaram's grace. "Your purpose," Ashnur continued, "is one that is inextricably tied to the city of Guithannan. Everyone knows this, everyone can see this but no one in the Guithannan Army will openly acknowledge it."

"Why not?" Selcott asked.

"It is because we do best when we are enjoying what we do. I do not know if you will enjoy your time in the Guithannan Army either as a soldier or a commander. Who knows? But perhaps you will find your purpose here, by some event or turn of phrase. Perhaps it is a necessary condition that you are here."

"Are you talking about fate? I don't think I believe in fate."

"I suppose it is partly about fate," Ashnur said. "But mostly about duty, your Highness. It would not be such a bad thing to see your time with the Guithannan Army as an opportunity. At the very least, you will be able to cross this particular vocation off your list. At best, you will discover your purpose - something that would have never been possible had you not joined."

Selcott shook his head slowly. He gazed at the road ahead, the afternoon quickly approaching dusk as the sun edged behind the Stonepeak Ranges. As he studied the orange sky, Selcott said, "It's not that simple."

Ashnur looked at Selcott as they marched around a bend in the road. He said, "You can't go back, can you? This is your last apprenticeship?"

"That's right." Selcott sighed. "And for all my training with the Expatritors and my training with the tutors my parents hired for me, I'm just a novice here."

"We must all start somewhere."

"I have started many things," Selcott said softly, almost to himself. "I have never finished any of them."

If Ashnur heard him, the Dhagaram did not show it. Shadows rippling across the fields, the Lances continued their march back to the city.

Chapter Four

The tower bell pealed and Selcott sighed with relief. He, along with his fellow novices, dropped their scrubbing brushes into the trough with oily splashes. Before the supervising cook could berate them for their laziness, Selcott led the novices out of the barracks' kitchen in an excited rush. They were finally free.

As the group of youths hurried into the bright afternoon sunshine and the compound's training grounds that also served as a courtyard, they bade each other farewell. It was the start of their weekend; there was no time to waste in the Guithannan Army barracks.

Selcott trotted through the main gates which were casually guarded by several Brands. While the fortifications of the army compound were not as imposing as the ones claimed by the Expatritors, Selcott had no doubt that they would serve their purpose, if necessary. Outside the gatehouse, a friendly shout caught his attention. "Selcott!"

He turned and Delmorgan was there with a grin across his face. "Hey, Del. Have you been waiting long?"

"No. Plenty to do, anyway." Selcott almost shrugged to himself. It was still strange for Delmorgan to feel that waiting on a busy street, people-watching, counted as an activity.

Delmorgan's family hailed from one of several settlements just outside the walls of Guithannan. His parents owned a small farm while his immediate family worked in various modest positions in Guithannan - a fact constantly enforced by Delmorgan's nondescript wrist-band saexum. Delmorgan's mother had previously been employed by the Palace kitchen, which was how Delmorgan and Selcott had met as children and grown up together.

"What's it like in there?" Delmorgan asked. "I've heard naught from you for weeks."

"It hasn't been that long," Selcott said. Then, he thought about it. He had actually been in receipt of several minor punishments that had been served in his spare time - most notably on Sixth and Seventhday, the days off from army-duty. "Okay," Selcott conceded, "maybe it has been a while."

"It's actually been weeks since you joined the army," Delmorgan said as they wended their way towards the Royal Palace.

Selcott smiled at his childhood friend and shrugged. "I suppose."

The street was bustling with more than the usual number of hawkers and make-shift stalls taking advantage of the glut of people with the next two days free - the Harvest Festival would be taking place soon and preparations were already underway. Most were Selcott and Delmorgan's age - novices and apprentices with their week's worth of cirrens burning holes in their pockets. Selcott had no interest in the overpriced trinkets and wares they passed but was still powerless to will a path through the citizenry.

As they approached the junction with the Royal Boulevard, Selcott became aware of the increased number of Guithannite towers, some of which seemed to touch the clouds. The ornate arches and walkways between them cast soft shadows on the ground and on smaller structures underneath. But as much as the view from below had inspired countless bards and artists, Selcott knew that the true beauty of Guithannan's soaring heights lay in the view from above, from one of the towers in question.

Delmorgan, who now spent most of his time assisting with the family animal-farm, unashamedly stared at the sights above them. Selcott understood the fascination - he still could not comprehend how everything stayed suspended in the air. One of his mathematics tutors had explained it to him - it had something to do with the indestructible nature of Guithannite - but Selcott would be damned if he could explain it to someone else.

"I always forget what it's like," Delmorgan said softly. Selcott almost couldn't hear him over the city's hubbub.

"Yeah," Selcott replied. "It will always be here for you to gawk at."

"Shut up." Delmorgan slowed his stride, taking in the sight. "I wonder if it will ever fall down."

Selcott's tutelage ensured knew the answer to this. "Guithannite is forever. The arches will never fall down, Del."

"I guess."

Ahead of them, where their street met the Royal Boulevard, was one of the largest towers in sight - it seemed almost like the hub of a wheel with arches and walkways protruding from it like spokes at all heights and angles. Green banners with blue stylised waterfalls woven into the fabric hung from various balconies of the tower - it was clearly the property of the Water Guild, the organisation charged by Lord Martreas to oversee the city's four public wells inside the walls.

As they approached the corner, Selcott frowned at the guilders loitering on the street at the base of the guild-tower. They were dressed in simple clothes but it was their stances and belligerent gazes that gave Selcott pause.

"What's wrong?" Delmorgan asked.

"Water guild," Selcott replied. He suddenly wished his collared ruby saexum were not so conspicuous. Even if they didn't recognise him, they would certainly recognise the signs of nobility.

"They're not a bad lot," Delmorgan said after quickly examining the guilders.

"Of course." Selcott was not as sure as he sounded. From everything he had been told, many water-guild members were either employed as inspectors or guards. The task of inspector was fraught with danger - they were required to check the integrity of each well on a regular basis as well as the quality of the water. Amongst other things, guards were hired to protect the wells, water-carriers and secondary stone cisterns from abuse and vandalism. Both occupations attracted the most unsavoury of citizens - those with nothing to lose or those who craved superficial power.

The throng of people wandering about seemed to thin as Selcott and Delmorgan crossed the junction and began walking up the Royal Boulevard. Selcott tried not to look in the direction of the Water Guild tower but as they drew clear, he heard a voice.

"I know that lad!"

Selcott instinctively glanced to his left and met the gaze of the men who had recognised him. "It's one of the Wrienswing boys!"

"Hey," another one yelled. He was dishevelled and long-haired. "Tell your father he can cram his edicts up a goat's behind!"

Wordlessly, Selcott turned back and continued walking. Delmorgan, looking very much the part of farm-boy, had ignored the guilder and they had ignored him in return.

"Wrienswing! Don't you dare walk away from me!"

At this, Selcott spun on his heel and affected his most fearsome expression. The guilders started back slightly, probably more surprised than anything else.

"Do you think it's wise to insult my family and I?" Selcott said.

"And what if I do, runt?" answered the dishevelled guilder.

"You lot might not be aware but the Water Guild still lies under the jurisdiction of the Royal Palace," Selcott stated flatly. "Mock me if you must but mock your King and your boss at your own peril."

"Our boss?" the guilder said incredulously. "Where was `our boss' when the Expatritors locked us down? Where was `our boss' when they harrassed us on the street? Where was `our boss' when they destroyed our water-lines and then had the gall to extort us for even more cirrens?" The guilder spat on the ground, barely missing Selcott's boots.

"Are you telling me that the Water Guild's own guard-force wasn't able to handle their own affairs?" Selcott said. "And yet you have the audacity to insult my family and demand aid in almost the same breath?" Without waiting for an answer, Selcott spun away from the guilders and stalked off.

The rough voice called out, "I will celebrate the day Wrienswings are shaken from the Royal Palace. Like bugs from a carpet!" The guilders laughed amongst themselves, drawing a couple inquisitive glances from passersby.

Selcott suppressed the bubble of rage building in his gut, surprising even himself with the way he felt about his family.

Delmorgan quietly asked, "Selcott?"

"I'm okay." They wended their way towards the Palace as Delmorgan gawked at the sights along the Royal Boulevard. The wide thoroughfare was unequalled even in Brookholm or Denosto - trees and all manner of shrubs lined the dedicated nature strip that divided the boulevard down the middle. The variety of flora was matched by the variety of merchants, traders and crafters that lined the road. There were even some whose services Selcott couldn't identify.

Some of the smaller buildings were used as residential dwellings although Selcott knew that there were several towers whose interiors had been well-adapted to condensed lodgings on both a temporary and permanent basis. Selcott could not understand the appeal of living in such cramped spaces, let alone on such a busy road as the Royal Boulevard.

As they entered what was widely considered to be the northern section of the city, the bustle of the Boulevard waned just as Selcott expected. The shops and stalls that were common in the centre of the city gave way to the ornate facades of residential structures. A few merchants still dotted the side of the road but it was clear from the clientele and the merchandise that they could hardly be called merchants or hawkers, rather businesses and enterprises.

"What's that?" Delmorgan said as he simultaneously nudged Selcott. He glanced in the direction his best friend indicated with a surreptitious nod of the head and saw an open hall full of nobles and upper-class citizenry dining upon their lunch at separate tables. Young liveried teenagers whizzed amongst the tables, serving, clearing plates and generally performing the duties of servants.

"It's a shop where they sell food," Selcott said. "But they also serve it you and you eat it in the shop."

"Amazing!" Delmorgan said.

"It's a fad, a glorified mess-hall."

Delmorgan said nothing, obviously fascinated by the concept.

The Royal Palace grounds were located against the northern walls of Guithannan; no one in the Royal Guard or Guithannan Army feared an attack from the north as the terrain, while not impassable like the east or west, was still quite inhospitable. Tales of the crestfallen who managed to scale the northern wall and disappear into the Stonepeak Ranges haunted Selcott whenever he stared over the northern battlements from the Palace. Despite the mystery about what lay beyond the walls, the residences of nobility and those wealthy enough to buy in congregated around the Palace. It irked Selcott no end that those he loved to mock most were those who resided closest to his home.

He brightened as a small group of youths their own age wandered onto the Boulevard in search of something. The group of young men and women were attired commonly; as they closed the distance between them, Selcott scanned them for visible saexum and didn't recognise any truly precious gems amongst the jewelled necklaces and rings.

"Excuse me," an attractive girl said.

"Yes?" Selcott and Delmorgan answered at the same time.

The girl grinned. "Can you tell us where the Steel Barrel tavern is?"

"Of course," Selcott said with a brief moment of selfishness because Delmorgan couldn't answer the question. "Head the way you're going and take the fourth street on the right. It should be on the next corner."

"My thanks," the girl said and Selcott smiled at her. The group continued, thanking Selcott and Delmorgan for their help. Then, the two continued onwards.

"They seemed out of place," Delmorgan said. "And since when did you know of the Steel Barrel tavern? Is it new?"

"Students," Selcott said. "And not really, the Steel Barrel isn't new, just renamed. Remember the Raven's Tail?"

"Wasn't there a kitchen fire and the bar-keep's staff died trying to escape?" Delmorgan asked.

"Yes." The tavern was partially underground but as no one could ascertain the true purpose of that structure, the choice to make it a tavern was as good as any. Selcott always thought it strange that there were no steps in the Guithannite to the lower level, only a slanted shaft in which the owners had placed a wooden ladder. In the unfortunate fire, the Guithannite shaft was, of course, unblemished but the ladder had disintegrated amongst the other furnishings. The staff were the last to leave and had no other escape route.

"Perhaps we should have told the girl about the previous owner's fire?" Delmorgan said.

"They're probably from the university. They're smart," Selcott said. "They'll be fine."

The University of Guithannan was located in the northern sector, in the vicinity of the Palace, though far removed from the Royal Boulevard. Martreas had resisted and, as far as Selcott knew, would always resist the pressure and threats from nobles living in the area to relocate the University faculty and students to another district. No doubt, Selcott thought, there was no small amount of interest from one or more noble families regarding the University's Guithannite towers and buildings. They were, by all accounts, as enchanting as the Royal Palace and its surrounds.

As the walls of the Royal compound appeared, Selcott could feel the stares of passersby upon himself and Delmorgan. He wasn't sure if they recognised him but was certain that their attire sharply distinguished them from everyone else on the Boulevard. Selcott's discomfort rose until they were within earshot of the Palace's gates which were guarded by Royal Guards in their distinctive cerulean tabards. He was home.

There were a couple new faces on duty but Selcott nodded to all of the guards in a casual friendly manner; while he was never a stickler for ceremony, the guards saluted him crisply with a singular rattle of their armour. Delmorgan chuckled to himself. Selcott passed through the gate with a wry smile.

The Royal Palace and its surrounds were not as fortified as the Expatritor or Guithannan Army compounds - the walls and gates were far less imposing but would still afford some level of defense unlike the University's open design. Within, however, the exquisite gardens contrasted starkly against the outer Guithannite walls. Selcott led Delmorgan through the patterned planters and beds that hinted at concentric half-circles centred around the Palace's northern edge. Royal Guardsmen watched them as well as the other visitors with relaxed gazes.

Delmorgan stopped at times to touch the roses and brush against the firs that seemed to magically spring from the ground. Selcott couldn't blame him nor the other sightseers who also gawked at the flora - for whatever reason, the Guithannite ground was designed for plants; the gardeners in the Palace's employ simply needed to supply the soil, fertiliser and water. Flashes of colour amongst the Guithannite caught Selcott's eye at times and he was reminded that attempts to liven the black Guithannite still took place. As far as he knew, all paint eventually peeled away and no nail, nor glue or any other type of fastener was effective on the Guithannite. The only workable option, as was used in the Palace's interior, was to hang tapestries or cover the Guithannite entirely - in the gardens, perennial flowering plants lined most of the high walls.

The gardens ascended slightly towards the Palace and Selcott trotted up the steps without thinking. The gates to the Palace were closed to the public and were guarded by a small troop of blue Royal Guards. Upon seeing Selcott, however, the Lance-Leader stepped aside and said, "Welcome home, your Highness!" The Lance, from those posted next to the gate to the ones on the battlements, saluted in unison.

"Thank you, Lance-Leader," Selcott replied. One of the guards pushed open a side-gate and Selcott stepped through.

His eyes took several moments to adjust to the gloom of the gatehouse. He heard Delmorgan follow him and then the crunch of the gate closing behind them.

"This way," Selcott said when he regained his bearings.

"Are you lost?" Delmorgan said incredulously.

"I hardly ever use the gates," Selcott replied as they headed towards the light creeping from a door to the Palace's inner gardens.

"I forgot," Delmorgan said. "You'll have to show me these other entrances, one day."

Selcott grinned. "One day."

The gatehouse led into the Palace's stark courtyard. It was lifeless in comparison to the vibrant outer gardens; several guards wandered the battlements while a servant scurried into the eastern wing's doorway. Even the sun seemed unable to peek over the walls and provide some needed warmth.

Selcott strode towards the reinforced oak double doors of the Palace's main entrance. Delmorgan followed a step behind, perhaps preferring the outer gardens. As they approached, the guards posted on either side of the double doors reached out to open them.

Before they touched the polished handles, the doors burst open and two fully-armoured Expatritors emerged. Selcott and Delmorgan leapt aside.

"Watch it!" Selcott snapped.

The Expatritors were anonymous beneath their helms but they both craned their necks towards Selcott. He glared at them, acutely aware of his vulnerability but also of the pair of Royal Guards behind the Expatritors who now surreptitiously rested their hands on the hilts of their swords.

For a long moment, Selcott thought one of the Expatritors would say something in return. Eventually, the moment passed and the Expatritors didn't even break their stride as they continued on their patrol of the Palace grounds. Selcott grimaced to himself. As he passed into the foyer, he muttered, "I hate them."

Delmorgan sighed with relief as the doors were shut behind them.

"Come on," Selcott said.

His boots were muffled on the plush carpet that covered the marbled floor. The marble itself had been laid over the Guithannite and set into place by pieces that interlocked with door-frames and the corners of the rooms in the Palace. As throughout, hangings concealed the bland black Guithannite walls - in the instance of the foyer, tapestries of various heraldric symbols were suspended from the vaulted ceiling. Foremost was Guithannan's flag, its stylised mountain cliff hanging over the doorway. The Wrienswing coat of arms - a bird in flight over a mountain - was shunted to one side; the crests of previous dynasties and families took historic precedent over the relatively young reign of the Wrienswings and Martreas was happy to keep things that way.

The central, west and eastern wings of the Palace were reserved for most of the governmental bodies involved in running the city and its surrounds. Many of the rooms had been converted to offices so the most extravagant pieces of art and finery had been moved to the private north wing, which was restricted to the Wrienswing family and guests. As soon as Selcott led Delmorgan out of the foyer and into the Palace proper, they were almost bowled over by a self-important scribe.

"What?" the young man exclaimed. "Who do you think -" As the words tumbled from his mouth, the scribe recognised Selcott and his voice trailed off.

"Excuse me," Selcott said softly. He stepped around the scribe and continued down the hall. He and Delmorgan shared a grin as they turned a corner towards the northern wing.

They passed several more offices that dealt with road maintenance outside Guithannan, land taxation and palatial-staff administration.

"I wonder what all this space was used for before?" Delmorgan said as they pushed through yet another hallway crowded with haphazard bookshelves and scampering administrative staff.

Selcott shrugged. "It's always been like this. For as long as I can remember." As a child, he knew he had been somewhat of a terror - at least, that was what his mother always said. The thought of himself as a toddler dashing through the Palace corridors with a vital trade contract in hand was endlessly amusing to Selcott.

Two Royal Guards were posted at the end of the hall - on the other side were the official waiting rooms to the Court where Martreas and Elleva occasionally sat and heard grievances, judged cases which local magistrates passed up and, more pleasantly, entertained guests local and foreign.

The guards allowed Selcott and Delmorgan into the next room. When the door was shut behind them, silence rushed to fill the air.

The room was lavishly appointed with wooden panels disguising the Guithannite beneath. "This way," Selcott said.

"All right," Delmorgan said, somewhat puzzled.

Without waiting for him to ask, Selcott answered, "It's faster." He was heading for the Royal Court, rather than another door which would force him to navigate through the back-rooms into the private north-wing. Both routes were guarded but Selcott wasn't in the mood to open and close however many doors that stood between him and his childhood home.

They stepped onto the smooth Guithannite floor of the Royal Court and the sound echoed, feathered against itself. Apart from the carved oaken furniture and thrones and several choice tapestries that hung from the domed ceiling, everything was black, Guithannite. Sun shone through the high-set windows in the side of the dome, structured similarly to those in the Expatritor Grand Hall. From standing at the edge of the Court, it was easy to assume that some of the smaller buildings in Guithannan would have wholly fit inside.

"Wow."

Selcott glanced at his friend. "You've been here before."

"Yes, but - wow," Delmorgan said again.

"Come on."

Selcott headed directly for a set of doors just behind the dais which held the two thrones. He had vague childhood memories of crawling around the dais and thrones with Keilaine, playing hide-and-seek in winter or throwing berries at each other in spring. Passing the imagined stains of berries on the Guithannite floor, he mentally shook himself and entered the north wing.

As expected, the Royal Guards did not stop him or Delmorgan. All doors from the Court, including the one they had used, led outside to a covered area - the north wing was actually separate from the rest of the Palace with more blue-tabarded Royal Guards patrolling the intervening space. The Guithannite roof over the walkway also obscured views of the structure. In reality, it was more of a keep that was set against not only the most northern edge of the Palace grounds but also the most northern edge of the city.

Two more Expatritors appeared and Selcott averted his gaze. It was easy for anyone or anything to be left wandering the Palace grounds nowadays. They were not likely to recognise him from his time as an Expatritor novice but it was common knowledge that Selcott's exit had been somewhat acrimonious - to what extent, few actually knew.

In comparison to the outer gardens, the inner grounds were sparse and cold but the landscaping still hindered Selcott rushing for the north wing's entrance. He almost swore to himself when one of the Expatritors called out. "Selcott!"

Slowly, Selcott and Delmorgan turned around. "You go ahead," Selcott said softly to Delmorgan. His friend nodded sympathetically and continued into the keep.

The pair of Expatritors wended their way towards Selcott, armour clanking. "Yes?" Selcott said as they neared. He deliberately omitted their titles - here, he bowed to no one.

Just as Selcott had sent Delmorgan ahead, one of the Expatritors waved for the other to go. He then removed his helm and Selcott immediately recognised him.

"Valedros."

"Good day, Selcott," the Expatritor replied. Even though Valedros Osteyrus Luneiadon was an Expatritor almost from birth - his uncle was the Saeculus - Selcott sensed something different about him, something that his sister Keilaine could sense.

"How is it with you?"

Valedros nodded, almost bowing. "Good, very good. And you?"

"Fine - especially since it is Sixthday."

"Of course," Valedros said with a smile. As Selcott knew, fully-fledged Expatritors earned only one free day per week on a rotating roster. During times of war or conflict, they had none. "I hear that your nephew's Naming Ceremony is today."

Selcott couldn't help but smile. "Yes, it is."

"I hope all goes well," Valedros said.

"Thanks."

Valedros nodded and turned away, as if to leave. Then, he stopped and said to Selcott, "Oh, before I forget, could you please pass a message to Keilaine?"

"What is it?"

"I received her correspondence concerning the incident the other day," Valedros said. "I have taken the appropriate corrective measures with the Expatritors involved."

Selcott took an inadvertent step towards Valedros. "What incident?"

"Nothing to worry about," the Expatritor said calmly. He brushed a wisp of dark hair from his brow. "One of our new recruits from Brookholm wandered where he was not permitted. He will not make the same mistake again."

"Very well," Selcott said. Remember to ask Keilaine for the details, he told himself. "Thank you, Valedros."

"Not at all," he replied. "I should be away. Enjoy your time off."

"My thanks. Farewell."

Valedros walked away with his reassured stride, donning his helm once again. Selcott furrowed his brow - how the Expatritors had attracted Valedros, he would never know. But whatever Keilaine saw in Valedros, Selcott knew he would one day see it too.

The Royal Guards allowed Selcott to enter the keep with a salute and a crisp, "Your Highness!" Their greeting reminded Selcott why he hated using the conventional entrances and exits; his title was something he was always happy to leave behind.

Inside the northern wing, Guithannan's most admired interior decorators had transformed the keep into a glorious mansion, all hints of militaristic purposes behind the structure disguised and concealed. There was little of the Guithannite visible, even the ceilings had been overlaid with wooden beams that interlocked with vertical struts placed at various intervals along the walls. Between the struts and beams were tapestries and wooden panels that added the impression to all visitors that the keep was not Guithannite but entirely man-made.

Selcott trotted towards the stairs that wound throughout the belly of the keep, crossing the foyer that bore a great similarity to the Palace's . "Del?" he called out.

Everything was silent but Selcott reminded himself that the number of adornments over the Guithannite dulled all sounds and echoes unlike most other buildings in Guithannan. Hearing no reply, Selcott wandered up the staircase to the next floor.

At the landing, he paused and heard the unmistakable muffled laugh of one of his sisters. It was likely Keilaine in the secluded princess' garden which was situated behind the keep, directly above the ground-level kitchen area. Selcott smiled - at least he wasn't late for the ceremony.

"Sel!" Keilaine sprang from the bench in the garden when she caught sight of Selcott. She grinned and hugged him. "We thought the army had destroyed you!"

Selcott grunted in mock anger at being accosted so abruptly but he hugged his closest sister in return. "You must have been bored."

"We were," Keilaine said, stepping back. Behind her, Delmorgan sat on the grass while Cassine Rosdeney was embroidering an unidentifiable pattern into a petite wooden frame. She smiled and said, "Hello, Sel!"

"When is the ceremony?"

"Soon," his sister replied. "But we have some time to spare." She returned to her bench and the abandoned scroll she had apparently been reading. Despite both the high north wall that encompassed the princess' garden and the keep itself blocking sunlight in early morning and late afternoon, Selcott knew that he could often find Keilaine in repose on the grass during those hours with a tome or scroll.

Selcott seated himself on an unoccupied bench and stretched out. He said, "I spoke to Valedros just then."

"Yes?" Keilaine said.

"He said that the matter you brought to him has been resolved."

"Good," Keilaine replied with a quick nod. "I thought he would be able to help me."

"What happened?" Selcott remained leaning back even though he was eager to hear about the incident.

"Nothing big."

"Nothing big?" Cassine chimed in. Selcott turned his attention to her. "An Expatritor barged into Keilaine's studio while we were fitting a blouse. I might have been naked!"

Selcott laughed.

"It's not funny, Sel!"

Delmorgan said, "Actually, it is a bit funny."

Still chuckling, Selcott added, "I'm sorry, Cass. It's not funny."

"No!" Cassine returned to her embroidery, stitching with indignation.

Keilaine breathed, "I wonder what Valedros did."

"Well," Selcott said, shifting his weight to his side, "he said he took corrective measures."

"And in Expatritor terms, that means what?"

Selcott thought for a moment, recalling his time in the Expatritors before answering. "I don't want to know. If punishments for novices are anything to go by, it could be bad."

"Well, he deserves it!" Cassine said without looking up.

Selcott raised his eyebrows at Keilaine; they shared a smile over Cassine's swift anger. Out loud, Selcott said, "We should go. It's surely time."

"Very well," Keilaine said, gathering the scroll together. Both Delmorgan and Cassine also prepared to leave.

"What are you reading?" Selcott asked Keilaine as Cassine packed her sewing kit.

"It's a treatise on running a business that I borrowed from Lengeres."

"Are you going to start a business? Making dresses?"

Keilaine said, "Maybe. But not just dresses, all sorts of clothing and hats and scarves and capes and cloaks. Everything."

"Armour for Expatritors?"

"Don't be funny," she responded with a scowl.

Inside, Selcott led his sister, Cassine and Delmorgan to the roof of the keep where his parents had arranged for a marquee to be erected. Even though the keep was quite separate from the city and Palace - the massive dome over the Royal Court ensured even greater privacy - Martreas and Elleva always liked to prepare for any eventuality.

The staircase seemed longer and taller than Selcott remembered. Keilaine breezed past him two flights from the top. "Getting tired?" she said archly. He grunted in reply.

The final landing emerged on the top level of the keep, just underneath the roof, that was used mostly for storage of their personal belongings from years past. Here, the boxes collected dust in forgotten piles. Selcott never thought twice about it but as he headed towards the stairs to the roof, Keilaine wandered amongst the memories, trailing her fingers in the dust and sighing softly to herself.

"Come on, Laine."

She looked up from a mound of carefully folded clothing wrapped in sheets. "All right."

Selcott walked up the short flight of stairs and opened the black Guithannite door to the roof. As he stepped out, the rest of his family turned and smiled. Magdyna, Lengeres and their baby were at the opposite end of the roof next to a makeshift dais. Their other two children, Jasia and Rodiner, were under the care of Endron and his wife Anneth. Martreas and Elleva stood next to them while several aunts, uncles and cousins were interspersed between everyone else. Even though all were dressed in their finest attire, Selcott did not feel out of place in the slightest wearing a plain commoner tunic and trousers provided by the army.

"Selcott, Keilaine," Elleva said. Their mother hugged them in turn. "Hello, Delmorgan and Cassine. It's wonderful of you to join us."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Cassine said, Delmorgan repeating her words. Selcott couldn't help but grin.

"Oh, I'll have none of your cheek today, Cassine," Elleva said.

"Very well," Cassine said meekly. Delmorgan effected an awkward bow.

"Come along." Elleva directed them to several unassuming chairs placed in a wide semi-circle around the dais. Even though it was a family affair, some privacy remained for Magdyna and Lengeres to perform the ceremony. As his mother and sister seated themselves, Selcott quickly greeted his extended family, then shook hands with his brother and greeted his sister-in-law.

"Are you two guarding Jasia and Rodiner?" Selcott asked Endron and Anneth.

"Somehow," Endron said, "we're managing it."

"Practising for the future?"

"Hush, Selcott," Anneth said with a slight smile. "Perhaps."

Selcott bent down to the childrens' height. "Are they doing a good job?"

Jasia and Rodiner shook their heads emphatically. Rodiner said, "I wanted choco drink. Uncle Endron said I couldn't have none. Can I have some, Uncle Selcott?"

"Yes," Selcott said. "Uncle Endron is mean, isn't he?"

"Hey!" Endron exclaimed as Rodiner and Jasia both nodded in unison.

"I'll get you some choco drink later."

"Thank you, Uncle Selcott!"

Anneth laughed as Selcott grinned at Endron and wended his way to a spare seat next to their father and mother. "I don't know if I like that," Endron said under his breath with a quizzical expression.

Once everyone was seated, Magdyna turned to them and said simply, "Thank you for coming." She turned back to her husband and they laid their baby on a narrow bench, face up on a soft blanket. On either end, Magdyna placed her hands on the baby's legs while Lengeres placed his hands across the baby's shoulders and chest.

They closed their eyes and it seemed that everyone held their breath. The faint bustle of the city and Palace drifted on the air, reminding Selcott that the rest of the world was still there.

"Where is the saexum?" Selcott whispered to his mother.

"Your sister has it," she replied. "It's a nice find. To be expected from Lengeres, I suppose."

"A gem?"

Elleva nodded. "A diamond. Like Jasia and Rodiner."

"Of course." Selcott knew that it would make no difference to the saexum itself but the use of a diamond where any other rock would suffice sent a message to all who would see it.

His sister and Lengeres remained still and as far as Selcott could tell, nothing was happening. He could see an anklet above the foot of the baby where the diamond was embedded. The baby also had a small birthmark on his chest just as the rest of the Wrienswing heirs did - Endron, Magdyna, Keilaine, Jasia, Rodiner and himself. When he was a child, Selcott thought the mark looked something like a bird but it gradually faded until it disappeared in more recent years.

"How long did it take for them to fashion the anklet?"

"I'm not sure," Elleva said. "Mart? How long did the Audonians take?"

"Not long," Martreas said softly. "Alfreas took a week or two at the most. He had some assistance from another Audonian - Karin Olivier, I believe."

"The same ones who made our collars?" Selcot said, absently rubbing his.

"Yes, son. The very same."

True Audonian craftsmen were rare to find and expensive to hire. Selcott vaguely remembered his history tutors explaining that their expertise in their chosen fields came from a body of knowledge investigating the nature of Guithannite. Although no one had ever recorded any successful attempt to even scratch Guithannite, the efforts poured into that pursuit had yielded other surprising skills and ideas that were kept to a chosen few. The original artisans, smiths, builders and other craftsmen were called Audonians and their knowledge passed from person to person, never written down. Selcott did not know any Audonians personally but he was acutely aware that they also never advertised their services, preferring their skills to be known only to a select few such as his parents.

"I suppose the anklet won't stop him from wearing boots when he's older?"

"I shouldn't think so," Elleva answered. She pursed her lips. "I believe the Audonians who crafted the anklet made it quite thin and supple. I remember one of them saying that we could put a sock over it and none would be the wiser."

"And it would be out of sight," Martreas added. "For a change."

"Yes," Selcott's mother said. "I thought the collars on you and your brother and sisters were quite smart." She gently brushed Selcott's neck and collar. "I must admit I first thought they would not grow with you but they did."

"How do they do it?"

"I wouldn't know," Elleva said.

Martreas turned his head and gazed at Selcott. "If we did, we would be Audonians. And probably far wealthier."

Selcott smiled. "I suppose you're right." He turned his attention back to his sister and newest nephew.

Magdyna and Lengeres were murmuring something underneath their breath - Selcott couldn't make out what they were saying but it was probably the baby's True Name. Selcott now knew better than to ask anyone what it was. They still had their hands on their baby who just seemed bemused by his parents. Selcott recalled the previous Naming Ceremony in their family - it was Rodiner's. So far, everything was the same. It would likely be just as uneventful.

"What if the anklet becomes loose and falls off?" Selcott whispered. "Father chose collars because they just don't come off as easily as a ring or bracelet."

"I don't know," his mother replied. "If the Audonians have done their job, the anklet will remain on the baby's leg just as the collars stay on you lot."

Selcott frowned. "But what if it does? What about the saexum?"

"I honestly don't know," Elleva whispered, slight consternation creasing her brow beneath her make-up. "We mustn't think of such things, Selcott."

He settled back in his chair as Magdyna and Lengeres continued their curiously quiet chant. He supposed they were doing something for the baby's saexum - exactly what, he didn't know. But Selcott knew that most people did not have the luxury that his family did; most people did not hire Audonians to craft something vaguely magical to hold a saexum. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, girdles and the like were normal for most people and these were items that could be lost. Selcott sighed to himself, drawing a glance from his parents. What happened if a saexum became lost? If the Naming Ceremony were so important, what then became of the person without a saexum?

Magdyna and Lengeres' chanting had ceased. As one, they loudly pronounced something quite different, "We name you Aran. Aran Wrienswing."

The diamond in Aran's anklet glowed briefly then twinkled out, a normal diamond again.

Lengeres picked up the couple's baby and smiled. Magdyna wrapped her arms around her husband and they turned to face everyone. They stood and Selcott scrambled to his feet, joining them.

"By the power of our ancestors, by the spirits of our land, by my honour and my word, I present Aran Wrienswing," Magdyna said.

"Aran Wrienswing," everyone responded.

Then, Keilaine and Cassine burst into squeals and rushed forward, embracing the sanguine couple and Aran. The rest of the family followed, grins and congratulations everywhere. In the midst of it, Lengeres passed Aran to Selcott who gently cradled the baby in his swaddling. Curious about the ceremony and its effects, Selcott looked upon his newly Named nephew. He didn't seem any different. Selcott traced the family birthmark on Aran's chest, knowing it would one day fade. For some reason, he couldn't help but smile.

When Selcott looked up, everyone was watching him, beaming. It was good to be home again.

Chapter Five

Selcott heaved the bucket of slaggy water into one of the drains outside the smithy. He silently watched the water swirl into the murky depths, occasional clinking of half-wrought iron and steel echoing up. Selcott peered down the pipe, briefly wondering where it led to. Like many things that were out of sight in the city of Guithannan, no one would ever truly know.

"Selcott!" bellowed Golland, one of the blacksmiths inside.

"Yes, sir?" Selcott picked up the now-empty bucket and turned around.

Golland emerged from the smith, wiping his hands down on his apron. "You can finish for the day."

"Thank you," said Selcott, handing him the bucket.

"Go on, now."

Selcott smiled and trotted towards the barracks. He glanced at the sky; it would soon be dusk and the urge to roam the city was as strong as ever. His duties as a novice had kept him within the confines of the Guithannan Army compound ever since he joined and he knew was forgetting the sights and sounds of the city from above. Tonight, he thought, would be as good as any other to rediscover Guithannan.

When he arrived at his Lance's barracks, the others were already inside - thoroughly muddy, tired and grumpy. Selcott wended his way towards his cot, muttering greetings to each of them. Their replies were lacklustre. "Hi, Selcott." "Good evening, Selcott."

Selcott sat on the edge of his bed, wringing his muscles from the day's work with the army blacksmiths. "How are you, Selcott?" He turned and met Ashnur's gentle gaze.

"Hello, Ashnur. Fine, I suppose. I'm not a blacksmith, I know that much. I knew it years ago."

The Dhagaram smiled. "I don't think any of us are. But it does us good to know where our equipment is forged."

Selcott nodded. "I suppose." He undid the laces on his boots and added, "Where is Eithon? Did he take you to another muddy field?"

The rest of the Lance heard Selcott and they groaned. Ashnur only smiled again. "Yes. Unarmed combat in the mud."

"You would have cleaned up everybody," Selcott said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Don't be coy, Ashnur," Selcott said. "You're a Dhagaram." He waved his hands around in a vaguely martial manner. "I doubt even the finest warrior in the Guithannan Army could defeat you unarmed."

Ashnur bobbed his head. "I have had some training, perhaps not as much as you might think."

"Were you trained by other Dhagaram?"

"At times," Ashnur explained. "The Zhandoura, mostly."

"I see." Selcott actually knew very little about the Zhandoura - or least, very little that was true. Certainly, the Expatritors had their own ideas about the people from the Arjezeh desert west of Guithannan.

"So, where is Eithon?"

"I do not know."

Pergier, one of the other Brands, said, "I think he has a conference with the Captain."

"Borril Janssen?" Selcott asked.

"Yes, our Captain."

Selcott thought for a moment. "Isn't that a bit strange?" At that question, everyone seemed to forget their aches and pains and focussed on Selcott.

"What do you mean?" Ashnur asked.

"Well," Selcott said, "Eithon has always debriefed us after a hard training session. He's never rushed off to a conference so soon after returning to the barracks."

The rest of the Lance broke into a low hubbub, talking amongst themselves. Ashnur said to Selcott, "What do you know, Selcott? Have you heard something from the Palace?"

The others suddenly seemed to remember that Selcott was a Wrienswing. "Selcott?" "What have you heard?" "Are we going to war?"

"Believe me," Selcott said to everyone, "I would be the first to know if we were being sent on a tour."

"You have heard nothing, then?" Ashnur asked.

"As far as I know, we are not at war with anybody and we're not going to start one either." That statement seemed to calm down the Lance; most returned to cleaning their gear or preparing to head to baths.

"I hope you are right," Ashnur said softly. "But even though Guithannan may not start a war, we may well be drawn into one."

Selcott frowned. "Who would have cause against Guithannan? Surely not Brookholm? Ryneusk and Denosto have always been friendly. And Eldaros has been a great ally, almost as great as Brookholm."

"Perhaps not from the east," Ashnur said.

"Arjezeh? The Zhandoura?" Selcott interjected.

"No. From within."

Then, it clicked for Selcott. "The Expatritors."

Ashnur nodded imperceptibly. Several of their Lance-mates trooped past them, heading out to the communal baths at the end of the barracks. He continued, "You know them as well as anyone. What other sovereign state besides Brookholm would allow a private organisation such a fortified position within the city walls?"

"I know," Selcott said, also recalling the Expatritors who ostensibly patrolled the Royal Palace grounds for the benefit of the Wrienswings. "It's as if they have been waiting for something. For the right time."

Ashnur cupped his hands together, a familiar position of repose. "Perhaps we should be careful, Selcott. Things change most when they have long remained the same."

In the cover of night, Selcott slithered along the roof of the outer barracks. Only a short distance ahead lay the northern wall which encircled the Guithannan Army compound. Selcott's study of the structure and layout revealed that the outer barracks roof - which housed his own Lance amongst others - was probably the best exit point. The end of the structure was actually part of the thick wall and while Selcott would still have to deal with a small climb, it was far more preferable to openly breaking curfew by disguising himself as a Brand or Lance.

When he reached the fortifications, Selcott crouched against the Guithannite and held his breath. He heard no movement. The guards, similar to the Expatritor nightwatch, were often understandably lax in their duties - it suited Selcott's purposes.

He latched onto a thin ledge above him, fingers straining to hold his weight, then pulled himself up. Clouds obscured the moonlight and Selcott was forced to climb by feel. He suppressed his grunts of strain as he struggled to find appropriate grips in the patterns of Guithannite.

After several minutes of slow ascent, footsteps sounded on the battlements. Selcott froze, halfway to reaching for a new ledge with his hand. He cautiously glanced up and caught the glow of a lamp that accompanied the guard's footsteps. Selcott grimaced - his hands were burning and he could feel his boots beginning to slip.

The sentry continued wandering on his patrol along the battlements and Selcott almost let himself breathe a sigh of relief as the lamplight dimmed with distance. Then, the guard stopped, seemingly content with the view. He started whistling.

"Spirits!" Selcott muttered to himself. He tried readjusting his boots but only managed to loosen his footing. He held back another curse lest the guard hear him.

Selcott gingerly reached for another handhold above him, acutely aware of the scraping of his tunic against the Guithannite, the rasp of his boots, his very breath. He wrapped his fingers on the Guithannite as best as he could and prepared to wait out the guard.

A low signalling whistle sounded from the rear of the compound - Selcott recognised it as a call to the closest sentries to investigate something. The guard sighed loudly, picked up his lamp and walked away. Selcott silently thanked whatever drunken hooligan had drawn everyone's attention. When the way became clear, Selcott resumed his climb with greater urgency than before.

He reached the battlements but stayed low. From the pack slung across his back, Selcott pulled out a rope and slung it over a merlon in the crenellations so that both ends of the rope reached the ground on the other side of the wall. He slipped on a pair of gloves and taking hold of each half of the rope in either hand, hopped over the battlements.

Selcott lost his footing as the parapet cut back but he continued in a controlled fall down the rope towards the road below. He landed heavily, not truly able to hold his weight using only his hands. Selcott glanced around him - the street was quiet. He packed away his gloves and rope and pulled out a thin cloak that would also serve to conceal his saexum's collar.

Selcott checked his pouch for cirrens and stashed his pack in a row of bushes opposite the army compound's wall. Satisfied that he would be able to find it again upon his return, Selcott trotted away with a light step.

The city was fairly quiet at this time of night; Selcott passed only a handful of people on his way to the Royal Boulevard. As he neared the junction, a figure waiting on the corner turned and immediately spotted him. In the sparse light from the lamp on the Boulevard, Delmorgan was virtually unrecognisable.

"Good evening," Delmorgan said as Selcott removed his hood.

"I must admit I didn't think you were going to show."

Delmorgan shrugged. "We haven't been out drinking for a while."

"That is true," Selcott said. "Let's find a dive."

A look of mild alarm crossed Delmorgan's face. "Oh, lovely," he said flatly.

Selcott grinned and led the way.

They headed towards the south-east, in the district that the Expatritor compound dominated. The towers and walkways above Selcott were lost in the gloom of the night but he could still feel them hanging in the air. Being the somewhat working-class sector of Guithannan, the street-side lamps were few and far between and Delmorgan stayed close to Selcott, making small-talk as if the sound of their voices could ward off any possible danger.

Selcott knew the area well - the narrow avenue was rare in a place where residential housing was in demand. He let his gaze stray ahead of him and suppressed a shudder. The old temple seemed too bright in the darkness.

"What is it?" Delmorgan asked.

With a small sigh, Selcott said, "The building up ahead."

Delmorgan searched the street and then muttered, "Oh." Even though he spent most of his days on his family's farm, he knew of the abandoned temple.

No one knew its true purpose - if it were not a temple, it seemed like one - but everyone agreed that something eerie haunted that structure. As a result, the avenue was mostly uninhabited and Guithannite being indestructible, the buildings stayed empty.

"Let's cross the road," Delmorgan said.

"Very well," Selcott said. He did not know if any of the stories were true but even as they neared the temple, he could feel the hairs on his arms and nape rising.

They gave the building a wide berth. Selcott could not help but stare at it as they passed. In contrast to the rest of the houses, the temple did indeed look like it might have been a place of worship. The façade was extravagantly decorated and carved - exactly how, Selcott did not know. From the short flight of stairs rose several massive columns which held up the roof that probably extended over the length of the entire temple. Two forboding Guithannite doors remained closed, untried in living memory.

A chilling howl tore through the air.

"Run!" Delmorgan yelled. He bolted down the street and Selcott instinctively followed, heart pounding.

"Spirits," Selcott muttered as he sprinted across a junction. He soon caught up with Delmorgan and chanced a look behind them.

"What was that?"

"I don't know!" Selcott said. He leaned against a wall.

"It came from the temple."

"I know. I know."

Delmorgan started pacing back and forth. "I knew it was a bad idea. A bad idea! And you're breaking curfew on top of that."

"Do you want to go back home?" Selcott asked, catching his breath.

"I don't know!" Delmorgan stopped pacing and stared back at the temple in the distance. Nothing was chasing them; the streets were empty, even devoid of any guards and locals.

"Look," Selcott said, "you've come into the city. You're already here, you might as well stay."

Delmorgan didn't say anything for several seconds. Then, he sighed. "All right." He wiped his brow and added, "How much further?"

Selcott smiled. "Let's find the closest tavern, okay?"

"Okay."

"We should head north," Selcott said. "Expatritors don't like taverns."

"There should be a few in the area."

"None that are open at this time of night. The rest are only open during respectable hours."

"Respectable for whom?"

"The Expatritors, of course," Selcott said.

"Oh."

Selcott led Delmorgan north, silently passing other citizens who had their own business to attend to late at night. They kept a keen ear out for the sounds of revelry and drink - it wasn't long before the glow of a tavern caught their attention off a side-street.

Delmorgan, perhaps happy finally to have a firm destination, trotted ahead of Selcott. Selcott almost lost sight of his friend in the darkness but then the tavern's glow illuminated Delmorgan as he entered the beckoning doorway. Glancing upwards, Selcott caught a glimpse of the tavern's signage - the Spitfire Roast and Revelry. He shrugged to himself as he followed Delmorgan inside; for whatever reason, it sounded vaguely familiar.

Within, it seemed that most of Guithannan who could afford to be out late at night had congregated inside the Spitfire. It was far from the largest tavern Selcott had set foot in but the level of carousing and sheer noise from all of the patrons created an atmosphere that rivalled even the Boulevard in the height of the Harvest Festival. Selcott wended his way to the bar where Delmorgan was apparently ordering; Selcott tried his best to squeeze through the revellers who were all from various classes and occupations. Here and there, Selcott caught a hint of precious metal and gems used in jewellery and saexum.

Delmorgan lifted a pint of ale for Selcott as he approached. "Hey! Happy whatever it is they're celebrating!"

"Cheers!" Selcott said.

The people around them caught onto him and yelled, "Cheers!" Beer and spirits of all kind were tossed back and Selcott couldn't help but follow. He downed the pint and slammed the steel mug onto the bar. Delmorgan did the same and waved over the barkeep.

"Two more, please!"

Selcott fumbled around for his pouch. "Here, let me."

"No, I've got it," Delmorgan said. Before Selcott could open his pouch, Delmorgan had already handed over the cirrens and their empty mugs were replaced with fresh pints.

"You can get the next one!"

"All right," Selcott said. He began moving away from the crowded bar - hopefully a table or booth would be available. As he walked along, he could feel the alcohol swimming in his head and the loud voices and music were almost overwhelming. He missed taverns.

"Over here," Delmorgan shouted. Selcott wandered over to his friend; Delmorgan had found a relatively open area where they could rest their pints but it was still standing room only. "Have you been here before?"

"No," Selcott said. "I've heard of it though, I'm sure." He looked around, letting his gaze rest on several attractive women around them.

"Seems good," Delmorgan said, taking another swig of his ale. "How late should we stay?"]

"I'm not sure," Selcott answered. A group of labourers near the bar began singing an unruly tune about goats. "I suppose it depends on how much fun we have." The labourers were drunkenly dancing their way through the bar as more patrons joined them. Selcott shrugged at Delmorgan and the pair joined in, arm in arm with complete strangers.

When the song finished with cheers and more drink, Selcott stumbled to the bar to order another round for Delmorgan and himself. As he reached for his pouch of cirrens, a young woman about his age approached him. "Hi," she said.

"Good evening," Selcott said. He recognised her - she had been watching the impromptu song-and-dance with her friends, laughing and whooping along with everyone else. "How's it?"

"Good!" she said. She took a swig from her pint. "You dance really well."

"Not as well as you, I'd bet," Selcott replied playfully. She was good-looking but Selcott couldn't guess where she was from by her accent or clothes.

"You want to see me dance?"

"On one condition."

"What's that?" she asked with a wide smile.

At that moment, the barkeep slid fresh pints to Selcott and he flipped several cirrens onto the bar. As Selcott grabbed the mugs and turned back to the young woman, glib comment on his lips, a shout interrupted him. "You!"

The air deadened instantly; the hostile call grated through the tavern. As the hubbub quietened somewhat, Selcott scanned the room for the man who had yelled at him. The woman drifted towards Selcott, also rattled. A few oblivious drunks were still singing a lone chorus at the rear of the tavern.

"Don't you move, wench!" The man appeared and Selcott's throat caught. It was one of the water-guild guards. Behind him, Selcott spotted more of them slowly moving towards the bar. Delmorgan was inconspicuous in the crowd but Selcott couldn't see his hands. Was he readying a weapon?

"Leave her be," Selcott said. The tavern had become silent as a graveyard.

"You be quiet, Wrienswing!" the guilder said. At that, low mumblings rippled through the common room, patron and tavern-staff alike.

Selcott caught himself rubbing his saexum's collar through his cloak. He motioned to the young woman to retreat and at the same time he stepped forward to within a couple arms-lengths of the guilder.

"You can take him, Tolf!" said one of the other water-guilders.

Tolf, the dishevelled man Selcott and Delmorgan encountered the other afternoon, snarled back at his companions, "Don't use my name, you idiot!"

"Tolf, is it?" Selcott said.

"What's it to you, Selcott Wrienswing?" Tolf's loud statement was heard by all and the whispers rose to a hubbub.

"Do you have anything constructive to say, Master Tolf?"

"You nobles don't scare me."

Selcott said, "I'm sorry that my singing scared you." The tavern chuckled in response. "I'll be sure to give you fair warning the next time it happens." He turned around to retrieve his pints of ale from the bar counter. Chatter returned to the common room and the musicians in the corner resumed their lively tune.

Tolf shouted, "You Wrienswings will rot for what happened to us common folk!"

Without pause, Selcott glanced over his shoulder at the guilder and mimed the inability to hear due to the noise. He shrugged.

"You'll rot!"

Selcott rolled his eyes to himself and reached out for the pints.

Suddenly, the music stopped and there was an unintelligible shriek. For whatever reason, motion and sound slowed for Selcott as he turned at the sound, an impossibly long fraction of a moment that seemed to stretch into hours. A steel mug, swung by Tolf, headed for his skull. Inching closer and closer.

With a grimace - he knew this would hurt far more than he wished - Selcott rose his arm to parry the blow but it seemed like days for him to react, let alone move. Yelling around the tavern suddenly broke out as if life was restored to normal.

Then everything was a blur. Tolf's mug smashed into Selcott's forearm and Selcott grunted, kicking out as he was trained by both the Expatritors and Guithannan Army. His foot caught the guilder in the thigh, sending him reeling in pain. Without warning, Selcott's forearm now flared up; perhaps it was broken, he could not tell.

He glanced around the common room and apparently the rest of the guilders had started a brawl. Delmorgan was nowhere in sight. Selcott had no time to worry about his friend as Tolf charged forward.

As soon as the water-guilder was within reach, Selcott kicked again, somewhat clumsily even by his own standards. But the blow landed on Tolf's shoulder, shoving him backwards with a violent jerk. He landed awkwardly on his rear and then the rest of his body followed to the Guithannite floor. Tolf's head smacked against the black rock and Selcott, transfixed by the fall, could only gape as blood slowly seeped from the guilder's head, his body still.

Selcott snapped his attention back, realising the brawl was now tavern-wide. Most, if not all of the patrons had vacated the common room and Selcott knew he had to find a similar escape route through the guilders.

He slunk towards the closest door, edging along the unattended bar. If the city-watch arrived, the fighting was sure to cease but Selcott was not so certain he wanted to be detained and possibly caught as being out after the Guithannan Army novice curfew. He winced as a mug flew by his head and crashed against the wall behind the counter, bringing down a number of wine bottles. Selcott glanced towards the exit - through the tussling bodies it seemed further away than a moment ago - and quickly scanned the room for anyone noting his movement.

Ahead of him, near the corner of the bar's counter, there was a lull in the scuffles and Selcott almost grinned to himself. He moved slightly quicker until a man tumbled into his path. The young man somehow kept rolling and ended up on his feet in one smooth action. Before Selcott could react, three guilders charged up, makeshift clubs in their hands.

"A bit of help?" the stranger said with peculiar calm. Selcott didn't have time to answer as the man quickly dispatched the nearest guilder and punched another one in the face with a wet slap.

The third guilder recognised Selcott and broke off from his attack on the stranger. The guilder was taller than Selcott and built solidly - probably another guard. Selcott found himself cautiously backing up; he scrabbled on the counter for anything to use as a weapon. Then, a leg from a broken chair slid across the Guithannite floor, the remnants of another fight deeper in the common room.

Selcott snatched it up and as he did, the guilder swung his own chair leg. Selcott, still bent over, parried the blow and immediately danced away to the side as the guilder swung again. Selcott backed away, waving the rough club in front of him with one hand and pushing obstacles aside with the other. The guilder pressed his attacks and Selcott blocked them, occasionally pulling tables and stools in front of him, forcing the tall guilder to clamber over them.

Then, someone tackled Selcott from the side. He felt ale-laden breath across his face and rammed his elbow into whoever it was. The assailant sat back, still pinning Selcott's legs down - it was Tolf. He was, at that moment, possibly the angriest person Selcott had ever met.

Blood streamed out of Tolf's scalp but he didn't seem to notice. Seeing the tall guilder approach with a smug look, Selcott swung his chair leg and it crunched into Tolf's ribs. It only enraged him and the guilder screamed something unintelligible. Then, the pummelling began.

Selcott blocked his face as well as he could, swinging the chair leg at random but the pounding against his arms were like hammers against his bones.

"Keep him there!" someone yelled.

The onslaught continued and Selcott almost could not feel his arms, only the pain, the burning. Then, it stopped and Selcott lowered his guard only to see the tall guilder swinging his club directly at his head. Selcott yelled out - what it was, he did not know. He brought his own makeshift club up and blocked the blow with a resounding crack. Selcott struggled but Tolf still held his body down.

The guilder swung again and Selcott panicked. He managed to bring his club up but in his haste, he misjudged the timing and the guilder's club slid along his own, biting into his hand.

Selcott, despite all of his training, released his grip in pain and grunted, unwilling to show even more weakness in the face of these guilders. Squeezing his injured hand, he suddenly realised he had no real defenses left. Both Tolf and the other guilder also realised it. They began laughing.

"You're in a bit of a mess, aren't you Wrienswing?" Tolf said, spitting blood that ran into his mouth from his head wound.

Selcott remained silent, still struggling against his pinning.

"He's the quiet type," the tall guilder said. He leaned in close. "But I bet I can make him scream."

"Let's see you try!" Selcott snapped back. He swung a fist and caught the guilder in the cheek.

Tolf caught Selcott's arms as the tall one stumbled back, more surprised than hurt. Tolf growled, "Don't make this harder on yourself, whelp."

The tall guilder grabbed a broken bottle and approached again. To Selcott, the shouts and crashes of the brawling around the common room ceased. Only his heartbeart sounded, a low thud that quickened with every step the guilder took. Tolf's mouth split into a wide grin of anticipation.

A silver stream of light flashed through the air. It cut through Tolf's neck without stopping but then, Selcott heard a thud and a clatter. He glanced to his right where a thin steel crescent lay on the floor. On the wall above there was a clear groove in the Guithannite where the crescent-blade had bitten into the rock. Impossible.

Impossible, was all Selcott could think. It was impossible - perhaps the notch had been there all along.

The tall guilder, unaware of the apparently damaged Guithannite, looked at the throwing crescent and then at Selcott and Tolf.

Silently, Selcott turned his gaze back to Tolf. There was a squelching sound as the water-guilder belatedly turned his head to the side to look at the steel weapon on the floor. A red line encircled his throat and Selcott's gut knotted with realisation.

"What..." was all Tolf managed to gurgle as his head slid off at the neck. Blood gushed everywhere.

Selcott yelled, "Spirits!" He batted away the decapitated head as Tolf's body crumpled backwards. Selcott pushed the dead guilder away and scrambled to his feet, slipping in the maroon liquid.

The stranger he had seen before came to his side. "Are you all right?"

"I think so," Selcott said. "What just happened?"

"I just saved your life," the man said. Selcott raised an eyebrow - even though it was probably true, it was somewhat refreshing to hear such blunt words. The man said to the tall guilder, "Get out of our way or you'll follow your friend into headlessness."

Selcott caught the glint of another wicked crescent in the stranger's hand. Apparently, so did the guilder who dropped the shards of bottle and ran.

By now, most of the tavern had cleared with only the injured and drunk left behind. As far as he could tell, Tolf was the only death.

"Come on, Wrienswing," the stranger said, "we're not out of this yet." He set off towards one of the exits.

"Who are you?" Selcott said as he followed a moment later. "What's your name?"

"You can call me Arcalante."

"Arcalante?" Selcott said. The name sounded traditional, almost out of a fairytale but it was clearly Guithannian. Out loud, Selcott asked, "Where are you from?"

"From the east," Arcalante answered. They left the Spitfire Roast and Revelry, emerging into a sharply cold and dark night. The small street was quiet and Arcalante whispered, "Come with me. We must not be caught by city guards."

"I can handle my way through the city," Selcott replied. "Thanks for the help, I appreciate it but I must find my friend and go."

Arcalante grabbed Selcott's arm with alarming strength. "Right now there are four Lances of Guithannan Army, two Lances of Expatritors and another two Lances of Royal Guards heading in this direction, Selcott. On top of that, city-watch is on their way." Arcalante leaned in closer and hissed, "You may be the master of this city's rooftops and underbelly but after being identified as Prince Selcott Wrienswing to a tavern full of people, do you seriously believe you can return to your barracks without incident?"

Selcott stared back at Arcalante for several moments. His eyes had adjusted to the dark and in what little light was available, he could see that something burned within him. Selcott hoped it was a sort of patriotism because he knew that Arcalante was right. There was little chance of leaving the district, let alone crossing half the city without being seen, even with his knowledge of the walkways.

"Then, where to?"

"Follow me," Arcalante said with a quick nod. "It's not far but we'll be safe until it all dies down."

"Very well."

"Good. We must be silent until we reach safety, understood?"

Selcott said, "I understand."

Arcalante creeped down an alleyway and Selcott took a deep breath. He hoped at least one of them knew what was he was doing.

After skulking through numerous alleys, Selcott recognised the area Arcalante led them through. Perhaps he owned a house - if that were true, then Arcalante was either a rather successful merchant or a noble. And if he were a noble, Selcott knew he was certainly not from Guithannan.

He couldn't help but study his companion - Arcalante moved with grace and purpose just as he did at the tavern. He spoke well, far better than Selcott, and with a hint of an accent that betrayed his eastern origin. Was he from Brookholm? Perhaps Denosto or Eldaros. That would help explain the Guithannian name.

Arcalante disappeared around a corner and Selcott put aside all attempts at stealth and trotted up to the street ahead. He knew exactly where he was and stumbled away from the building he had almost touched. It was the abandoned temple.

Arcalante appeared from behind one of the massive fluted columns. "Selcott! What are you doing? You're in the middle of the street!"

"What am I doing? What are you doing?" Selcott shot back. He waved his arms around, trying to point at the temple but its façade stretched up into the night, disappearing somewhere overhead. "That's the place!"

"What place?"

"The haunted place! The haunted temple."

"Nonsense," Arcalante said sharply. "Get in here now, before a patrol comes past!"

Selcott checked the street in both directions; it seemed clear. "Thanks, Arcalante, but I think I can make it to the barracks from here."

"Don't be a fool, Selcott! If they catch you tonight, you'll be up for brawling charges on top of breaking curfew. You'll be out of the Guithannan Army! And spirits only know what they'll do about that Tolf!"

"Tolf!" Selcott almost yelled. "You're the one who killed him, not me!"

"We can sort out the blame later," Arcalante replied. "You have to get in here. Now!"

A faint glow of torchlight appeared in the alleyway they had come down. Selcott's breath caught - they were still two or three buildings away. He could probably reach to the next side-street but after that, he did not know if he could outrun whoever it was. But Arcalante was only partly correct - if the Royal Guards were indeed also hunting him, then Selcott would most probably be safe in their custody. The intentions of the Expatritors was not so clear as compared to the `blueguards' or the Guithannan Army and city-watch contingents, however.

Selcott found himself returning to the abandoned temple and Arcalante with measured steps. "All right, Arcalante. You win. But only because I can't guarantee myself escape."

"This isn't about winning, Selcott," Arcalante replied. "It's about survival." He disappeared into the temple's shadows again. Selcott sighed softly - he supposed Arcalante could be trusted for the time being. If he wanted Selcott dead, he could have just left the water-guilders to their devices.

Selcott approached the entrance of the temple and found Arcalante manipulating the locks, or what looked like locks, on the huge Guithannite double doors. After several tense moments where the footfalls of a small Lance grew louder and louder, the mechanism clicked and echoed throughout the entire structure. If their pursuers had not heard them arguing on the street, they most certainly heard that.

"Come on." Arcalante heaved one of the doors inwards, just wide enough for them to squeeze in sideways. Selcott entered the narrow opening, immediately finding himself in total darkness. He heard Arcalante follow and then push the doors shut again with a low thud. The locks thumped.

"Arcalante?"

"Hold a moment," he said. "I left a lamp here." Selcott stayed perfectly still - who knew what lay inside the abandoned temple. Whatever had shrieked at him and Delmorgan earlier that night was surely still inside.

Arcalante puttered about near the entryway, feeling for the lamp, flint and tinderbox. "It's here somewhere."

"Need a hand?" said a new voice.

Selcott gasped and brought his hands into a semblance of a fighting pose. "Who's that?" he yelled.

"Ceryn?" Arcalante said.

"Ceryn?" Selcott asked. "What?"

"I'm Ceryn," said the new voice. To Selcott, she sounded female but it somehow small, as if child-like. Perhaps it was a child.

Suddenly, there was the familiar sound of flint and steel then a yellow glow filled the air. Selcott blinked as he laid eyes on the interior of the abandoned temple for the first time. Just as it seemed on the outside, the temple was an architectural masterpiece that reminded him of the Royal Court's dome in the Palace. If Guithannan had been carved from Guithannite by some unimaginable process in the past, then someone had designed both the Palace and this temple.

It was a vast open space that descended into a bowl, a miniature sub-ground amphitheatre, a stone's throw long. There were no fanciful columns holding up the ceiling, rather buttresses on the walls of the rectangular structure. Selcott could not quite make out the carvings that decorated the top half of the Guithannite walls and ceiling but was certain that the shielded windows, similar to those in the Expatritor Grand Hall and Royal Court, were integrated into the designs.

"So," Arcalante said, "you're the first Guithannian to step inside this temple for several hundred years. What do you think?"

"The first?" Selcott asked. He turned around and almost tripped over his own boots in surprise. In examining the temple's interior, he had forgotten about the third voice belonging to Ceryn. Upon Arcalante's shoulder sat a tiny woman. She was no taller than a small bird and was clothed in an odd fashion that Selcott could not quite identify in the sparse light.

"Good evening," she said. Her voice was quite audible despite her size.

"Greetings," Selcott stammered.

"Where are my manners?" Arcalante said, obviously relishing Selcott's discomfort. "Selcott, this is Ceryn. Ceryn, Selcott."

"So pleased to meet you," Ceryn said with a grin. "I've heard so much about the Wrienswings! It's an honour to finally meet you!"

"Thank you," Selcott replied. "I, uh - I'm not sure what to say." He grinned. "It's nice to meet you too."

Arcalante waved Selcott to follow as he stepped towards the bottom end of the temple. He saved Selcott's awkwardness by saying, "Ceryn is from Shadowdeep. She is one of the forestfolk - a brownie, pixie, whatever you know them as here in Guithannan."

"That's..."

"Impossible?"

"Yes," Selcott said with a shrug. Ceryn, still seated on Arcalante's shoulder, glanced over her own at Selcott. She smiled gently. Selcott continued, "It's impossible like damaging Guithannite." Before the words had left his mouth, Selcott felt like biting his tongue. The steel crescent in the Spitfire Roast and Revelry. The notch in the Guithannite wall.

"Is that so?" Arcalante said blandly.

Selcott didn't reply, just stepped down each black step into the depression at the other end of the temple. When the reached the bowl, it was clear that Arcalante had made the temple his own. It was most probably the area where speeches and lectures had once been issued, with the audience sitting on the steps leading down from the other end. They were effectively now underground and Selcott could see that there were several more halls and rooms behind a wall of Guithannite. Just above, the bowl was lined by a ledge where more onlookers could conceivably listen to the speaker.

"Wondering what this place is?" Ceryn asked. She hopped off Arcalante's shoulder as he sat on a canvas chair.

"Yes," Selcott said. Arcalante motioned for him to sit down and relax while he rummaged around several wooden boxes for food and drink.

"Arcalante calls it a temple," Ceryn said. "It once was. Our lorekeepers say that this place used to be a centre of learning."

"A school?" Selcott said.

"An academy," Ceryn corrected. "For Tanatri."

At this, Selcott's attention was piqued and he leaned forward. "The Tanatri?"

"Yes."

All children learned of the Tanatri during their formal education and Selcott was no different. His knowledge was perhaps more detailed than most others but there were many things about the Tanatri that had been lost to history's teachers. While many tales of Tanatri were bandied about, only one thing was certain - the Tanatri were no more and unlike Dhagara, their teachings had died out with them.

Selcott moved his gaze from Ceryn to Arcalante, who was preparing a small platter of food. It was the first time that Selcott could examine his new companion in proper light and without the fear of being killed in a brawl. He was slightly older than Selcott, light-skinned but with dark hair and features. Arcalante's clothes were finely woven but made to appear common. He wore little jewellery and Selcott could not readily identify anything that might have been a saexum, which he found was the easiest method of judging a person's upbringing.

Without preamble, Selcott said, "How did you do it, Arcalante?"

"Do what?"

"Throw that steel crescent so hard that it chipped the Guithannite in the tavern?"

At this, Ceryn seemed to hold her breath but it was difficult to tell from her size. Arcalante raised his eyes to meet Selcott's. "Why do you want to know?"

Selcott said flatly, "Are you a Tanatri?"

Slowly, Arcalante's face softened. He began to smile and chuckle. "No, Selcott. No, I am not."

"But I know what I saw. Not even Audonians have figured out how to carve or cut Guithannite. No one can even paint it without the paint peeling off a couple days later."

Arcalante sighed but it was Ceryn who answered, "All in good time, Selcott. I think we should eat."

"Good idea," Arcalante said. He brought the platter of food to the centre of their little circle. "I'm sorry we don't have a fire but we should get some rest soon anyway."

"That's fine," Selcott said, reaching for some cheese and bread.

"Here," Ceryn said, dragging a blanket towards him. It was several times her size, the equivalent of Selcott uprooting a house and dragging it across a field. "You can use this."

"Thank you." Selcott said. He wrapped it around his shoulders as he continued eating. Arcalante ate some fruit while Ceryn picked at the smaller pieces which Arcalante had cut for her.

"So, you're a pixie," Selcott said more than asked.

"Well," Ceryn replied, "we prefer forest-folk or foresters."

"And Arcalante isn't a Tanatri but can somehow deform Guithannite." Selcott took a mouthful of cheese and chewed slowly. Neither Arcalante or Ceryn said anything, smiles almost dancing across their faces. "I think I'm owed an explanation."

Arcalante nodded. "You must understand we cannot tell you everything right now - we don't have the time. But we will tell you what we can."

"How long have you been holed up in here?" Selcott asked. "Where are you from?"

"We've been based in the temple for several months now," Arcalante said. "I met Ceryn and Tome while travelling from Eldaros to Guithannan."

"Tome?"

"Yes," Ceryn said. "He's asleep right now."

"So there are more of you?" Selcott asked. He wrapped the blanket around him tightly, wishing they could have a fire despite their pursuers outside.

"There's only one village in Shadowdeep," Ceryn said. "Perhaps as many foresters as big-folk in Tiadri." Tiadri was a small town near Brookholm with a significant Expatritor presence due the Highway passing through as the main road. Ceryn continued, "Of course, in the Deep, our village is spread out amongst the trees, high in the branches so that roaming skeryanc can't reach us."

"I didn't know that skeryanc were such a problem," Selcott said. It was rare to see the strange plump carnivores at the edge of Shadowdeep where it ran close to the settlements around Guithannan. "What about wolves and such?"

"Most animals can't even smell a forester up close," Ceryn said. "But a skeryanc and ildritch can detect one from a furlong away upwind." She became thoughtful. "It's like they're our natural predators."

Arcalante added, "For us big-folk too. Have you ever seen a skeryanc take down a man?"

Selcott shook his head. In his entire life, he'd only ever seen one of the strange denizens of Shadowdeep - a skeryanc, when he was a child touring the settlements with his family. It scuttled along the edge of the forest beyond a field of apple trees and then disappeared.

"They're killers," Arcalante said. "Its six legs can outrun anyone except a forester at full pelt. The maw on its underbelly will kill a man with one bite. And if it latches onto your head, you're dead."

"So you've seen a few of them?"

"There are plenty in Eldaros as most of it is engulfed by Shadowdeep," Arcalante answered after swallowing a chunk of orange. "On my way here, I saw no fewer than five." He lowered his eyes and Selcott guessed that some of those five encounters had been closer than Arcalante would have preferred. "But," Arcalante quickly added, "Had I not made my way through the Deep to reach Guithannan, I would have never met Ceryn and Tome."

"And damned fortunate you are to have met us!" Ceryn said with mock indignation.

"I've never been to Eldaros," Selcott said wistfully. "Are you from there?"

"Most recently, yes," Arcalante replied. "It's a peaceful province, fairly free of Expatritors."

"Yes, I've heard that," Selcott said. "It must be good."

"Expatritors are ingrained into the social fabric of Guithannan and Brookholm," Arcalante said, "not to mention the towns between the two cities. Shadowdeep, for all its faults, has protected Eldaros, Denosto and Ryneusk from the Expatritors expanding into their borders."

"Do you think the Zhandouran invasion of 221 could happen again?" Selcott said almost to himself.

"When the Zhandoura raided Expatritor fortifications and left everything else? I don't know," Arcalante said. "It would take another monumental incident for the Zhandoura to pull together a force like that again. But it would be nice to be rid of the Expatritors once and for all."

Selcott looked at Arcalante curiously. Ceryn grinned as Selcott said, "Why do you say that? Not enamoured of the Expatritors?"

Arcalante smiled too. "I'm well aware of your time with the Expatritors, as is most of the city. But unlike most of the city, I know that you did not leave them on the best of terms." Selcott's mind began racing as Arcalante continued, "I know your opinion of them is not dissimilar to mine. At least in that respect, you are your father's son."

"So you know of my father's run-ins with the Expatritors," Selcott said.

Ceryn chuckled, her laughter rang like a bell. Arcalante smiled and said, "Everyone knows, Selcott. We heard of it within hours of passing through the gates."

Selcott leaned back on his canvas chair. "So, what brought you to Guithannan in the first place?" At this, Arcalante hesitated but did not look at Ceryn. The forester woman pursed her tiny lips and rocked back on her heels.

"Was that the wrong question to ask?" Selcott said.

"No," Arcalante said. "It was the right question." He grinned widely. "I'm just not sure that I should answer it."

"It has something to do with what happened in the tavern, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Arcalante replied. "Close enough."

"Well," Selcott said as he scratched his chin in mock thought. "You're not a Tanatri yet you've made your home in an old Tanatri temple. You're not from Guithannan but speak our language like you were born here. You seem to know more of this city and its people than the citizens themselves. Is all of that about right?"

Arcalante pointedly reached for the final piece of fruit on the dish and then slowly ate it. "You have it right."

"But why help me?" Selcott asked. "To someone like you, I'm nothing."

"I don't think that," Arcalante said. "Not at all. You're a Wrienswing and for wrong or right, you're the most famous of the heirs to the throne of Guithannan."

"Is that so?" Selcott said, somewhat conflicted. "I'm not so convinced."

Arcalante shrugged nonchalantly. "You're young. Most folk I've spoken to understand - that you're allowed to make mistakes but ultimately, you will need to become a Prince."

"You're sounding too much like my father. We're young only once - we should live as we please while we can enjoy it."

"Perhaps. I may not know of the afterlife so while it remains a mystery, I must assume we live only once. I would not waste my youth and strength."

Selcott frowned. "Are there people who say I'm wasting my life?"

"There are," Arcalante replied. "Your youth should be used wisely. Usefully. With purpose."

"I suppose," Selcott conceded outloud, even though Arcalante's sentiment grated. "You couldn't be much older than me. What is your purpose, Arcalante?"

"And we return to that question," Ceryn interjected. "Why don't you just tell him, Arc? It won't do any harm."

Arcalante visibly sighed and leaned forward, adopting a thinking pose. He stared at Selcott for several silent moments. "Very well."

Selcott couldn't help from smiling in anticipation as Arcalante said, "How much do you know about saexum?"

For some reason, Selcott found himself tongue-tied - perhaps the question was oddly phrased or the question itself was unexpected. "Nothing much. What is there to know? It's bound to babies during the Naming Ceremony, becomes hard like Guithannite and then disintegrates when you die."

Arcalante nodded. "That's what I thought once. What if I were to tell you that the purpose of saexum was far greater?"

"Is it anything to do with Tanatri?" Selcott asked. "Audonian crafters?"

"Close but not quite," Arcalante replied. "As you know, according to legend, Tanatri drew their power from earth and water imbued with Tanatrum. By all accounts, their displays of power were quite amazing." Selcott nodded eagerly - everyone knew of the tales of Tanatri, people of unearthly talents. Arcalante continued, "Not as well-known is that sometimes in the past, the binding of saexum to certain people - or perhaps by certain people - resulted in powers that mimicked some Tanatri skills. No one could figure out why but the Tanatri, until the time their academies dwindled and died out, were determined to study it and find out. Their knowledge of saexum gradually led to the practise of keeping the stones and gems in safe places or on the body. And such devices were designed by them."

"Audonians are Tanatri?" Selcott said.

"Well, they are the remnants of the Tanatri and their wisdom. And it is only a small fraction of a fraction of what the Tanatri once were."

"So they were not just myth? Fairytales?"

"No."

Ceryn piped up, "Amongst foresters, the Tanatri are still remembered. Our generations are longer than big-folk - for us they are still only yesterday, not yesteryear."

Selcott nodded. To Arcalante, he said, "So, you have it, don't you? You have one of those special saexum."

Arcalante nodded. "For whatever reason, I am bound to one. I don't know how or why. But after I found I could perform these feats, I started travelling. Now, I am a seeker."

"What do you mean?"

"Not everyone can afford an Audonian-crafted collar, Selcott," Arcalante said. Selcott rubbed his neck, as self-conscious as ever of the collar and the ruby saexum embedded in it. Arcalante elaborated, "Sometimes saexum are lost or stolen. I retrieve them."

Selcott suddenly became wide awake, excited. "What's that like? It must be exciting!" In his mind's eye, Selcott could already imagine the adventures Arcalante had, traversing the length and breadth of Iacea hunting lost saexum for glory and reward, at the beck and call of no one but himself.

"It's never boring, I'll give it that," Arcalante said.

"So how much do people pay you to find lost saexum?"

"It depends on the person."

Selcott leaned forward. "And what if the saexum were stolen?"

A small smile creased Arcalante's face. "Then, I steal it back."

Unable to suppress a laugh, Selcott said, "That's fantastic!"

"I could be doing worse things to earn my cirrens," Arcalante shrugged.

Selcott agreed - he knew what he wanted to ask Arcalante next but it seemed too forward to bring up. Instead, he said, "Did you come to Guithannan hunting a saexum?"

"Not quite," Arcalante said. "I'm taking a break from that for a while. Where the trail of the saexum leads me, I usually do not have the time to relax and enjoy my time there. So, this is good for a change even if I am trespassing in the temple."

"No one would care," Selcott said. "Most people think it's haunted or somesuch."

Ceryn chuckled. "We might have had something to do with that since we arrived."

"Those shrieks? That was you?" Ceryn nodded as Selcott continued, "But you're so small!"

"I can lug that big blanket around can't I?" Ceryn said pointedly. "I can jump on and off Arc's shoulder without hurting myself. I can do a hundred other things that you'd find impossible."

"I'm sorry. I keep forgetting that you're a pixie. I suppose I should expect a Tanatri to pop up at the Palace gates tomorrow."

Arcalante and Ceryn didn't laugh or even smile. They just looked at Selcott. He said, "It was a joke."

"Very well," Arcalante said.

"It's just that the teachings of Dhagara have survived all this time," Ceryn said. "It seems to stand to reason that the teachings of the Tanatri, whose academies and halls exist long after Dhagara's death, should also exist."

"But they don't," Selcott said, "at least, not in the same abundance as Dhagara's." He thought for a moment; he had never really considered the Tanatri to be real like Dhagara but Arcalante had planted an idea. If the Tanatri were real, then the fact that their teachings no longer existed in texts or scrolls meant that their knowledge had either been passed on by word-of-mouth or they had been wiped out, wholly and rapidly destroyed by some force unknown to historians. Selcott feared to contemplate what force could annihilate Tanatri, people who could only truly be described as magical.

"We should rest," Arcalante said. "It is getting late."

"I won't argue that," Ceryn said. "Good night!" With a blur, she disappeared to a corner of the amphitheatre bowl.

"I think I should return," Selcott said. "Perhaps not to the barracks. I can probably make it back to the Palace safely from here."

"If you feel you must," Arcalante said. "I would still advise you to stay until pre-dawn."

Despite the hospitality shown to him, Selcott still could not decide whether to trust Arcalante and his strange forester companions. He stood up, carefully laying the borrowed blanket on the chair. "I think I should, before I am missed. If I return to the Palace, at least whatever excuse I fabricate will be more believable than if I am caught in this district."

"True enough," Arcalante conceded. "The patrols would have moved on, I suppose." He stood up and shook Selcott's hand with a firm grip. "I hope we meet again - under better circumstances."

"I do too," Selcott said. "Can you tell me - how many walkways branch off from the temple?"

"Several," Arcalante said. "They're all taken from the roof.

"Can you take me there?"

"Of course. "Arcalante smiled and led Selcott to a staircase that spiralled from the bottom of the amphitheatre to the top of the temple.

It was late in the night for the exercise and Selcott panted his way to the final landing. Arcalante did not seem fazed by the climb at all. He unlocked the door by swivelling and prodding the mechanism and then pushed it open for Selcott.

"Farewell, Selcott. Safe travels."

"And you," Selcott returned. He stepped through the narrow gap into the cool night air. The door shut behind him with a dull thud.

Here, on the soaring walkways above Guithannan, Selcott was fully at ease. He trotted along the lower public paths, flitting between pools of light cast by lamps and scanning ahead for guards who patrolled above the city as much as below. Selcott knew each arch carved in the sky better than anyone he could name; when he spotted a city-watch sauntering along a bridge he intended to take, Selcott backtracked and took another.

As Arcalante surmised, the searchers from earlier in the night seemed to have given up; the time hiding in the old Tanatri temple had been well-spent. Soon, Selcott reached a low dwelling that sat just outside the Palace walls. He silently thanked Arcalante; only an hour or two ago, the walkways would likely have been crawling with Expatritor and Guithannan Army soldiers alike and Selcott would never have been able to leave the district of the Spitfire Roast and Revelry.

He dropped to a crouch as he peered into the darkness ahead. The walkways and bridges of Guithannan stretched into all sectors of the city and the Royal Palace was no exception, however, only low-level public walkways extended over the walls and into the Palace grounds. These were well-guarded by blue-tabarded Royal Palace guards during all hours of the day and night. Selcott could hear their quiet small-talk on the breeze. He could see their silhouettes pacing back and forth against a shuttered lamp.

Selcott peered down at the battlements of the Palace grounds' wall. A lone guard strolled by, oblivious to his observer above him. When the guard passed, Selcott flexed his hands and arms, warming them for the task. He lowered himself and slithered along the walkway, ignoring the dirt and grit his tunic began to collect.

When he was sure he could go no further without being detected by the guards ahead, Selcott crawled to the edge of the walkway and stretched his arm out over the side. He stroked the side of the walkway with his fingers, searching for the crevice he knew was there. Inch by inch, Selcott leaned out further, extending his reach.

After a long minute, he edged out again, an uncomfortable portion of his torso hanging in the night air. Selcott couldn't help the small knot of panic rising in his stomach.

Then, he found it! Selcott awkwardly hooked his fingers into the groove and gripped onto the edge of the walkway with the other. He slid his body over, one leg then the other, until he was dangling from the walkway from his hands. He felt a breeze brush by and he breathed in the scentless fresh air.

Selcott took hold of the grooves and cracks underneath the walkway, releasing his grip one hand at a time as he swung forward. He could not resist the urge to look down - it was almost a hundred foot drop to the Palace gardens but Selcott refused to panic. He had made this exhausting journey before; at least this time, he had even better reason not to be caught.

He swung his way into the Palace grounds on the underside of the walkway. Light reflected off the Guithannite from torches and lamps set into the garden pieces below but Selcott knew almost all of the hand-holds by instinct. He knew which ones were better for his left hand and which were better for his right. He knew the ones that could fit only half a hand and those for which he had to use both. By the time he reached the south-east tower of the Palace, he had almost forgotten his predicament. Selcott gratefully swung his feet onto a narrow ledge on the side of the tower and rested. He could not afford to breathe too heavily; just above him a small Lance stood guard against any possible, yet unlikely, invasion.

With a smile to himself, Selcott set off again, his usual pathway coming to memory unbidden. He clambered, scurried, slid and crept across the Palace's roofs, eaves and towers, avoiding the notice of all the sentries which hadn't changed positions over the years. Selcott eventually reached the private north-wing of the Palace and he knew there was no way for him to break into his own room - his windows would be locked.

Instead, Selcott climbed to another window near his own. He peered inside and tapped on the glass. There was no response; he tapped again.

A soft light sprang to life and some shadows moved. Keilaine slowly hovered into view. She did not quite smile but instead bore a look of surprise and worry.

"Selcott, what are you doing here?" she whispered after unlatching the window. Selcott climbed inside and closed the window after him. Like all other interior furnishings, the window frame was a part of the inlaid floor and wall over the Guithannite.

"I don't know if I have the time to tell you," he responded.

Keilaine almost pouted but then seemed to remember her age. "I think you owe me, if you're sneaking into the Palace at this time of night."

"Oh, really?" Selcott said. "You were quick to light a lamp. Keeping it nearby for other midnight visitors?"

"Do be quiet!" Keilaine replied. "I'm just surprised you haven't sprung into Cassine's window by now."

Selcott planted his hands on his hips sarcastically. "Very funny. I should say the same of you and Valedros."

Keilaine gasped and grabbed Selcott's arm. "You take that back!"

"Are you going to make me?" Selcott messed up Keilaine's hair and danced around her as she held into his upper arm. "Try and make me! Try and make me! Try and make me!"

Keilaine started laughing and swatted Selcott in the back of the head. He grunted and shot her a look of mock surprise. Keilaine stuck her tongue out at him. Before she could react, Selcott lifted her by the waist and threw her onto the bed. His sister started giggling madly and Selcott pulled the covers of her bed over her, wrapping Keilaine into a tight cocoon. Selcott sat on her laughing and Keilaine continued giggling, giving only a token struggle.

After a few minutes, Selcott relented and lay down beside his sister. Keilaine kicked out the covers, freeing herself. "I'm your older sister. I'm supposed to do that to you!"

"Well, it was about time for your turn," Selcott said, staring at the ceiling. The small lamp offered only a little light that flickered on the exposed Guithannite above them.

Keilaine said nothing but Selcott could feel her smiling. He thought she might have fallen asleep but then she said, "How are you going to get back into the Army barracks?"

"I don't know," Selcott said. "I might have to return in the morning and take whatever punishment is due."

"Oh." Keilaine grabbed his hand and squeezed it. "What happened, Selcott? Why did you have to sneak back here?"

Selcott held onto his sister's hand as he thought over the night's events. Keilaine added, "It's worse than breaking curfew, isn't it?"

"Yes," Selcott said. "Someone's dead because of me."

"Spirits!" Keilaine cursed. "Who? How did it happen?"

"I don't know, Lainey. I don't know."

"Tell me." Keilaine rolled over so she was facing Selcott. "Show me."

Selcott looked at his sister's face, faint in the weak light of the lamp. Her emerald saexum, however, shone in her Audonian-crafted collar. "Okay."

He sat up and Keilaine followed suit. They faced each other and adjusted their collars so their respective saexum were on the side of their necks. Selcott leaned forward, as did Keilaine, and they embraced. Selcott closed his eyes as their saexum touched.

There was the familiar feeling, of Keilaine, of her memories, of her feelings. He let it rush into his mind just as his own consciousness flowed into hers. Then, Selcott turned his attention to the events of the past few hours, feeding it to Keilaine's mind, moment by moment as he could recall them - yet the entire night's events flashed by in only seconds. Then, as Selcott readied himself to cut the link, the thought of Arcalante as the stranger triggered another memory. He remembered the night in the Expatritor compound just before he had been discharged from their service - the meeting between two unidentified men, two strangers.

Keilaine leaned back, the intimate connection between them severed. She didn't say anything, only looked at her hands in her lap.

"Laine?" Selcot said.

"Oh, Sel," Keilaine muttered. "What do we do?"

"What do you mean `we'?" Selcott said. "It's my problem. You don't have to worry yourself about it."

"Where do I start? This Arcalante fellow cut into Guithannite?"

"Maybe I was mistaken," Selcott said with a shrug.

"Maybe not - but as bad as what happened tonight is," Keilaine said, "what about the two men talking about saexum? What if they knew what we know?"

"That we can read each other's minds?" Selcott said. "I don't think it's about that, Laine. It's about something else."

"Do you think that this Arcalante person can help?"

"Maybe. He did mention certain types of people or saexum who have unusual powers. I don't think anyone would know about us Wrienswings using our saexum to share our memories. I think it's more likely that someone knows of Arcalante or that he might not be the only one."

"There might be other people who have powers like a Tanatri?"

Selcott shrugged. "It's possible."

Keilaine sighed and Selcott knew that she was fretting over what he had seen. She held his hands tightly and finally, she said, "Maybe this is it."

"This is what?"

Keilaine stared into Selcott's eyes. "Remember what Mother and Father were talking about? Your service?"

"Yes. To Guithannan. To become a military man."

"Maybe your service to Guithannan isn't necessarily to become a military leader - maybe it's to uncover this meeting about saexum; in which case, you'll still need all of your training."

"A hunter."

"Yes," Keilaine agreed. "Just like Arcalante. You saw him fight."

"He was certainly well-trained."

"Just as you will be."

Selcott grinned. "You might be right, Lainey."

"Of course!"

Selcott impulsively hugged his sister again and slid off the bed. "I should go and let you get some sleep."

"Okay," Keilaine said. "Can you put out the lamp, please?"

"Very well," Selcott said. He doused the lamp and plunged the room back into darkness. "Thanks, Lainey. I'll think about what you said."

"You should."

"Good night."

"Good night," Keilaine replied as she flopped back to her bed.

Selcott crept out of her room, careful to close the door softly. He sneaked into his own room and fell into bed, sleep almost overtaking him. But when his head hit the pillow, Selcott suddenly found himself awake again. The night's events replayed in his mind; Arcalante's words and actions were curious and haunting. It was hours until slumber came.

Chapter Six

At the familiar sound of armoured boots coming to a halt, Keilaine glanced away from the sheafs of paper. An Expatritor stood just inside the Princess' garden. Keilaine put carefully put aside Lengeres' unpublished treatise on business and furrowed her brow. Then, the Expatritor removed his helm.

Keilaine smiled. "Good morning, Highness," Valedros said.

"And good morning to you, Expatritor."

Valedros bowed slightly and took a couple tentative steps forward into the garden. His armour gleamed in the mid-morning sunshine that creeped over the walls of the Palace grounds that also served as the perimeter of the city's northern boundary. Valedros scanned the gardens, a concealed hideaway for the Wrienswings, in particular Keilaine. The terraced nature of the Guithannite underneath the transported earth and plants created a green cascade in which Keilaine could escape whenever she chose.

"How are you?" Valedros asked. His neatly trimmed goatee contrasted against his shock of dark hair. Keilaine had only ever met his uncle - Karradros Osteyrus - once. He was the Expatritor Saeculus, their leader and commander, if only a figurehead. For a moment as he stood in the shadows, Valedros' heritage frightened Keilaine - things which the Saeculus apparently sanctioned were hard to associate with the man before her.

"I'm fine," Keilaine responded. "And you?"

"Good, thank you for asking."

"So, what can I help you with, Valedros?" Keilaine asked. "Are you lost?"

"If you would kindly remember," Valedros replied with the beginnings of a smile, "you invited me here. There would be no other way for anyone like myself to be present."

"Ah, yes," Keilaine said, feigning absent-mindedness. She descended the last two terraces, carefully negotiating the Guithannite steps in her slippers. As she approached Valedros, she looked up at him with a broad smile that he returned. "I think our chess match today will be surprising."

"Well, you are due for a win."

Keilaine narrowed her eyes. "You are a cheeky one."

"Just a fact, Your Highness," Valedros said with another bow. "Where is the set? It's not here."

"No," Keilaine said. "I asked for the table and chairs to be moved to the south-west tower, overlooking the Palace frontage and the city."

"How scenic."

Keilaine grinned. "I thought so. I do like this garden but the views from the Palace towers are breathtaking."

"I have never had the privilege," Valedros said. Keilaine knew that Expatritors assigned to patrol the Palace compound stayed in the gardens and surrounding areas. None were permitted in the private north-wing or in some areas of the main Palace, including the towers which had walkways extending over the walls; for obvious reasons, Martreas never relaxed that restriction on the Expatritors' presence in the Palace, though he and his family would have preferred for them to be gone entirely.

"Let's go," Keilaine said. Valedros nodded and turned crisply on his heel. Keilaine wrapped the scroll and secured it on a bench next to the doorway before following Valedros inside.

"What can you tell me of the Expatritor who interrupted Cassine and me?" Keilaine asked.

Valedros ambled on, gauntleted hands held leisurely behind his back. "What do you want to know?"

"Was he punished? Suspended? Expelled?"

"He was punished accordingly," Valedros said with a curious glance at Keilaine. She couldn't identify his thoughts - did he think her to be vengeful? The Expatritor deserved to be taught his place, especially within the Royal Palace.

"Can you elaborate?" Keilaine said. "That's not much information."

"Unfortunately, Princess, it's not for those outside the Expatritors to know. I assure you that I have dealt with it and the matter is closed."

"Very well." Keilaine sighed softly, slightly disappointed that he could not entrust her with that information.

They strolled down the main staircase that rose from the foyer of the north wing. As usual, she kept up with Valedros' stride, despite him standing a head taller than her; she suspected he slowed his pace whenever they walked together.

As they reached the landing at the entrance of the north wing, Keilaine asked, "How have your patrols been?"

"I have actually been stationed in the city lately," Valedros said.

"Why is that?"

"I'm not sure." Valedros pulled open one of the doors and Keilaine stepped through, sunshine instantly warming her face. She nodded to the Royal Guards on duty just outside the entrance as they saluted. As Valedros passed, the guards saluted again - Valedros' rank as Expatritor was at least the equivalent of Captain within the Guithannan Army or Royal Guards. Whatever the disposition of the Royal family and its staff, due respect was always given to the Expatritors.

Keilaine did not press the issue of Valedros' recent duties, sensing a deeper reason within Expatritorial politics that she would never pierce or understand. Instead, she turned the conversation to small talk about the goings-on in the city as they strolled to the base of the south-west tower. The weather had been kind in recent days, which augured well for the upcoming Harvest Festival. Bards and other travelling minstrels and performers were gradually flowing into Guithannan; they would soon be crowding into the city square that was usually inhabited by an ever-constant market. Generally, as far as Keilaine knew, preparations were continuing as planned for one of the most memorable Harvest Festivals ever.

They circumvented the main Palace wings, walking through the surrounding lawns and gardens that eventually enjoined the manicured gardens south of the Palace that were open to the public. Just before the gatehouse that divided the sectors, Keilaine led Valedros back inside, close to the stairs of the south-west tower.

She couldn't help but smile to herself as they walked down the wide hallway. Valedros stopped in mid-sentence to ask, "What is so amusing, Highness?"

"Oh," Keilaine said, "that fact that you're fully armoured."

"I see," Valedros said. "I did not know that Expatritor field-armour was a source of such amusement."

"It's not. It's the fact that the balcony with the chess set is just two-hundred feet above us."

Valedros furrowed his brow - his most distressed expression as far as Keilaine knew. She couldn't help her smile widening. "Perhaps field armour was not the wisest choice today," she said, "Perhaps, in future, you may better judge the relative probability of requiring your implements of war when you visit the Royal Palace."

"Very well," Valedros said emotionlessly. The thick Guithannite stairs of the tower appeared before them and Keilaine skipped up several of them. Valedros planted his boots on the first step and a grim look washed over his face. Keilaine laughed.

When they reached the balcony, Keilaine's legs were aching and her lungs on fire. The stairs had seemed to become taller as they wound their way skywards and Keilaine gratefully sank into one of two chairs next to the table and chess set. Above her, the tower continued to soar skywards, the levels and rooms above used mainly by the Royal Guards. At the peak of the tower was a crow's nest that overlooked the entire city and much of the surrounding countryside; Keilaine briefly wondered how far into the forsaken northern reaches the look-outs could see.

Valedros appeared a minute later. He carried his helm in one hand and his gauntlets in the other; sweat matted his hair and glistened on his face. Keilaine grinned at him as he gracefully, as ever, laid the doffed armour just inside the doorway. A breeze drifted by, cooling Keilaine. As Valedros slowly sat on the chair opposite her, at attention even when at rest, she watched him; she couldn't guess where he kept his saexum. Keilaine resisted the urge to rub the emerald saexum in her collar, as if ignoring it made it less obvious than it was.

With a ragged breath, Valedros said, "Let's not do that again soon."

"Very well," Keilaine said with mock formality. She mimicked Valedros' stiff posture and steepled her fingers together.

Valedros broke into a smile, a rare sight for an Expatritor. Keilaine laughed. "I didn't know whether I could climb all those steps. It wouldn't have been the same if you had to have carried me up."

"No," Valedros said. "You enjoyed racing up here, didn't you?"

"Yes. And the fact you wore all of your armour was quite welcome."

"Wait. Did you have more fun racing up the stairs or seeing me almost collapse from exhaustion?"

Keilaine pretended to ponder the question for a moment. "Both were equally satisfying."

"It's nice to know I'm such a reliable source of entertainment."

"Isn't it?" Keilaine responded glibly.

Valedros smiled and stood. He unbuckled his baldric and rested his weapons against the doorway. As he did so, Keilaine could see the Expatritorial façade crumble. He was just Valedros Osteyrus Luneiadon - not an Expatritor, not a military man, just a man from Brookholm.

"Shall we begin?" he asked.

"Yes," Keilaine said. "Can you set up the board? I'll get the refreshments." Valedros nodded and began unpacking the intricately carved chess pieces. Keilaine stood and walked back inside.

The level she had chosen was generally unused but available for certain functions; it consisted mostly of guest-quarters as the long climb prevented the two larger rooms to be used for general entertaining. In one of them, however, was a shaft in a wall that ran the entire length of the tower to the ground. It had openings at each level and within the shaft was a sturdy boxed tray used to transport food and drink to the higher levels from below. Keilaine opened the cover to the shaft and found within a platter of fresh fruit and several decanters of juice and water that she had requested to be sent up earlier.

When she returned, Valedros had finished arranging the pieces on the board. Keilaine set the platter to one side of the table and poured some juice and water into goblets. "Pick one," she said. "They're all quite good."

"Thank you," Valedros said as he reached for some water and the juice of apple and melon. He drank from the water deeply, as did Keilaine. Then, he tasted the juice and nodded approvingly.

"This selection of fruit and juice is from the slopes of the Stonepeak, just outside Guithannan," Keilaine said.

Valedros sipped his drink again. "Of course. The Expatritors need new suppliers."

"So," Keilaine said, settling into her chair. "Shall I begin or you?"

"You can take the first move," Valedros replied. "Unless you want to flip a cirren for the honour?"

"No." Keilaine gently spun the marble chess board around so the white pieces were before her. She began with a traditional, conservative move - she knew her best chance of defeating Valedros was to use the strategies she knew best.

"How is your brother, Selcott?" Valedros asked as he moved his piece. "Is the Guithannan Army agreeing with him?"

"I think so," Keilaine said cautiously. As much as she trusted Valedros, she still could not be sure how much he knew of Selcott's discharge and especially of what he saw.

"I heard rumours about his leaving," Valedros said. "I suppose he has too much of a care-free spirit about him, a wanderlust."

Keilaine nodded, studying the board even at this early stage. "You're right about that. It's gotten him into more trouble than it's worth but that's no secret."

Valedros didn't respond immediately and Keilaine knew that what she said was not only true, it was widely known amongst the nobles and elite of Guithannan. As Valedros examined the board even more intently than Keilaine, he said, "Selcott was well-liked amongst the Expatritors. It's a shame he had to leave."

"Do you think he could have made it?" Despite what the Wrienswings thought of the Expatritors in general terms, they knew - as did Keilaine - that the skills and knowledge testing involved was far more rigorous than that of the Guithannan Army. It was why their father, Lord Martreas, was so wary of the Expatritors - if ever the need arose, it was not guaranteed that the combined might of the Guithannan Army, Royal Guards and available mercenaries could resist an Expatritor assault from within the city walls. If Selcott had learned of their tactics and strategies, it would have meant that Martreas and the Wrienswings held the balance of power in addition to the glory of claiming the first royal Expatritor in living memory.

"I don't know," Valedros responded. "I have never been close to novice training but I understand that Selcott had some talent. Whether he would have passed the final assessment is another matter."

"Okay." They continued the game, snacking on the fruit platter. "Do you know if my brother had any trouble with other novices?"

Valedros lifted his gaze for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Did he have any enemies?" Keilaine said. "He never told me the real reason why he left."

"I don't think he had any enemies," Valedros said, shaking his head slowly. "Certainly not amongst the Expatritors. And the novices are kept too busy to be worrying about politicking and such." He moved a knight into the centre of the board.

Keilaine didn't say anything for a moment, pondering the next few moves. "I don't mean to pry into the Expatritors and certainly not into Selcott's time there."

"Have some of the novices been at Selcott?"

"I don't know," Keilaine said, slightly uncomfortable with the lie. "But do you know if the Expatritors still have an interest in Selcott?"

Valedros shrugged. "I wouldn't have thought so." He ate a slice of apple and then added, "But, all things considered, an Expatritor of Royal descent would have been an extraordinary thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Valedros said, "Consider the situation in Brookholm where the Expatritors are at their strongest. My mother, Ellaidra Luneiadon, is the Speaker of the Brookholm Circle of Seven while her brother, Karradros Osteyrus, is the Saeculus of the Expatritors - the first commander of the entire order."

"What about the Charge? Ferrenus?"

Valedros almost snorted. "He may be Charge and second-in-command but he is still subject to the same laws and customs as everyone else in Brookholm."

"Would he ever try to seize the position of Saeculus?" Keilaine asked.

"I would like to say that he wouldn't dare," Valedros said, "but I know he wishes for it. The question is whether the Expatritors would follow him or choose another. But that was the heart of the problem in Brookholm when my mother became the Speaker - no one knew how two siblings in such positions of power would work together in the governance of Brookholm."

Keilaine did not know as much of Brookholm as the native Brookholmer opposite her, but she was more aware of Guithannan's eastern neighbour than most citizens. "They didn't work together, did they?" Keilaine said. "But they were forced to when Ellaidra's son became an Expatritor."

Valedros met Keilaine's gaze and nodded. "That's right. When my mother was elected Speaker after my father died, I knew that she wanted me to also enter the political arena in Brookholm. But I joined the Expatritors instead; it was what I always wanted."

"You must have been torn from the beginning."

"That is true. But it also forced my mother and uncle to compromise. The Expatritors hold a permanent seat on the Circle of Seven - I don't know how that originated but I suspect there were many times when my mother schemed to have that law amended."

Keilaine sat back for a moment, the game forgotten. She drank from her goblet and then said, "So, did Signe DuFay think the same thing with my brother?"

Valedros raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Perhaps. But DuFay is only the Charge Minor and still takes orders from the Saeculus and Brookholm Charge. I am sure that my uncle and Ferrenus were aware of Selcott's position - I just don't know what they wanted."

"If Selcott ever had to choose," Keilaine said, "he would never have chosen the Expatritors over our family."

"You know him better than I. But I know the Expatritors can be very persuasive."

"What if Selcott had become a true Expatritor? Do you think that Signe DuFay would have told him to push their agenda into the ruling of Guithannan?"

Valedros cupped his chin. "That's my best guess. There might have also been a chance that DuFay would have accepted a lower presence within the Palace, knowing that Selcott would be around. Now? Who knows?"

Keilaine sighed. Valedros' opinion held more weight than most - it was worrisome to think that the Expatritors would consider increasing their patrols into the Palace, the Wrienswing's home.

As if Valedros could read her thoughts, he said, "I don't like the Expatritorial obsession with the Palace any more than you do."

"It's nothing compared to the Royal Guards or Army sentinels," Keilaine said.

"I can only imagine," Valedros replied. "But the Expatritors have always been."

"What has always been may not always be," Keilaine said, quoting the proverb popular in both Guithannan and Brookholm.

Valedros chuckled. "You know, I never really understood or cared about how the Expatritors were perceived until I was stationed here. One of the stops on my way here was in Junction, on the fork of the Lohate and Tiaquin rivers. I thought it was a lovely city until I wondered where all of the Expatritors were."

"Where were they?"

"They were holed up in their fort. Not on patrol, not on city-watch - they were doing nothing. And I did not find out why until later."

"So it's true?" Keilaine said.

Valedros nodded as he picked another slice of fruit. "The Expatritors in Junction were quite comfortable with the payments they were receiving from the town. I suppose, in some twisted logic, they were right to take the bribes."

"How?" Keilaine said, more angrily than she intended. "A bribe is a bribe. If the Expatritors expect some sort of special treatment so they can troop through the Royal Palace at will, they must be held to an even higher expectation than a common city-watch patrolman or a mercenary!"

"It is Junction. It falls between Guithannan and Brookholm and is subject to neither." Valedros flexed his hands as he spoke, "The Governor of Junction can afford the bribes, the guilds are happy, the Expatritors are happy and the local guards keep their jobs."

Keilaine flopped back on her chair, crossing her arms. "It's not right."

"I know," Valedros said. "I don't know how long it's been happening - I just know it will continue for as long as Guithannan and Brookholm show no interest in Junction. And I suspect that Junction will want to maintain its independence for a while yet."

"So, do you think that there might be disgruntled groups in Guithannan?" Keilaine asked. "As there would be in Junction if the Expatritors patrolled the city and surrounding areas?" As she spoke, she turned her attention back to the game.

"Perhaps," Valedros said. When it was evident that he wasn't going to elaborate, they played on for several moves in silence, the sounds of Guithannan drifting on the wind. Keilaine concentrated, trying to anticipate Valedros' moves and ideas. It was evident that he was attempting to control the centre of the board but she knew of a counter or two that would work.

As Valedros made his move, he said abruptly, "If you are truly worried about the influence of the Expatritors, there are others in Iacea who know more of their history."

"You mean the Zhandoura?" Keilaine said. The Zhandouran tribes inhabited the Arjezen wasteland to the west of Guithannan. The wastelands purportedly stretched from northern coast to the southern coast, isolating eastern Iacea from the west; Keilaine knew little of what lay beyond the Arjezeh and even that was more than the average person.

"The Zhandouran invasion of 221," Valedros said slowly. "Do you know the reason why they invaded?"

Keilaine thought for a moment - everyone was taught this historical event as a child but like others of privileged birth, she knew more than most. "Which answer do you want?" Keilaine asked bluntly. "The one where the Zhandoura invaded eastern Iacea without provocation or the one where the Charge of the Expatritors captured and tortured Zhandouran scouts, forcing the Zhandoura to respond?"

At this verbal attack on Valedros' order, he laughed. "I should have known you would mention the version that the Expatritors prefer not be spread around."

"It's the truth, isn't it?"

Valedros shook his head. As he spoke, he moved his bishop from his primary ranks. "No. The truth is somewhat more disturbing."

"How could it be?" Keilaine asked. She captured a pawn and carefully placed the marble piece aside. "The Charge ordered peaceful Zhandouran scouts in Guithannan to be captured, tortured for information and then killed. Who knows what else happened to them? If the Expatritors were anything else, it would have sparked a war between Brookholm and Guithannan."

"Well," Valedros said, "what if I were to say that the Saeculus ordered the scouts to be captured, specifically to force the Zhandoura to attack?"

"But the Expatritors were decimated!" Keilaine said. "The Zhandoura even had the temerity to target only the Expatritors and their fortifications, leaving everything and everyone else untouched."

"And they also say that the Zhandoura even gave away much of their spoils to the people - I know the stories as well as you do." Valedros sighed. He sipped his drink. "But that was six hundred years ago and the Expatritors were brash. They thought they could provoke any enemy, any force and then defeat them for a glorious victory - one that they would be lauded for in the years following."

"That's what they thought they could do six hundred years ago?"

"That's what they think they could do now," Valedros said with a faint smile.

"Everything is different now," Keilaine said. "Some Zhandoura live in Guithannan - perhaps not as extensively as in Ryneusk but the Expatritors would not dare try anything like that again."

"Maybe not the Zhandoura," Valedros said. "They are not seen as a threat anymore."

"Because the Expatritors have never defeated them?"

Valedros grinned. "If you cannot defeat the enemy, then change the definition of the enemy." He leaned back in his chair and continued, "No, it is not the Zhandoura that the Expatritors wish to conquer."

"Then, who?" Keilaine asked.

"They wish for power," Valedros said. "From my uncle, the Saeculus, to the lowest rank of Expatritor - they want power. They cannot gain what they want by fighting desertmen."

Keilaine said nothing for a moment, her mind ticked over. She stood up and turned to the balcony. The morning view over the city struck her, an astonishing vista. And the Expatritors wanted it all.

"Keilaine?"

"They want the city, don't they?" She turned around, leaning against the Guithannite railing. "The Expatritors want to rule Guithannan. But it would be too obvious for the Expatritors to have a direct hand in anything."

"What do you mean?" Valedros said archly. "I can tell you truthfully that I know nothing of such plots."

"Of course not, Valedros," Keilaine said. She let her gaze slide over his face. "Everyone knows that you were sent to Guithannan as punishment. Everyone knows you are an Expatritor only in name. They would be happy to keep you in the dark, keep you in the Palace. With me."

"I know."

"So, if the Expatritors seek power, they would do well to create a situation, underhandedly, that would allow them to step in as the saviour - just as they attempted and failed in the year 221. They may not even have to - there are enough people who still think of my father as the man who lost against the Expatritors." Keilaine turned around and gripped the railing hard. "I suppose there would still be others apart from the Expatritors who would like to see the Wrienswings off the throne."

"Keilaine," Valedros said from his chair, "Lord Martreas was right in trying to rein in the Expatritors. But it's nearly an impossible task."

"And in the wake of attempting to regulate them, the Expatritors exacted revenge on Guithannan, didn't they?" Keilaine replied over her shoulder. A stray breeze pushed her hair into her eyes. "The Expatritors cheated and threatened and extorted all of the guilds and organisations who supported my father. They even visited regular Army taverns and started brawls. Guess whose novices were beaten up?"

Valedros didn't respond. He was in Brookholm at the time and Keilaine knew he could not provide any special insight for the moment. The more Keilaine thought about the fallout from her father's attempts to bring other guild apprenticeship practices to the Expatritors, the more she realised that the enemies of the Wrienswings could be of any class or occupation. Even if the water-guilders had not openly targeted Selcott at that tavern, it was arguable that the Guithannan Army itself might be a problem for Selcott - what if there were Brands and Lance-Leaders who, as novices, had been attacked by the Expatritors back then? From what she learned from Selcott's experiences in the army barracks so far, Keilaine suddenly feared the worst; of all the apprenticeships available in Guithannan, only those involving combat and warfare could have acceptable and understandable accidents resulting in death.

Keilaine's gut sank.

"Yes, Highness?"

"I need a horse, Stablemaster," Keilaine said. "May I borrow one, please?"

The stablemaster, a wiry middle-aged man, nodded and bowed slightly. "Of course, Highness." He led the way into the Palace stables and stopped in front of a magnificent black mare, already saddled and bridled. "This is Aurina. She's one of my favourites with a gentle temperament despite her training."

Keilaine cocked her head to one side. "Training?"

"Yes, Highness. Aurina was trained as a war-horse for the Royal Guards but she has only ever taken part in parades and such. I believe she was just being prepared for her daily exercises."

"Very well," Keilaine said. "She will do."

"Excellent choice, your Highness," the stablemaster said. He opened the Guithannite stall and walked Aurina out into the afternoon sunshine. Keilaine followed behind, checking her riding gear. She hadn't been on a horse for a couple weeks or so; the weight of a cavalry sabre across her back was peculiar. If the stablemaster - or any other Palace staff - were curious about her weapons, they did not show it.

Keilaine readjusted her belt which held a dagger and several pouches filled with snacks for the afternoon. She lightly mounted Aurina as the stablemaster held the reins. When Keilaine made herself comfortable, she took the reins and gently urged Aurina forward.

"Highness?" the stablemaster said, "Be careful. I don't want to have to explain any mishaps to your father."

"Don't worry," Keilaine called out over her shoulder. "I'll be fine."

Aurina trotted into the Palace gardens, attracting more stares from the Palace guests and visitors than Keilaine preferred but no one seemed to recognise her out of her usual garb. Before long, Keilaine was through the gates and into the city.

Keilaine's conversation over chess with Valedros the previous day had kept her in a constant state of unease - even as she now rode towards Guithannan's gate, she could not shake the strange dread. Despite the company, Keilaine hadn't enjoyed the rest of the morning; when Valedros left for other duties, Keilaine sent messengers to Cassine and Delmorgan, asking if they would be free to accompany her to see Selcott. His division was at a training camp outside the city so it would be difficult for either of them to find the time away from their normal chores to visit. It had taken several hours and many trips by her trusted messengers but Keilaine had managed to organise them.

Crossing the entire city from north to south took longer than expected - Keilaine, like the rest of her family, sometimes underestimated the anticipation of Guithannan when the Harvest Festival approached. Combined with the crowds searching for a midday meal, Keilaine often found herself in a middle of a colourful throng - despite the ability of Guithannite to seemingly leech the vibrancy from all materials - wending her way between noble and commoner alike. She even spied several Zhandoura at times, most probably working as private guards for the wealthier citizens in the city.

After the better part of an hour, Keilaine approached the gateway of Guithannan, the sentinel over the only entrance and exit. It was, in itself, a small village within the city. A plaza, onto which the massive gatehouse opened, was almost the rival of the main city square deeper within Guithannan. Around it was a random sprinkling of merchants, townhouses and livestock stalls which locals and visitors perused. Overlooking everything were the gatehouse and two closest towers of the Guithannan city walls where the Brands of the Guithannan Army watched with relaxed eyes. As Keilaine slowed Aurina to a walk, she could hear snippets of conversation, accents from Brookholm, Ryneusk, Denosto and Eldaros.

From her vantage point, Keilaine scanned the area and spotted Cassine and Delmorgan waiting at the edge of the plaza closest to the raised portcullis of the gatehouse.

She greeted her friends and then said, "Thank you for coming. Have you been waiting long?"

"No," Cassine said. She was seated on an older piebald nag. Despite the condition of her mount, Cassine's fine riding clothes made her nobility obvious.

"Shall we go?" Delmorgan asked. He rode a drafthorse, probably borrowed from the family farm, Keilaine surmised.

"Yes." Keilaine led the way into the gatehouse. As she passed under the portcullis, she glanced up into the murky depths above her that was home to murderholes unseen. If ever an invading force could break open the main Guithannite gate, they would still have to contend with the gatehouse - more a small fortress over the entrance - then, the portcullis. For the time being however, a small detachment of Guithannan army Brands herded a constant stream of people in and out of the city. Keilaine let Aurina follow the flow and then, they were onto the Highway outside the city.

As Keilaine led Cassine and Delmorgan down the winding road away from Guithannan, she was struck by the disparity of the city and the countryside surrounding it. Unlike Brookholm, most of Guithannan's citizens lived within the city's walls - residences outside the walls were essentially the province of farmers and the wealthy. The Royal family kept a small handful of estates in the area. On the other hand, when Keilaine had last visited Brookholm, it was mildly surprising to find out that while the centre of the city sat on the mouth of the Tiaquin River, the rest of it sprawled in all directions inland. Such was the breadth of the city that it was said that some of the boroughs were flirting with the idea of self-governance in the style of outlying towns. Keilaine never found out what happened to such ideas and still could not understand why anyone would forgo the protection and comfort of the Circle of Seven - or in the case of Guithannan, the government of the city and the Royal family.

"Keilaine," Delmorgan said, "do you think Selcott will be all right?"

"I hope so," she replied. Aurina deftly picked her way along the road; Keilaine felt as if she didn't need the reins.

"Can you tell us more?" Cassine said. "It's not going to be dangerous, is it?"

"We will be fine," Keilaine reassured her friend. "I just think that Selcott needs to be warned."

"About what?" Delmorgan asked. "Are the water-guilders after him?"

"They might be," Keilaine said. "I'm glad that you got away from that tavern safely but Selcott didn't." She glanced around them - the closest passersby were out of earshot and no one could be hiding in the sparse flora by the side of the road. They were alone as they traversed the Highway, descending the side of the Stonepeak Ranges. Keilaine continued, "Someone died on that night. Not by Selcott's hand but it was a water-guilder. If anyone ever finds out that he was there, apart from the trouble from breaking curfew, there will be repercussions against the Royal family."

"Oh, spirits," Cassine muttered. She gripped her reins tightly as if the news would scare her horse. "We probably did not need to know that."

"No," Keilaine said, "but if someone is truly after Selcott, there would be no easier chance than outside the city, training in the forest."

At the mention of the forest Shadowdeep, Delmorgan visibly shivered. "I hate the Deep."

"Why?" Cassine said. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"It doesn't sit right with me," Delmorgan responded. "There is something amiss, even if I can't see it." As he spoke, Keilaine rubbed her neck. She would freely admit that Shadowdeep could be unsettling at times but like Delmorgan, she could not explain why. It was a dense forest with thick oaks and tall pines, tangling underbrush at every step and a dark canopy that never relented in summer or winter.

"We just need to find Selcott," Keilaine said. "We don't have to stay the night in the Deep."

"That is fine with me," Delmorgan said.

They continued on the Highway for some time as it wound into the foothills below Guithannan. Most of the more fertile farms and fields were located further from the city where the land was loamy and shielded from icy air blowing from the top of the Stonepeaks. Although the lands directly surrounding Guithannan could support some crops, it was better suited to the efforts of the mining and quarrying guilds.

According to the information provided to her, Keilaine realised they would soon have to leave the Highway and follow a dirt road past the fields and into the forest. When she spotted the farmers' lane, Keilaine tightened her baldric and checked her gear.

The narrow dirt road, edged by tall uncut grass, forced them into single-file; Keilaine glanced behind her and her friends nodded in acknowledgement. Ahead of them, the path - little more than a trail eked out by locals - edged towards Shadowdeep and skirted around it. Keilaine nudged Aurina into a trot and the others wordlessly followed. Even at a distance, Keilaine could understand Delmorgan's trepidation - Shadowdeep towered in her view, a wall of trees and brush that threatened to engulf anything that approached too closely. Unfortunately for them, they were heading directly into it.

"Spirits," Delmorgan cursed softly, barely audible over the clodding of their horses' hooves.

"What is it?" Cassine said.

"Mud is flying everywhere!" Keilaine heard him spit and she smiled. Perhaps it wasn't so bad to be the trailbreaker into Shadowdeep.

Soon, a grey cloth tied to a branch caught Keilaine's attention. It flapped in the wind and she glimpsed a flash of green. With a raised voice, Delmorgan asked, "What is that?"

"Guithannan Army!" Keilaine said. She slowed Aurina to a walk and approached the oak's branch, mindful that Shadowdeep extended before her. Cassine and Delmorgan stopped their mounts by her side.

Delmorgan reached for the cloth and held it up - a stenciled green mountain, the flag of Guithannan, against a grey background. "It is Guithannan Army, no doubt."

"Do we follow their trail?" Cassine asked.

"Yes," Keilaine said. "They headed east, leaving these markers within the Deep."

"How far apart?"

Keilaine shrugged. Aurina turned on the spot, stamping her hooves, restless. "I don't know. They used maybe five flags. They wouldn't have gone far. They're on foot and carrying their own supplies."

"Very well," Cassine said. She swept back her hair and tied it down. "Shall we?"

"Let's go," Keilaine agreed. She ducked her head under several low branches as she urged Aurina forward into the dense brush. Delmorgan trailed behind Cassine cautiously.

Their horses were forced to pick their way through the Deep, path carefully chosen. Keilaine allowed Aurina more rein than on the Highway as she circled fallen logs or even suspicious patches of ground; no one could ever be sure if a sprawling chunk of grass disguised a pitfall. Their progress was slow and Keilaine found herself glancing upwards for some hint of direction - the canopy obscured the sun more often than not.

Cassine and Delmorgan remained silent, only adding to the oppressive air in the Deep. At least Delmorgan kept his opinions and complaints silent - only the sound of treading hooves and the occasional whinny reached Keilaine's ears. After several minutes of trailbreaking through the forest, Keilaine wished she had brought a cloak as the thick canopy overhead kept the air cool, almost cold - particularly odd as the height of summer was close.

After descending into a hollow, Keilaine spotted another grey flag ahead of them that had been nailed to an oak. "Up there," Delmorgan said.

"I see it," Keilaine said. She shifted in her saddle; there was no obvious path up the other side of the hollow and the underbrush was too thick to even walk their mounts.

Seeing the problem, Delmorgan asked, "Should we circle back?"

"No," Keilaine said firmly. "We might lose our bearings and miss the markers."

"How about over there?" Cassine had wandered away from Keilaine and Delmorgan and was pointing to something beyond a line of vine-laden trees.

"What is it?" Keilaine called out.

"I think it's a path. It leads past the Army's marker."

Keilaine said, "That sounds good." She and Delmorgan headed towards Cassine and as they approached, the narrow trail left by the Guithannan Army became more visible. Even though an entire division had passed through, the Deep was quick in reclaiming the trampled flora. Keilaine followed the trail with her eyes - as Cassine said, it led to the Army marker and beyond. "That will do."

Keilaine tapped Aurina's flanks lightly, immediately settling upon the faint trail left by the Army. Aurina became comfortable as soon as she hit the trail, narrow as it was, and sped to a slow trot up the side of the hollow. Her hooves crushed the detritus on the ground with surefooted confidence and Keilaine could almost forget the stories and tales about Shadowdeep that everyone had been told as a child.

The grey cloth with the green icon was indeed the flag of the Guithannan Army and Keilaine sighed with relief. When Delmorgan and Cassine arrived at her side, she said, "We're heading in the right direction. Let's keep going."

"All right," Delmorgan said without hesitation. Keilaine knew that the sooner they found her brother's division, the sooner they could return to the city - and Delmorgan was completely transparent in his opinion of the matter.

He headed off first, taking to the trail more enthusiastically than Keilaine expected. She smiled at Cassine, who shrugged. They urged their mounts forward.

Much to Keilaine's surprise, the canopy thinned and rays of sunshine noticeably brightened the forest. Suddenly, there was nothing to fear about the Deep - the birdcalls were comforting and the growls of distant animals seemed only to be the norm, not the horror that Delmorgan intimated earlier. The path, a narrow strip of worn grass, wound its way eastwards, over knolls and around fallen logs as the forest gradually thinned. As they spotted another Guithannan Army flag, Delmorgan led them through an odd circular clearing of head-high grass. Even the branches of the surrounding trees seemed to loathe hanging over the clearing lest a shadow be cast on it. Keilaine glanced all around the three of them, bewildered at the sight of the grass swaying in the breeze. Then, they reentered Shadowdeep.

It wasn't long until they encountered the next flag. Delmorgan, ahead of Cassine and Keilaine, spotted it first. He pointed, mumbled something, then forced his draughthorse into a trot. Keilaine had noticed that the trail had been slowly ascending and the forest had thinned considerably; the underbrush was nearly nonexistent on the hard, almost rocky ground, while the trees and larger bushes were widely spaced. Unbeknownst to them, the trail must have returned to the foothills of the Stonepeak Ranges. It mattered little to Keilaine - at least their horses had an easier time of it.

When they joined Delmorgan at the flag, several faint shouts drifted to them on the breeze.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yes," Delmorgan said. He placed a hand on a large hunting knife at his belt. Cassine shifted nervously in her saddle.

"Is that the army division?" Cassine said. "They must be training."

Keilaine listened again. The shouts seemed unusual - urgent, genuine. "I'm not sure," she said. Keilaine resisted the urge to draw the cavalry sabre she had borrowed from the Palace armoury; she didn't want to worry Cassine who, unlike the Wrienswings, had had a narrower band of educational opportunities.

"It's coming from the east," Delmorgan said.

"Let's keep going," Keilaine said. "Carefully."

Delmorgan continued leading, the trail still heading up a gradual ascent. Keilaine could still hear the shouting over the thuds of their horses' hooves and the singing of birds in the distance. She urged Aurina into a trot and overtook Delmorgan; Cassine quickly followed her.

The trail rolled over a crest and Keilaine jerked on the reins, bringing Aurina to a cruel halt. She absent-mindedly patted Aurina's neck as she surveyed the scene.

The land descended into a shallow grassy valley, mostly clear of trees except for several logs dotting the ground. The valley extended to the south where campfires emitted columns of smoke a fair distance away. But a stone's throw away, directly in front of her, Keilaine saw Selcott and the other Brands. She could not hesitate any longer.

Keilaine drew her sabre and heeled Aurina into a gallop. Behind her, she heard Delmorgan's curse, "Spirits!" The drumming of Aurina's hooves pounded Keilaine's ears; comfortingly, she could hear Delmorgan and Cassine behind her. Keilaine leaned over Aurina's sleek neck, sabre at the ready.

She could not quite tell what was happening, only that Selcott was surrounded. The wind whipped into Keilaine's eyes and they began to water. In seconds, the Brands heard her charge. She inadvertently grimaced as she brought her sabre to bear.

The Brands parted automatically, yelling amongst themselves in the grass. Their shocked faces were simply blurs in Keilaine's vision. Then she saw them - a small herd of skeryanc that the Brands had been fighting.

One of the creatures leapt at a Brand, clamping its legs and maw on his arm. The Brand screamed as Keilaine plowed into the herd. Aurina trampled two as Keilaine leaned to the side and chopped at a third, blood spurting into the air.

"Keilaine!"

She couldn't tell who had called her - it was either Selcott or Delmorgan. Aurina wheeled about and Keilaine saw that the Brands were reorganising themselves. With Selcott's support, one of them limped away, clutching his mangled bloodied arm. Behind the Brands, Delmorgan and Cassine had dismounted. They ran to help Selcott with the wounded Brand, keeping on eye on the remaining skeryanc.

The Brands spread out in a loose semi-circle around the skeryanc. The creatures, their spindly legs scuttling through the grass which brushed their plump bodies, instinctively stayed together. To Keilaine's eye, they seemed to behave as any cornered animal would - but she knew that they were uncannily intelligent hunters at times; even with no eyes and only whiskers and a breathing tube to sense their surroundings and prey. One of the Brands, older than the others, said, "Stay calm. Show no fear." He was unarmed while the rest of the group bore a variety of swords, axes and other weapons.

"What do we do, Ashnur?" asked one of the Brands. "Kill them?"

"We may have to," the one called Ashnur said. "They know us by smell. If we let them go, they may return to the camp for us."

"Damn that!" The Brands circled around nervously. Several looked at Keilaine but they were too preoccupied to speak to her.

The six or seven remaining skeryanc made no noises apart from their shifting in the grass. They were waiting. Some distance away, Selcott, Cassine and Delmorgan were tending to the injured Brand who was on the ground, completely still.

"Prepare yourselves," Ashnur said. "Attack on three." The Brands brought their guards up. "One, two, three!"

The Brands charged in, swords, axes and maces flailing in a haphazard fashion. The skeryanc reacted immediately, leaping into the air, maws wide open to devastate their victims. Two Brands went down and their comrades hacked into the skeryanc attached to the Brands' arms and legs. Keilaine tapped Aurina with her heels and the warhorse sprang into a gallop.

Keilaine waded in and Aurina stamped onto a skeryanc, splattering its innards over her legs and the surrounding Army Brands. They cheered and took to the skeryanc with renewed ferocity. One was sliced open with a single swipe while Ashnur, the only unarmed Brand in the group, managed to grapple one of the creatures by its soft body and pummel it to death with his fists and elbows. When he rose, blood dripped from his arms.

Then, it was over - Keilaine had only swung her sabre once, clipping a skeryanc that had been quickly dispatched by a Brand's crushing mace. She scanned the area, all of the skeryanc were dead but their prey - the Army Brands - had not escaped lightly. All were injured while three could barely stand.

Ashnur approached Keilaine and said, "Thank you for your assistance." Keilaine nodded. "May I ask who you are?"

Selcott, Cassine and Delmorgan had walked over the Brand with the mangled arm, settling him on the ground with the others. Before Keilaine could answer, Selcott said, "This is my friend, Kalia. We were students of the same riding instructor."

Keilaine recognised the pretend name that Selcott called her - one of several that they used when they required anonymity. Selcott smiled at her and then added, "My friends have idle hands."

"And good for us too," Ashnur said. "It might have been worse."

"How?" a Brand said.

"We might be dead," Ashnur replied. To Selcott, he said, "How bad is Pergier?"

Selcott glanced back at the Brand with the bloodied arm. "I don't know. We've wrapped it up but we need to get him back to camp as soon as possible. Same with Gording and the others."

After examining the Brands, Keilaine realised that none of them wore their saexum visibly apart from her brother and judging by their uniforms, they were all Brands. "Where is your Lance-Leader?" Keilaine asked.

The group glanced at each other with guilt in their expressions. Finally, Selcott said, "Most probably back at our camp, waiting to berate us for this outing."

"You're not on a training exercise?" Keilaine said incredulously. "You could have all been killed."

"Thank you, Kalia," Ashnur said. "We are well-aware of that." He sighed. "We should return."

At that, the Brands began collecting their meagre belongings; Keilaine noticed that they kept their weapons unsheathed. Selcott said to Ashnur, "I'll catch up with you later."

"Not too much later or Eithon will skin you."

"I know."

As the Brands made preparations for transporting their injured, Selcott motioned for Keilaine to join him a short distance away on a hillock. Delmorgan and Cassine walked their horses over to them. Cassine produced a waterskin from her saddlebags and drank deeply.

"I've never seen anything like that before," Cassine said. She offered the waterskin to them.

"Nor I," Delmorgan said, taking the short swig from the waterskin.

Keilaine dismounted and kept a calm watch on the proceedings - the Brands were almost ready to depart. They waved at Selcott, who waved back.

"What are you thinking, Keilaine?" Cassine asked.

"Just about what Valedros said," Keilaine replied.

"Valedros," Selcott said. "How is he?"

"He's fine," Keilaine said. As Selcott's Lance began trudging away, she turned back to them. "We were talking yesterday."

"Over chess?"

"Over chess," Keilaine nodded. "Remember what happened at the Spitfire?"

"Of course," Selcott said. He crossed his arms and sighed. "How could I forget?"

"Well, I don't think it was chance that it happened."

"That water-guilder getting his neck sliced open?" Selcott asked spritely. "No, that was certainly not by chance."

Keilaine frowned. "No, you idiot. The fact that you were targeted by them." At this, Delmorgan and Cassine almost gasped.

"What do you mean?" Cassine said.

"Yeah - is Selcott in danger?" Delmorgan added.

"Perhaps," Keilaine said. "It's quite convenient that the same group of thugs from the water-guild found you at that particular tavern, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Selcott admitted. He started pacing around. "Do you think this Arcalante fellow might have something to do with it?"

"Who?" Delmorgan said.

"Nevermind," Keilaine replied. To Selcott, she said, "I don't know. What I do know is that you could be in danger as we speak."

Selcott stopped in his tracks and put his hands on his hips. "We're in the middle of an Army training exercise, I'm surrounded by the entire Fifth Division and quite a bit of Shadowdeep. I don't think I agree with you there."

"Yeah?" Keilaine retorted. "Well, what if your little adventure with the skeryanc wasn't an accident? What if someone in the Fifth Division has been bought? You can't possibly be everyone's best friend, let alone a mind-reader."

"Then, what do you suggest I do? Sleep with one eye open?"

"That might help!"

Cassine stepped between Keilaine and her brother before Selcott could respond. Softly, she said, "That's enough." She placed a gentle hand on Keilaine and Selcott's respective shoulders and pushed them apart. "Selcott, what Lainey means is that you should just be careful. And Laine - Selcott might be in danger but no one can guard him every second of every day."

Keilaine nodded quickly and stepped back. She took a deep breath and flexed her hands. "Very well."

"Okay," Selcott said. "I will take care out here. Trust me."

"Good," Keilaine replied. "That's all I want."

"So," Selcott said, "What is going on that needs my vigilance?"

With another sigh, Keilaine rubbed her neck and shoulders. She momentarily wondered exactly how to word her thoughts knowing that anything that involved Valedros could be a point of contention. Delmorgan and Cassine looked at her while she formed the beginnings of an explanation.

"Well," Keilaine said. "I suppose there is no easy way to say this so I will simply say it. After the events at the Spitfire, I believe there's something going on in Guithannan. Maybe someone is using you to get at Father. Maybe someone is trying to start a war. I don't know."

"And you think that the Guithannan Army might be a part of it?" Selcott asked.

"It's only a thought; I don't know if it's possible," Keilaine replied with a shrug. "Right now, it's conceivable that the Expatritors overshadow the Guithannan Army by some margin, correct?" Selcott nodded slowly. "So, if a war were to erupt between Guithannan and someone else, it would be something which the Expatritors would have no obligation to participate in; it would be purely the responsibility of the Army."

Cassine piped up, "But a war is costly! It would interrupt our lives, not to mention get a lot of people killed."

"I know - but it may still be the reason why these things are happening," Keilaine said.

Selcott had pursed his lips, almost biting them. "Father or Magdyna would know more but I am sure that if Guithannan went to war, the flow of cirrens to the Guithannan Army would be increased. And I know that the guys are eager for something real to happen." He bowed his head slightly. "That's why the Lance came here, away from the main camp. To look for something to kill."

"Spirits," Keilaine muttered. "Instead, it was almost the other way around."

"I know."

Delmorgan wandered over to his horse and rummaged around his saddlebags. He produced some bread, meat and cheese and began dividing the meal between them.

"There's just so little to actually do," Selcott said. "Patrolling the city. Training. Patrolling the countryside. Training. Sentry-duty at the compound. More training." He chewed on some dried meat.

"Do you think anyone higher in the Guithannan Army could be planning anything?"

"Perhaps," Selcott said between mouthfuls. "I would hate to say it but the Guithannan Army, as far as I know, has only two functions - to protect Guithannan and its citizens and secondly, to kill enemies. We only do the first but as you know, the Expatritors have insinuated themselves into that role - which leaves the second. And Guithannan has no enemies."

"Apart from skeryanc," Delmorgan added somewhat flippantly.

"Yes," Selcott said. "My point exactly." He continued eating with a glum expression - whether from being targeted or the general situation, Keilaine could not tell. She bit into her hastily assembled sandwich and continued wondering about the Guithannan Army. While she realised Selcott could not afford any action that would result in a discharge, she could not shake an immense fear for his safety. His Lance seemed genuine enough but she needed to identify the exact threat - fighting the entire Guithannan Army was far preferable than an enemy that stayed in the shadows.

Selcott cast his gaze from side to side as he marched, almost stalked, along the street with Gording beside him. After returning from the Shadowdeep training exercise, their Lance had been rostered for the following week's city patrol; Eithon paired up Selcott with Gording, who was a baby-faced Brand only slightly older than Selcott himself. At times, Selcott found himself wondering why Gording had joined the Guithannan Army - the lad seemed barely able to wear his leather armour, let alone make an effective guardsman.

Nevertheless, Selcott made the best of it. Being of a similar age, Gording was good company and he was as far from nobility as could be, for which Selcott was enormously welcome.

"Selcott?" Gording said. He adjusted his helm's visor and scratched at the bandage that wrapped around his shoulders and upper arm. Of all the victims of the skeryanc, he had been luckiest.

"Yes?" Selcott slowed his pace and glanced at his friend.

"I think we should slow down," Gording said. "If we spot any trouble, it won't do any good if we're puffed out."

"Gording?" Selcott said.

"Yes, Selcott?"

"You're the Brand," Selcott said, "I'm the novice. You give the orders around here."

"Well, I suppose," Gording said. His outer-Guithannan country accent was always more pronounced when he was nervous. "I don't like giving orders. It makes me sound bossy."

"Sometimes, you have to," Selcott said. He came to a complete stop on the side of the street. It was relatively quiet for a late afternoon but Selcott knew that the bustle would return in the evening as citizens searched for an evening meal. "So, order me to slow down."

Gording stared at him for a second and then glanced around as if he were embarrassed. Finally, he mumbled, "Selcott - I order you to slow your pace."

"Eithon usually calls me a royal brat or a maggot," Selcott said helpfully.

"Uh," Gording said, "I order you to slow down, maggot."

"Louder."

Gording cleared his throat and said, "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Selcott said. "You have to yell it at me because I'm a novice."

"Very well." Gording took a deep breath and yelled, "I order you to slow down, maggot!" His voice squeaked on the insult.

A woman in a shawl poked her head from a second-storey balcony and shouted, "Can you keep it down? My baby is sleeping!"

Gording spun around. With a sheepish smile, he replied, "My apologies, milady." The woman grunted and returned inside.

Selcott grinned at Gording. "Not bad. Just like a real Lance-Leader." He continued walking down the street at a slower pace, hands comfortably resting on his belt.

"Do you think I'll make Lance-Leader?" Gording asked.

"Yes," Selcott said. "I don't see why not."

"I wonder what it's like."

Selcott shrugged. "Much the same, I would think. Except that you get to yell at Brands and novices."

"Lance-Leaders are always the first into battle, aren't they?" Gording said.

"That's what I hear. That's why they're called what they are. Not like Captains who can stay back and direct proceedings."

Gording sighed. "I don't know if I can be like Eithon or the other Lance-Leaders."

"You don't have to be," Selcott said. They reached a junction where the street met the immense Royal Boulevard and the masses of people strolling up and down its smooth Guithannite surface. He watched the swaying branches of the trees in the planters set in the middle of the boulevard. "There are plenty of Brands who retire from the Guithannan Army as Brands and nothing more."

"I might end up as one of those," Gording said. He leaned against column and crossed his arms. "I always thought those old-timers who weren't at least Lance-Leaders were somewhat sad. As if they could never amount to anything else." He frowned as he looked at Selcott. "I suppose they never had much of a choice."

"No," Selcott said. "They never really do. None of us do."

Gording suddenly sprang up. "Hey," he said. "There's one of those new eateries across the way. They have a fantastic bakery. Do you want anything?"

Selcott smiled and shook his head slowly. "No, thanks."

"Okay," Gording said. He produced a small pouch and counted his cirrens. "Good - I have enough. I'll be back in a second. If there's any trouble, come and get me."

"Yes, of course," Selcott said. Gording grinned and began wending his way through the human traffic as well as the livestock, carriages and mounted travellers streaming along the Royal Boulevard. Selcott contented himself with watching the flow; his helm disguised his identity - not that he was as recognisable as his parents or older siblings - so he could forget about being royalty and concentrate on being a city-guardsman.

He politely nodded at a pair of young women - minor nobility, judging from the cut of their dresses - and they smiled and giggled as they passed by.

"Selcott," said a voice by his ear.

Selcott spun around, gauntleted hand whipping out a dagger. It barely left the sheath when his attacker grabbed his wrist and with another arm, pushed Selcott against a wall with unsettling ease.

"Easy now." Selcott focussed on the face next to his. It was Arcalante.

"What are you doing?" Selcott relaxed and Arcalante released his grip, stepping back.

"It was probably a mistake to sneak up on you like that," Arcalante said, "but it was too good an opportunity to pass up."

"What?" Selcott said with an incredulous expression. "Who, in their right minds, would consider sneaking up on a Guithannan Army patrolman to be a good opportunity?"

Arcalante scratched his head. He was plainly dressed and appeared to be nothing more than a peasant farmer looking for a merchant to buy his produce. "On second thought, it does seem strange. I think I need to spend more time in the open."

"No doubt," Selcott muttered. Out loud, he said, "So, how goes things?"

"Well," Arcalante replied, trailing off. He tapped his chin with his finger. "Do you know Cerlen Lentard?"

At the name of his former Expatritor Captain, Selcott's mood fell like a stone. He snapped, "Yes, of course I do!"

"If I have caused offence, I apologise," Arcalante said, hands in the air.

Then, Selcott remembered that Arcalante might not have had the same privileges to information as everyone else in Guithannan. He softened his tone and said, "No, do not apologise. Cerlen Lentard is a Captain with the Expatritors stationed here in Guithannan. He is also the Master of Apprentices and therefore was my Captain when I was a novice with the Expatritors."

"Ah, I see." Arcalante said nothing more and simply seemed to ponder the matter. He watched a group of children scamper past under the supervision of an elderly tutor and then added, "The rumours of your acrimonious departure from the Expatritors are true?"

"Why do you ask?" Selcott said. "I thought you already knew they were true."

"Curiosity, mostly," Arcalane replied. Then, his stance changed and Selcott could suddenly sense something in Arcalante that his common attire could not possibly disguise. "But there is something about Captain Lentard that strikes me as odd."

Selcott leaned forward slightly, always eager to hear of the faults in his former masters. "What is it?"

"Cerlen Lentard's name and rank were mentioned in conversations I have had the luck to overhear," Arcalante replied.

"You've been spying on people?"

Arcalante smiled. "Perhaps." Then, his smile dropped and his expression suddenly became sombre. "I will speak plainly, Selcott - not because out of some duty to the crown of Guithannan but because it suits me if I can enlist your aid."

"Then, speak," Selcott said. He edged closer so that Arcalante could lower his voice.

"As you know, one of my most recent contracts has been to recover a saexum that I have tracked to Guithannan." Selcott nodded quickly, urging Arcalante to continue. "That task is complete but during my search here in Guithannan, I came across several people who have heard of others enquiring about saexum bound to Guithannian nobility."

"And Cerlen Lentard's name was mentioned?"

Arcalante dipped his chin slightly. "Part of his name, sometimes his rank, sometimes a reference to his role as Master of Apprentices. Now I have confirmation from you that these people may have all been referring to the same person - your former Captain in the Expatritors."

Selcott took a step backwards and resisted the urge to begin pacing, especially in full view of the citizenry of Guithannan. Saexum were intensely private items, even if most of the Royal Family brazenly displayed theirs on collars - it was unsettling to know that Cerlen Lentard, and the Expatritors in general, might be involved. "And you wish for my help?"

"Yes," Arcalante said. "You're a native of Guithannan. You know its people and the city better than most." He locked his gaze with Selcott's. "What I'm asking is - do you want to be a saexum hunter for the rest of the day?"

Selcott grinned but then immediately realised that he was still on city-patrol at least until sundown. And after that, there would be a curfew. He frowned. "I can't. I just can't."

"Can't or won't?" Arcalante said. "Have you ever broken curfew or delayed your army duties before?"

"No," Selcott said. "At least, no one has proven it."

"So, you will receive a warning," Arcalante said. "At worst, kitchen duties." Selcott didn't stop frowning - strange that Arcalante would know what his punishment would be, but it made Selcott's conscience lighter.

"Will you tell me what it's like?" Selcott asked. "What everything is like?"

"Of course," Arcalante said. He grinned and clasped his hands behind his back. "But I wouldn't know where to start."

"How about where you're from?" Selcott said.

"I suppose that's as good a place as any," Arcalante said. He motioned for Selcott to follow him. "What about your patrol-partner?"

Selcott spared a glance over his shoulder as they headed south along the Royal Boulevard. "Gording? He'll be fine without me. He'll probably return to the barracks."

"Will he report you?"

"Probably," Selcott said. "But he's a good sort. I'm almost sorry to leave him behind like this."

"Very well." Arcalante glanced at Selcott's leather armour. It was distinctive in its plain design and the simple Guithannan Army insignia on the breastplate was virtually invisible to the casual glance. Otherwise, Selcott knew he could have passed for a mercenary or private guard. "We will have to do something about your armour," Arcalante said.

He stopped at a street-side vendor and picked out a rough cloak. Arcalante tossed the merchant several cirrens and handed the cloak to Selcott. "Put it on."

Selcott draped the cloak over his shoulders and tied the cord in front of his neck. The cloak effectively covered the Guithannan army insignia but left his arms feeling constricted beneath the rough woollen fabric. "This may take some getting used to," he said. Selcott wondered how fast he could draw his sword with the cloak causing such a hindrance. Hopefully, the concealment of his allegiances would prevent such a situation from occurring.

They continued on their way and eventually, Arcalante led Selcott to a flight of stairs nestled between two tall townhouses. The stairs led to the roof of one of the structures where three sky-bound walkways met. Arcalante said over his shoulder, "You'll need to show me the fastest way to Beggar's Walk."

As they ascended the stairs, Selcott didn't recognise the area or the walkways - he had no idea where they led to. He said, "Beggar's Walk near the gateway?"

"Yes," Arcalante said as they passed a young couple descending in the opposite direction.

At this, Selcott thought about the network of bridges and arches; he could probably get his bearings fairly quickly once they were above the rooftops. Using the crowded lower-level public walkways were still faster than the streets below even on foot. Selcott said, "I'll figure it out."

Arcalante glanced at him quizzically but seemed satisfied with Selcott's statement. He apparently had more faith in Selcott than Selcott did in himself.

They reached the roof of the residence and Arcalante stepped aside. A small family passed them, chatting about their day and then Selcott stepped onto a walkway that stretched towards a tower to the south. Arcalante grinned. "Are you sure this will take us to Guithannan's gate?"

"There's only one way to find out," Selcott replied as began walking.

Arcalante followed. "Indeed."

The walkway, as most closest to ground level did, rose sharply at first but then levelled out as it arched through the sky above Guithannan. No matter how many walkways he crossed, Selcott was always amazed at how the intricate web was perfectly arranged - each walkway began and ended at the appropriate landing or Guithannite tower; there was not a single sky-bridge that seemed out of place, even the highest overarching ones which seemingly suspended themselves in mid-air.

"So," Selcott said, "How did you learn so much about saexum?"

Arcalante shrugged slightly. "Most of it was gleaned from my travels and in hunting them. I have met a lot of people who each knew a little bit - put it all together and you end up with something substantial."

"Is that how you learnt of saexum that were different?"

"Yes," Arcalante said. "Although I knew that I could do things other people couldn't, it wasn't until I began hunting saexum that I discovered the truth."

Selcott lowered his voice, partly to preserve their privacy from other Guithannians around and also because he felt mildly foolish saying the actual words. "How do you know that it is your saexum and not because you might be a Tanatri?"

Arcalante replied, "That's a good point. No one today really knows what it might be like to wield the Tanatrum, let alone what the Tanatri themselves thought about it."

"Maybe that's what destroyed them," Selcott said, thinking aloud.

"It's entirely possible," Arcalante replied.

They were crossing the apex of the walkway, high above the Royal Boulevard. Selcott could see the flow of people around the planters and slow livestock, so much like the flow of a river, the blood of the city. Then, the walkway began its descent to the other side of the Bouldevard.

"Your nephew was recently Named, wasn't he?" Arcalante said.

"Yes," Selcott said with a quick nod. It had been a well-publicised and followed event throughout the city, regardless of class, even though only a handful of people had been permitted at the Ceremony itself. For a while, baby Aran had been something of a celebrity but now, Magdyna and Lengeres kept their son out of public perception. As Selcott knew well, Aran would receive more attention than he would desire in later years.

"I've always wondered what happened to babies who aren't Named," Selcott said. "Do they have Naming Ceremonies elsewhere?"

"Well," Arcalante said, "I have never encountered a culture that didn't have some sort of Naming Ceremony. Granted, most are very simple and do not take more than a few moments - but the intention and the creation of the saexum still takes place."

Selcott nodded as the walkway began descending slightly as they approached the tower on the other side of the Boulevard. "Do you mean the hardening of the saexum, when it becomes like Guithannite?"

"Yes," Arcalante said. "I have an old acquaintance who once came across a saexum that was never claimed. Out of curiosity, he tried every means possible to break or shatter it."

"And?"

"And nothing," Arcalante replied. "A few years later, he found that it had crumbled to dust."

"Its owner died?"

"Yes. But like you, I also wondered. Why aren't pet animals or livestock Named? Plants? And what of orphans?"

Selcott's mind raced ahead. "I've heard that when a baby isn't Named, it doesn't have a soul, a spirit. That's how undead monsters are made."

Arcalante smiled, somewhat condescendingly. "Now, Selcott - we both know that necromancers are just myth and fairytales. There are no such things as zombies or vampires."

"I thought that there were no such things as pixies," Selcott said, "but you and your forester friends proved me wrong there."

"True enough," Arcalante replied, "but undead creatures do not exist."

"What if a Tanatri were to show up tomorrow and use their powers to make a corpse walk down the Royal Boulevard?" Selcott said.

Arcalante chuckled. "Then, that would be an example of the Tanatrum being used to make a corpse walk down the Royal Boulevard. As the creature is essentially a marionette, it's technically still just dead."

"I think you're just splitting hairs about the definition of undead creatures," Selcott replied with a big grin.

"Well," Arcalante said, "it's an important distinction to make. The next time you're faced with a rotting corpse in your way, you have to remember it can't be undead and therefore isn't particularly vulnerable to traditional - and ultimately fictional - methods of dealing with undead."

"So, if there's no such thing as undead," Selcott said, "what happens to babies who aren't Named?"

Arcalante shrugged and became sombre. "I truly don't know. And it would be an experiment I would want no part in. Naming Ceremonies, of one sort or another, have always existed. I would think for good reason."

Selcott nodded. "Fair enough."

The walkway ended at the tower, which seemed to be a residence for several merchants and their families below. A balcony fully encompassed the tower where the walkway landed; others sprang from the balcony like shoots from a sapling. Selcott shaded his eyes against the late afternoon glare as he studied the bridges and oriented himself. Arcalante milled about, enjoying the view over the central district and staying out of the way of the many passersby.

"We can get to the gate quite easily from here," Selcott said. "It's a busy time, crowded."

"Is there any way of avoiding everyone?" Arcalante asked. "And we need to get to Beggar's Walk directly, or as close as possible."

"Very well," Selcott said. "We could try taking one of the higher walkways. Most are privately owned though - we might have trouble accessing them."

"Don't worry then," Arcalante said. "I don't want to attract too much attention and barging through someone else's home isn't quite what I had in mind."

"This way, then." Selcott picked a walkway that headed southeast, contrary to other paths that seemed the correct choice. Arcalante glanced at him inquisitively but said nothing. Selcott knew that the secret to understanding Guithannan's bridges in the sky lay in memorising the hubs and centres of the walkways, not the directions that they led to. He didn't believe that anyone could possibly memorise every path - it would be akin to memorising every street and road on the ground below; not even the most experienced of patrolmen and city-guards could claim such knowledge.

"So, tell me of Eldaros," Selcott said as they began their crossing. "That's where you are from, correct?"

Arcalante replied, "I use my home in Eldaros as something of a base, as it sits between Guithannan and Brookholm in the south and then Ryneusk and Denosto to the north." Arcalante waved his hands in the air, drawing a makeshift map of eastern Iacea with his fingers. "With the bulk of Shadowdeep within the borders of Eldaros, it's a dark place to live. I think most Eldarosians cope, if not, they leave."

"Is that why the Expatritors never truly expanded north?" Selcott said.

"It's possible." Arcalante scratched his chin. "I've found that the Expatritors seek paths of least resistance and this would also seem to apply to their order as a whole. A good thing for the northern cities."

Selcott agreed but said nothing.

Moving their conversation to more mundane topics, they reached the next hub and Selcott led their way to a larger bridge that arced high above most of the buildings and other walkways in the district, eventually touching down in the Gateway sector. Arcalante softly hummed, finally recognising the wisdom in Selcott's decision - their trip would now be considerably faster than if they had been required to take several other connecting paths instead.

There weren't as many people on the bridge as Selcott expected - perhaps the proximity of the Expatritor compound in the eastern district was off-putting. Whatever the reason, they quickly reached the Gateway sector and descended a crowded flight of stairs from the roof of a watch-house to the street below.

"This way," Arcalante said softly and Selcott followed.

The streets around the Gateway had evolved into its own peculiar district, with the full strata of Guithannian society represented by the residents as well as the visitors. From studies of the area by the governance of Guithannan, Selcott gathered that while the gate to Guithannan was its only entrance and exit, it attracted everyone - from the highest noble who craved attention, to the lowest criminal who preyed on the vast opportunities available. The constant stream of people provided business of all types to the area and the governing bodies of Guithannan were happy to let the area grow and prosper, its sphere of influence - for better or for worse - expanding into the quieter neighbouring districts.

On the whole, Selcott liked the Gateway; he could disappear into the crowds with little fear of being recognised, unlike within the northern district. For Selcott, the stark contrast between the residences of the wealthy elite and the poorest beggars in the Gateway sector only added to the attraction. Keilaine found it distasteful and was always quick to voice her opinion.

Arcalante wandered down a small street, almost an alleyway. The stench of human waste hit Selcott with sudden force; he looked at the Guithannite paving and frowned at the slithering mess that had accumulated over countless days, perhaps weeks. Selcott gingerly followed Arcalante, who seemed mindless of the filth.

He stopped at a forlorn figure slumped against a wall. Arcalante crouched down and said, "Good afternoon. Did you follow him?"

The fly-ridden man looked up, revealing pock-marked skin and rotted teeth. "Which one?"

"The man I spoke of yesterday," Arcalante said calmly, "About my height but blond. Slim. With a foreign accent, not Brookholmer though."

"Plenty of people by that description," the beggar said with a raspy voice. "Can't help you there."

Arcalante nodded to himself. Selcott crossed his arms and wondered if they would have to resort to more brutal means of questioning. Instead, Arcalante produced a coin worth ten cirrens, a veritable fortune for the beggar. "The one I seek, he moves like an old man but he's young, injured. Did you follow him?"

Selcott could see the hunger in the beggar's eyes as Arcalante held the ten-cirren up. Arcalante added, "I'll give you ten seconds before I put this coin away."

At this, the noisome man quickly said, "I seen him, the blond man. Not an hour ago."

"Where?"

"He went down here and took the next right. Down a few more streets and into a small estate."

"You'll have to show me," Arcalante said, standing up.

"How do I know you won't just run me off once we get there?"

Arcalante sighed. He produced another coin and tossed it to the beggar. "Five cirrens. You'll get the other half when I see that man with my own eyes."

"Aye, good enough for me." With surprising alacrity, the beggar sprang to his feet and scampered off. "This way, gentlemen."

Selcott glanced at Arcalante, who returned his quizzical look with a wry smile. They followed the beggar down the alley.

As promised, the filthy man led Arcalante and Selcott through several more streets into the more affluential area of the Gateway district. Here, the divisions between the buildings were larger, with courtyards and private gardens evident behind Guithannite walls and fences. Several towers spiked the streets, each large enough to house several extended families and most were guarded on ground-level by private forces. They stared at Selcott and Arcalante suspiciously from their walled-off estates.

Then, the beggar stopped outside one of the towers and its surrounding compound. Ahead of them, a thin blond man waited on the street corner. With the dearth of human traffic compared to the Royal Boulevard, he was bound to notice them.

Arcalante nodded and moved to the opposite side of the street, shielded by an ornate fountain. He flipped another five-cirren coin to the beggar. "My thanks."

"Don't you want to speak to him yourself?"

"He is the one," Arcalante said. "Now, leave."

The beggar said nothing, perhaps puzzled by Arcalante's trust, and then scurried away. Selcott said softly, "Are you sure?"

"Yes. This is your domain, Selcott. We need to follow him to where the transactions take place."

Selcott began studying the layout of the street and the surrounding buildings. "Transactions?"

"For saexum," Arcalante said flatly.

"Spirits." Selcott felt a mild unease at the thought of a saexum being bought and sold, let alone the fact that it had probably been stolen for some unfathomable purpose.

"You follow from above," Arcalante said. "I'll try to stay out of sight but keep track of him on the street."

"Okay," Selcott said.

"Be careful. If we're separated, we'll meet at sundown at the Gateway square," Arcalante said.

Selcott nodded and then headed for the closest walkway landing. As he climbed the stairs two at a time, he couldn't quite believe that he was, at least for the time-being, a saexum-hunter. His exhuberance took him to the roof of the building and quickly across the first bridge to the tower across the street. As it housed private residences, the walkway landing was simply a wide balcony around the tower with no apparent doorway; the private guards kept a close watch on people who passed through.

On the street below, Selcott saw the blond man walking away; Arcalante followed at a discreet distance, using other residents for cover or occasionally pretending to inspect a street-side vendor's merchandise.

Their quarry turned down a side-street and Selcott picked the closest bridge - it actually crossed over that particular road, so Selcott would have to quickly cross another to track the man down. Selcott sprinted over the Guithannite walkway; it was unlikely that anyone on the street would notice his thumping boots. When he reached the other landing, the man had already disappeared into another avenue.

Selcott, heart racing in fear of losing the trail, sprinted onto a likely walkway - with every step, he dreaded his choice. What if he were running in the wrong direction?

Then, Selcott spotted a flash of light-coloured hair on the road below. It was the man, wending his way through a flock of children playing tag. Selcott's nerves settled; here most walkways ran parallel to the roads so there would be no difficulty in following for now. As Selcott jogged along, he found it strange that he could not see any trace of Arcalante but, Selcott thought, the hunter was attired in common peasant clothes that made anyone indistinguishable from above.

Returning his attention to the blond man, Selcott found himself ahead of the trail and halted. He leaned over the side of the walkway's railings and watched the man walk down an alley between two fruit merchants. Selcott almost swore to himself - there weren't any bridges that led in that direction.

Selcott trotted to the other side of the walkway and peered over - the roof of the building below wasn't too far down. He clambered over the side of the railing - much to the amusement of passersby - and cautiously lowered himself, eventually hanging by his hands. Selcott tried looking down to gauge the distance but couldn't quite manage to stretch his neck - from memory, he could comfortably make the drop. With a silent hope, he released his hold.

The flat Guithannite roof rushed up to meet Selcott - he hit the surface and rolled as trained. His leather armour shielded him from the indestructible rock which would have caused some injuries otherwise. Selcott stood up, feeling for anything broken. Satisfied with his haleness, he crept to the edge of the roof and spotted the blond man at the end of the alley talking to another man. A flash of movement caught Selcott's eye on the street below- Arcalante nodded at him and quickly melded into a doorway.

Selcott edged forward, clambering over another roof until he could hear snatches of conversation. The voices were low and almost unintelligible. He lowered himself to his stomach and slithered forwards until he caught sight of the two men conversing.

The blond man produced a small pouch - Selcott guessed it could hold anything from a hundred to thousand cirrens, depending on the value of the coins. The other man - a wiry fellow with a hooked nose - drew out a tiny package in cloth wrapping. He undid the leather thong and revealed a silvery bracelet. Selcott almost gasped - he could see a single clear stone set in the bracelet. He knew, without a doubt, that it was a saexum that Arcalante had to retrieve.

The two men exchanged their goods - the blond man pocketed the bracelet and the other nodded once and departed. Selcott stayed low, watching. A hand cupped his mouth and he seized up.

"Hush," Arcalante's voice sounded. "It's me." Selcott relaxed and Arcalante released his grip. He settled in beside Selcott.

"You really have to stop doing that," Selcott said sternly.

"I know," Arcalante replied. "It was necessary this time."

"I suppose." Below, the blond man scanned the alley. Seemingly satisfied, he left the way he entered. Arcalante stood up and motioned to Selcott.

"What did you see?" Arcalante asked as they resumed their secret pursuit across the roof.

"I think he purchased a saexum," Selcott said.

"What did it look like?"

"It was a bracelet with a clear stone set in it."

Arcalante said nothing, only pursed his lips. They reached the main road and descended to the ground using a staircase cut into the side of the building. Arcalante searched the street and then indicated the blond man with a jerk of his chin. "Let's go."

"Are we going to steal back the saexum?" Selcott asked as they followed at a distance.

"If the opportunity presents itself," Arcalante said. "But as I told you before, I'm just following up on some information. Besides, I don't have a contract - someone else might be hunting for it and I don't want to be caught in the middle of that."

"What are you going to do with this information?" Selcott asked. "Just sit on it?"

"That's why I thought to bring you along," Arcalante said as they passed a cart of apples. "You will have the authority to do something. I simply don't."

Selcott nodded. Arcalante had a point - even if Selcott couldn't initiate anything himself, he was sure that his parents would be as outraged as himself about the trading of saexum, let alone the covert fashion in which it was conducted.

The blond man continued on his way, oblivious to Selcott and Arcalante. His path led him out of the Gateway district and into the eastern sector that was dominated by the Expatritor fortress and its towers. With late afternoon falling, the crowds began to thicken and Selcott began to fear they would lose sight of their quarry before long.

Then, the man turned down a quiet side-street lined by structures used as homes by local residents. They were closely set and rarely more than one storey high. Arcalante slowed, hesitating a moment. He said, "He'll see us if we follow."

"Let's follow from above," Selcott said.

"Very well."

Selcott climbed onto the roof of the closest building using the notched garden walls and window frames to prop himself up.

"Hey, what are you doing?" A group of children began milling about. Arcalante waved them away.

"This is official city business," Arcalante said pompously. "Roof inspection."

Selcott stifled a laugh with a choke as he crawled on top of the building - unlike most other structures in Guithannan, the rooftops in this area were slanted to sluice rain away, rather than flat so as to provide an additional, open-air storey. He pulled back his cloak, revealing the faint Guithannan Army emblem on his leather breastplate. "That's right, kids. Official business. Have to make sure the roofs here are sealed up. You wouldn't want to get wet when it rains, right?"

A little girl said, "My brother wets himself every night anyway."

"Hey!" said a boy, apparently her brother. He shoved her, inciting a small squealing riot that rolled away.

Arcalante moved away with a shrug. Selcott smiled back sheepishly and said, "Are you coming up to the roof?"

"No," Arcalante replied. "Go and find him and tell me what you see. I'll make sure he doesn't double back."

"Very well."

Selcott carefully treaded across the tilted rooftops until he reached the alley where the blond man had disappeared to. He heard two voices and slowed down, dropping to a crouch.

"We need to be certain of our position."

"And what of Cubet?"

"You don't need to worry about that fop." The voice dropped to a low whisper that Selcott could not decipher.

"Good. I was beginning to get worried."

"It's not your job to be."

"I didn't mean I was being nosy."

"You shouldn't be." A pause. Selcott heard the rustling of material, possibly an exchange of cirrens. "We're done."

"Farewell."

The other voice grunted in response and Selcott heard two pairs of footsteps leaving. Without giving it much thought, he crept forward until he could peer below. The blond man left in the way he arrived, back towards Arcalante. The other man also returned to the street but headed in the opposite direction. Something caught Selcott's attention and he scurried back to the street-side edge of the roof, careful to stay low. He studied the other man as he walked away.

The gait was familiar. So were the boots and the cut of his cloak, even though it was made of rough wool. The man was either an Expatritor or someone close to them - his gait was certainly straining to contain Expatritor training and his attire was unmistakable to Selcott.

He slumped back. If the Expatritors were involved, the task ahead for Selcott suddenly multiplied in complexity. Not even his father, Lord of Guithannan, had obtained compliance from the Expatritors when he required it. Selcott fought back a rising despair; he gathered himself and slid off the roof, returning to the ground.

Arcalante jogged up to him and said, "What did you find out?"

"There's someone called Cubet. They called him a fop. And the other man was an Expatritor."

"Are you sure?" Arcalante asked. His confident tone could not quite belie an anxiety similar to Selcott's.

"If he wasn't an Expatritor, he either used to be one or has access to their gear. Either way, he's close."

"And you couldn't identify him?"

Selcott shook his head. "No. He had his back to me by that time."

"And this Cubet person?"

"Well," Selcott said. He had had a few moments to collect his wits. "There is a Jarol Cubet. I must admit he does seem like a fop."

"A noble?"

"Yes," Selcott said. "Only minor but everyone knows him and his family. I'm not sure but I think they mean to kill him."

"Yes, perhaps," Arcalante said. He seemed to withdraw into his own thoughts for a few moments. "Come along. We shouldn't be seen here."

As they headed back towards the Gateway district, Selcott said, "What about the blond man? Aren't we going to follow him?"

"No," Arcalante said. "I lost sight of him. But I think we have the information we need now. If what you're saying is correct, I would be lying if I said I weren't worried about the Expatritors."

"What would they want with a saexum?" Selcott asked. "I wouldn't have thought they would be involved in something like that."

"I agree. But there may be a lot more to the Expatritors than anyone would know. Something more than just a simple desire to rule Guithannan, Brookholm and every other city in between."

Selcott nodded. Despite his own opinion of the Expatritors, Selcott never really thought they would stoop to trading saexum - for whatever reasons they had. He almost wished the scheme they had uncovered were a simple military coup.

"What use could someone's saexum be?"

Arcalante glanced at Selcott, seemingly weighing a decision. As they crossed into a busier road, he said, "As you know, a saexum is bound to a person at an early age using a True Name. These Names are kept secret - sometimes even the parents or the person themselves forget what it is."

Selcott distinctly remembered when he was told his own True Name and the importance his parents put on its safekeeping, let alone the secrecy of his siblings' Names. "But apart from creating a saexum?"

"There is a widespread belief amongst certain people - historians, collectors of so-called artifacts - that True Names can be used against a person if their saexum has also been stolen."

"How?"

"I'm not sure," Arcalante said with a shrug. He was clearly skeptical about the entire matter. "It is said that a form of compulsion can be enacted over the victim. I've seen many attempts but never seen it performed successfully. I think it's just a myth, a fairytale leftover from our Tanatri-laden past."

"But there is something within saexum, like in yours?"

"That's right," Arcalante conceded. He broke his stride to pass around a large family and continued, "But not in everyone's - that much is clear."

They continued walking, the sun dipping below the western Stonepeak Ranges and casting their shadows over Guithannan. Selcott pulled his cloak tighter around his body, the evening chill beginning to pervade his armour. As they neared the square in the Gateway district, they were forced to slow their pace by the tumult of people.

"Selcott," Arcalante said. "You should head back to your barracks."

"What do I tell them?"

"Whatever you wish," Arcalante said. "It might be wise to keep today's events from your superiors but you must inform your parents."

"I agree," Selcott said. "What will you do?"

Arcalante sighed, his uncertainty was disquieting. "I will have to speak with some people. It might not be any of my business but something is afoot. I will let you know."

"Very well." Selcott shook Arcalante's hand. "Fare well, Arcalante."

"You too, Selcott."

They parted ways and Selcott wended his way through the crowd towards the Royal Boulevard - hopefully, he would return to the Guithannan Army barracks in good time. As he walked, he simply could not muster the imagination for a good lie to explain his absence - actually seeing someone's stolen saexum traded away still ate at his nerves. He passed several food vendors and eventually could not ignore the smell of freshly barbequed meat.

With a small meal in hand, Selcott quickened his stride, almost jogging. His armour was heavy and chaffed in the wrong spots while his sword slapped against his leg, threatening to trip him at every step.

Then, the Army compound came into view and Selcott doffed his cloak, puffing with every breath. The sentries glanced at his armour in the yellow glow of oil-lamps and waved him through without a comment.

Several Lances were exercising in the courtyard, their shouts ringing across the evening air and intermingling with the steady beat of a drum. The blacksmiths were still working and their hammerfalls sounded like harsh bells longing for war. Pairs of guards patrolled the walls and manned the towers - Selcott glanced at the larger structures to the rear of the compound where the officers and auxiliary staff were housed; occasionally, Captains and their Captain-General, Avir Cardanus, met with Guithannan city officials on business while they looked over the compound from one of several balconies. There was no one there at the moment; Selcott still felt exposed as he quickly marched to his barracks.

He opened the door on Delmorgan in a chair with Eithon Ostyr and Captain Borril Janssen shouting at him. There was no one else in the barracks. Selcott froze for a moment, giving serious consideration to fleeing; Delmorgan flicked his gaze to the door and both Eithon and Borril turned around.

"Novice!" Borril yelled. "Where have you been?"

"Captain!" Selcott saluted and came to attention.

"At ease, novice," Borril said. "Explain yourself immediately."

"I was pursuing a thief, sir!"

"A thief?" Borril Janssen began stalking in a circle around Selcott. He was a massive man and a formidable opponent in battle despite his age. Selcott had had few direct meetings with him but as he was Captain of the Fifth Division, he was the superior of both Selcott and Eithon, his Lance-Leader. "What did this thief steal?"

"A gem, sir. He stole it from another man. I chased him down."

"Did you catch him?" Borril asked, his tone softening slightly.

"No, sir." Selcott made a show of remorse and anger. "He palmed it off to an associate and I lost track of them both in the evening rush, sir."

Borril halted and peered at Selcott, examining him. Selcott stood still - out of the corner of his eye, Delmorgan remained seated, mortified. Eithon had crossed his arms and seemed relaxed.

After a few tense moments, the Captain relented. He said, "You were derelict in your duties, novice. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes, sir!"

Borril nodded at Eithon, who saluted him. Then, the Captain of the Fifth Division left the barracks, quietly shutting the door behind him.

"You dodged that one, Selcott," Eithon said with a sigh. He uncharacteristically slumped against a bedpost and Selcott briefly wondered if his Lance-Leader had been punished. "I thought he would explode. Janssen likes you - be happy for that."

"Did Gording return?"

"He did," Eithon said, looking at Selcott. "He feared you had been abducted or somesuch. So we sent for Delmorgan, in case he knew anything."

"Can I go?" Delmorgan asked.

Eithon shook himself, as if realising for the first time that Delmorgan was still present. "Of course, of course. My apologies, Delmorgan. Please, go ahead."

"Thank you." Delmorgan stood and said his farewells. Understandably, he left quickly, patting Selcott on the shoulder as he passed.

"So," Eithon said. "What kind of gem was it?"

"A diamond, I think," Selcott said. His feet were beginning to ache.

"And you saw the thief lift it?"

"Yes."

Eithon rubbed his thighs and then stood up. "You would have done wonders for your cause had you been able to bring him in."

"I know," Selcott said.

"So you must also know that I have to assign you to scrubbing in the kitchen for the next two weeks."

Selcott nodded. "Yes, Lance-Leader."

Eithon picked up the chair Delmorgan had been sitting in and moved it behind one of the tiny desks furnishing the barracks. "Next time you have the urge to hunt thieves, go through the proper channels - city-watch and so forth. As I said before, Borril likes you. I think he sees something in you - apart from your royalty, of course. I think I understand it too - you could be a great leader of Guithannan, one day. But you have to pull it together; it's not just for yourself." Eithon crossed his arms again and gave Selcott a wry smile. "I don't know what might happen in the future but it's entirely possible that the crown will fall to you."

"There are up to seven others in front of me in the line of succession," Selcott said. "It won't happen."

Eithon shrugged. "Even if you don't become Lord of Guithannan, you'll always be a Prince. You can never refuse that responsibility."

Selcott said nothing, only nodded. Eithon turned around and slowly walked away, leaving the empty barracks to Selcott and his thoughts.

Chapter Seven

At the end of another week filled with training, washing crockery and more training, Selcott left the Guithannan Army compound with sore shoulders and a firm promise to despise kitchen duties for the rest of his life. Due to his punishment, he hadn't yet had the chance to tell his parents or siblings what had truly happened the other week - he did not even know if Arcalante wanted his presence to be known. As he ambled north, Selcott thought about the words he would use at the Palace.

The morning quickly grew warm and the usual mist that shadowed the city was nonexistent - summer had truly arrived. Selcott found the sun harsher with Guithannan's altitude, even in winter; Brookholm had far more temperate weather on the coast, shielded by green rolling landscape to the west. Of the major northern cities, Selcott had only visited Denosto and he found it uncomfortably hot and humid. According to all accounts, Ryneusk was equally warm but dry due to its proximity to the Arjezeh wastelands to the west. Neither were places that Selcott wished to stay for any extended period.

Thinking about Guithannan's neighbours brought Selcott back to Arcalante, the hunter. He was a curious oddity, the sort of person Selcott had only ever heard of, not met. For the moment, Arcalante seemed trustworthy and it didn't hurt that he was a saexum hunter. The more Selcott thought about it, the more he was convinced that completing `contracts' - as Arcalante put it - was something worth doing, even honourable.

When Selcott arrived at the Palace, the Royal guards saluted him. Several commoners passing through the gate at the same time turned and pointed, murmuring. Selcott ignored them and continued through the public gardens towards the Palace citadel. At the main entrance to the citadel, Selcott stopped a Royal Guard Lance-Leader.

"How can I help you, Highness?"

"Can you tell me where my parents are?" Selcott asked.

"I believe they are discussing several matters in the Court, Highness."

"Thank you."

Selcott frowned slightly as he began traversing the maze of the Palace to reach the domed Royal Court. It was unlike his parents to be concerned with the governance of the city on a Sixthday. On the other hand, he was rarely privy to their habits of ruling - less so now that he was ensconced at the Army barracks most days, punishments notwithstanding.

He found the Guithannite double-doors to the Royal Court wide open and his parents in deep discussion with several other people who appeared to be senior bureaucrats. Selcott couldn't make out their words but his parents, Martreas and Elleva, noticed him with surreptitious glances. Selcott sat on a pew and prepared to wait.

Martreas seemed concerned while Selcott's mother, Elleva, did most of the talking to the city officials. Then, they came to some sort of agreement and a Royal Guard appeared to escort the officials back to the public area of the Palace; access to the Royal Court, as well as the north wing, was restricted most of the time. The officials gathered their papers and left through a side-door.

When they were alone, Selcott stood and began walking towards the rarely-used thrones and dais at the other end of the Court. His footsteps echoed under the immense dome.

"Hello, mother, father."

"Selcott!" Elleva seemed to float over the Guithannite floor in her elegant dress. She hugged Selcott and when she drew back, his father embraced him.

"Hello, son," Martreas said. "Seems like you're building some muscle there." He slapped Selcott's shoulders.

"I suppose," Selcott said sheepishly.

"Is everything well?" Elleva asked.

"Yes, mother. But I must speak to you two on a private matter."

At this, Martreas and Elleva glanced at each other. "Very well," Elleva said. "Come along."

She walked to the doors behind the thrones that led to private sitting rooms. Selcott could only imagine the weighty treaties and agreements that had been signed behind those doors.

"What is the matter?" Martreas asked as they passed the dais.

"It's about saexum," Selcott said softly. His mother opened the thick Guithannite door and ushered them through. The room was adequately furnished but was essentially a waiting room for those not permitted further. Elleva said nothing as she opened another set of doors into a meeting room with an oval desk dominating the centre.

When she closed the doors behind them, Elleva said, "Saexum? What do you mean?"

Selcott seated himself at one of the chairs at the large central desk. His parents gracefully sat beside him.

"Did you receive word from the Army?"

"You were given kitchen duty again," Martreas said with a disapproving glare. "You left your patrol to pursue a diamond thief?"

Selcott nodded. "It's essentially true. Except that it wasn't just any diamond - it was a saexum. A bracelet with a diamond saexum embedded into it."

"You had better start from the beginning," Elleva said. Selcott quickly recounted his second meeting with Arcalante and then their pursuit of the blond seller, ending with his return to the barracks.

"Well, well," Martreas said. "It's unfortunate that Delmorgan had to be entwined in that mess."

"Who is this Arcalante fellow?" Elleva asked. "How do you know he is what he says he is?"

"He seems genuine," Selcott said.

"A good criminal always is. He could well have been working with those people," Elleva said. "You don't know who he is or where he's from."

"I think he's from Eldaros," Selcott offered. He briefly thought of mentioning the foresters and the Tanatri temple but then bit his tongue. He could see that his parents were already thinking of how to handle his misadventure if word ever spread.

"Eldaros." Martreas sighed. "A nice country were it not for that damnable forest."

"But what of the saexum?" Selcott asked even though he knew what his parents were going to say.

"I'm afraid there's nothing much that we can do," Martreas said. He rubbed his chin. "Let's assume it was simply a bracelet - what could we do? Where would we begin our search?"

"And Jarol Cubet?"

Elleva shrugged. "I can make enquiries about him but the last I heard, he and his family were quite hale."

"I know not of anyone harbouring grudges against the Cubets," Martreas added.

"Very well." Selcott sighed to himself.

His mother sat up with a smile and rubbed her hands together. "So, what are your plans for today?" Elleva said cheerily.

"I suppose I will see what Delmorgan and Cassine are doing."

"Good," Elleva said. "I believe Laine wants to speak with you. Cassine is with her now - in her chess tower."

Selcott nodded and stood. "It's good to see you again. Don't work too hard."

Elleva and Martreas smiled. "Only a few small matters to clear up, my darling," Elleva said. She kissed Selcott's forehead even though she had to stretch up to reach him. "Dinner will be served an hour after sundown."

"We will be there."

"Good."

Selcott said his farewells to his parents and made his way out of the meeting room, back to the Royal Court. It would have been advantageous to at least have obtained tacit approval to use the Guithannan Army or Royal Guards as a Prince, should he have required it. Now that his parents were clearly cynical about Arcalante and the situation with the saexum, Selcott feared that he would only be able to assist the saexum hunter in an unofficial capacity.

The main wings of the Palace, usually teeming with pages, scribes, clerks and other bureaucratic officials, were dormant for the time being - much like how Selcott imagined it would have been in the past, when Guithannan was a more traditional monarchy rather than the current fusion. The Brookholm Circle of Seven Council - established many generations ago - had much influence on the changes made to Guithannan's ruling structure three hundred years ago. Now that anyone could own land, nobles could be considered nothing more than wealthy elite with some ancestral tie to the throne of Guithannan. Selcott hated the way most nobles, in the presence of his parents or Magdyna, suddenly became fawning sycophants while he himself elicited nothing more than a glance normally reserved for foreign oddities and antiquities. As Selcott strolled down a hallway that led to Keilaine's chosen tower for chess, he silently berated himself - he never liked court politics in any case.

After heaving himself up the last set of stairs, Selcott stepped onto the deserted level that Keilaine liked to withdraw to. The main hallway led to the balcony and Selcott headed in that direction when he heard familiar voices chatting.

"Selcott!" Keilaine exclaimed. She stood up and hugged him.

Cassine and Delmorgan grinned as he greeted them.

"We thought that the Army had gobbled you up," Cassine joked. "No one could get in to see you."

"I know," Selcott said, taking the last seat on the balcony. He relaxed and gazed over the unique view of the city. "I always thought that my place as a novice in the Guithannan Army was just for show. But they're absolutely serious."

"You're the Prince," Cassine said. "You would be their commander under any other circumstances."

Selcott shook his head and found Keilaine doing the same. She said, "Not under the circumstances mother and father have ordered."

"For the purposes of my training," Selcott continued, "my authority in the Guithannan Army extends only as far as my official rank - which is currently novice."

Cassine replied, "That is something of a worry."

Selcott shrugged. "I doubt I would have much say in their operations in any case."

Cassine nodded. She leaned forward in her chair and asked, "So, what did you do to earn kitchen duty this time? Delmorgan wasn't very informative." Cassine glanced at Delmorgan. "Sorry, Del."

"I know, I wasn't much help," Delmorgan said.

"Well," Selcott said. "It's what I wanted to talk to you guys about."

"This sounds exciting," Cassine said, rubbing her hands together.

"It's going to sound a little bit crazy," Selcott warned. "Just hear me out." He proceeded to tell Cassine and Delmorgan everything about Arcalante, the foresters and the knowledge they had gathered about saexum and the legendary Tanatri. Selcott watched their faces grow blank with disbelief, turn to shock and then worry as he recounted the pursuit of the stolen saexum. When he finished, he sat back, throat exhausted.

Delmorgan and Cassine remained silent. Keilaine shared a glance with Selcott as their friends mulled over the information. Cassine said, "How do you know that Arcalante is telling the truth about saexum?"

"I don't," Selcott said. "But I've seen enough to know that he's been through a lot more than I have in hunting them down and returning them to their owners. I think meeting Ceryn the pixie - or forester - was what finally convinced me."

"She spoke of the Tanatri as well, didn't she?" Keilaine asked with an unusually sombre tone.

"Yes," Selcott said. "The Tanatri were once as prominent, if not more so, than the Expatritors are today. The foresters live longer than us - they remember the Tanatri."

"I wonder what happened to them," Keilaine murmured.

"Maybe we should tell Valedros," Cassine said. "He could help us."

"No!" Selcott said. "He's an Expatritor. Whoever stole that saexum, and however it is linked to Jarol Cubet's family, is close to the Expatritors."

Keilaine sighed. "Sel's right. I don't think it would be wise to involve Valedros. He could help us but he could just as well do otherwise."

"Not if you're with us," Cassine insisted.

"No," Selcott said firmly. "No Expatritors. I don't trust them. And Valedros' loyalties aren't reliable enough for us to confide secrets to him."

Cassine relented and tapped her knees, thinking.

"Delmorgan?" Selcott said. "You're a bit quiet. What do you think we should do?"

"I trust your judgment when you say that the Expatritors could be involved," Delmorgan said. "I think we have to figure out what their involvement is. And why."

"That's an excellent idea," Keilaine said. "Forget about the Tanatri and the pixies and Arcalante and all of that for now." She stood up and cast her gaze across the Guithannite towers and buildings below them. Selcott knew her mind was ticking over. Keilaine was only a few years older than him but had been exposed to more of their parents' rule over Guithannan than Selcott ever had; she knew of the politics and other noble families' machinations within Guithannan.

Then, Keilaine turned around and said, "What does a saexum do?"

"It's just bound to a person when they're young," Cassine said.

"And?"

"And nothing," Cassine said.

Selcott piped up. "They're normal rocks and stones beforehand but after they are bound, they become indestructible."

"And when a person dies," Delmorgan added, "the saexum disintegrates."

"But the core ingredient," Keilaine said, "is the True Name." She folded her arms and tapped her elbows. "A True Name is needed to bind a stone to a person and make a saexum."

"Did Arcalante say anything about what happens when a saexum is separated from someone's possession?" Delmorgan asked.

"Not specifically," Selcott replied. "Only that he is paid to retrieve them because if someone were to obtain a saexum and also the person's True Name, then that person - the victim - could be coerced into doing things."

"Blackmailed?"

Selcott shook his head. "No - like..." He struggled for a moment to think of the proper way to describe it and then finally settled on, "A Tanatri using mind control powers."

Keilaine said, "What if the Expatritors now have someone's saexum?"

"Jarol Cubet's?"

"It's possible," Keilaine said. "What's also possible is that Cubet is involved in the trading of someone's Name."

"It could be his True Name," Selcott said. "Maybe the Expatritors are going to force him to do something."

"Perhaps."

Cassine also stood up, stretching her back. "What if the Expatritors purchased a True Name from Cubet and what Selcott heard was a discussion to kill him?"

"It would be a good way of covering their trail," Keilaine said.

Selcott shook his head doubtfully. "The Cubet family may be small but they are still nobility. No one can simply murder a noble and get away with it - not even the Expatritors."

Then, Delmorgan leaned forward, cupping his chin with a palm. "They can and they will - if they use a saexum and True Name to coerce someone to murder Cubet and then to commit suicide."

Everyone looked at Delmorgan, Selcott included. "That's dark," Selcott said slowly.

"They're the Expatritors," Delmorgan replied blandly.

Selcott leaned back and rubbed his temples. He said, "Anything we do is without authority. I told mother and father but I don't think they believed a word."

"Don't worry," Keilaine said. "Ultimately, you're a Prince and I am a Princess. We're royalty. I know father often harps on about our responsibilities and duties as if we are elected Councillors in Brookholm but I think there are times when we must revert to Guithannan's origins and pull rank."

"I hope you're right, Sis."

"It will be much more difficult with the Harvest Festival so soon," Keilaine said. "So many visitors from the towns. The Expatritors could be using anyone."

"What about the Guithannan Army?" Delmorgan said. "Would Jarol Cubet's murder start a war?"

"If anything, only a civil war," Keilaine said. "But I don't see anyone gaining a political advantage in the murder of a minor noble nor do I think that D'Avernaux or Cardanus have any such similar wish." Reneld D'Avernaux was the current Charge of the Guithannan Army and while he was in command of the Army, after Martreas and Elleva, the Charge was often also seen as a mere figurehead more involved in policy and providing military advice to Selcott's parents. Avir Cardanus, who held the position of Captain-General in the Guithannan Army, was considered to be the true commander of the Army, particularly when combat was involved.

Selcott crossed his arms. "As restless as the Guithannan Army is, I don't think they would want to fight Guithannians."

"What about Expatritors?"

"That's another matter entirely," Selcott said. He smoothed his simple tunic down. "The Guithannan Army would gladly go to battle against the Expatritors; even though some are Guithannian, most are from Brookholm." He met the eyes of Cassine, Delmorgan and finally, Keilaine. "It's no secret that the Army is even more adamant about the presence of the Expatritors than my father. However they may portray themselves, they are a private order, a glorified guild of warriors. It doesn't matter how far back their history stretches or how influential they have been on Brookholm and Guithannan."

Delmorgan scratched his cheek as he thought for a moment. "Then, it would be possible that the Army, or someone within the Army, would be happy for something to point to the Expatritors. Anything that they can take to your parents as evidence against the Expatritors would be welcome."

Selcott's stomach churned over; Delmorgan's idea about the Guithannan Army was insidious enough to be plausible. Keilaine cleared her throat. She pulled a stray lock of hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. "We should remain vigilant if both the Expatritors and the Guithannan Army stand to gain something from Jarol Cubet's death or whatever information he holds."

Cassine pouted. "We should tell someone."

"I've already tried," Selcott said gently. "My parents don't want to hear it. And we can't take this to anyone else. Even the loyalty of the Royal Guards is firstly to the Palace and secondly to the Guithannan Army."

"We'll tell my parents," Cassine said. "They'll be able to do something."

"No," Keilaine said. "They might be able to help but I don't want to put them in danger."

"This is going to be dangerous?"

"Probably," Keilaine said with a smile. "But it will also be exciting."

At this, Cassine's eyes widened in alarm and dismay. Keilaine sat next to Cassine and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Think of it - all the times we've had to sit on the sidelines or stay in the Palace or some boring estate. Now we'll be able to do something, play a direct hand."

Cassine shared Keilaine's smile. "All right. So what do we do first?"

"Selcott?" Keilaine asked.

"I think you and Cass should keep an eye on the Cubet family. See if anything unusual happens and watch out for rumours. You'll have to start attending parties and functions again - as well as spending your daytime mingling with nobility."

"New dresses!" Cassine exclaimed.

"Indeed."

"I'll have to put several things on hold, then," Keilaine said.

"I'm sorry, Laine," Selcott said. "I know you have big plans for your tailoring venture."

"It's all right," Keilaine replied. "It can wait."

Delmorgan said, "And me?"

"I'll need you to look out for Keilaine and Cass," Selcott said. "Someone has to keep them out of trouble."

"Very well. What will you do?"

Selcott sighed. "I'll nose around the other Lances and Divisions - try to see if anything is afoot."

"Be careful," Keilaine said. "Even if Cubet's death would not warrant a civil war, I think yours would."

"I'll be fine," Selcott replied.

Keilaine squeezed Selcott's arm. "I'm just saying that the Guithannan Army compound is full of people who are trained to kill and have the tools readily at hand. A so-called accident could happen at any time. Take care."

Selcott nodded. "Don't worry."

The quartet spent the rest of the day on a lighter note. Keilaine and Cassine disappeared to the innumerable tailors and clothiers in the northern district in preparation for their return to the life of a noblewoman; both had spent their years out of apprenticeship working at their chosen professions, eschewing the life of leisure that most nobles' children enjoyed. Delmorgan and Selcott wandered around the Palace but Selcott found it dull. Endron and Magdyna were busy with their respective families and were nowhere to be seen; it had been many years since Selcott's elder siblings found themselves with as much spare time as himself. Bored with the Palace, the extensive armoury and stables, Selcott and Delmorgan whiled away the remainder of the daylight hours in the nearest strip of stalls and merchants. Selcott had no cirrens to spare however, but was content to browse through the trinkets mindlessly - he would rather that than being confined in the Army compound serving a punishment.

The dinner with his family was an informal affair in their private quarters of the Palace north wing. As was sometimes the case, some of their extended family joined them - this time his aunt Elenelle, her husband Athedol and their children Dillain and Ellandra; though they were both older than Selcott, there was still a close kinship with them as with Keilaine.

Selcott did not volunteer any further anecdotes about saexum or Arcalante and thankfully, neither did his sister. He was in not the mood to explain the finer details and rather enjoyed himself without the immediately worry of either his Army duties or Arcalante's concerns over stolen saexum. Magdyna's new son Aran had grown from the last time Selcott had seen him - he was not normally the type of person who commented on which parent a child took after but it was self-evident that Aran had the features of his father Lengeres, with the dark hair and eyes of the Wrienswings. With the presence of Aran, the talk soon turned to Endron, his wife Anneth and the supposed imminent child that Martreas and Elleva so wanted.

Preparations for the Harvest Festival - throughout the entire city, not just the Royal Palace - began in earnest that week. Merchants and farmers from the outlying towns under Guithannan's banner gradually trickled into the walls seeking places to stay as well as to conduct business. City officials busied themselves in contracting the manufacture of decorations that would adorn the Royal Boulevard as well as other main roads and skywalks within Guithannan. When Selcott was assigned to city-patrol a week later, the rush of childhood Harvest Festival memories flooded back, tinged with nostalgia. He knew he could never fully recapture the sheer awe and merriment of past years but as he marched around Guithannan with Gording, he realised that there was no sense in dwelling on the past; he could only resolve to enjoy his time.

The influx of visitors in the following weeks brought with them their attire, language, food and other traits of their cultures. While many towns under the protection of the city identified themselves as Guithannians, there were a few who still held onto their particular traditions or dialects. Brookholmers, on the other hand, were easy to spot. On patrol, Selcott often made a mental game of weeding out the Brookholmers - they were always loud, walked in a rush and dressed as if Guithannan were not a city situated in the Stonepeak Ranges. Those from the town of Junction - which lay where rivers Lohate and Tiaquin joined - were harder to identify as Junction itself was a mish-mash of cultures due to its location between the major cities.

Villagers of Thaella rarely visited Guithannan nor, as far as Selcott knew, any other city; the harsh icy plains far south of both Guithannan and Brookholm did not allow the luxury of travel for its residents. But of all the visitors to Guithannan, it was the Zhandoura who fascinated Selcott the most. Most Zhandoura stayed in the Arjezeh desert wastelands to the west but a few ventured east from time to time. Many were employed as either private guards or other armed forces while the rest, it was said, were employed to train private guards and other armed forces. Their proficiency at combat was well-known, even if Selcott had never seen a Zhandouran even sparring; but whenever he saw a Zhandouran walking around Guithannan, their deadliness was evident in their posture and their stride. The peculiar Zhandouran invasion of 221 was their last official conflict and the defining moment of the Expatritors' loathing of the Zhandoura.

No one truly knew what lay beyond the Arjezeh desert, the home of the Zhandoura. Selcott was certain, however, that the Harvest Festival did not exist in their homeland, explaining the number of curious Zhandoura who visited at this time of year. They brought with them their seemingly strange customs which, when coupled with the vast number of other visitors, put Selcott on edge - just as Keilaine predicted, trouble seemed to loom in the most unexpected of places and people.

The start of the Harvest Festival drew closer and Guithannan became jammed with people at all hours of the day and night. The Guithannan Army expanded their city patrol roster along with the usual city-guards; Selcott found it difficult to tell if the Expatritors did the same. He did know that it was becoming more difficult to sleep with the sounds of night-long revelry just over the Army compound wall becoming more frequent.

Two days before the official start of the Harvest Festival, Eithon Ostyr stormed into the barracks, shouting, "Wake up, worms! On your feet! Wake up!"

Selcott rolled off his cot and onto his feet without really thinking. After a second or two, he opened his eyes - most of his comrades had done the same and Eithon stalked back through the barracks, eyeing off everyone's presence. "Good news!" he yelled. "Are you awake?" It was still dark outside.

"Yes, Lance-Leader!" the entire group answered.

"Excellent." Eithon put his arms in the air. "We have been chosen for patrol duty for the first week of the Harvest Festival." Selcott almost groaned but then checked himself. "We will have the second week completely off-duty but that doesn't mean we can slack off. I want this Lance to be the best damned patrol in the entire city. We are going to be on show for everyone out there, so clean up your gear and get everything in order. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Lance-Leader!"

"Good." Eithon nodded curtly and then left the barracks.

Selcott slumped back into his cot - most of the group, experienced Brands, took the opportunity to begin their daily chores as they were already awake. Just as Selcott felt his eyes close, Ashnur approached his cot with a broom in his hands. He said, "Good morning, Selcott. That was probably not the best way to wake up but it's not all bad, I suppose."

Selcott snapped awake and sat up. "No. A week away will be good even if it's only the second week of the Harvest Festival."

"Yes," Ashnur said. "It is fortunate that the city of Guithannan holds such extensive celebrations. In Brookholm, the Harvest Festival continues only for one week and even then, it peters out after a few days."

"Just one of the ways that Guithannan is superior to Brookholm," Selcott quipped.

Ashnur smiled and continued sweeping the black Guithannite floor.

Later that day, Eithon conducted a lottery after their midday meal to establish their patrol-partners for the coming week. Selcott drew Gording again; at first, he thought nothing much of it but then wondered if Gording had a low opinion of him since abandoning his duties a couple weeks earlier. He did not have the chance to clear up the matter as the rest of the day was spent training and then cleaning their barracks as they would not have the time to do so in the next few days.

In the morning, Selcott awoke to the daily reveille and promptly slipped out of his cot and into his boots. The rest of the Lance quickly dressed, several quiet conversations murmured in the early light. Selcott donned his simple tunic for the moment - they normally clad themselves in their assigned armour after breakfast and as far as Selcott was concerned, the less time he spent in his constrictive leather armour, the better.

Perhaps because of the day - the first day of the Harvest Festival celebrations - the morning meal in the communal mess hall was taken quickly and in relative chaos by all of the Lances, not just Selcott's. He was eager to get out of the walls and into the city; even though they would be on duty, being amongst the crowds was better than nothing.

Back at their barracks, Eithon joined them and supervised their departures. Selcott pieced his armour and weapons together. As he was fixing his sheaths onto his belt, Gording found him and said, "Are you ready?"

Selcott nodded. "Let's go."

They marched towards the exit and Eithon nodded at them. He said softly, "Don't get lost again, Selcott."

Selcott whipped his head around as he passed through the door and caught Eithon's sardonic smile. There was no time for a retort - they were already in the main yard of the compound with innumerable other pairs leaving for the day's patrol.

Gording led the way to their patrol sector which, like most of the others, included the Royal Boulevard. He said, "I hope our day is uneventful."

"I do too," Selcott said. "What was it like last year?" He had only ever heard stories - it seemed that more experienced Brands often partook in the celebrations while on duty.

"I don't know," Gording replied as they strode along. "This is my first patrol during the Harvest Festival."

"Oh." Selcott did not feel reassured with Gording's frank admission. If something were to occur, it would more than likely involve alcohol and Selcott was not entirely sure what would happen. In fact, Selcott could not remember any incidents ever occurring during his recent patrols.

"Do you think we will see the parade?" Gording asked. "I've seen it every year."

"I hope so," Selcott said. On the opening day of the Harvest Festival, a procession moved from the Palace, down the Royal Boulevard to the city square and then back to the Palace on the other side of the boulevard. Entertainers and performers usually led the parade followed by the members of a selection of guilds and organisations, including the Expatritors and the Water guild. Nobles followed - chosen for their contributions to the city in the past year - then, the immediate Royal family on the royal carriages. They were followed by more entertainers and representatives from other important guilds. As far as Selcott knew, this was the first year that he was not going to be in the Harvest Festival procession; his parents were absolutely firm about his career in the Guithannan Army.

They eventually reached their designated route which encompassed the Royal Boulevard and an area just west of it. While the morning was bright, it was still early for a holiday and the streets were deserted. The sun glinted off the black Guithannite. "What do we do now?" Gording said. He adjusted his helm, compensating for the dazzling sun.

"Let's just walk around," Selcott suggested. Gording nodded and they began ambling down the road; they chatted about nothing in particular as the morning slowly rolled on.

Gradually, people appeared on the streets in anticipation of the opening day's festivities - everyone from adults to children and the elderly, and people of all classes and occupations. Selcott even spotted a Dhagaram or two as well as several Zhandoura and Expatritors in the crowds.

Most of the time, Selcott and Gording were ignored by Guithannians - their presence was understandable and a tolerated necessity. No one recognised Selcott as a Wrienswing; few people would ever expect to see a member of the Royal family fully armoured in Guithannan Army gear, let alone as a novice.

At about mid-morning, when crowds were quickly gathering, Selcott said to Gording, "Let's take a break. I'm a little hungry."

"Good idea," said Gording.

They headed to the closest street vendor who had set up his stall outside a local tailor that had closed for the holiday. Several locals were lounging against the building's frontage, eating pastries and drinking mulled wine. Gording removed his leather helm with a sigh and shook out his hair that was matted with sweat. Selcott kept his helm on as he ordered honeyed rolls and coffee for himself and Gording.

"My thanks," Gording said as he accepted the snacks with gauntleted hand.

"Not at all," Selcott said. In truth, he felt mildly guilty about previously abandoning Gording for Arcalante's pursuit. He removed one of his leather gauntlets and tucked it into his belt as he bit into a roll.

"So," Gording said, "what will you do when you finish your apprenticeship?"

Selcott shrugged. "I suppose I will become a Brand." Several musicians rushed past, clutching their lutes and drums to their chests.

"I think you should become a private guard," Gording said. "You should take advantage of who you are."

"You mean a mercenary?" Selcott said. "I'm not so sure. Mercenaries simply follow the cirrens - that's not the sort of thing my parents would want me to do."

"Is it about loyalty and honour and all of that?" Gording asked as he sipped his drink.

"Yes," Selcott said. "It is. As you said - it's a part of who I am. To be completely honest, I don't think I would make a good mercenary. I'd be much more comfortable as a regular Brand."

Gording finished the last of his honey roll with one big bite. Around a full mouth, he said, "Everyone knows that you'll not stay a Brand for long. Out of everyone in our Lance, you'll be the first to be promoted to Lance-Leader - even over Ashnur. Then, you'll be Captain. I don't know about being Captain-General since I'm sure that Avir Cardanus isn't going anywhere any time soon. They'll probably create a special position just for you."

"You're just winding me up, now."

"Maybe a little bit," Gording answered. He smiled but then added, "It's somewhat true, don't you think?"

Selcott nodded. The young Brand was probably right - as soon as he completed his apprenticeship, his rise in the Army was practically assured due to his heritage. While they could not force out existing members, particularly the singular positions of Captain-General and Charge, his parents could certainly arrange for a new Lance to be created in order for him to become a Lance-Leader or a new Division should he become a Captain.

He finished his snack and they continued their patrol. The streets were becoming packed and Selcott began to find it difficult to navigate through the crowds as well as scan the area for possible trouble. A couple furlongs away from the Royal Boulevard, he stopped and said to Gording, "I think we should go up."

"To a sky-bridge?"

Selcott nodded. "We'll have a height advantage."

"What if something happens on the ground while we're up there?" Gording asked.

"We'll take the lower ones. It's not far to jump onto the closest roof."

Gording's eyes widened. "You can do that. I'll take the stairs."

Selcott grinned and led the way to the closest landing. The walkway extended along the street to a tower on the Royal Boulevard. As they were normally used for quick and direct access, few people loitered on the bridges. Selcott and Gording quickly reached the Royal Boulevard where thousands of people lined the sides of the street, eyes on the Palace.

Gording trotted down the stairs to the base of the tower while Selcott hesitated a moment, trying glimpse the gates of the Palace. Instead, all he could see were the Guithannite walls protecting the Royal Palace grounds and the masses of people lining the roads. Selcott let himself frown for a moment; he instinctively knew that once he returned to street-level, he would probably miss the entire parade.

The tower was not located directly on the Royal Boulevard and when Selcott set foot on the street, he was immediately overwhelmed by the throng of citizens and tourists alike, all trying to gain the best viewing position. Selcott spotted Gording next to a doused lamp-post and weaved through the people towards him.

"I don't know if there's much more we can do," Selcott said.

"I know," Gording replied. A burly man shoved past the young Brand, completely oblivious to him. "I hope there's not any trouble. It'd be hard to get to it."

"I think we'll be fine," Selcott said. He couldn't smell the distinctive tang of liquor anywhere and there were plenty of children and families in attendance. He hoped it boded well for the rest of the day.

As noon approached, the crowds became even more tightly packed with people. Parents held their children on their shoulders and intrepid revellers began clambering up columns, posts, balconies, anything to catch a glimpse of the parade down the Royal Boulevard. Selcott and Gording were gradually pushed to the rear, a good distance down the street.

Then, a roar went up from the north, near the Palace. Selcott recognised it from years past - the parade had started. Without thinking, he craned his neck but only saw the backs of heads and several buildings in the way. Selcott caught himself and relaxed - the parade would simply be the same as always. Afterall, until this year, he had actually been in it. Gording, however, stood on his toes but apparently still couldn't see anything useful. He muttered something to Selcott and scurried to a set of stairs leading to a walkway that was already jammed with people.

Selcott crossed his arms comfortably and leaned against a low Guithannite wall. He thought back to previous Harvest Festivals, all the times his mother had forced him to wear his most expensive finery and then sit in one of the open-air carriages as they followed the procession from the Palace, down the Royal Boulevard to the city square and back. Upon reflection, they were happy times - at the very least, uncomplicated. Selcott allowed himself a tiny smile as he kept an eye on the crowd.

Over the next hour or two, Selcott watched the people soak in the procession of entertainment that waltzed by. He heard the minstrels playing, the gasps of onlookers at the sword-jugglers, the braying of strange and weird animals. Selcott even saw the tips of flames blown into the air. A raucous cheer rose when the Royal carriages trundled past and children, teenagers and adults alike screamed out the names of Selcott's siblings in efforts to be noticed. Other bards and entertainers passed along with displays from more guilds.

Then, the excitement in the crowd sank - everyone would have to wait until the procession returned from the city square to see it again. Knowing this, the crowd hardly abated. Selcott glanced around - Gording was beginning to make his way back down to the ground.

"Did you see much?" Selcott asked when Gording returned.

"I saw most of it," he replied with a grin. "The best parade yet!"

Selcott said, "They know how to put on a show."

"Did you get to see any of it from down here?"

Selcott shook his head. "I didn't - but I've seen enough of them to know what generally happens."

Gording grinned. "I suppose you would."

"We should probably walk around a bit," Selcott said. "We've been in this one spot for too long."

"Good idea," Gording said. He pointed to a small side-street, almost an alley. "How about through there and onto the next road?"

"Very well." Selcott let Gording lead - he was, afterall, ranked higher than Selcott. Their short patrol across several smaller roads was uneventful with almost everyone preoccupied in celebrations. In that time, the parade had returned to the Palace and the crowds that lined the Royal Boulevard now congregated in front of the Palace's main gates. It was customary for Selcott's father or mother to give a speech about the past year and without saying a word, Gording led the way to the Palace.

Before long, they could no longer make any headway and Selcott said, "Here will do." Gording nodded and they halted outside a closed smithy. The Guithannite walls of the Palace were a long stone's throw away and Selcott could just barely see the raised platform upon which his family and other dignitaries were seated; there used to always be a minor row with Selcott's aunts and uncles as to who would be invited to the dais every Harvest Festival so Martreas eventually decreed that only the immediate Royal family and certain city officials could be present.

His mother was standing, giving the Harvest Festival speech, but her words were too faint. Several cheers were given by those nearer to the Palace at certain points, rounds of applause for others. Then, Elleva half-bowed and half-curtsied. The gathered audience, citizens of Guithannan and visitors, cheered and clapped and screamed out Guithannian chants.

Amidst the applause, Selcott's family all stood and apart from the children, he could see the tops of their heads. After basking in the adulation for a brief moment, the Wrienswings departed from the dais and proceeded back into the Palace, accompanied by Royal Guards. Selcott realised he had been craning his neck - he relaxed and watched the people begin to disperse. The Harvest Festival had officially begun.

"I'm hungry," Gording said. Without waiting for a response from Selcott, he began wandering around, searching for a meal. Selcott scanned the area - the only available food was from stalls and while Selcott enjoyed the occasional snack from a street-side vendor, it could never replace a real lunch. Gording, it seemed, had no such reservations and soon returned with several sticks of chicken meat and a couple sweet-rolls.

He offered some of the food to Selcott and despite himself, Selcott accepted - his growling stomach stopped him from declining. They began ambling south along the Royal Boulevard while more merchants were beginning to open their businesses to take advantage of the crowds milling about after the Harvest Festival parade.

In the early afternoon, Selcott and Gording were still patrolling the Royal Boulevard. As they were about to head into a smaller avenue, Selcott spotted a familiar head of hair bobbing and weaving through the human traffic.

"Sel!"

Selcott halted at the faint call and Gording turned around, searching for its origins - his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Selcott squinted in the afternoon sun, examining the light brown hair rushing towards them. Then, realisation struck him. It was Keilaine.

He said to Gording, "Wait here a moment?"

Gording nodded and Selcott returned to the Royal Boulevard to intercept his sister. As they closed the distance, Keilaine slowed to a brisk walk; she was followed by Cassine. "Hello, brother!" Keilaine said as soon as she was within earshot.

"Hi, Laine," Selcott said. "What is going on?"

Keilaine and Cassine were both slightly winded from their apparent chase and after a couple of puffs, Keilaine managed to say, "You have to come with us! Quickly!"

"What? Why?"

Keilaine shook her head as if to say there was no time to explain. "It's a Guithannan Army patrolman - a Brand."

"We were in the northern district when we spotted him," Cassine continued. "Delmorgan is following him now - we should be able to catch up."

Selcott felt his heart clench. "Do you think the Guithannan Army is still involved somehow?" He didn't want to think about the dangers of his second home - he never really had since it had been suggested by Keilaine.

"We have to find out," Keilaine said, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. "Let's go."

"I'm on duty," Selcott said. "I don't think I can."

"Just bring your patrol-partner," Keilaine said. "This could be a legitimate criminal posing as a Guithannan Army Brand!"

Selcott didn't need any more convincing. He said, "Very well. Wait here a moment." He quickly marched back to Gording and said, "My sister has a lead on a possible crime. Let's go!"

Gording grinned and shrugged slightly. "It's another one of your goose-chases, isn't it?" Before Selcott could respond with a denial, Gording continued, "Don't worry, Selcott. You should go ahead. I won't tell anyone."

"You need to come along," Selcott said. "You're my patrol-partner."

"It's all right, Selcott," Gording replied. He shook his head as he added, "I really shouldn't get caught up with whatever you're involved in. If I'm kicked out, there's not much else for me to do. My family certainly can't afford to support me." Gording sighed. "Dare I say it but if I were to report you missing again, I should expect a very stern visit from a representative of the Royal Palace - probably someone used to dealing out pain."

"You don't believe that, do you?" Selcott asked.

"I don't know," Gording said. "You should just go. Don't worry. I'll be here when you come back. We should at least return together to keep some semblance of normality."

Perhaps Selcott's impatience overrode his rationality as he said, "Thanks, Gording. It won't be long."

Gording only nodded and Selcott jogged back up the Royal Boulevard where his sister and Cassine were waiting. "What happened?" Keilaine asked.

"He'll wait here," Selcott said. With calming gestures to head off Keilaine's imminent protests, he added, "It will be fine."

Keilaine visibly bit off her response. She shrugged and then said, "Let's go." She led the way, crossing to the eastern side of the Royal Boulevard and then continuing through the opulent district around the Palace. She stopped at several intervals to pick up large smooth pebbles left on low walls, next to posts, under trees. "Delmorgan," was all Keilaine said when she collected the fifth pebble.

She searched the junction that was filled with people, commoners and nobles alike, despite the area they were in. Keilaine spotted something and began jogging down another road lined with residential structures. Selcott scanned the area ahead and saw Delmorgan waiting for them.

When they neared, Selcott greeted his old friend and said, "What's going on?"

"It's one of the Brands in your Lance," Delmorgan said. "He's up ahead, following someone else."

Selcott leaned around a Guithannite wall and saw a man attired in Guithannan Army leather armour ambling up the road. Selcott squinted. Then, he saw the quarry - it was the blond man Selcott had pursued with Arcalante. Selcott's mind raced, calculating all the possibilities and coincidences.

The saexum-thief halted at a vendor to inspect some trinkets. The lone Brand also slowed his pace to an eventual stop. He turned around and casually watched passersby. The Brand removed his helm and Selcott almost gasped. It was Ashnur, the Dhagaram.

Selcott retreated back around the corner. Keilaine asked, "What is it? What did you see?"

"The Brand you've been following is a Dhagaram," Selcott said. "His name is Ashnur." Selcott shook his head slowly as he thought about the situation. "He is on patrol like me but his patrol-partner should be with him."

"Your patrol-partner should be with you too," Delmorgan pointed out.

Keilaine tied back her hair into a tail. "Let's find out what he has to say for himself."

Selcott put a light hand on her arm. "No, not yet. There's someone else up there too - the man who sold the saexum."

Cassine put a hand over her surprised mouth. As several revellers passed by, she said in a low tone, "Is your Lance-mate following the thief?"

"I think so," Selcott said. "We need to find out what's going on."

"What happens if he sees us?" Cassine asked. She began to unconsciously rub her her elbows fretfully.

"He has more to lose than I," Selcott replied.

"There are too many of us," Keilaine said. "We're going to get noticed fast."

"Maybe I should go back and tell someone what's happening," Cassine said. "What would I say?"

Selcott glanced at Keilaine. "You might not have anything to say."

"No," Keilaine added. "Perhaps you and Delmorgan can hang back, staying within earshot. Selcott and I will trail this Ashnur fellow."

Cassine nodded quickly. "That's a good plan." Selcott leaned around the corner again - it seemed that the blond thief was about to start moving.

Selcott said to them, "Get ready." The saexum-thief pocketed his purchase from the trinket-vendor and walked away. Ashnur seemed to keep an eye on him while he donned his helm. As Ashnur recommenced his leisurely pursuit, Selcott and Keilaine followed, separating to either side of the road to allay suspicion. Keilaine was almost unrecognisable under a sun umbrella and a frilly blouse that she would normally never wear. Selcott swept a cloak over his Guithannan Army gear - the same cloak that Arcalante had purchased for him previously.

Selcott tried to remain inconspicuous, often stopping to inspect wares as he kept watch on Ashnur and the blond man; his two friends trailed behind. Keilaine, on the other hand, ambled along, playing the part of the carefree noblewoman surprisingly well. Cassine and Delmorgan were discreet, almost invisible against the Harvest Festival celebrations.

At the next intersection, the blond man turned down another road which led deeper into a residential area that was fairly peaceful. Clearly, the occupants prized their solitude. When Ashnur disappeared into that street, Selcott and Keilaine shared a glance. Then, they both rushed forward, fearing they would lose the trail.

Selcott rounded the corner first and saw Ashnur dashing forward and then quickly turning down another side-street. "Hurry," Selcott muttered. Keilaine surged forward and overtook him. They sprinted down the street and then skidded around the next corner after Ashnur.

In the shadows between the Guithannite structures, Ashnur had the blond man in a painful-looking arm-lock. With the appearance of Selcott, Ashnur recognised him and hesitated. The blond man capitalised on Ashnur's lapse in concentration and twisted around, escaping the lock. He continued twirling and smashed an elbow into Ashnur's neck.

The Dhagaram grunted and fell to the ground. Without thinking, Selcott charged forward, ignoring the pleas of his sister. The blond man braced himself; he flicked his gaze to Selcott's belt as the cloak flapped out revealing sheathed weapons.

The saexum-thief turned and fled but Selcott whipped out a dagger and hurled it at the retreating back. The blade cut into the man's thigh and clattered to the ground. "Halt!" Selcott shouted. "Guithannan Army patrol!" The thief continued limping.

Selcott tackled him, sending them both tumbling down. He quickly jammed the thief's arms at the elbows as he had been trained. Ashnur's shadow appeared over his shoulder.

"My thanks, Selcott," Ashnur said. "You can release him. He won't be going anywhere."

"How do you know?" Selcott asked over his shoulder. Keilaine, Delmorgan and Cassine approached apprehensively.

"Trust me," Ashnur said.

Selcott did nothing for a moment, then nodded. He slowly stood up and the thief stayed on the rough Guithannite paving.

"Tell me your name!" Ashnur ordered. Selcott quickly glanced at his Lance-mate, the Dhagaram. He seemed a completely different person.

"Polos," the thief muttered.

"Well, Polos," Ashnur said. "You will remain where you are. Understand?"

Polos spat. "Turn away for a second and I'll disappear."

Suddenly, Ashnur stomped on Polos below his right knee and grabbed the shin, heaving it up and snapping the bone with a brutal crack. It was a few seconds before Selcott realised what had happened and a few more until Polos screamed in pain. Behind him, Selcott could hear Keilaine and Cassine gasp. He took an inadvertent step backwards as if Ashnur had pushed him away from the gruesome injury.

Ashnur picked up Polos by the throat and the screams turned to pained whimpers. Polos' eyes bulged in their sockets. "You're going to tell me everything that I want to know," Ashnur said.

"Damn you!" Polos grunted.

Ashnur only smiled grimly. He released Polos, who promptly collapsed to the ground, and removed one of his leather gauntlets. On his forearm, Ashnur wore a thin leather bracer, laced with metal strips and inlaid with a nondescript rock - it was not a gem or another valuable stone. For whatever reason, Selcott was certain it was a saexum.

With little apparent concern, Ashnur pulled Polos to his feet again and pulled out a heavy steel necklace from beneath the tunic of the thief. At the end of the chain was a clear stone. Ashnur grasped it firmly with his hand while propping up Polos with a forearm to the throat. Selcott stepped forward, guessing what Ashnur was about to attempt.

The Dhagaram, almost gingerly, brought the rock in his bracer to the stone in Polos' necklace. Closer. Then, they touched. Ashnur shuddered as if every muscle clenched at the same time; Polos had squeezed his eyes shut and was murmuring something unintelligible.

"What's going on?" Keilaine asked. Along with Cassine and Delmorgan, she hung back, uncertain.

Selcott took another step forward. "I don't know." He was sure, however, that there was a transference of memories taking place - just as he and Keilaine sometimes did in secret when words could not suffice. But it did not always work, especially when the other person was unwilling to share.

Ashnur opened his eyes and glared at Polos. The thief still had his eyes firmly shut and continued his murmuring. Ashnur grimaced and began muttering something as well. The air became electric and Selcott briefly wondered if he should separate the two. The veins in Ashnur's neck bulged and his face began to turn red.

Then, Ashnur stumbled back and Polos slumped to the ground. As Selcott rushed forward to catch Ashnur, the Dhagaram thrust out a hand and yelled, "Don't touch me! Stay back!"

Selcott halted and Ashnur stayed bowed at the waist, reeling from whatever had just happened between him and Polos. "Ashnur?" Selcott said softly.

The Dhagaram breathed heavily for a few seconds before answering. "You know of Jarol Cubet? A nobleman?"

"Yes!" Selcott said. "Is he in danger?"

Ashnur buried his face in his hands. "The Army is going to assassinate him."

"What? How do you know that?"

Ashnur waved his hands in the general direction of Polos. "He's an Expatritor spy. Works in the Guithannan Army as a cook's assistant." Ashnur straightened and wiped his brow. He leaned against a wall and continued, "As far as he is concerned, it's understood that there is a price on Cubet's head."

Selcott shook his head. "You had better start from the beginning."

"How much do you know about mind-melding through saexum?" Ashnur asked.

"Not a lot," Selcott lied. Keilaine slowly approached with Cassine and Delmorgan trailing behind.

"Well," Ashnur said, "melds are created when two saexum come into contact with one another. The two people can share memories and events much faster than with a spoken explanation. And the shared memory is vivid, as if the other person had experienced it for himself."

"Is that what you did with Polos?" Selcott asked, crossing his arms.

"Yes," Ashnur replied. "When one person is unwilling, then the other must overpower him. That's what I had to do to Polos."

"What do you mean by overpower?" Keilaine asked.

Ashnur shifted his gaze to Keilaine - if he recognised her as Selcott's sister, he did not show it. "It's simply a contest of wills," Ashnur explained. "Not very pleasant. But useful for finding out the truth - or at least, the truth as is perceived by that person." Ashnur closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. "I can show you, Selcott. I can show you what is known to Polos about Cubet."

As far as Selcott knew, there was no way for anyone to manufacture the memories shared in `mind-melding' - as Ashnur called it. He and Keilaine had often tried to fake each other out but failed; there was something intimate shared in a meld that made it impossible, like a flag held aloft pointing to the lies.

Selcott nodded. "Show me."

Ashnur lifted his bracer to Selcott's collar. When the two saexum touched, Selcott's vision blurred and his mind's eye took over. He saw Polos through Ashnur, then the memories of Polos as if Selcott himself had rummaged through them. It was all as Ashnur had said - Polos was an agent of the Expatritors, employed to spy on the Guithannan Army. The Expatritors, in their eternal struggle for order, saw a need obtain information on their greatest threat - the Guithannan Army, who were nothing more than a barely subordinate militia comprised of amateurs. If Guithannan were attacked, it would be the Expatritors who would keep the city whole, not the Army. In fact, the Guithannan Army was a liability, more likely to hinder rather than help any military endeavour.

From Polos' perceptions of the Expatritors came the discovery about Cubet - for whatever reason, he was going to be assassinated. While Polos believed it was to be carried out by a secret arm of the Guithannan Army, Selcott had no reason to assume the same - as Ashnur said, it was only the truth as far as Polos knew it to be.

Then, Ashnur withdrew his saexum from Selcott's collar and the flood of memories and emotion and information ceased. Selcott rubbed his eyes and temples, struggling to understand everything that Polos knew. One thing was certain - Jarol Cubet was going to die and the first night of carousing - the biggest night of carousing in the city during the Harvest Festival - was the perfect distraction.

"We have to go," Selcott said to Keilaine.

Before Keilaine could respond, Ashnur said, "Selcott! What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to stop this from happening."

"Stop what?" Keilaine, Cassine and Delmorgan said in unison. They glanced at each other embarrassingly.

Selcott responded, "Jarol Cubet's death. Tonight."

As promised, Selcott returned to the Royal Boulevard and resumed his patrol with Gording. He did not share the details of his short departure and Gording did not ask - the rest of their patrol was uneventful and they spoke only of trivial things. When they returned to the barracks, Selcott rapidly doffed his gear, dumping it on his cot.

"What's your rush?" Gording asked from his side of the barracks.

"Why wouldn't I rush?" Selcott replied. "We have leave for the evening!" He glanced around the barracks - several other pairs had also returned but there was no sign of Ashnur.

Gording shrugged. "I'm going to take a long bath before heading out again."

"I hear you!" another Brand, Jabuj, interjected.

"Well," Selcott said, "I can't wait to get out of here." He virtually ripped his boots off his feet and replaced them with his padded novice shoes. There was little time to waste if he were to intercept Jarol Cubet's assassins. "If I don't see you lot later, good night!"

As his Lance-mates bade him farewell, Selcott gathered up what little he needed - a pouch for cirrens, a discreet dagger and other odds and ends. Then, he trotted out the door and back towards his home, the Palace.

Although it was time for the evening meal, summer ensured that the daylight would continue for a few more hours. The streets were full of revellers; Selcott passed all of them mindlessly, engrossed in the details of what he was about to do.

When he approached the Palace, he became more conscious of his surroundings, noting the types of people who were carousing in the wide streets in front of the Guithannite walls. The calm Royal Guards watched from their posts on the ground as well as along the walls and in the towers. Selcott had the strange feeling that he would be recognised but that disappeared when he remembered how drunk everyone was at the moment.

With a swift stride, Selcott entered the Palace grounds and took the servants' corridors through the main wings of the Palace. Before long, he approached the private north wing, the descending sun casting shadows over the inner sanctum's gardens.

As soon as he entered the keep, Selcott closed the door behind him and resisted the urge to call out; he dared not attract his parents' attention. Instead, Selcott trotted up the main staircase and headed to the princess' garden. Before he even reached half-way to the next landing, he heard Keilaine say, "Selcott. You're late."

Selcott leapt up the final few steps and replied, "You're just anxious. Let's go."

Keilaine stood up from the bench in the private gardens and nodded. She followed Selcott back down the stairs.

"Did you speak with Delmorgan?" Selcott asked his sister.

"Yes," Keilaine said. "He and Cassine will be waiting for us at the city gates. We have to bring them horses."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Selcott said. As members of the royal family, he and his siblings had almost complete freedom over everything inside Palace grounds, including the armoury and stables. He hoped they could use their preferred gear.

Selcott jogged down the last few steps and across the foyer to the main doors. He opened them for his sister and they emerged into the dusk. The sounds of minstrels performing and crowds in the street drifted through the air. The Royal Guards were gradually lighting lamps around the Palace and as Selcott and Keilaine passed them, they exchanged amiable greetings.

The smithy, armoury and stables were located outside the main sections of the Palace, near the barracks for the Royal Guards - they were not usually accessible to anyone after dark. As Selcott approached the smithy, he could smell the distinctive tang of ash and iron and leather all mixed into the stink emanating from the nearby stables - the feed, manure and sweat of animals. Selcott knew it was a strange, almost malodorous, combination but it brought back sweet memories of his private education and training. Keilaine quickened her step, overtaking Selcott, a slight smile on her face as she perhaps recalled similar memories.

A Royal Guard stood at the edge of the cluster of structures, his blue tabard almost grey in the oncoming evening. Selcott kept on walking, eyes straight ahead as if he were going to ignore the guard. The guard flicked his gaze towards Keilaine and then to Selcott - he straightened his posture and saluted sharply. "Good evening, Highnesses."

"Good evening," Keilaine said lightly. "Happy Harvest!"

"Thank you, Highness. Happy Harvest!"

Selcott nodded as he passed the guard. "Have a good evening."

"Thank you. You too, Highness."

Keilaine disappeared into the armoury and Selcott breathed a silent sigh of relief. He followed his sister into the squat building and closed the door behind them.

Keilaine found the oil-lamp and rummaged for flint and steel. The dying sunlight filtered through the highest windows of the building that seemed more like a barn than an armoury. Selcott walked amongst the rows of neatly packed equipment, briefly daydreaming about owning a full suit of plate-mail here, a set of sword and daggers there. Martreas and Elleva had never given Selcott or his siblings gifts of that nature, nor had any of their extended family. Visiting dignitaries occasionally presented the throne of Guithannan with precious military paraphernalia but they were more often ceremonial than functional and were all kept on display with other state gifts within the Palace proper.

A soft yellow glow filled the armoury to the rafters; Keilaine handed the lamp to Selcott as she lit a second one. She attached the second lamp to a thin but study chain and hoisted it above them, casting the light into all of the corners of the storage.

"What should we get?" Keilaine asked.

Without hesitation, Selcott reached for a sword he had been eyeing off. "I'm borrowing this." It was a finely crafted weapon, simple but elegant. Selcott selected a pair of daggers that accompanied the sword and placed the weapons near the door. "What about you?"

Keilaine shrugged. "I'm not sure." Throughout their previous training, Keilaine had always favoured the bow and lighter weapons such as the quarterstaff or rapier; she simply did not have the strength to wield anything heavier while armoured.

Selcott climbed a ladder to the level above where rows of shields had been arranged. He hefted several and found them to his liking. He gathered up a heater shield for himself and Delmorgan and slightly smaller bucklers for Cassine and Keilaine. As he returned with the shields, Keilaine was examining a morning-star and a mace.

"These will do for Cassine and myself," Keilaine said. Selcott raised an eyebrow but said nothing - morning-stars were often caused more injury to their users than their enemies.

"Now for armour," Selcott said aloud. He headed directly for the rack of gear that he knew was his size and selected a range of chain-mail and leather pieces that he favoured. He did the same for Delmorgan. "Are you ready?"

Keilaine answered, "Almost." Selcott heaved the armour over his shoulder and carried it to the doorway as Keilaine selected several pieces of leather armour for herself and Cassine.

While he waited for his sister, Selcott began donning the armour with practised ease and he knew that the time spent with the Expatritors and Guithannan Army had not been completely spent in vain. As he adjusted his chain-mail vest, he realised all of his private tutoring and apprenticeships around weapons was about to be called upon. Selcott paused a moment before putting on the greaves and boots - he had never really been in a pitched battle before. Perhaps Cubet's time was not tonight, yet Polos' memories were absolute on that. Selcott shook his head, as much to clear his mind as his nerves. He reached for his leggings.

In the meantime, Keilaine had put on her armour and strapped her weapons to her back. She had found several large sacks to carry the rest of the gear and began packing. Selcott finished adjusting his gear and said, "I'll get the horses."

"Can you see if Aurina is there?" Keilaine asked.

Selcott nodded. His sister had become fond of that warhorse recently - he had no idea why. He left the armoury and headed towards the stables a short distance away, the faint whinnies and snorts reminding him of many falls and bruises.

Inside the stables, two pages were cleaning the Guithannite floors. They looked up as Selcott entered.

"Greetings," Selcott said. "I will need four horses, including Aurina, if she's here."

One of the pages, a scrawny boy with a shaved head, said, "Yes, Highness. Right away." He propped his broom against a stall and sprang towards the saddles and bridles hanging on one of the walls.

"Apart from Aurina, which horses would you like?" the page asked.

Selcott had been studying them and pointed to the three he preferred; his expertise was lacking but he knew that the Royal Guards kept and trained only the finest mounts in Guithannan, perhaps even rivalling the Expatritor stables. All would be adequate for their purposes. The page nodded and began gathering Selcott's chosen mounts. When they were led out of their corrals, the other page also stopped sweeping and began saddling the horses.

Soon, the pages had prepared the mounts, including a modest saddlebag on each horse. Selcott had kept an eye on them and was satisfied that the saddles wouldn't slip off the horses' backs in mid-gallop. "Thank you," he said.

"A pleasure, Highness," the pages replied with slight bows. They returned to their sweeping and Selcott took the reins of the horses and led them outside.

Keilaine had lugged the extra equipment outside the armoury under the supervision of the lone Royal Guard. She looked up at the sound of hooves and smiled. "Did you get Aurina?" she called out.

"Yes," Selcott replied with a wave. He led the horses down the paved Guithannite.

The Royal Guard greeted Selcott again and began hefting the bags of armour. "Allow me." He packed the armour onto the spare horses while Keilaine inspected Aurina's straps and bridle. After a minute, the guard said, "You're all set, Highnesses. Have a safe trip." Selcott nodded; all Royal Guards were trained to be discreet - they were privy to things that few outside the Palace knew of.

Selcott mounted his warhorse and took the reins of one of the spare horses while Keilaine did the same. "Ready?"

Keilaine grinned. She appeared strangely menacing in the dusk, attired in full armour and weapons strapped to her back. "Let's go."

Selcott led the way in the faint light of the lamps posted at intervals along the Guithannite walls. He hadn't ridden a horse in weeks, perhaps months, and his muscles were already aching. As they walked the horses into the public gardens of the Royal Palace, he shifted his weight around, trying to find a comfortable position. The few Royal Guards on duty glanced at them but let them be, either recognising them or assuming they were fellow guards.

At the gates to the Palace, Selcott briefly removed his helm and nodded to the guards. They saluted to Selcott and Keilaine. "Good evening, Highnesses."

Luckily, there was no one paying attention and Selcott put his helm back on, concealing his identity. He and Keilaine continued riding south, towards the gateway district where Delmorgan and Cassine were waiting. The carousing in the city had not abated since the opening of the Harvest Festival earlier that day - people from all over Iacea were drinking and singing in the streets. Selcott felt a strange hollowness in his gut as he and Keilaine rode down the Royal Boulevard amongst the revellers. In years past, he would have been partaking in the festivities - this year was vastly different.

"What's wrong?" Keilaine asked. Her features were completely covered by her helm, made even more shadowy by the evening.

"I think I miss the times when things were simpler," Selcott said. He shrugged. "I suppose we must move on."

"Yes," Keilaine said. "Isn't this exciting though? All the years Endron, Maggie, you and I have put into learning swordsmanship, archery, horsemanship, everything - now we get to use it."

Selcott nodded. "We must be careful though. A real fight is much different to sparring."

"I know," Keilaine said. "I might not have had as much training as you but I remember everything as well as you do."

"Good," Selcott said. "I'd hate for you to die."

"Thanks," Keilaine replied with equal roguishness.

The Royal Boulevard ended at the city square and Selcott could hear the music and crowds long before he could see any of the Guithannite buildings that lined the plaza. The masses of people grew thicker as they neared the square until Selcott and Keilaine were forced to a slow walk. On more than one occasion, they were mistaken for genuine guards and were offered mead or ale or wine to drink. Selcott politely declined every time, simply trying to make progress forward.

Amidst the minstrels and jugglers and fire-twirlers, Selcott and Keilaine reached the relatively open city square. Almost any other time of the year, it would be covered with make-shift stalls run by merchants of every variety but now, the square was almost entirely dedicated to continuing the celebrations of the first day of the Harvest Festival. There seemed to be little else on sale but alcohol and food while bards and entertainers wandered the area, performing with seemingly boundless energy.

It was a shame for Selcott to keep heading south towards the city gates; Keilaine seemed to have no such compunction. She overtook him while Selcott gazed longingly at the party spectacle. Then, he mentally shook himself and followed Keilaine onto the road south; the Highway was a road which led from Guithannan's city square, through the gates, across eastern Iacea and via various towns, eventually reached Brookholm. Brookholmers, claimed that the Highway began at Brookholm's Circle of Seven's gates and ended at Guithannan but as far as Selcott was concerned, they were incorrect - everyone knew that the Highway began at Guithannan's City Square and ended at Brookholm.

If anything, the crowds at the gates of Guithannan were denser and even more raucous than at the city square. The portcullises were wide open and while the city guards and Guithannan Army were on duty, none seemed to pay them any mind. Selcott knew that if any trouble were to erupt, it would be quickly dealt with so as not to ruin the evening for others.

"Do you see them?" Selcott asked Keilaine. Even with his perch on the warhorse, he could not identify anyone familiar in the flickering torch and lamplight.

"I think they're over there," Keilaine said. She gently heeled Aurina forward, towards the gatehouse.

As they drew closer to the city's fortifications, Selcott could almost feel the overbearing Guithannite walls and towers sapping what little light there was from the air. Overarching walkways did not begin or end on the fortifications, further reinforcing the feeling that the walls were to be feared even by the city itself.

Keilaine led the way towards a calmer patch of the celebrations and before long, Selcott could make out the cloaked figures of Delmorgan and Cassine casually waiting next to the inner portcullis.

"Evening!" Delmorgan and Cassine said.

Selcott and Keilaine returned their greetings as they handed ove the reins of the spare horses. "You can suit up later," Selcott said. "I think we should get some distance behind us, just in case."

"Agreed," Keilaine said. Cassine and Delmorgan also nodded as they mounted their horses and adjusted their respective rucksacks of gear on the saddles.

Selcott wheeled his horse around and headed through the gates, amidst the revellers passing in and out of the city on a whim. The Highway immediately outside Guithannan was a heavily trodden road that wound its way down a steep incline several furlongs in length until the landscape levelled out slightly. Even at the best of times, caution was used by all travellers to and from Guithannan as any deviation from the road led to a long fall to rocks below - only ground closest to the wall afforded any room to move as it led to the city surrounds containing the mines, lumberyards and farms amongst other local industries.

Many torches and lamps had been set on the outside of the walls with Army Brands keeping watch on proceedings. There were only a few people outside the city, resting in the still night air away from the noise and bustle on the other side of the walls.

As Selcott led the others down the winding Highway by moonlight, the sounds of the Harvest Festival faded until all he could hear was the crunch of gravel and their horses occasionally snorting. Keilaine and Cassine were in a quiet discussion - Selcott could not quite hear what they were saying. Delmorgan trailed slightly behind. Selcott sighed - he almost wished that he did not have to drag his friends and closest sister into tonight's venture but he was glad to have them at his back. If they could stay co-ordinated in a tightly knit group, they would be safe - besides, none would dare harm a prince and princess of Guithannan.

When they reached the foothills below Guithannan, the Highway widened into a comfortable road that snaked through farmlands and outlying settlements. The Cubet estate was a relatively small holding near Shadowdeep - it would not take long to ride there on the road that branched off from the Highway.

Selcott motioned for them to move off the packed dirt and onto the grass. He said, "Delmorgan, Cassine - you should suit up here so we can arrive at the Cubet estate fully ready."

"Good idea," Delmorgan said. They dismounted and Selcott and Keilaine assisted their friends with the pieces of armour. They packed the empty rucksacks into the saddlebags and resumed their dark journey into the countryside.

As they rode east, they passed several farms and orchards in various states of harvest. Cabins and cottages stood dormant, their occupants apparently joining in the celebrations within the city. Selcott heard a wolf bay in the distance and the hairs on his nape prickled. He suddenly realised how far they were from the city and he had no idea where the closest patrol was - or even if there was a patrol on duty.

Delmorgan appeared at Selcott's side. He appeared uncomfortable wearing Royal Guard equipment and shifted in his saddle restlessly. Keilaine and Cassine were trailing behind, chatting about goings-on in the city.

"What if there is no one at the Cubet estate?" Delmorgan asked. "What if Jarol Cubet has gotten wind of the attack and left?"

Selcott shrugged. "I suppose that would be a good thing. But there will be something tonight. I hope that Cubet has found an engagement to attend."

"So if he is not there, we will be defending his property?" Delmorgan said. He began removing his helm.

"Yes," Selcott replied. "But we also need to find out who is conducting the attack."

Delmorgan placed his helm on a saddlehorn and shook his hair free. Selcott understood his friend's dislike of helm, necessary though they were. "Do you really think we can capture someone alive?"

Selcott shot him a lopsided smile from beneath his own helm. "Are you intending to leave no survivors?"

Delmorgan chuckled softly. "I see your point."

Another half hour passed before Selcott caught sight of the edges of the Cubet lands. They had walked their horses most of the way so they were fairly rested.

As he had imagined, the Cubet estate was modest, perhaps one of the smallest land holdings of the Guithannan nobles as far as Selcott knew. He could see a small vineyard near Shadowdeep, the two-storey lodge and the unkempt surrounds. Shadowdeep seemed to encroach upon the fences while bushes and tall grass grew without restraint from the road to the other side of the estate. In the moonlight, Cubet's land was a pocket of Guithannan about to be swallowed by the land itself.

"Do you think we should wait here?" Keilaine asked.

"No," Selcott replied. He motioned towards the lodge with a jerk of his head. "Let's stable the horses and see if anyone is around."

"Very well," Keilaine said. Before Selcott heeled his horse forward, Keilaine rummaged around one of her saddlebags and produced several pieces of cloth. She unfurled one of them - it was a tabard of the Wrienswing crest, a bird in flight over a mountain. She put it on, over her leather breastplate.

"Here," Keilaine said, handing the other tabard to Selcott. Selcott slipped it over his hauberk; he couldn't stop grinning.

To Delmorgan and Cassine, she said, "I have ones for you as well." She handed two Royal Guard tabards to them.

"Where did you get these?" Selcott asked as Delmorgan and Cassine donned the Royal Guard emblems.

"Father has been keeping them for a while," Keilaine said. "I don't think he ever really expected for anyone to use them." She briefly turned sombre and cast her gaze down to the ground. "Guithannan has never gone to war in living memory, Selcott."

"I know," Selcott said. He felt odd wearing the family crest so openly but it also felt right, his right. "Let's go."

He urged his warhorse off the road and into the Cubet estate. Although there was a gravel path that led directly to the lodge, Selcott felt too exposed - he much preferred to approach from the cover of the trees and overgrown grass that brushed his horse's neck.

Keilaine, Delmorgan and Cassine fell silent as they walked their mounts behind Selcott in single-file. The evening still retained the heat of the day and Selcott could feel sweat beading underneath his helm. He squeezed his fists, leather gauntlets creaking.

The Cubet lodge was dark and quiet - not a single light, a single flicker, emanated from any of the windows. As they approached, Selcott would have guessed it to be abandoned. Only the images and knowledge passed to him from Polos and Ashnur convinced him otherwise.

In keeping with the rest of the estate, the lodge was little more than a luxurious cabin of two storeys. It seemed to be constructed of oak and pine from Shadowdeep and decorated by traditionally-minded Guithannian artisans. A wide porch encompassed the building with a generous balcony overlooking the grounds towards the road; servants quarters lay to the rear. Under better circumstances, Selcott could imagine the lodge to be a comfortable home away from the city.

They reached the small stables and Selcott dismounted. He wrapped the reins around a post and motioned for the others to follow him on foot. He peeked at the lodge, waiting for his sister, Delmorgan and Cassine to dismount. Selcott drew his sword with a soft rasp.

"See anything?" Delmorgan whispered.

"Nothing," Selcott said. He glanced behind him - everyone had their weapons ready. "Stay close, stick together. Got it?"

"Got it."

Selcott tread quickly and silently towards the cabin, all of his training immediately coming to mind - so, he thought, something really had come of the past couple years with the Expatritors and Guithannan Army. Keilaine followed behind, almost as silent from their private tutoring. Delmorgan and Cassine joined them as Selcott crouched against the walls of the lodge.

"Perhaps we should knock on the front door?" Keilaine whispered. "All of this sneaking around could be misconstrued."

"What if the assassins are already inside?" Selcott replied softly. "We would lose the advantage of surprise."

"Very well." Keilaine nodded. "But if we don't find any signs of entry, we should try to be more conventional."

"Agreed." To Delmorgan and Cassine, he said, "Follow us around the perimeter. Stay low."

Delmorgan and Cassine nodded silently. Cassine gripped her mace tightly; Selcott hoped she could hold her composure when it counted.

Selcott crept forward, following the walls of the lodge as closely as possible. At times, he glanced at the windows and, seeing them tightly shut, moved on. He could hear his companions breathing, even over their footsteps. Selcott rounded the first corner, reaching the rear of the building; the servants' quarters - a large hut - was as ominously dark as the main cabin. In the darkness, Selcott spied a trapdoor set against the base of the lodge. He skulked towards it.

When he reached the trapdoor, it was clearly sealed and locked shut - Selcott didn't bother trying to open it. He resumed the inspection of the lodge with Keilaine, Delmorgan and Cassine in tow. They had remained silent the entire time. It was both unnerving and promising at the same time.

After a minute of sneaking around the lodge, Selcott reached the main entrance. He set foot on the wood porch, acutely aware of the possibility that the boards would creak under his weight. Thankfully, they didn't - he settled beside the front double-doors with Keilaine beside him. Delmorgan and Cassine crouched on the other side of the door.

"Try the handle," Selcott whispered to Delmorgan.

"Why don't we just knock?" Keilaine asked.

Selcott craned his head back to his sister. "That would alert our presence to anyone inside."

"Do we have anything to hide?"

"From assassins? Yes."

Keilaine shrugged slightly. "Very well."

Delmorgan, who watched the exchange without a hint of partisanship, reached for the handle of the double doors. Selcott found himself holding his breath and tried to relax - he brought his sword to the ready. As Delmorgan's hand brushed against the handle, the entire door swung in.

Delmorgan silently looked at Selcott for guidance. Selcott nodded approvingly and pushed open the door fully. With a low creak, the interior of the lodge was revealed. Selcott crept inside, wary.

There was almost no light to guide Selcott within the lodge. He could distinguish vague forms in the living area - tables, chairs, divans, windows - but he could not see if there had been any sign of struggle. He resisted the urge to light one of the lamps as he did not want to announce their presence yet.

Keilaine stayed in step behind him with Delmorgan and Cassine to his left. Selcott licked his lips and took several more steps towards a staircase at the rear of the lodge, his boots clicked ever so softly on the hardwood flooring. Not another sound could be heard within.

At the base of the spiral-shaped stairs, Selcott paused and allowed the others to position themselves strategically next to him. "Del," Selcott whispered.

"Yes?"

"Keilaine and I will go up first. Wait one minute, then you and Cassine can follow."

Delmorgan nodded. "All right."

To Keilaine, Selcott said, "Stay on the outside of the spiral. Watch out."

"You be careful too," Keilaine replied.

Selcott gave her a crooked smile and began climbing the stairs. He held his sword high, ready to stab at anything that appeared. He took each step cautiously, silently wishing he could see in the gloom. There was not much he could do if a trap had been set. Keilaine trailed right behind him, holding her morning-star with two hands to settle the rattling chains.

After a long minute, Selcott heard Delmorgan and Cassine mount the stairs. He and Keilaine were almost on the second storey - it seemed as deserted as the lower level. Selcott would have imagined at least a servant would be present to tend to the cabin but apparently everyone was away, celebrating the Harvest Festival.

Selcott and Keilaine stepped off the staircase and crouched against the closest doorway. The second storey comprised of bedrooms and private sitting areas, all walled off. Only one of the doors was closed. Selcott glanced at Keilaine, who was probably thinking the same thing - as soon as Delmorgan and Cassine joined them, they would investigate the only sealed room.

Without saying a word, Selcott crept across the hallway with his sister and flattened himself against the wall next to the closed door. Judging by the shape of corridor and the other rooms, they were probably outside the master bedroom - Jarol Cubet's room. Delmorgan and Cassine appeared and Keilaine waved them over.

"Ready?" Selcott murmured to Delmorgan and Cassine.

"Ready."

Selcott turned the handle on the door and it opened freely. He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he pushed the door open. He stepped quickly and smoothly into the bedroom, just as he had been trained during offensive exercises. He did not know if the others followed him and it didn't truly matter as it became apparent that the bedroom - indeed, the entire lodge - was deserted. As Selcott's eyes adjusted and he could identify the large canopied bed and other furniture, Delmorgan quickly inspected the attached wardrobe and washrooms.

"There's no one here," Cassine whispered.

"I know," Selcott said.

"Are you sure the attack was tonight?"

"I'm sure," Selcott replied.

"We are probably early," Keilaine said. "And if so, we have the advantage of staging an ambush."

"Are we to wait until morning?" Cassine asked, almost petulantly.

Selcott nodded. "If that's what it takes."

Delmorgan burst back into the bedroom and blurted out, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Listen!"

Everyone fell silent and Selcott concentrated on the sounds outside the lodge. At first, there was only his own breathing and that of his companions. Then, he heard it - some sort of movement in the surrounds. Footsteps, the clink of armour. If it were Cubet and his family returning from the city, there was a distinct lack of chatter and banter.

"Del, come with me," Selcott said. "Laine and Cass - look for something to jam the door with and have it ready, just in case."

Keilaine nodded and began hunting around the bedroom in the dark with Cassine. Selcott and Delmorgan crept back into the second storey hallway. "I'll take a look downstairs," Selcott said. "See if you can get to the balcony."

"Good idea." Delmorgan headed towards the front of the cabin while Selcott returned to the staircase at the rear.

He paused for a moment, listening for signs of intruders. Still, there were only hints - perhaps the wind rattled a window, perhaps he was imagining things. Selcott took several tentative steps down the stairs, crouched so he could catch a glimpse of the wide open area below.

A shadow passed across the windows on the façade. Boots stomped onto the porch. With a silent curse, Selcott retreated up the stairs. As he crept back to the master bedroom, Delmorgan appeared. "Did you see them?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Maybe ten," Delmorgan said. He seemed shaken. "They were well-equipped, Sel. As good as I've ever seen."

Selcott knew that from his time in the Palace that Delmorgan could judge the quality of armour and weaponry; the Royal Guards were equipped with the finest in Guithannan, if not all of eastern Iacea. "Come on." Selcott herded Delmorgan back into the main bedroom where Keilaine and Cassine had gathered a couple chests of drawers and a divan.

Keilaine glanced at Delmorgan. "What's going on?" she asked.

"They're here," Selcott said. A loud crack sounded from below, followed by the splintering of wood.

"Spirits!" Cassine said.

"Stay calm, Cass," Selcott said. "We have to hole up."

Cassine nodded and visibly sighed. Selcott motioned for them to take up positions in the bedroom. He shut the door while Keilaine and Delmorgan dragged a small chest of drawers over. They jammed the door shut using the drawers and the divan. Selcott judged that it would not hold for long but would at least provide an obstacle. Any edge over the assassins was welcome.

Selcott hunkered down next to the blockage and through the floorboards, he heard the intruders searching through the rest of the house, slamming doors, overturning furniture. Keilaine crouched next to Selcott as Delmorgan and Cassine took up positions on the other side.

"They're going to find us," Cassine said.

"I know," Selcott said. "But once they do, we'll have the advantage. We'll take them out, one by one - there's no other way into this room."

Cassine nodded; in the darkness, Selcott could not see her expression. As far as he knew, she had never been in combat before; unlike Keilaine, only a small part of her formal education included military training. Although Selcott was still comfortable with Cassine's presence, he could not help but briefly feel guilty in asking for her help. She was not a warrior.

Footsteps on the staircase reverberated along the corridor outside. Selcott heard a low voice and more steps, the stomps of heavy boots. Several doors were kicked in. Then, silence.

With an almost inaudible squeak, the handle on the door turned and Selcott watched its surface spin under its sparse reflections. He held his breath and tensed his arms. The door was pushed slightly and immediately met the barracade of furniture. The door shuddered as a heavy object slammed the other side.

"Hey, I need some help here."

A muffled voice answered, "What is it?"

"This door is jammed."

"Let me try."

Selcott watched as the second person tried the doorknob and failed. As more help was requested, Selcott heard Keilaine handling her morning-star, the links in the chain were like chimes.

The intruders began ramming the door with an unknown object, swearing and heaving on the other side. Selcott swallowed; his mouth was dry. He wasn't sure how much longer they would have to wait. One thing was certain - they were under siege by fellow Guithannians.

Keilaine put a reassuring hand on Selcott's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He turned and nodded as the door shivered time and time again, withstanding the battering.

Then, Selcott heard a splinter and the assassins yelled in anticipation. They heaved their makeshift ram again and the door visibly split down the middle, distinct even in the faint moonlight. "We're almost through!"

Selcott glanced from the door to Delmorgan and Cassine. They seemed as ready as he was. The ram blasted through the split in the door; they had used a stone statue and even in the gloom, Selcott could see its head now tarnished and worn. As soon as it was withdrawn, a gauntleted hand poked through and felt the barricade comprising the chest of drawers and divan.

"The door was bloody blocked!"

"Can you fit through? Can you see anything?" At this, Selcott rose and brought his sword up.

A face suddenly appeared in the door's hole. Selcott thrust at it without remorse and the tip of his sword pierced the man's cheek and slid into his mouth. Selcott felt the blade run across the back of the skull or the bones in his neck - he could not tell. Blood spurted everywhere, a black oil in the darkness. The man did not even scream as he was pulled back by his comrades.

"Spirits! There's someone in there!"

"Break the door now! Break it!"

An axe crunched into the wooden door, followed by a broadsword. Splinters flew into the room as the intruders demolished the last of the door. Before Selcott or Delmorgan could react, a hulking brute shoved away the chest of drawers and charged into the bedroom.

Selcott attacked, only to have his sword deflected by a metal shield. The massive warrior swung a mace in Delmorgan's direction and he and Cassine scattered. Selcott swore to himself but did not relent. He attacked again but the brute's shield-arm swung about as if by sheer instinct, almost paying Selcott no mind at all.

Keilaine leapt forward and slammed her morning-star into the warrior's helm. He immediately crumpled to the ground but Selcott did not pause to celebrate. Delmorgan had engaged two more intruders with a third trying to squeeze into the room.

With a yell, Selcott pushed his sister from a vicious blow. The blade whistled harmlessly through the air and its wielder was met by Cassine. Fearing for her safety, Selcott jumped back onto his feet and stabbed the attacker in the back. His sword grated along a plate of armour for an interminable moment - Selcott was sure that the warrior would turn and counter-attack - but then, the blade found a soft spot and sank into flesh. The intruder grunted in pain and taking advantage of the distraction, Cassine crushed the man's jaw and throat in a quick succession of blows.

Selcott quickly nodded at her and then turned around to survey the situation. Keilaine and Delmorgan had brought the doorway under control, having downed another of the assassins and beating back their advance. They seemed relatively at ease in keeping the intruders at bay for the moment.

"Fall back!" someone ordered from the corridor.

"Sir?"

"Follow me."

The intruders retreated, leaving Keilaine and Delmorgan at the doorway, seemingly victorious. They glanced at Selcott who simply frowned in confusion. He had always been taught to be wary when a battle was too easy.

Selcott moved up to the obliterated doorway and heard the intruders moving back down the staircase. He muttered, "Do you hear anything?"

As Keilaine and Delmorgan concentrated on listening for movement and voices, Selcott chanced a glimpse into the corridor. He edged closer and hearing nothing untoward, peeked out the room. The intruders had disappeared. Selcott opened his mouth to say something to his friends but then stopped himself. An orange glow emanated from the balcony windows, haunting patterns cast through the laced curtains onto the walls.

A voice yelled from the outside, faint but gruff. "Can you hear me?" There was some shuffling and the orange glow became brighter. Selcott stepped towards the light, towards the balcony. Keilaine, Delmorgan and Cassine followed him.

"We know you're in there protecting Cubet and his family! We'll give you a count of thirty to come out through the front door. And since you lot seem to like barricades so much, we've done the same to all the other doors and windows . After the count is down, we will set fire to the place! It's your decision!"

Keilaine muttered, "Spirits."

"What do we do?" Cassine asked, her voice high-pitched and trembling.

"We're dead if we go out there," Delmorgan said. "They probably have bows and crossbows and such."

"I know," Selcott said. "We'll need to rush them. Let's go." Outside, the assassins had begun counting.

Selcott moved towards the staircase but sensed that not everyone was following. He turned and saw Cassine still standing in the corridor, hands shaking.

"Cass!" She did not move or respond. "Cass!"

When Cassine did not reply, Keilaine strode back to her and grabbed her shoulder. "Come on, Cass!"

"I'm sorry," Cassine said, shaking her head. "I'm all right."

Keilaine returned with Cassine in tow and Selcott continued down the stairs. As promised, the assassins had blocked off the windows - the wide living area downstairs was bathed in orange, the only light coming from the front windows where the assassins stood outside, holding lit torches aloft. Shadows danced on overturned furniture and reflected in random pools of water where vases had been broken. Flowers were scattered across Selcott's path as he crept towards the front entrance. According to the countdown, they did not have much time left.

"Grab that table," Selcott ordered Delmorgan. "Cassine, use your mace to break off the legs. Keilaine - help me find all of the knives in the kitchen."

As Delmorgan and Cassine quickly worked on a small coffee table, Selcott rushed into the kitchen area and ransacked the drawers and cupboards. In truth, he wanted any metal objects to throw at their attackers but knives would be ideal. Keilaine quickly joined him and by chance found the cutlery drawer. The countdown was almost over.

"That's it," Selcott said. "Take as many as you can carry." As Keilaine grabbed the knives and forks, Selcott said to Delmorgan and Cassine, he asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Cassine replied. "What are we doing?"

Before Selcott could explain, an assassin yelled, "Your time is up!"

Shadows moved against the windows and Selcott took an inadvertent step forwards. A twirling fire-brand arced through the air towards the window. Glass shattered and the torch tumbled to the floorboards, setting fire to the curtains. "Spirits!" Keilaine swore.

"Get the table," Selcott said as several more torches were hurled inside. "Grab it by the ridges along the edge." He helped Delmorgan towards the door with Keilaine and Cassine each carrying handfuls of metal knives, forks and spoons. Amidst the growing flames, Selcott said, "I'll kick open the door - Del, you move forward and shield us. Keilaine, move out and to the right. Cassine, move out and to the left. Both of you throw everything you have."

"And what will you do?" Keilaine asked.

"I'll charge forward with a couple of the torches. Throw them at the assassins and hopefully that will give them pause." Selcott gave his sister a wry smile. "As soon as you're out of things to throw, charge forward."

"It sounds crazy," Cassine muttered over the crackling of timber in the flames.

"We don't have a choice," Keilaine answered. "It's either that or get cooked alive. At least this way, we'll have a chance."

"Ready?" Selcott asked.

"Ready."

Selcott took a deep breath, lifted a boot and slammed it into the double-doors. They flung open, almost breaking apart at the handles. Selcott didn't wait for Delmorgan and rushed forward, hurling two torches in quick succession at the assassins. The brands flew through the air, illuminating the long grass and the shadowy figures waiting for the kill. Their faces were etched with surprise at Selcott and it was all the distraction he needed to close upon the nearest one. With a flash of steel that glinted in the flames, Selcott set upon the assassin, slicing open his flesh. He swung with fury, unaware of his friends, unaware of the other attackers, only wanting to be sure that this one would not rise again.

With one dead, Selcott spun around, blood dripping down his sword and onto his gauntlets in maroon rivulets. His plan seemed to work; his friends were engaged in combat with two of the assassins while the others were milling about in disarray.

Then, Selcott heard it, realising the confusion running through his enemies. Horses - warhorses. Selcott instinctively crouched and scanned the edges of the Cubet estate. Flames had taken a firm hold of the cabin's lower floor and the bright glow ruined Selcott's night eyes. All he could see were vague figures in the distance.

The assassins began arguing amongst themselves; some began moving hesitantly towards the road. Selcott stayed still, lest he attract their attention. He scanned the estate again, the riders still advancing.

Delmorgan, Keilaine and Cassine, having dispatched their attackers, scuttled from the cabin over to Selcott; the rest of the assassins completely ignored them, embroiled in their own arguments.

"What's going on?" Keilaine whispered.

"Stay ready," Selcott said. He flicked his head towards the horsemen entering the fiery glow.

Their plate armour gleamed in the amber flames, weapons aloft and warhorses furious. Expatritors.

The Expatritors charged into the remaining assassins with visceral thuds. The men screamed as they were torn apart by swords and axes. They were trodden into the dirt by the warhorses - obliterated in one deadly swoop.

Selcott hesitated a moment, wondering if he should stand up rather than stay hunkered in the grass as if he were laying an ambush. The matter became moot as the Expatritors wheeled their mounts around as one. The lead Expatritor pointed his sword at Selcott and shouted something. The group walked their horses forward.

With a motion to his friends and sister, Selcott stood. He held his sword loosely by his side and straightened his tabard with his other hand. Keilaine took a step forward, joining him in a defiant stance. The Wrienswing crest took on a strange hue in the glow of the fire.

"Halt." The lead Expatritor held up a fist and they stopped in unison. He removed his helm and Selcott gasped inaudibly. It was Signe DuFay, the Charge Minor of the Expatritors and the most highly-ranked of the order in Guithannan. As far as Selcott knew, he never took to the field yet here he was, leading a strike force.

"You bear the crest of the Wrienswing family. Identify yourself," DuFay ordered. Like all Expatritors, his haughty tone seemed inborn and thoroughly irresistable.

Selcott felt himself automatically rebel against the request despite the fact he had never met Signe DuFay before, let alone been commanded by him. But Selcott knew that while the Expatritors were despised by many, they were also sticklers to tradition. With slow hands, Selcott removed his helm. The cool night air brushed past his sweaty head.

A murmur rippled through the group of Expatritors. Signe DuFay himself seemed at once aghast and pleasantly surprised. "Prince Selcott!"

Keilaine, Cassine and Delmorgan removed their helms and the murmurs only multiplied. DuFay exclaimed, "Princess Keilaine." He half-bowed in his saddle. "Your Highness, it is my honour." To Cassine, he said, "Lady of Rosdeney, I believe?"

"Yes, Charge Minor," Cassine said, fully composed. From her tone, Selcott could tell that she was enjoying the moment.

"And I believe I have not had the pleasure of meeting your fourth," Signe DuFay said. He dismounted and motioned for the rest of the Expatritorial contingent to do the same. With a complicated shuffle and clanking of armour, they obeyed his order.

"I am Delmorgan of Guithannan."

"A pleasure," DuFay responded with a bow. To all of them, he said, "Are any of you injured? Do you require assistance?"

"No."

"Only some bruises."

"Good," DuFay nodded approvingly. To Selcott, he said, "I will dispense with the formalities and small-talk, Prince."

"That would be appreciated," Selcott replied. He did not move away from Keilaine even though the Charge Minor had taken several steps forward from the rest of the Expatritors.

"What are you doing here?"

"That is my business," Selcott said. "And the business of the throne."

Signe furrowed his brow but did not frown. As far as Selcott could see in the fire's light, DuFay's armour still fitted him well - it was a fearsome thing to face an Expatritor in combat, even more so one so experienced and dedicated as Signe DuFay when he was so capable at his age.

"Very well," DuFay said finally. "We will not interfere. But I must ask - where is Cubet and his family?"

"We do not know," Selcott said.

DuFay glanced at the lodge, now almost fully aflame. The reflection of the fire danced across his armour, the wrinkles on his face. "Did you check the cellar?"

"No."

Without a word from their Charge Minor, three Expatritors strode over to the blazing cabin.

"You should have," DuFay said. He flicked a hand at the remaining Expatritors and they began collecting bodies. Changing tone, he continued, "How many were there? How many did you eliminate?"

"I don't know," Selcott said. "There are at least three or four inside. Three more out here.

Keilaine added, "There must be at least ten in total."

DuFay nodded. A strange smile crossed his face. "I'm impressed, Prince. Very impressed."

"This wasn't for your benefit, DuFay," Selcott responded.

"Good," DuFay said. "I don't particularly care. As long as Cubet is alive."

As soon as the words were spoken, the Expatritors from the cabin returned with figures amongst them. Their armour was covered in soot and the people they were assisting were tired and clothed in thin garb. Selcott recognised the Cubet family.

"How fortunate," DuFay said. His Expatritors moved the Cubets to a clearing away from the lodge and the line of corpses being assembled by the others. DuFay turned to Selcott and added, "You should go and report this to your father. A matter concerning the safety of a noble family is a matter concerning the throne of Guithannan."

"I agree," Selcott said. He watched the Expatritors for a moment - they provided water and food to the Cubets. Several children were evidently tired and were falling asleep in the arms of some adults. They seemed fine but Selcott did not want to leave just yet. He could not, however, think of a reasonable excuse to stay.

"I think the Cubets should come to the Palace," Selcott said to DuFay. The Charge Minor's attention was elsewhere and he seemed not to hear Selcott at first but then he turned around and gazed at Selcott.

Finally, DuFay said, "I am not averse to that suggestion." He barked several orders to the Expatritors; the Cubets would ride the warhorses while the Expatritors led them by their reins. While the Expatritors made the appropriate arrangements, Selcott took the opportunity to retrieve their horses from the stable. The others followed him.

Inside, Keilaine asked in a low voice, "I don't like this. I don't like how the Expatritors turned up at the same time."

"I don't either," Selcott replied softly. He brushed his horse's neck as much for his own nerves as the mount's. "It smacks of something sinister."

"It's the Expatritors," Cassine said as she swung into her horse's saddle. "My grandpa always said to be wary of them. He said their shadows are always the biggest from the forts they build. And always the darkest."

"They wouldn't dare try anything, would they?" Delmorgan asked.

"I doubt it," Selcott said. As he spoke he glanced at his sister - Keilaine's eyes were not sure.

"Let's go," Keilaine said. "We should be on our guard, though."

"Of course," Selcott said. He led his horse out of the stable and the others followed him. Outside, the Cubet family were mounted on the Expatritors' warhorses while the servants and Expatritors themselves were on foot. Even Signe DuFay had given up his mount.

Jarol Cubet seemed haggard after the evening's events but his eyes were still defiant and wary. It was acutely odd to Selcott to see one of Guithannan's nobles and his family dressed in nothing more than night-clothes. If he hadn't known them, he could not have distinguished them from commoners.

DuFay nodded at Selcott, Keilaine and their friends. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Selcott replied. "Lead the way."

The journey back to Guithannan was uneventful. Everything that Selcott and his friends had feared seemed far from the truth - the Expatritors kept a watch on the children, assisting the adults who held them and even more surprisingly, the Expatritors were jovial for the most part.

It was clear that the dead bodies at the Cubet estate would be cleared by morning by other Expatritors or their auxiliaries - and that irked Selcott no end. He had wanted to examine their equipment for clues to their origin, as gristly as he imagined it. There was simply no time for Selcott to ride out to the Cubet land before his patrol in the morning. But as the entourage returned to a subdued Guithannan, Selcott realised he could still make the journey to the estate and back before he returned to the Guithannan Army compound. It was risky but he knew that the normal curfew rules were lax during the Harvest Festival, sometimes nonexistent with on-duty Brands partaking in the celebrations themselves.

The gateway district had quietened in the meantime with most of the revellers moving to taverns and halls that were open until early morning. Selcott judged the time to be close to midnight - there would be many sore heads in a few hours. As they continued to the Palace, Selcott gradually dropped back to speak to Keilaine, Delmorgan and Cassine privately.

"As soon as the Cubets are safe within the Palace, I'm going back," Selcott murmured.

"What? Why?" Keilaine asked.

"We didn't get a chance to examine the assassins," Selcott answered. He rubbed his eyes, fending off the day's fatigue. "There's something to be seen, I'm sure of it."

"I think we've had quite enough for one day," Keilaine said. "But if you must go -"

"Don't worry, I'll go with him," Delmorgan volunteered.

"All right," Keilaine said. "Just be careful. Both of you."

Deeper within the city, the celebrations, music and entertainment still continued unabated. Most passersby were too drunk or preoccupied to notice the Expatritors, Cubets, the Wrienswings and their friends. Selcott was sure that they made a strange group - as uneasy as he was associating with Expatritors in such close proximity, no one seemed to care. He resisted the urge to remove his family's tabard as Keilaine bore hers with a casual pride and dignity.

When they reached the Palace, the Cubets dismounted and Keilaine and Cassine moved forward to help them past the main gates.

"Would you like to take them to the Palace proper?" Selcott asked DuFay. "You should be the one to explain the evening's events to my parents."

"That would be best, I think," DuFay responded.

"Good," Selcott said. He motioned to the Royal Guards - all of whom were sober - and they nodded. It was far from usual for the highest ranking Expatritor in Guithannan to enter the Palace grounds unannounced. The Guards moved forward to take their positions as a friendly escort.

Keilaine waved at Selcott and Delmorgan while Cassine led the Cubets through the gates. Selcott nodded at them and wheeled his horse around. He nodded at DuFay in farewell and then urged his horse back down the Royal Boulevard.

"We don't have much time," Selcott said to Delmorgan as their mounts trotted on the paved Guithannite road.

"I know," Delmorgan replied. "Do you think we can beat the other Expatritors there?"

"Yes." Selcott's voice was firm. He had to believe it.

The city was peaceful, but somewhat littered, almost as if a riot had been quelled by the Guithannan Army. Or the Expatritors. From the lilting tunes in the distance, muffled and faint, Selcott was sure that the celebrations for the first day of the Harvest Festival continued somewhere in the city.

As they rode, Delmorgan sighed. He had removed his helm and Selcott could see his face clearly for the first time that evening. His old friend seemed unusually gaunt - in Selcott's experience, folk from the settlements around Guithannan were of a hardier stock than city-dwellers.

"What's wrong, Del?" Selcott asked.

Delmorgan shrugged. "Nothing, really. I've just been thinking about that Dhagaram - the one in your Lance who told us of this attack."

"What of him?" Selcott said. "I know that it's a bit strange for a Dhagaram to also be a soldier in an army but it's not unheard of. Remember the Zhandouran invasion of 221?" During that famous campaign, the Zhandoura had initially been stopped by the Dhagaram employed by Brookholm's Circle of Seven Council. The Dhagaram had then successfully reasoned - some say pleaded - with the Zhandoura to halt their advance.

"Of course," Delmorgan replied. "But that's virtually ancient history. And what about that thing he did to that fellow? He read his mind!"

Selcott nodded gravely as best as he could manage. It was probably not the right time to admit that he and Keilaine had known of a saexum's ability to read minds for several years. "What might be more disturbing is that Ashnur could do it even though Polos was clearly unwilling," Selcott said genuinely.

Delmorgan glanced at Selcott with a furrowed brow. "Do you think he could do that to anyone? Without a True Name?"

"I don't know," Selcott said. "Maybe it's one of those powers that Arcalante mentioned. But I'd really like to know how Ashnur escaped patrol-duty. I doubt that anyone else in my Lance would be as pliable as Gording."

"Maybe he used his mind-control powers over his patrol-partner," Delmorgan said, trailing off.

"Perhaps." Selcott didn't think it was possible but wasn't ready to dismiss it outright. But what was simpler was usually correct. "He must have had a special dispensation from Captain Janssen."

"To do what?" Delmorgan asked.

"That I don't know," Selcot said with an unfortunate shake of his head. "That would imply that the Army or one of the Captains was aware of Cubet's situation. The alternative is that Ashnur has some amazing power to change someone's mind."

Delmorgan remained silent as they continued riding. Selcott began to worry that he had scared his old friend - the mere thought of someone being able to read and control minds was sobering - but perhaps Delmorgan was merely deep in thought. It was understandable as the hour was late, almost early morning, and the day's events had been draining for everyone.

Selcott urged his horse into a trot and when they rounded the central city square, a gallop. He would not have been able to explain the hunch to anyone but Selcott could feel time slipping away. Delmorgan followed closely, riding in his slipstream.

When they crossed into the gateway district, Selcott's unspoken fears were realised. At the end of the road, he could see that the portcullis was closed. One of the gates - usually, the inner portcullis - remained closed for several hours between midnight and pre-dawn. Selcott hadn't realised the hour but it still would have been far easier for him to be allowed back into the city than to explain why he needed to be let out. He slowed his warhorse down to a walk and Delmorgan drew up beside him. Selcott swore.

"What do we do now?" Delmorgan asked.

Selcott replied, "We can still bluff our way out. Let's try."

Delmorgan nodded and trailed behind Selcott. As they walked their horses towards the city gates, Selcott could sense that something was amiss. The apprehension grew with every second. Selcott began to wish he had not removed his helm - but it would be too suspicious if he donned it now, in full view of the guards on duty.

That was it - there were too many on patrol, on the walls, in the towers, standing by the gates. Selcott pulled back on the reins and halted his mount, almost wheeling around. It was too late.

A familiar figure loitering at the gate began marching towards Selcott. In the dim torchlight, he had difficulty recognising him by anything other than his posture and gait.

"A nice night, isn't it, Selcott?" Eithon Ostyr said pleasantly. Behind him, several other armoured Guithannan Army soldiers advanced towards Selcott. He might have imagined it but one of them bore the crest of a Captain.

Eithon continued, "It's a bit late, though. You should probably head back to sleep. We have the rest of the week on daylight patrols, Selcott."

"I know that," Selcott said. He was acutely aware of his breaking of curfew; it seemed that Eithon was deliberately misstating the situation.

The other soldiers arrived and spread out in a semi-circle in front of Selcott and Delmorgan. The Captain removed his helm. It was Borril Janssen, the Captain in command of Selcott's Lance.

"Novice," Janssen said to Selcott.

"Yes, Captain?"

"You should be off to the barracks. There is no reason for you to be here at this hour." Borril's tone was authoritative and from his expression, it was evident that he would brook no argument. Selcott knew that the Captain held the authority and discretion to discharge him from the Guithannan Army.

"Yes, Captain," Selcott said with a loose salute. His stomach churned with the knowledge that he would not be able to properly examine Cubet's assassins - vital information lost. Selcott smiled tightly. "I will do so immediately."

At this, the formation of Brands relaxed. Selcott wheeled his horse around slowly. He quietly sighed to himself as Delmorgan followed suit.

Selcott nudged his mount into a walk and over the sound of clopping hooves, he could hear Eithon and Borril muttering about something. He did not bother to try to decipher their murmurs - he knew they were talking about him. "Del," Selcott said, "Can you follow me to the Guithannan Army compound and then take my horse back to the Palace stables?"

"Of course," Delmorgan said. "What are you going to do?"

Selcott rubbed his temples. His head throbbed; he was weary. "I'm going to do as ordered." He looked at his old friend. "You'll be able to stay in one of the guest-rooms in the Palace, your usual one, I suppose."

"Thanks."

Selcott nodded and smiled weakly. In truth, the day had finally caught up with him and there was some comfort in looking forward to sleep despite what he truly wanted. They continued riding west towards the compound and with each passing street, Selcott convinced himself to forget about his rank failure.

Chapter Eight

Selcott spent the rest of the first week of the Harvest Festival on city patrols with Gording during the day. In the evening, he and his Lance sneaked out to drink at the biggest gatherings they could find. Day by day, Selcott was drawn into the fraternity of his Lance despite his heritage - something that his Lance-mates now never thought of. Gording, quiet and unassuming, had a streak of violence that made him an efficient brawler and long for a permanent role in the Guithannan Army. Jabuj was part Zhandouran somewhere along his family line - he wanted to explore the Arjezeh desert one day and find his relatives. Pergier was the son of a very minor Guithannian noble and much like Selcott, now relied on the Guithannan Army for income.

On the last evening of their official duties for the Harvest Festival, the Lance spent most of the night at a local dive. For a time, Selcott forgot all about saexum and assassination plots. In the morning, he awoke with a headache and a foul taste on his tongue. Selcott groaned, shut his eyes again and curled underneath his blankets. At least they were on leave for the week, he thought.

The rest of the barracks was peaceful; Selcott could hear Dullet's familiar snoring. Despite that, Selcott fell back into a slumber.

He awoke some time later, his head still throbbing and his stomach growling. Selcott opened his eyes to bright sunshine streaming through the windows and open door. In the distance, he could hear exercises and drills taking place in the main courtyard of the compound. The steady shouts and clack of wooden weaponry drilled into Selcott's head. He groggily stood up and headed off to the washrooms.

When he returned, much refreshed, he stepped outside the barracks and checked the sun-dial - it was mid-afternoon. Selcott relaxed on a bench set against the walls of the barracks. Something tickled his mind, something that he was supposed to do. Selcott shrugged to himself and lazily watched the movements in the courtyard, Lances practising manoeuvres, combat sparring, fitness exercises. The sun warmed Selcott, caressing his skin until he could even forget about his growing hunger.

He snapped his eyes open. "Spirits!" The Guithannan Royal Ball was tonight. Selcott leapt to his feet and rushed back inside to his cot. He grabbed his rucksack, packed several of his belongings and then raced outside. At this time of day, he was bound to be late - but his family really should have expected it by now.

Compared to the week just gone, the city was tranquil as if all of the celebratory energy had already been spent. In Selcott's experience, however, there were still some big nights to come in the second week of the Harvest Festival - not to mention the official final evening that would take place next Sixthday. For the most part though, many Guithannians returned to their normal routine in the second week while visitors, the young and the unoccupied continued much of the revelry.

When Selcott reached the Royal Boulevard, he was surprised by the lack of human traffic. It might as well have been dawn for all the bored shop-keepers and merchants lining the broad road. Even the beggars were conspicuously absent. Selcott headed towards the Palace with a brisk walk - he had tired himself with the sprint from the compound.

Black Guithannite met Selcott's gaze wherever he looked, a river of shadow that split the city in two. He supposed he was used to the Guithannite road, Guithannite buildings, Guithannite walkways overhead and even the occasional Guithannite post that the city used as lamp-holders. For the citizens of Guithannan, the black rock was more of a frame, a canvas for them to paint their lives onto and they did so with great enthusiasm, signs to shops or streets, artwork hung over walls, trees and plants occupying the median strip of the Royal Boulevard and countless other personal touches added by the residents, businesses and government of the city. Selcott could understand the overwhelming darkness that visitors often spoke of but even then, there was a stark beauty about the city, a reminder that everyone could well be merely a guest of the city - the city that had been discovered in full existence hundreds of years ago.

As Selcott walked up the Boulevard, he spied a striking figure of a man examining the wares of a weaponsmith. He was clad in finery that Selcott had seen only on the wealthiest of nobles - even his own family did not incur such expenditure. Gold trim lined his shimmering black cloak . He wore it over a dark silk vest and what seemed to be a white silk shirt of Brookholm origin. The man's boots gleamed in the sun, a black shine that almost rivalled the Guithannite paving beneath. A jewelled sword hung on a polished leather baldric - Selcott could name at least three different precious stones on the crossguard alone. Selcott scanned the man for a saexum but there was nothing obvious. Perhaps it was one of the gems in the sword.

Then, the man turned around. Selcott almost missed a step. It was Arcalante.

"Greetings," Arcalante said with a wide smile. Selcott found it disconcerting to see him in such attire.

"Good afternoon, Arcalante. How goes it?"

"Well - and you?"

"Well, also," Selcott replied. He must have had a strange look on his face as Arcalante continued to smile.

"You must be wondering why I'm dressed so."

Selcott raised an eyebrow and said, "Yes, a bit."

"Well, I must attend the Royal Ball and this was all I could afford," Arcalante said, his smile turning sheepish. He flourished his cloak and the sunshine danced off it in brilliant sparkles. "It will have to do, I suppose."

"You were invited to the Ball?" Selcott asked. Usually, only nobles and state dignitaries attended the Royal Ball as guests.

"Yes," Arcalante said. He produced a familiar-looking envelope from a pocket in his tunic. Selcott recognised it as an official invitation sent out by the Palace. Arcalante read from the card within, "Gates to open at sundown. Formal attire required. And so on." Arcalante looked at Selcott. "Am I to assume you're attending as well?"

"Yes," Selcott said. "I am."

"Let's walk, then," Arcalante said. He nodded at the merchant whose weapons he had been examining and then headed up the Boulevard towards the Palace with a long stride and a watchful gaze - this was the Arcalante that Selcott knew.

They were already close to the Palatial district and the nobility that resided there - Selcott could see the tops of the Guithannite walls that surrounded the Palace peeking over the buildings and trees. The Boulevard was still fairly deserted and they made good time now that they did not have to dodge the massive crowds of the previous several days.

After some small talk where Arcalante dropped his nobleman affectation, they fell silent for a few moments. Then, Arcalante said, "I heard of your exploits, Selcott. You, your sister and your friends."

"What did you hear?" Selcott asked. During the past week, nothing had been mentioned of his visit to the Cubet estate by anyone in the Guithannan Army. Selcott had not been in contact with his parents either - he had been happy to concentrate on his patrol during the day and drink away his worries at night. Finally, though, he had to confront them.

"Nothing bad," Arcalante said. He nodded slightly in approval. "To be truthful, I heard of it from Ceryn and Tome who had been flitting around the city, exploring. They said that people were speaking of you, so I had to investigate for myself." Arcalante stepped around a pile of horse excrement without missing a stride. "Imagine my surprise when I heard that your little group had halted an attack on the Cubet family, virtually on your own."

"I suppose we were somewhat fortunate," Selcott said. "The Expatritors arrived at a good time."

"Yes, I heard of that as well," Arcalante said. "Did you ever find out who were assassins were?"

"No," Selcott said. This was the first time that he had to dwell on that failure - it had been crucial information that was now lost. He hadn't considered returning to the Cubet lodge, knowing that everything would have been cleared by either the Expatritors or city-officials from Guithannan.

"Probably mercenaries," Arcalante suggested. He shrugged. "I suppose no one will truly know." They were approaching the Palace, the walls looming ahead, blocking the azure sky and most of the northern mountains from view. Several extra compliments of Royal Guards were on duty at the gates - the Ball was strictly invitation only. Arcalante began rummaging around his tunic for the envelope.

He found it and continued, "You know that Jarol Cubet is now dead."

Selcott looked at Arcalante. His throat tightened. "What?"

Before Arcalante could reply, they were at the gates and the Guards requested to see their invitations. Perhaps Arcalante chose not to respond. The first two Royal Guards recognised Selcott and saluted, then waved him on. Another pair of guards, older veterans, examined Arcalante's invitation and satisfied that it was genuine, wished him a pleasant evening and allowed him to pass. They directed Arcalante through the open portcullis - more guards watched from the towers, walls and within the gatehouse.

As they passed into the gardens of the Palace, Arcalante motioned to Selcott to join him just inside the walls. Arcalante said in a low voice, "Jarol Cubet was found dead this morning. He had been waylaid by bandits on the road between the city and his estate."

"Bandits!" Selcott exclaimed - he couldn't keep his voice down. Other early arrivals wandering the gardens seemed not to notice. "That's impossible. There are no bandits in Guithannian lands."

"That's what I thought too," Arcalante said. "Whoever wanted him dead was obviously not perturbed by your interruption last week." A sad look crossed his face and Selcott briefly wondered what Arcalante had seen in his travels, what sorrow he had witnessed now that he was reminded of it.

"Be careful, Selcott." And before Selcott could respond, Arcalante walked away, vanishing into a group of finely dressed nobles.

The news of Jarol Cubet's death gave Selcott pause; all his efforts had been for nothing. Risking the lives of his sister and his friends, for nothing. He growled to himself and set off for the Palace; his stern expression warded away the ventured greetings of several guests.

The Palace itself buzzed with activity. Liveried servants raced around the Guithannite halls carrying platters and furniture and oil and everything else that was required for the reception in the gardens and the Ball in the Royal Court later in the evening. Selcott quickly made his way through the Palace, making the most of his intimate knowledge of the structure, and arrived at the private north wing in only a few minutes.

The Royal Guards saluted him and allowed him to pass. Selcott nodded amiably to them and stepped inside. He headed directly to his old rooms without announcing himself. As he trotted up the main stairwell, he could not hear any other movement or voices - his family members were probably in the Royal Court assisting with the preparations for the Ball or in the gardens, entertaining the guests.

Selcott entered the cozy sitting room that adjoined both his bedroom and Keilaine's; while Keilaine preferred the tranquility of the Princess' Gardens to the rear of the north wing, Selcott had always liked this common room that was the source of many fond memories from his childhood, bonding with his siblings. Selcott spared himself a moment to look over the divans, cushions and book shelves stuffed with tomes, scrolls and old wooden toys and contraptions. Simply being in the room calmed his nerves.

He crossed over to his bedroom door and entered. A suit of formal attire had been laid on his bed, probably by his mother. Selcott couldn't help but smile to himself. It was a simple affair with dark leggings, a silk shirt and a smart vest; several other accessories rested next to the clothing. Selcott ignored the clothes for the time being and stepped to the large window opposite.

The view which greeted Selcott was all too familiar - to the south was the Palace and the dome of the Royal Court while further, filling the majority of his gaze, was the city of Guithannan beyond the Palace walls. On a crisp day, he could see mines in the sides of the snow-capped mountains to the east and the green of the plains below Guithannan, far to the south. The afternoon sun blazed in Selcott's eyes but he did not back away - it had been far too long since he had simply stood here, soaking in the sun, studying the city, his home. Selcott leaned against the wooden frame inlaid against the Guithannite window. His thoughts wandered, pondering.

Selcott did not notice that the sun had set - so gradual had the evening arrived - when a knock on the door shook him from his reverie. "Yes?" Selcott turned around as the door to his room opened.

Keilaine stepped inside, dressed in a stunning silver evening gown. The dress left her saexum collar fully exposed. Her hair was bunched with a matching silver clip and a light powdering of makeup adorned her face. She smiled. "Aren't you ready yet? Almost everyone is in the Court."

"Just a couple minutes," Selcott replied.

"All right." Keilaine smiled. "Better hurry." She left and gently closed the door behind her.

With a sigh, Selcott began changing into the formal wear. As promised, he was on his way to the Royal Court within minutes. If he took the private entrance that was closest to the keep, he would be able to slip inside the Palace without anybody truly noticing.

Selcott nodded to the guards just outside the doors to the northern sanctuary and almost jogged towards the Palace proper. Despite his own misgivings about the nobility of Guithannan, he would probably enjoy the occasion - ever since he had left formal education, his responsibilities as a Prince were rarely called upon.

He sneaked into one of the discreet doors that led to the private meeting rooms behind the Royal Court. They were normally used for sensitive matters of state while most of the corridors were accessible generally only by higher-ranked servants.

The backrooms were abuzz with activity - all kinds of food and drink and plates and platters were being shuttled back and forth by servants and novices in the employ of the Palace. The liveliness almost stunned Selcott, who could barely remember the last time he has seen such commotion in the Palace - granted, he was not around much anymore.

"Help you sir?" an officious Palace clerk asked. "Are you lost?"

"No," Selcott replied. "I'm fine."

The clerk, who was probably one of many Palace staff helping to coordinate the evening, gestured down a hall. "Very well, sir. You'll find the Royal Court down there."

"Thank you," Selcott said. He did not feel much like correcting anyone - it was understandable that some staff did not recognise him. At least, the clerk was respectful and polite.

Selcott dodged and weaved his way to the Royal Court. The closest route was actually through a sitting room, which was full of trays of fingerfood, ready to be served. The opposite door out of the sitting room led to a short corridor with seats and benches along its length, then to the final door which opened behind the thrones.

As soon as Selcott opened the door, a wall of noise - full of chattering voices, music, the clank of glasses - rolled over him like a wave. He surreptitiously crept out from the shadowy nook and the view of the entire Court met his gaze.

The work on the Royal Court must have taken days as the black Guithannite which comprised the entire Palace was barely noticeable over the rows of lamps, tapestries, statues and glassware that created the illusion of another world, another city. Lights shone through tinted glass, throwing vibrant colours over the guests. Sparkles danced across gems, off dresses and polished buckles, silver mirrors and diamond chandeliers. And those fortunate enough to be in the crowd, mingling with others of the social elite, seemingly adored the transformation that the Court had undergone. Statues of ice and glass, along with paintings on the walls, had been placed at various points on the floor where the rows of pews and benches used to rest - guests stood around the pieces of art, admiring them.

Selcott turned his attention to the dais. His parents and siblings were receiving guests - the Speaker of the Court, old Vesdyn Audalia, was introducing people to the Royal family one by one. It always amazed Selcott how Vesdyn, despite age, always seemed to know everyone, their occupation, hobbies and what they ate for breakfast that morning. His wizened appearance that seemed unchanged from when Selcott was a child, belied a quick-witted mind.

Like Keilaine, the rest of his family was attired in striking clothes. Martreas and Elleva wore a matching set in black with silver and gold necklaces and metal belts contrasting against the soft material. Endron wore a similar suit to Selcott's except in lighter colours. A golden ceremonial sword hung by his waist. Continuing the theme, Magdyna wore a dress matching Keilaine's but it was gold compared to Keilaine's silver. In the myriad of shimmering lights of the Court, their gowns were luminous.

As Selcott slowly approached the thrones around which his family had gathered, he saw a familiar figure waiting in the queue - Arcalante was cheerily talking to an attractive woman, the sister to one of the baronets, if Selcott was not mistaken. Selcott's siblings greeted him as he fell into place beside them. Endron said, "You're late."

"It's fashionable," Selcott replied glibly. Keilaine chuckled.

Before either Endron or Magdyna could scold Selcott further, Arcalante stepped forward. Vesdyn said in strong clear voice, "Lords and Ladies of Guithannan, may I present to you Baron Polarian Casele d'Arcalante!"

Keilaine nudged Selcott, which he duly ignored. Arcalante smiled broadly as he stepped forward and gracefully bowed to Martreas and Elleva. "Good evening, Milord, Milady." Arcalante then bowed to the Wrienswing heirs, repeating his greeting.

"It's a pleasure, Baron," Elleva said with a tilt of her chin. "How do you find Guithannan?"

"A most incredible city!" Arcalante replied. "Fascinating architecture, lovely people. Were it not for my estate in Eldaros, I would gladly reside here."

"You are most kind," Martreas said. "Most kind."

Arcalante smiled and bowed once more. He did not even so much as glance at Selcott, let alone reveal their prior acquaintaince. Arcalante smoothly stepped away, allowing for the next guest in the long line to be introduced.

Vesdyn motioned for the next guests to step towards the dais - a short, attractive woman of middle years and a young man in plain but elegant attire. Selcott looked at the man again - it was the Expatritor Valedros. Over the din of the party, Vesdyn announced, "May I introduce Lady Ellaidra Osteyrus Luneiadon, Speaker of the Brookholm Circle of Seven and Expatritor Valedros Luneiadon!"

Selcott waited politely to greet Lady Ellaidra who, as the Speaker of the Brookholm Circle of Seven, was one of the most powerful people in Iacea. While she did not rule Brookholm outright, she still guided the Circle Council along the agendas that she instilled. Her brother - Karradros Osteyrus - was also a member of the Circle of Seven by virtue of the fact that he was the Saeculus of the Expatritors, the leader and figurehead of the entire organisation.

"How do you do?" Selcott said with a bow to Ellaidra. She was quite petite but Selcott could still see the family resemblance with Valedros, and the dormant animal fury that could be unleashed on anyone and at anytime.

"I am well, Prince Selcott," Ellaidra replied. "This is a wonderful event!"

Selcott bowed his head slightly and Ellaidra moved along to greet Keilaine. Valedros stepped over to Selcott and they shook hands heartily. "Good evening, Selcott."

"And you, Valedros. How goes it?"

"Well enough," the Expatritor replied with a smile. "It is the week's end, that is all that needs to be said."

"True," Selcott replied. "Enjoy the evening."

"You too."

During the exchange, Selcott spied out Arcalante in the crowd and kept a mental note on his whereabouts. When Valedros and his mother had completed their greetings, Selcott discreetly withdrew. With the aid of several servants carrying a freshly roasted whole pig on a spit, he blended back into the throng of guests, bards and fire-dancers - the flurry of bright cloths and the dazzle of shooting flames pulled all eyes away from the thrones and the queue of would-be well-wishers.

Arcalante had stationed himself next to a platter of crumbed seafood and amicably chatted to several other guests who looked vaguely familiar to Selcott. He sidled up to them and immediately, the other nobles bowed.

"Prince Selcott!"

"So good to see you!"

"How is the Guithannan Army?"

Selcott endured their inane questions for a few minutes and spouted oft-repeated answers. After a few minutes, he smiled and said, "Would you be able to excuse the Baron and myself?"

"Of course," replied one of the gentlemen. Selcott could barely hear him over the party's din. "It has been an honour!"

Selcott nodded politely, gracefully, and gently commandeered Arcalante's attention by imposing himself between the Baron and anyone else who might come their way.

"Who are you?" Selcott demanded. "And how do you know that Jarol Cubet is dead?"

Arcalante smiled, the facade of a foreign nobleman never wavering. "I am the same person I always was, Selcott. And to answer your second question, I have come across very reliable information that he is indeed dead - and not missing, as you may hear from others tonight." Arcalante scanned the area and motioned to Selcott with a jerk of his head. "Let's walk." He scooped up a decanter of fine Guithannian red wine and two glasses.

Selcott followed Arcalante closely as he meandered towards one of two sets of stairs in the side of the Royal Court. Even here, in this normally secluded area, there were couples and small groups talking and laughing in their private conversations. The music was dulled by the Guithannite walls but as Arcalante and Selcott emerged onto one of the balconies lining the upper tier of the Court, the cacophony greeted them again. There were only a handful of guests occupying the upper balconies and their words were masked by the celebratory tunes from below.

Arcalante leaned over the balcony with a wry smile. When Selcott joined him, he poured the wine and offered a glass. Selcott took it with a nod.

"To health," Arcalante toasted.

"To health," Selcott repeated and he drank a mouthful of the red. It was sweet with a subtle tang. Satisfying.

Arcalante sighed and leaned over the balcony again, resting his glass on the wide Guithannite railing, examining the guests below - some were dancing to the music, others were enraptured by tales told by bards or the antics of jugglers and firedancers. Arcalante's face and demeanour were less animated now, the pretense discarded. A jet of flame shot into the air, prompting Selcott to speak.

"What have you heard?" he asked Arcalante.

Arcalante replied, "Cubet had been missing for several days. No one knew where he had gone - the nature of his disappearance and the fact his family knew nothing suggested he was dead."

"But it was rumour, not fact?"

"A rumour," Arcalante confirmed. "Spread through the northern district of Guithannan fairly fast."

Selcott drank more of the wine. He said, "And how are you privy to the goings-on of the northern district?"

"Perhaps I haven't been as forthcoming as I should have been," Arcalante said. "But I am a Baron of Eldaros. I didn't choose it or even know of it. And it's never convenient to have a retinue following me when I'm chasing down a saexum. But I have my contacts and friends who are always reliable for news and your `goings-on'." Arcalante's eyes twinkled at the turn of phrase.

Selcott put his glass down and turned to Arcalante. "Eldaros is a kingdom - how did you gain a barony without knowing of it?"

"It was bestowed upon me by King Calens Reldier," Arcalante said. "For services rendered to the crown." He sipped his wine and gazed at the main chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Selcott hardly gave the suspended crystal sculpture any thought but knew that it always drew the eye of visitors, as it often sparkled even in darkness. Arcalante continued, "The barony of Casele is tiny - easy for Reldier to give away without causing too much consternation amongst the nobility."

"You don't like being a Baron, do you?"

"Just as you don't like being a Prince," Arcalante replied. "These titles get in the way of our lives, the things we want to do."

Selcott nodded. "I'll drink to that." And he downed the rest of his wine.

Arcalante refilled their glasses and Selcott could feel his head beginning to float. Arcalante began talking about the nobles he had met so far and Selcott tried to focus his gaze on a guest here or there, one of the tables, one of the ice-statues. Then, he saw the two fully-armoured Expatritors standing guard at the main entrance to the Royal Court. They were almost motionless, blending into the Guithannite, steel against stone. Selcott shouldn't have been surprised - Expatritors patrolled the Palace grounds all the time; they were only actively prohibited from the private northern wing.

Selcott drank from his glass and remained silent. Arcalante had finished his speech about some-such attractive daughter of one of the Earls and followed Selcott's gaze to the Expatritors.

"Does it worry you, Selcott?"

"Hm?"

"That the Expatritors have insinuated themselves so completely into the Palace," Arcalante elaborated.

"It does," Selcott said. He frowned. "It has been this way for so long that no one has ever bothered to question why the Expatritors need such a presence inside the Palace. Aren't the Royal Guards enough?"

"They are," Arcalante said. "It's plain that the Expatritors would not leave the Palace unless ordered to. And not by Lord Martreas."

"If they were ordered by my father, they would do best to obey," Selcott said grimly. He took another mouthful of wine. "They may proclaim to be our protectors but I know their game, how easily they could become our jailers." Selcott had more to say about the Expatritors but he held his tongue; he did not want to dampen the mood. Or was it ruined already?

"You should be constantly aware, Selcott," Arcalante said. He held up his glass of wine, examining it in the light of the candle-lit chandelier. A flame-eater spouted a spike of fire into the air and Selcott watched the splinters of orange in Arcalante's glass. He added, "If the balance ever changes in favour of the Expatritors, you and I both know that the Palace will be the first to fall. Your siblings and your parents may not realise until it is too late."

Selcott nodded lazily. "I know. I know." He rested his chin in a palm. "I despise this, all of this." With those words, Selcott could feel a weight lift from his mind. It was something that he had only ever thought silently to himself. "I have to leave Guithannan. I want to hunt saexum."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Arcalante replied and he sipped his wine.

Selcott bowed his head, suddenly exhausted. He shut his eyes for a moment, letting the noise of the party wash over him. He opened his eyes and sighed. Below, he saw another swarm of food platters being transported to the tables by Palace servants. Selcott's stomach rumbled. "I'll see you later, Arcalante."

Arcalante nodded, "Good evening, Selcott."

Selcott spent the better part of the next few hours eating and drinking on the main floor. He wandered through the crowd, greeting old friends and enemies without a care on his mind - he did not know if it were the alcohol or the fact it was the time of the Harvest Festival but nothing fazed him. The roasted pigs and chickens were popular and Selcott dined until he was full. But there seemed so much more to sample - more wine, more mead, more breads, more fruits, more cheese, more meat.

In between mouthfuls, he conversed with other nobles on topics he knew next to nothing about. But that didn't seem to matter. Selcott expounded on the similarities and differences between Guithannian and Brookholmer art, his theories on the migration of the Zhandoura into the Arjezeh desert and the perceived advantages and disadvantages of a unified government between Guithannan, Brookholm, Eldaros, Denosto, Ryneusk and Thaella.

Selcott was about to address a blonde woman his own age on the origins of Shadowdeep when a familiar figure caught his eye - it was Magdyna, watching him from the balcony. Apart from the formal greetings earlier, he hadn't seen her all evening. Selcott halted in mid-word and waved. His sister smiled and waved back.

"Excuse me," Selcott said with as sober a tone as he could manage and he staggered away from the support of the trestled table, towards the stairs to the upper levels.

With unsure steps, Selcott followed what he thought was Magdyna's path. When he reached the upper gallery, he blearily examined the people mingling amongst one another - he couldn't see the familiar shape of his sister. A faint orange glow that reflected off the Guithannite walls caught Selcott's attention and a thought sprung into his mind. Perhaps there were others outside where the upper gallery connected to a balcony that overlooked the city. The views from the main wings of the Palace were spectacular, even if they weren't as elevated as the northern keep.

Selcott headed towards the doorway, gulping from his stein of mead - he couldn't quite remember where he picked it up from but it was delicious, nonetheless. When he pushed open the door to the outer balcony, a blast of cool summer night air blew his hair back and ruffled his sleeves. His eyes were still adjusting when he spotted Magdyna in her luminous dress, leaning over the railing on her own.

The balcony was deserted except for the two of them, so Selcott crept forward with all of the silence that he could muster. When he was a scant arms-length away, he yelled, "Maggie!"

Magdyna yelped and swung around. Her eyes were wide and cheeks red. When she recognised Selcott, she said, "You made me drop my wine!"

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the ground below. "Mag, I'm so sorry," Selcott said, hands outstretched. "Here, have some mead."

"Oh, don't worry," Magdyna replied with a slight slur. She reached down and Selcott saw that she had kept a decanter of liquor on the paving next to her. "You should have some of this!"

She grabbed Selcott's stein, finished the rest of the mead and refilled it with the contents of the decanter that burned Selcott's nose even from an armslength away. Her saexum and collar twinkled in the moonlight.

"Here."

Selcott peered into the stein. He had really liked the mead but it was all gone, replaced with the hard spirits. "What is it?"

"It's from Eldaros," Magdyna said with a goofy smile. "Try it, it's good."

"Very well," Selcott replied. He glanced at his sister - without a doubt, the spirits were probably most of the reason she was as drunk as he was. Selcott put the stein to his lips and took a swig of the sweet, yet foul, liquid. It hit his throat like a fire, searing his innards. Selcott gasped.

Magdyna's laugh rang out - it was something that Selcott, or anyone in the Palace, had not heard longer than he cared to remember. In between giggles, Magdyna said, "It's called Dew, distilled from rice with some other grains. They add some honey to make it drinkable."

"Bloody spirits!" Selcott swore. "What does it taste like without the honey?"

"I wouldn't want to know," Magdyna said. She took the stein from Selcott and drank a mouthful. "It's a good drink." Magdyna took several inadvertent steps back, the railing on the balcony stopping her.

"Are you okay?" Selcott asked. He joined his sister at the railing, intertwining his arm with hers.

"Yes," Magdyna said. She leaned her head against his arm and burped. "I'm just - I don't know. Tired."

"What do you mean?"

Magdyna sighed. "It's just everything, Selcott. With you away, there's no one for mother and father to coddle. Keilaine is often busy and away from the Palace while Endron is looking after his family - it just leaves the bulk of Ma and Pa's attention on me."

"You're going to be the Lady of Guithannan, one day," Selcott pointed out. "You're going to be Queen." He peered into the stein and deciding there was more dew, drank another mouthful.

"Our parents better live a long while yet," Magdyna said. She bowed her head, cradling it. "I'm not ready for it. I can't even keep my own family happy - how can I rule an entire city?"

"What are you talking about?"

Magdyna shook her head. "It's Lengeres, it's his business. I don't know." She gazed off into the night, the winking lights in the city, the arching walkways crossing through the night sky. "He's just away so often, selling gems. I know it's his business but is it wrong for me to be worried? Maybe I'm being paranoid."

"Do you think he's being unfaithful?" Selcott asked bluntly. He had never been so abrupt to anyone in his family but it didn't seem to matter at the moment. He drank more of the Eldarosian dew.

"I don't know," Magdyna said. She sniffed. "I just don't know anymore. With our household-help, taking care of Jasia, Rodiner and Aran is all right but I feel like I'm drifting away from them - my own children. And my husband." She took another swig directly from the decanter.

"I never knew it was like this," Selcott said. "I'm so sorry. What can I do?"

"It's not your fault," Magdyna said with a shrug. She straightened up, gripping the railing with her hands as if she were about to tear it from the Guithannite balcony. "There are lots of things that you don't know about. Things you shouldn't know about - just for your own good."

"Like what?"

Magdyna took a hold of Selcott's stein and finished off his share of the dew. As she refilled it from the decanter, Magdyna said, "Well - you know that mother and father were actually happy that you were expelled from the Expatritors."

"Why?" As much as Selcott despised that glorified guild of warriors, he couldn't see his parents being happy from his failure.

"Simple," Magdyna said. She stood up fully, relinquishing her hold on the rail and swaying slightly as she turned directly to Selcott. "Even though the Expatritors would have given you far more extension - I mean extensive training, we wouldn't have been able to keep a close eye on you. But we can do that now you're with the Guithannan Army."

"How?" Selcott asked. "Are there spies? Is Ashnur a spy?"

"Ashnur?" Magdyna said with a quizzical look. "Who in spirits is Ashnur? It's Borril Janssen - he's an agent for the Crown."

"What do you mean?"

Magdyna placed her hands on Selcott's shoulders. "He works for Ma and Pa."

"But he's a Captain of the Guithannan Army."

"Yes - but he firstly and foremostly works for and reports to the Crown."

Selcott squeezed his eyes shut - perhaps he could also expel the headache from his skull. He said, "So, what does he do for the Crown?"

"Whatever we tell him to do," Magdyna said. "Mostly related to the Army, since that's his occupation - but lately, he has been keeping an eye on you."

Selcott snorted. He didn't say anything for a moment, still trying to comprehend the duality of Borril Janssen's life. Did Eithon Ostyr know about it? Did the two most highly-ranked officials in the Army, D'Avernaux and Cardanus, know?

Selcott muttered, "I'm not on my own, am I? I'm not allowed to make my own mistakes or make my own destiny."

"You never will be," Magdyna said. "None of us are." She leaned forward and embraced Selcott. "We're bound to the Palace by something more poweful and unbreakable than any rope or chain or manacle."

"I don't like it, Maggie."

His sister murmured, "Neither do I." She drew back slightly and in the moonlight, Selcott could suddenly see his sister clearly, as if for the first time. He didn't know if it were the liquor that addled his mind or simply the occasion, but Magdyna's face was open and unguarded like never before.

"There are things that the Crown must do that we must keep secret," Magdyna continued. "Like how Borril's presence was never meant to be made known to you."

"But you told me anyway."

"Whatever our parents say," Magdyna said, "you're not a child. I think that you're mature enough to know the things that I know. These are things that, as a Prince, you should know." She gripped Selcott's forearms with surprising strength, as if she still practised the swordplay they had all been trained in as teens. "When I heard about your little misadventure to the Cubet estate with Lainie, Cassine and Delmorgan, I knew that it was time. Ma and Pa disagreed with me but damn them!" Magdyna's face turned to shock and she covered her mouth with an open palm. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't say that.

"But I am going to be the next ruler of Guithannan. I think you should know that the Crown had slated Jarol Cubet's assassination for quite some time now."

Selcott didn't say a word, somehow too stunned or too drunk to respond. His brain could not quite tick over properly and his throat suddenly seemed tight.

"We have to protect our family," Magdyna slurred. "We have to protect you and me and Lainie and our cousins and Uncle Fortian and Auntie Verucia and everyone. If one person must die in order to protect us all, then that is a good sacrifice, isn't it?"

"Are you joking?" Selcott managed to say. "Is this a practical joke that you, Endron and Keilaine have concocted?" Selcott began clapping sarcastically. "Well done. Well done!"

Magdyna shook her head. "It's true, Sel. It's all true." She fell silent and turned to the balcony and the view over the rest of the city in the twilight. "It's all so beautiful. I love this city." Magdyna sighed and then returned to Selcott. She hugged him tightly.

"Have a good night, Sel." Magdyna grinned and then staggered back inside.

Selcott remained rooted to the spot. He drank from his stein, finished the dew - he was at a complete loss. Suddenly, despite the alcohol coursing through his body, the Royal Ball seemed like the last thing in the world that he had to worry about.

Selcott spent the better part of the next hour drinking more mead and eating his way across the smorgasbord provided by the Palace kitchen staff, oblivious to the noblemen and women who competed for his attention. Throughout the entire night, he had not seen Cassine while his family was preoccupied with entertaining the guests.

He finished a chicken drumstick and tossed the bone onto an empty tray with a dull thud. Selcott downed the rest of his drink and decided to leave - he knew he would be bored at the Royal Ball, just as he was every year. There never seemed to be anyone interesting in attendance.

Selcott headed towards one of the side-entrances to the Royal Court and slipped through. Immediately, the relative peace of the outer hallways calmed Selcott's nerves. He strode off, completely aware that he could not walk in a straight line, hopefully in the direction of the Palace Gardens and the gates to the city.

He wended his way through the Palace, nodding and waving at various servants and pages on duty for the Ball. When he emerged into the cool summer midnight, Selcott breathed in the air. He suddenly realised that he still wore the formal attire from his room; Selcott mentally shrugged to himself - he could bring it back in the morning. Selcott wandered through the Palace Gardens, keeping his eyes on the gates to the city for the whole time but still finding it difficult navigating through the various hedges, grassy strips and raised tree-beds. Eventually, he succeeded and stumbled onwards.

Selcott had a vague idea of where the Guithannan Army barracks were; he decided to take the shortest, most direct route through the residential streets rather than the main thoroughfares. He was in a strange mood - was what Magdyna proclaimed true? He had no idea.

After wandering the streets for another hour - Selcott admitted to himself several times that he was lost - he finally caught sight of the fortifications that surrounded the Guithannan Army barracks, the Guithannite crenellations peeking over the top of the houses on the street upon which he staggered.

The Brands on guard duty waved him on - security and curfew during the Harvest Festival was thankfully lax - and Selcott meandered through the wide open courtyard that served as a rallying point, exercise grounds and training area.

He paused for the moment and looked up; stars twinkled in the black sky while the moon glowed a brilliant silver, almost white. Selcott breathed, trying to clear his head. The hike back to the barracks had purged much of the alcohol from his body but he still felt light-headed, giddy.

Satisfied that he would not keel over, Selcott continued towards his barracks. In the vast courtyard, he was entirely alone - not even the guards on the walls were actively patrolling at this time of night. Selcott's footsteps echoed across the smooth Guithannite paving and as he neared the door to his barracks, he began unbuttoning his vest.

A staccato of bootfalls met Selcott's ears and it took him several precious moments for realisation to dawn. Too late, he twisted around, meeting his attacker's arm in mid-swing. Selcott saw steel flash and reflect in the moonlight as he struggled with the assassin, grappling the weapon-arm while fending away strikes and kicks.

Selcott could sense his own demise; he was still drunk, a headache throbbed in his skull. Selcott latched onto the attacker's arm and heaved with all his might. The assailant swung into one of the benches resting near the door to the barracks and he crumpled to the Guithannite with a soft groan. Seizing the opportunity, Selcott unsteadily leapt forward, fists pummelling his enemy.

"Help! Intruder!" Selcott yelled hoarsely. He wasn't sure how effective his punches were. The man shielded himself as he rose to his feet. Selcott saw the long dagger, almost a poniard, lying on the ground a short distance away and instinctively knew that he needed the weapon to stand any chance of surviving; the assassin was a far more proficient warrior than himself.

Selcott dived for the blade but as soon as he released his grip on his attacker, the man grabbed Selcott's legs, dragging him back. Selcott's hands fell short of the hilt as he scrabbled for purchase on the Guithannite paving. The attacker clambered over the top of Selcott, apparently intent on the weapon himself.

With a sharp crack, Selcott blindly drove his elbow behind him and connected with a jaw or cheekbone, he could not tell. But the attacker grunted with pain and rolled away. Selcott leapt forward and scooped up the dagger in one smooth action. He twisted around and saw that his assailant was still on the ground, nursing his head.

Selcott advanced cautiously with the blade held out before him. The assassin was attired in dark clothing that covered him from head to toe. Only a small slit in the cloth mask allowed some vision; he was otherwise unencumbered.

Several guards bearing torches and weapons emerged from the main gatehouse and began marching over to Selcott. He quickly glanced at the officers' keep and another detachment seemed to be on the move.

As Selcott approached the attacker, the masked man raised his arms in supplication. "I surrender! Please!"

"Remove your mask," Selcott demanded as he brandished the dagger.

"Very well - just don't hurt me, please!" The man slowly untied the knots holding his mask in place - first the hood that covered the top of his head then the cloth that concealed his face.

Selcott suppressed a gasp and it ended up a derisive snort. "You!" It was Polos, the saexum-thief and Expatritor spy. Suddenly, Selcott felt a rage build up in his chest and he stormed forward, thrusting the dagger against Polos' throat.

"Who do you work for?" Selcott yelled.

Polos yelped and fell back against the Guithannite. "The Expatritors! The Expatritors! Please don't hurt me - they've taken so much!"

"What are you talking about?"

"My leg!" Polos cried. He cowered before Selcott, face turned away, eyes squeezed shut and tears dripping down. "Please, I don't have anything more to lose! I'll tell you everything - just protect me from the Expatritors!"

Selcott retreated slightly as the night-watch guards arrived. He remembered Ashnur breaking Polos' leg during the interrogation a week ago - Selcott nudged it with a boot and it was indeed a wooden replacement. In an effort to save time, the Expatritors must have amputated the broken leg and sent Polos back to spying. Selcott couldn't but help grimace in disgust.

"Novice!"

The guards formed a small perimeter around Selcott and Polos. Their officer stepped forward - it was the Weaponsmaster, Atreni Warson.

"Yes, sir?" Selcott replied.

"Are you injured?"

"No, sir. I'm fine."

"Good," Warson said. To the Brands, he said, "Spread out in pairs. Search the courtyard for any other intruders."

The Brands acknowledged their orders with barked replies and began fanning out. Warson said to Selcott, "What happened, novice?"

Selcott indicated Polos, who had visibly calmed down but still seemed terrified. "This man was sent by the Expatritors to kill me. But he said he would be able to give us information about the Expatritors if we protect him."

Warson nodded. He had been the Master of Weaponry for as long as Selcott could remember, even before he had any notion of joining the Expatritors or Guithannan Army and as far as Selcott knew, Atreni Warson rose to that position as much by his common sense and wisdom as his skill with swords and other implements of destruction. It was true for anyone in the Guithannan Army who aspired to the ranks above Lance-Leader.

"We will have to put him under guard for now," Warson said.

"Whatever you have to do, just do it!" Polos pleaded.

Atreni Warson motioned to a couple Brands who had remained nearby. "Escort this man to the holding cells near the gate. Keep him under the strictest of supervision - he is not to be let out of anyone's sight. I will return with Avir Cardanus and until then, no one is to see the prisoner. No exceptions. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" The Brands bound Polos' hands and marched him, still thankful, back to the gatehouse. When they were out of earshot, Warson turned to Selcott.

"You know that I must report this incident to your parents."

Selcott nodded. "I understand. But I don't want any special treatment."

"That's an honourable sentiment but we both know that's highly unlikely." Warson smiled.

With a sigh, Selcott replied, "I know."

"You should get some rest," Warson said. "I'll post guards for you - Brands I can trust myself. There's going to be a storm come morning."

"Thanks, Swordmaster," Selcott replied.

Warson nodded and headed back to the gatehouse. Selcott ambled to his barracks and found it deserted - his Lance was probably still out drinking and womanising. Selcott flopped into his cot without bothering to change out of his formal attire. So tired that he barely noticed the guards slip into the barracks and take up positions at the doors, Selcott soon fell into a slumber and the events of the day became only unpleasant memories.

In the morning, Selcott awoke to Borril Janssen standing over his cot. Selcott murmured to himself, "Spirits," and scrambled to his feet. He noticed that the rest of the barracks was still empty, as if his Lance had left in a hurry.

"At ease, novice," Borril said. Selcott nodded and relaxed - his Captain began pacing in the area in front of Selcott's bed. "Get dressed and pack all of your belongings, novice."

Selcott immediately obeyed, despite the irregularity of the order. "What's going on, sir?"

"It's a temporary reassignment," Borril answered. He brushed real or imagined dust from his pressed jacket. The Captains in the Guithannan Army did not usually wear armour unless in training, which was a stark contrast to the Expatritors who preferred to be fully equipped at all times. On the whole, it was probably the main source of intimidation that the Expatritors used on Selcott and the other novices at the time - it shouldn't have ever surprised him.

Selcott did not have many possessions to take with him, only a few trinkets and several sets of his novice uniform - he was fortunate that he always had a room in the Palace as the families of most other novices and Brands did not have the same luxury.

"Ready?" Borril asked.

"Yes," Selcott said, hefting a full rucksack over his shoulder.

"Good, let's go." Borril led the way outside where several Brands were waiting. They fell into step behind Selcott. Borril continued, "These Brands are under orders to escort you back to the Palace. They were hand-picked by the Weaponsmaster, so if anything should befall you, I am sure you will be in good hands."

"Aren't you coming with us?" Selcott asked.

"No," Borril said. "I must brief the Charge and Captain-General. I expect we will arrive at the Palace later today to discuss the matter with Lord Martreas and Lady Elleva."

"Very well," Selcott said. He looked around the compound as the day's activities began as per normal. "Will I be back, Captain?"

"I do not know, novice," Borrill said. "I hope so."

Selcott nodded but then thought better of it and straightened his posture. He saluted Borril as smartly as he could manage at this time of morning. Borril returned the salute with a tight smile. "Farewell."

"Farewell, Captain," Selcott said. He managed a grin - as little as he knew about his Captain, Borril had always treated him fairly. Even though Selcott now knew that Borril Janssen had a vested interest in members of the Royal Family, it did not change the respect Selcott held for him. He had been a commanding officer whom Selcott had actually liked.

Bemused by his own thoughts, Selcott turned and marched out of the compound gates with his guards. The walk to the Palace was uneventful and his guards remained silent the entire time. At the Palace gates, they exchanged brief words with the Royal Palace Guards, who took over escort duties. As the Brands disappeared into the morning crowds, one of the Royal Guards indicated towards the Palace and said, "This way, Prince Selcott."

Jarred by the unexpected use of his formal title, Selcott found himself automatically walking towards the Palace through the public gardens. There were only a few visitors present and they remained oblivious to Selcott and his retinue. As they walked, the Royal Guard Lance-Leader said, "I am to take you to your rooms in the north wing, Highness. Please remain within the keep until your parents come to see you."

"When will that be?" Selcott asked.

"Shortly."

As promised, the Royal Guards walked with Selcott, taking the most direct and discreet route to the private wing of the Palace. They encountered only the odd servant and Palace page, all of whom paid them no mind. When they arrived in the small courtyard in front of the north wing, the Royal Guards halted a short distance from the entrance. One of the Guards, who had been carrying Selcott's rucksack, handed the belongings back to Selcott.

"We will wait here until Lord Martreas and Lady Elleva arrive," the Lance-Leader said.

"What if I need to leave?" Selcott asked, lifting the rucksack's strap over his shoulder.

"Please remain here. It will be only minutes, I assure you."

Selcott sighed. He did not like the indirect response at all. "Very well." He nodded to the Guards and entered the keep.

The thud of the door closing behind Selcott echoed throughout the Guithannite structure. The morning sun peeked through several windows set at various heights in the walls of the foyer, illuminating the main staircase and hallways leading deeper within the keep. Selcott dragged himself up the steps, following the sun's glow from the Princess' Garden and various rooms whose doors had been left open.

Selcott trudged into the common area he shared with Keilaine and opened the door to his room. He tossed his rucksack in front of a wardrobe and returned to the retreat. Exhaustion suddenly overcame Selcott as he relaxed on one of the divans. Perhaps he was still hung over. He closed his eyes.

"Selcott."

He snapped awake at the voice. Endron smiled and sat down. Magdyna and Keilaine appeared from the corridor and seated themselves. They were all dressed in nondescript clothes - they could have passed for commoners, Endron in rough tunics and his sisters dressed in drab woollen dresses.

"Isn't this nice?" Endron said. "We haven't all been in this room in years."

Magdyna nodded. "Easily."

"I suppose things must change," Endron lamented. He crossed his legs comfortably and leaned back. "How are you, Selcott?"

"I'm fine. What time is it?"

"An hour to noon," Endron said. "Ma came by this morning but she found you asleep and thought it would be best if you had some more rest." He glanced at his worn boots. "You've had a rough time of it lately."

Magdyna leaned over and put a warm hand on Selcott's shoulder. "Ma and Pa are very worried about you. You know they love you - none of us could bear to lose you."

"I know," Selcott said. "Did Avir Cardanus come to the Palace and brief Father?"

"Yes," Magdyna said. "He told us what happened. It's unbelievable." She cupped a chin with her hand and frowned. "It's disturbing."

"What are we going to do about it?" Selcott asked. "We have to find out who's responsible!"

"We will, Selcott," Endron said with a calming wave of his hand. "Don't worry. Father wants you to stay in the Palace for now. He thinks the Guithannan Army barracks are too dangerous."

"Maybe," Selcott said.

"I think Father is right," Endron said. "It's too open and there are too many auxiliary staff to account for. You'll be safer in the Palace."

"What about my training?" Selcott asked.

Endron shrugged. "Don't worry about it for now. Relax and enjoy your time off. It's still the Harvest Festival."

Selcott nodded. He slumped back onto the divan. "Very well." He caught a glance between Magdyna and Endron. Keilaine, who hadn't said anything yet, also sensed the exchange.

Selcott leaned forward. "What is it?"

Endron openly gazed and Magdyna, as if asking a silent question. Then, Magdyna nodded. Endron proceeded, "I believe Magdyna told you of certain roles that we must play." Selcott nodded and his older brother continued, "We agreed to tell you and Keilaine these things when the time was right. Years ago, Father and Mother thought it would be best to bring you into this information only when needed but Maggie and I convinced them that you and Keilaine should know of these things by your twenty-fifth birthdays. In light of recent events, our timetable has moved up slightly."

"It's mostly my fault," Magdyna said. "I'm sorry - I shouldn't have brought all of this on you in this way, being drunk and all last night."

"It's okay," Selcott said. He took a deep breath. "I think I'm ready to hear it all."

"Good," Endron said.

Magdyna leaned forward. "We spoke to Keilaine this morning so what we tell you, she already knows." Selcott nodded. "Good. Now as I mentioned last night, Borril Janssen is an agent for the throne - he works directly for Father and Mother. He was, of course, a Captain in the Guithannan Army before he was recruited. Now, he maintains his role in the army but serves as the eyes and ears for the throne."

"Doesn't Pa trust the Army?" Selcott asked. "What about D'Avernaux and Cardanus?"

"It's better to err on the side of caution," Magdyna replied.

"Are there other agents?"

"Yes," Magdyna said. "You don't need to know who they are but they are out there."

Selcott rubbed his saexum-collar as he thought about it. "There would be agents from other cities and states in Guithannan, wouldn't there?"

"Most probably, yes," Magdyna replied. "We know of several within the city already. They may or may not be aware of our knowledge - at least one was declared to Father by Denosto as a matter of courtesy. We did not return the favour, however."

"So," Selcott said. He found it difficult to speak for a moment and breathed deeply. "What about Jarol Cubet?"

At this, a silence blanketed the room, the private retreat. Endron and Magdyna both leaned back on their divans - Selcott could almost smell the anxiety emanate from them. Keilaine averted her gaze with a furrowed brow.

Finally, Magdyna said, "Cubet is dead." She stood up and slowly paced to a bookshelf. She seemed ready to say something but then caught herself. Instead, she continued, "Have you read this book, Selcott?" She withdrew a thick tome from the shelf.

Selcott recognised it as one of many history books he had been forced to study in his earlier years under formal tutoring. "Yes. It's History of Brookholm and Guithannan by Ardalon. Haven't touched it in years, though."

"Good enough," Magdyna said. She replaced the tome and turned slowly, leaning on the bookshelf and clasping her hands together. "So, you'll know that throughout the ages, there have been many difficult decisions made by governments on behalf of the people - for the good of the people."

"And killing Jarol Cubet is one of those decisions?" Selcott asked.

"Yes," Magdyna said. "I can't tell you the details of why he had to die. I don't even know them myself. But it was the cost of protecting this family, this dynasty."

Selcott grimaced. "Surely, there must have been another way. Send him to another city? Pay him to remain silent?"

Magdyna shook her head. "There wasn't - I wish there had been."

"So, his death is on our hands?"

"No!" Magdyna said. "His death is on my hands. I am responsible for it and no one else." Magdyna stepped over to Selcott and grasped his arms with her strong hands. "I don't want you or Laine to ever feel responsible for Jarol Cubet - I gave the order as the heir to the throne. No one else. This is part of what I must do as the future ruler of Guithannan."

Selcott closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I wish you hadn't told me of this. I was wrong. I don't need to know this."

"You must," Endron said as he stood up. "You have to grow up, Selcott. We're in it deep now, especially you. We have to find out who tried to kill you and you need to know everything that might have had a hand in the events leading up to last night. You may not have ordered Cubet's death but I distinctly remember you, Keilaine and your friends heading out to his estate for a specific reason. Now, while those mercenaries were not ours, you obviously ruined someone's plans." Endron took several steps forward and leaned over Selcott. "All actions have their consequences, brother. You must start taking responsibility for them."

"I will," Selcott said. He paused for a moment and then said, "So, someone else targeted Cubet that night? Not us?"

"Someone else," Magdyna said. A worried look crossed her face for a second but then it disappeared - the practised disguise of a stateswoman. "We will find out."

"Good," Selcott said. He looked at his sister and brother - suddenly, they seemed like strangers who had taken the place of the older, comforting siblings he had grown up with. They weren't his sister and brother, they were the Princess Heir and elder Prince of Guithannan.

"You should get some rest," Magdyna said, also standing up. "Of course, everything we have spoken of must remain between us and no one else. Not even our cousins."

Despite his mood, Selcott snorted with contempt. "Laria couldn't keep a secret if a grand fortune depended on it. Esela is worse!"

Magdyna and Endron smiled and for a second, Selcott was reminded of better times. "Good," Magdyna said. "We have to go back to the Palace. I think there will be a general assembly in the Royal Court this afternoon, if you would like to join us."

"Perhaps," Selcott said. He stood and hugged his siblings. "Take care."

"You too."

Keilaine stood and also bade them farewell. "I'll stay here a bit," she said to them.

As Magdyna and Endron left the common area, their footsteps echoing back up the staircase, Selcott flopped back onto the divan. Keilaine sat next to him.

"Do you believe them?" Selcott asked.

"Yes," Keilaine said. "We're not kids anymore, Selcott."

Selcott sighed and lay back. He let his gaze drift over the ever-familiar patterns in the Guithannite ceiling. "Sometimes, I wish we were."

Keilaine slid into a pew at the rear of the Royal Court. She had slipped through the Palace, largely unnoticed by any of the esteemed visitors making their way to the Court for the Assembly called by her father. Selcott had declined to attend and Keilaine understood why - she was not sure how she would have reacted after an assassination attempt.

The cleaning staff and pages of the Palace had performed a remarkable job of clearing the previous night's scraps, leftover food and general refuse from the Royal Court, restoring it to its normal glory - sleek wooden pews included. By the time Keilaine had arrived, however, the Court was full with representatives from virtually every guild, business and citizen group in the city. Although her father had called the Court together and was ostensibly nothing more than routine, rumours travelled fast.

"... and so I ask, not as the Lord of Guithannan, but as a father - please help us in this task." Keilaine's father, Martreas, held up his arms pleadingly. Elleva was seated on a simple chair, rather than one of the thrones on the dais at the end of the Court.

"To this end," Martreas called out, "I must declare a state of martial law until such a time that it is deemed safe for all of our families."

The audience in the Royal Court exploded in a flurry of shouts and accusations - as much aimed at Martreas as other groups. Keilaine kept a low profile as the yelling echoed throughout the Court, the dome above accentuating every sharp tone.

The blue-tabarded Royal Guards stationed at regular intervals along the walls of the Royal Court became visibly ready for trouble. Keilaine surreptitiously watched them tighten straps and shuffling grips along their various weapons. Over the tumult, she could hear someone calling for calm, for quiet. She craned her neck and saw several familiar figures standing up and move towards the dais in a show of support for her parents. Keilaine silently murmured to herself, "Spirits."

Reneld D'Avernaux, the Charge of the Guithannan Army, stepped next to Martreas. Although he was of a comparable age to Keilaine's father, he was still evidently a warrior even without armour and weapons. "Please, allow us to explain the situation!"

The audience in the Court gradually sat down, their protest at the declaration of martial law dying away. "Thank you," Reneld said. Keilaine could hear him perfectly despite sitting at the other end of the structure, due to the design and acoustic properties of the auditorium. The Charge continued, "The martial law will only be temporary - it will give the Guithannan Army and Royal Guards the authority to make the searches and arrests that we need in order to find the conspirators. There will be no disruption to normal routines. There will be no imposed curfew."

Keilaine could feel a pall lift from the Royal Court - the proposed martial law was far more lax than what she expected. With the man Polos already captured, perhaps his employer had already been identified.

Martreas said, "Thank you, Charge." Then, he addressed everyone, "It is an unfortunate time that we must do this - it was not a decision made lightly. Please be assured that martial law will be lifted as soon as is feasible. In the meantime, I implore every single one of you and your friends and your family - if there is anything that anyone knows about the assassination of Jarol Cubet and the attempted assassination of Prince Selcott, please inform us. We need your help - help keep everyone safe."

Keilaine felt her stomach lurch as a soft, polite applause rose from the attendees in the Royal Court. Someone yelled, "You'll get them, my Lord!" A chuckle rippled through the crowd. Keilaine could not even bear to frown - were lies and deception the keys to ruling Guithannan as well?

Perhaps emboldened by the previous man, someone stepped out from the pews and asked, "What of the Expatritors, my Lord?"

"What of them?" Martreas responded. "They are just a guild, a private organisation like any other. They will receive no special treatment from the Guithannan Army or from the Royal Guard."

"They are not privy to the authority granted during the period of martial law?"

"No," Martreas said with a grave shake of his head. "They are not. They are a private force - a guild of warriors, nothing more." At these words, a murmur spread through the Royal Court like a wildfire.

A woman in a fine silk dress, probably a noble, stood up and asked, "What of their fees for apprenticeship? If they are simply a guild like any other, how are they still allowed to take more cirrens as well as service from their novices?" Several other citizens voiced their agreement with the noblewoman's sentiments.

"What are you going to do about that?" said a man in rough common clothes.

Martreas put up his arms for silence and said, "This is not the time or place to discuss the matter of the Expatritors and their conditions of apprenticeship. Unless there are any more questions about the state of martial law, thank you for attending!"

It was obvious that there were several factions who wished to drag more answers about Martreas' failed attempt to bring the Expatritors into line with other guilds as far as apprenticeships were concerned. Keilaine stood up as her parents left the dais, shielded by Charge Reneld D'Avernaux and several Royal Guards. The questions from several people near the front became shouted demands but as soon as the entourage disappeared into the private rooms beyond the Royal Court, the yelling died down and the audience began to disperse.

Keilaine decided to leave and shuffled along, boxed into the flow of people by others around her. She could understand the frustration of the guild representatives and even the faction of nobles who wholeheartedly supported the Wrienswings - if, during the period of martial law, the Expatritors perceived any threat against them, there would be bloodshed in the streets of Guithannan. As far as she knew from information shared by Valedros, Keilaine was sure of the stubborn tenacity with which the Expatritors held onto their notion of independence.

She sighed. If anyone ever found out that the death of Jarol Cubet and the attempt on Selcott's life were unrelated - and that Jarol's had been a calculated murder - there would certainly be a war within Guithannan. Keilaine was just not sure who would take part. If it came down to it, she was not even sure whose side she would choose.

"No," Selcott said, "I'll stay here for now." He closed his eyes and leaned back.

"Very well," Keilaine said. "I'll come back when it's over and tell you all about it."

"Thanks," Selcott said. He heard Keilaine's soft steps head out of the room and down the stairs. He sighed - for whatever reason, he was still exhausted from the past day's events. As he tried to catch a nap, he found himself licking his lips, longing for some water. He opened his eyes and sat up; so much for some rest - he had a hang over to deal with.

Selcott stood up, visions of decanters of water swimming in his mind's eye. Then, he heard a tinny voice say, "Selcott!"

He turned around and on the window-sill stood a small man, a forester. He wore simple clothes that reminded Selcott of woodmen and hunters who lived close to Shadowdeep. The forester himself had a sombre expression and dark hair that only made his dark face unreadable. "I am Tome, a friend of Arcalante's. Can you come meet him or will he be forced to meet you here?"

The name of the forester was familiar - he had been at the abandoned Tanatri academy when Selcott had met Ceryn. "Outside. Tell Arcalante I can speak with him just outside."

Tome nodded, almost bowed. "Good." He leapt backwards off the sill and disappeared. Selcott almost cried out in warning but then caught himself - Tome was a forester and presumably knew what he was doing.

When he opened the main doors to the northern keep, Selcott immediately saw Arcalante waiting in the small courtyard. The Royal Guards were watching him intently and as Selcott stepped forward, strangely shifted their attention to him.

"Baron Casele is here to speak with you, Highness," one of the Guards stated.

Selcott nodded. "Thank you."

"Greetings, Selcott," Arcalante said, extending a hand to shake. There was no sign of either Ceryn or Tome.

"Good day to you, Arcalante." Selcott shook the baron's hand firmly. "What can I do for you?"

Arcalante motioned to the Palace with a jerk of his head. "Can you walk?"

"Of course," Selcott said. He followed Arcalante back towards the Palace. A pair of Royal Guards moved to join Selcott but he turned and shook his head.

"We're under strict orders, Highness," said one of the Guards.

"I have new orders for you then," Selcott said. "Stay here until I return."

"But, Highness, our orders are from your father."

"My father isn't here," Selcott shot back. "I am here. I am giving you these orders!"

The Guards glanced at each other and then back at Selcott. He glared at them without a single movement. After several seconds, the Royal Guards bowed and retreated back to their posts alongside their companions.

Arcalante said nothing as he resumed his stride back towards the Palace.

They entered a side-entrance that opened into a busy administrative area that catered for the day-to-day governance of the city. As a scribe with arms full of blank sheafs ran past, Arcalante said, "Perhaps some place quieter."

"Follow me," Selcott said. There were a myriad rooms within the Palace that were never used by any of the staff - governmental, servant or otherwise - and which no guests ever ventured into. The old hands in the Palace told stories to scare the young pages and servants such that they believed many spare rooms were haunted, much like the old Tanatri academy, but Selcott knew better. It was to his advantage that there were some places that no one bothered.

The bulk of the governmental staff remained on the ground floor so Selcott headed to the upper levels which were often deserted and eery in their silence. He opened the door to a large room that had once been a music practice hall. A heavy musk hit Selcott's nostrils and he felt the urge to sneeze.

"This will do," he said, rubbing his nose.

Arcalante hummed his agreement; Selcott realised why. Several instruments, hidden underneath large dusty cloths, still stood within the room. The room was devoid of any other furniture or furnishings; stark Guithannite was a rare sight within the Palace and it jarred Selcott, just as it surprised Arcalante.

As Selcott was about to shut the door, he heard a low buzz that would have been inaudible were it not for the still tranquility of this part of the Palace. Puzzled, he closed the door fully and when he turned around, Ceryn and Tome were perched on a covered harpsichord.

"Hello, Selcott," they said.

"Hello," Selcott said. "Excuse me for asking but how did you get in here?"

"Ah," Ceryn said conspiratorially, "that's a secret."

Arcalante smiled and Selcott let out a small, "Oh."

"They're foresters," Arcalante said with a nonchalant shrug. "They do these things - stay out of sight, travel long distances and so forth."

"I see."

Arcalante smiled. "Selcott - the reason I am here is to discuss the city."

"The city? Guithannan?" Selcott found an old stool that was used in conjunction with one of the harps. He sat down, making himself as comfortable as possible.

"Yes," Arcalante said. "Guithannan." He began pacing very slowly while the foresters seemed content to watch from the window sill. "I don't know a lot about Guithannan - I'll admit that much - but I know that it's tied to something, someone, very close to me."

"Who?"

Arcalante took a deep breath. "My mother." Selcott furrowed his brow, unsure what Arcalante's point was. The baron stopped pacing and sat on his haunches, continuing, "Ceryn says I can trust you."

"You can," Selcott said, leaning forward.

"Good. What I'm going to tell you should remain between you and me. Ceryn and Tome deduced it shortly after we met - another of their hidden talents." Arcalante gripped his elbows with either hand. "Selcott - I am a saexum hunter, it's what I do. But I am not from Eldaros. I am not even from Iacea." Selcott remained silent, thoughts churning. Arcalante said, "I am from across the Aeltag Sea. A land called Shalanta."

"I've never heard of such a place," Selcott said.

"I know," Arcalante replied. "It's complicated but suffice it to say, Shalantans are kin to Iaceans."

"How did you arrive here? Ocean travel from across the Aeltag is unheard of! It's impossible!"

Arcalante nodded and smiled. "That's another story entirely."

"Then, why are you here?" Selcott asked.

"To find my mother," Arcalante said. "At first, I hunted saexum to earn some cirrens. I did that for many moons. But after the barony of Casele was bestowed upon me, I've found it less necessary." Arcalante stood up and began pacing again. "I believe my mother is here in Iacea. Guithannan is essential, somehow - I don't know the why."

Selcott suddenly felt uncomfortable and began shifting around on his small seat. He didn't like hearing such personal information, especially when it was unrelated to saexum-hunting. "Is there something you need me for?"

"I'm not sure," Arcalante replied. "I tell you this because you are a Prince of Guithannan - you may be privy to information that might help me locate my mother." Arcalante shrugged. "Perhaps not today, perhaps in future. And when that time comes, you'll be able to help me."

"You seem certain of that," Selcott said with a shake of his head.

"I know. It's foolish," Arcalante said, "but it's all I have. I believe it. Guithannan is somehow essential."

"Would it have anything to do with my attack?" Selcott asked.

"I'm not sure," Arcalante said. He stopped pacing and crossed his arms. "There is something else at work in Guithannan - it may be related. I'm sure you've confirmed the death of Jarol Cubet by now?"

Selcott nodded, unwilling to speak lest he revealed too much.

"Whoever wanted him dead was desperate - no, perhaps `determined' would be better," Arcalante said. "They tried once and failed. So, they tried again. Now, it's not the assassination that's intriguing, it's the fact it took place in Guithannan. As I said, something's afoot."

"Do you think I'm in danger?" Selcott asked.

Arcalante seemed about to say something but then stopped. It was, of course, trivial for anyone to conclude that Selcott's life was threatened but Polos and his employers had come closer to killing a member of the Royal family than anyone else in the living memory of Guithannan.

Ceryn leapt from the window sill onto one of the harpsichords with an unnatural ease and nothing more than a soft patter of her tiny feet. "Let me tell you a story, Selcott," she said, her voice loud despite her minute stature.

"Very well."

"It's about the Tanatri," Ceryn began. "Generations ago, when the Tanatri were still a considerable force, there was one who was travelling on the Highway between Guithannan and Brookholm. On the road, he met a man travelling in the opposite direction to Guithannan. Naturally, the two stopped to speak with one another and it so happened that the other man's name was Dhagara. Now, the Tanatri were quite aware of Dhagara, his teachings and his travels - just as the rest of Iacea was. The Tanatri, however, considered Dhagara to be an incalculable threat.

"His ideas were revolutionary, dangerous, and as a result, the Tanatri had a standing order for all of their members to kill Dhagara if the opportunity arose. Mind you, the Expatritors also had a similar edict issued to all of their forces; the Tanatri were not the only ones fearful of Dhagara's influence and popularity."

"Did they fight?" Selcott asked, entirely engrossed by Ceryn's tale.

"Yes," Ceryn said. "Upon learning the man's name, the Tanatri immediately threw fire from his hands but such was the awareness of Dhagara that he dodged out of the way. He countered with makeshift weapons and sheer speed but the Tanatri erected shields of Tanatrum to protect himself. On and on, the battle raged - fields and trees were annihilated, the road was torn to pieces.

"Then came a lull, the Dhagara and the Tanatri eyed off each other, obviously a match, and they chanced a glimpse of their surroundings. The Tanatri was aghast at what he had done in order to obey his superiors - the Tanatri had always been a group of scholars, studying the Tanatrum and mastering the skills required to use it. Their expertise and talents were not to be used trivially or lightly and they were certainly not warriors.

"Dhagara was equally dismayed for rather than escaping and minimising the destruction, he had stayed to fight the Tanatri. He could have easily left the Tanatri without him being the wiser but Dhagara had been proud and stubborn. Upon realising their follies, the Tanatri and Dhagara parted ways."

Selcott nodded, urging Ceryn on. "Then, what happened?"

"That's it," the forester said. "That's all."

"That's it?" Selcott said incredulously. "What happened to the Tanatri? What happened to Dhagara?"

"Well, I don't think we have the time for a full recounting of Dhagara's life," Ceryn said with a dry tone. "But I expect that the Tanatri and Dhagara both learned something from that encounter."

Selcott leaned back slightly. So, it was one of those tales, he thought. Out loud, he said, "A respect for one another? And for the Tanatri, caution?"

"Yes," Ceryn said with a smile. "I think that's right. I have to admit that it's not something that I think about often."

Arcalante stepped over to the harpsichord and added, "You have to be careful, Selcott. If nothing else, take that with you. The Tanatri's folly was the notion that they could destroy Dhagara but ultimately, he ended up dying of nothing more than old age." Arcalante lowered his voice to a husky secretive tone. "Trust and respect must be earned - they do not automatically come with the title or occupation."

Selcott nodded, his thoughts drifting back to Magdyna's revelation about Jarol Cubet. Even though his stomach still churned with that knowledge, at least he knew what he had to do.

"Thank you, Arcalante," Selcott said. He stood up.

"Are you leaving?" Arcalante asked. Ceryn and Tome also stood, curious.

"Yes," Selcott responded. "There's someone I must speak to." Selcott shook Arcalante's hand and then nodded, almost bowed, to Ceryn and Tome. "I trust we meet will again. When we do, I hope that I may join you in your search for your mother as well as any saexum-hunt."

Arcalante smiled broadly. "That would be splendid. Farewell, Selcott."

"Farewell."

Selcott trotted out of the music room and down the nearest set of stairs. He headed towards the Royal Court where his parents were holding a general assembly - most probably about Jarol Cubet's death and Selcott's attempted assassination. As he jogged down the corridors, boots slapping against rugs and carpets, Selcott could not stop thinking about Ceryn's tale. With every step, he could feel a violent indignation rising - he was not sure what would happen but Selcott burned for answers. He would get them; he promised himself that much.

As he approached the corridors and rooms surrounding the Royal Court, Selcott took note of the stream of people shuffling towards the closest exit that led to the gardens in front of the Palace. They were citizens of all occupations, rank and class - nobles walked alongside peasants who were shoulder-to-shoulder with guild-men and women. For the moment, they seemed not to notice Selcott and were engrossed in small conversations with each other. Selcott caught snippets, words - something about Martreas and a ridiculous judgment.

Selcott sidled into one of the many meeting rooms that formed a labyrinthine network around the Royal Court and made his way towards the rooms that were usually used by his parents to prepare for the Court or to hold private meetings with other dignitaries. Moving from door to door brought back happy memories when he and his siblings and cousins played hide-and-seek, the honeycomb layout still fresh in his mind even after all these years.

Closer to the northern end of the Palace, Selcott caught sight of several Royal Guards disappearing into one of the larger conference rooms. The cerulean tabard jarred Selcott's thoughts and he focused back on the present. With only a few giant strides, he reached the door and yanked it open.

Within, his parents were in deep discussion with the Charge and Captain-General of the Guithannan Army as well as several high-ranking advisers. Everyone, Royal Guards included, raised their heads at the interruption. The guards relaxed when they recognised Selcott.

"Son, what is it?" Martreas asked.

"It's about Jarol Cubet," Selcott said. "I must speak with you and mother."

"The matter is not open for discussion," his father stated.

"Please, Selcott," Elleva said, "we are in an important meeting. Can't this wait until later?"

Selcott took several steps forward and planted his hands on the oak oval table. "No. I spoke with Magdyna and Endron. I wish to speak with you now."

Elleva sighed and pursed her lips. She glanced at Martreas and then said, "Oh dear."

"Very well," Martreas said. He stood and motioned to their advisers. "Can we please have a few minutes?" The officials nodded and began packing their papers, heading to the door. "I must apologise. D'Avernaux. Cardanus."

The responses were polite and mundane. Soon, everyone including the Guards had left. Selcott was alone with his parents.

Martreas and Elleva sat down. "Sit, sit."

Selcott pulled out one of the leather-bound chairs and sat. He abruptly said, "Who ordered the murder of Jarol Cubet?"

"Why the sudden curiosity?" Martreas asked.

Selcott furrowed his brow and tried not to let his anger seep into his voice. "I ask because Keilaine, Delmorgan, Cassine and I rode out to his estate and saved his life - only to have all of that thrown away because Jarol Cubet was scheduled for an assassination." He leaned forward. "You owe me an explanation!"

"We owe you nothing!" Martreas shot back. Selcott defiantly returned his stare.

Elleva lay a calming hand on her husband's arm. She said, "Selcott, you are virtually not in line for the throne any longer - these are matters of state. These are state secrets."

"I am your son," Selcott said. "And I am still a Prince of Guithannan. Do you truly want me to lead the military forces of this city? Do you really think it's a wise policy to lie to your children?"

His parents sighed - the exact reaction he got when he was a child and had a tantrum; he was about to get his way.

Martreas, visibly calm, leaned back. He gestured at Elleva and said, "You might as well. Who knows - perhaps by some cruel twist of fate, Selcott may end up Regent."

Elleva glanced at Martreas quizzically as Selcott watched the exchange. "Are you sure?"

His father nodded with an odd solemnity that might have been mistaken for resignation.

"Very well," Elleva said. To Selcott, she continued, "Of course, this may never leave your confidence, Selcott."

"I understand."

"Good. If we ever find out that you have betrayed our trust, there will be most dire consequences."

Selcott gave his parents a wry smile. "Don't try and scare me. I'm a bit old for that, don't you think?"

Elleva and Martreas both chuckled. "If you say so."

"Now, about Jarol Cubet," Elleva said. She straightened the wrinkles in her formal silk dress with a sweep of her hand. "He was a noble from a small family, a small holding - as you know. By whatever method - we do not know - he obtained information about the Wrienswing family."

"What about us?"

Elleva's eyes dropped to Selcott's collar and the saexum embedded within it. "Our saexum - the ones bound to you and your brothers and sisters."

Selcott's stomach lurched as it always did when it came to something so private. He said, "What did he know?"

"It was about the person who created your collars," Elleva said. "She was an Audonian; her name was Alvia DuFay."

"DuFay? Related to Signe DuFay?" Selcott asked, referring to the Charge Minor of the Expatritors in Guithannan.

Elleva nodded. "Yes." Selcott looked at his father, seeking confirmation but he was almost motionless.

"Is it true, Pa?"

Martreas said, "Yes, Selcott. She was a fine artist, Alvia. Truly, a master."

Selcott could not help a snarl creeping across his face. "But you said that the Audonians who created our collars were Karin Olivier and another one called Alfreas!"

"They merely copied the designs," Elleva said. His father looked away and when Selcott tried to meet his mother's gaze, she did the same. Finally, Elleva said, "We must be careful of whom we speak when we speak of Audonians and what they have done for our family. We had to protect Alvia."

"You both speak of her in the past tense."

Neither Elleva or Martreas said anything for a second. Then, Selcott's mother said, "She is dead. She died for similar reasons Jarol Cubet died."

"State secrets?" Selcott guessed. "That's what you call protection?"

"Yes," Martreas said. His voice strengthened as he added, "We did these things because they were necessary. Just as martial law is necessary to exercise peace in the city for the time being, we had to remove these threats to you and your brother and sisters."

"What threat?" Selcott asked, his voice slightly squeaking with frustration. "How many people have you had killed?"

"Please understand, Selcott - Alvia DuFay was the only person who held the secret to removing your saexum's collar. What price would you put on your saexum?" Martreas replied. "Tell me that!"

"It is surely not worth murder," Selcott said.

"And this is why you will never be a good ruler, Selcott!" Martreas thundered. He stood and leaned over the table towards Selcott. "There are tough decisions that need to be made every day! Spirits damn me, if your mother and I can't make them. This city would crumble!"

"You can't be sure of that!" Selcott yelled back. "You can only be sure of the fact you're a murderer!"

"Selcott! Martreas!" Elleva scolded. "Sit down, both of you!" Selcott almost felt his legs automatically obey his mother's command but he refused to back down until his father did. Elleva shouted, "SIT!"

Selcott sank back into his chair with a sullen thud. His father followed suit.

Elleva continued as if she had said nothing untoward. "Selcott - Jarol Cubet was prepared to sell information about Alvia DuFay. Nobleman or not, that would have constituted treason. If we had allowed a trial, as with other criminals, the secret of Alvia's death and your saexum-collar would have been revealed." She put a hand over Selcott's. "I will not ask you to imagine the carnage that would have followed when that information would have reached the ears of Signe DuFay - the commander of Expatritor forces within Guithannan."

His mother was right; it would have been a vicious and divisive civil war. The Expatritors most probably would have been reinforced by their brothers from Brookholm and the towns in between. That would have drawn most of eastern Iacea into Guithannan's internal problem and the city would have been irreparably harmed, economically, politically, socially. But Selcott could not shake one thought - he said, "It would never have been such a dilemma if Alvia DuFay had not been killed."

"There was no choice," Martreas said. "Cirrens cannot ensure silence and nor can a promise - it does not matter how trustworthy or honourable a person may be." He sighed and seemed, all of a sudden, simply an old man in an impossible situation. "You must know by now of the power a True Name can hold. By ensuring that your saexum could not be lost or even separated from your body, we rendered that possibility moot. We had to trade the life of one person for four - royalty, no less."

Selcott felt his stomach lurch again - the sheer disregard for life, the reduction to numbers was sickening. With the help of the oak table, he stood up and turned for the door.

"Where are you going?" Martreas asked.

"I have to go," Selcott said. "I need some air."

Elleva said, "You cannot leave the Palace, Selcott. Not until it's safe."

"I need to walk around the city," Selcott replied. "I have to clear my head."

"No," Martreas said. He yelled out, "Guards!"

Instantly, the door opened and several Royal Guards appeared. "Yes, Majesty?"

"Please escort my son to the northern wing," Martreas said.

Selcott spluttered, "What? Why?"

"He's feeling ill," Martreas said to the guards directly. "Please do not allow him to leave until my physician attends to him."

"Yes, Majesty." One of the Royal Guards reached for Selcott's arm. Selcott jerked himself backwards.

"Don't touch me - I know where the damned keep is," he said. He glared at his parents and they returned his gaze calmly and without a trace of distress on their faces. Selcott realised what was required in running a city, a state - it was the inability to feel, to ignore all emotion. Perhaps to have no emotion at all.

"I hope this is for the best," Selcott said. "The next time I leave the Palace, I shall not return."

Without another word, the blueguards marched him from the room and back to his home, his prison.

208

 

Copyright © 2009 by Ken Lim . All rights reserved unless specified otherwise above.

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