Greetings!

I'm taking a short break from my other story (writer's block - shudder). So here's a story that's been stewing in the back of my mind for a while. Its not my usual style, but . . . I'm already stuck in the plot like a fly in a web. It's too fun!

Hope you enjoy!

Sir Gwydion

Chapter One: Hope in the Darkness

It had been three years to the day since Beka left Corus for Port Caynn on Dog business. She'd been excited, he remembered. After all, it would be her first ever trip out of the Capital City of Tortall.

But it was an ill-fated journey, Rosto the Piper thought, turning over in bed to face the wall.

Beka never made it to Port Caynn, but was ambushed on the road. Dead or kidnapped, no one knew. Three years to the day since she disappeared, three years since the Rogue of Tortall's heart quietly broke, three years since he became a harder man than any should be.

Three years since he'd been able to close his eyes and dream of — anything. Anything but her.

Though it was still an hour until dawn, Rosto got up and dressed. He would get no more sleep that night. He lit the candle on his desk and sat down to read the various reports sent to him by his rushers.

Calvahast was smuggling mage-spelled items into the Lower City, paying neither the King's tax or the Rogue's . . . Parmon had information about a crooked Dog who was playing his own game with the law . . . Ethibrel the dancer was found dead in the street the night before —

He paused. He'd known Ethibrel the Fair, a well-enough mot who could dance like a leaf in the wind, and smile charmingly enough to break any cove's heart — unless, of course, it was already broken.

He'd never been able to get a satisfactory answer as to what Beka's errand in Port Caynn had actually been. The only man who knew all the details was the Lord Provost himself, and he'd never tell the Rogue a thing as apparently important as that.

Time passed and the sun rose, leaving the candle flame pale and ghostly in the clear light of day. Rosto blew it out and went to his mirror to see that he wasn't too much of a fright. There had been a time when he spent more time on his appearance than was reasonable, vain as a peacock of his white-blond hair and midnight eyes. But there were little creases around his mouth and eyes now, testament to the few smiles he'd had cause for, and a hundred years' worth of frowns. Threads of true white were almost invisible in his fair hair, but there nonetheless.

There was a light tap on his door, and Kora came in, looking troubled.

"What?" he asked without much interest.

"Truth to tell, I'm not sure I should say." Two small vertical lines formed on her forehead. "It's probably nothing, and it might make everything much worse, but — you ought to know."

"What?" he repeated with a little more focus. "I ought to know what?"

Wordlessly, Kora handed him something small and slightly tarnished. He examined it closely, and his breathing gave a slight hitch.

A small, flat metal bird rested on his palm, wings spread as if for flight. Its eye was a polished black stone, and a slender chain of silver links looped through the hook on it's back. It was a necklace, formed like a pigeon.

But more then that, it was a necklace he knew. After all, it had been him who had given it to—

"Beka," he whispered.

X

The young woman pushed a strand of her light blond hair back off her forehead, dark brown eyes alert as she watched the Rogue hold court over his Rats. She was leaning back against the wall in the darkest shadow she could find. It hadn't been easy to get in to the Dancing Dove considering who and what she was, but with the help of a long, concealing cloak, a sidelong glance at a foolhardy young Rat and the exchange of a few coins, she had managed it.

For a moment, she watched Rosto the Piper dispense 'justice,' though in her tucked-away corner, she could only hear scattered phrases. What had Beka seen in him? she wondered. From what she could see, he was only a Rat, albeit their king. He had a grim, forbidding air about him that instinctively made her want to back away. Who could be so attached to that embodiment of the frozen north?

Then he turned and his face caught the light, and she could imagine him as he'd been then, handsome as the sunrise. And he still was, she realized, if you could see past the stern exterior. Beka had always said he was full of mischief. No longer so. He looked as if he hadn't laughed —

For the past three years, she realized, and bit her lip. Those years hadn't been easy for her either.

But now wasn't the time for such thoughts. Now was the time for doing what had to be done. She was ready now.

In a swift movement, the young woman pushed away from the wall, her cloak fluttering to reveal that her slender form was clad in the black uniform of a Dog, her baton at her hip. With brisk, efficient strides, she made her way through the crowded tavern to the very foot of the Rogue's dais. Her posture demanded his attention.

Black eyes flickered over her, assessing her. "What do you want?" the Rogue said at last, his tone guarded. "You aren't one of my court, nor have I seen you before." The unspoken words 'I would have remembered' hovered in the air. She cut a striking figure.

She let a faint, half-mocking smile play over her lips, hoping that she could make him curious enough to agree to her request. "Only to talk, Master the Piper." She called him by the name, though everyone in the Lower City knew that their Rogue hadn't played his pipe for years. Three years, to be exact.

"Then talk." he said.

"In private, " she pressed.

Aniki the Swordswoman — a worthy adversary by all accounts and Queen of the Court of the Rogue, the woman knew — stood from the lesser throne and stalked over to her. "Unless I miss my guess by far, mistress, I know your 'business,' and the Rogue has no wish to tarry with women of your profession." It was said in an undertone, but venom suffused the words.

The young woman stared back at her unflinchingly, ignoring the implication that she was seeking to seduce the Rogue. "You've missed your mark by far and away, Lady. And I assure you, it is speech I wish for, nothing more. But speech of the gravest import."

"You don't speak like you're from the Lower City," Aniki said.

"No," the answer came simply. "I don't."

"Very well," said the Rogue. "We'll talk in the back room. Aniki, if you would," he gestured toward the throne, and she took his place as he led the young woman back past the kitchen to a small, dim room with only a table and chairs in it.

"You're a Dog," he said flatly, and she nodded, unsurprised that he had noticed. No one became Rogue of all Tortall on luck alone, after all.

"And I wager my weight in gold your not here to collect the Happy Bag." This time she shook her head.

"I'm here because I need your help," she said at last, a tinge of reluctance tugging at her words.

"And why should I help you, and insolent Dog no more than sixteen years old —just a Puppy, most like?"

"I'm eighteen, and a full Dog, but that doesn't matter. I need your help, and you will give it because you want what I want just as much as I do. More, maybe, if she wasn't mistaken."

"She?"

The young woman squared her shoulders and steeled herself. "Rebakah Cooper. I'm going to find her."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and there was a pause before he said, in a voice that had a slight tremor to it, "And what have you to do with Beka Cooper?"

The young woman bit her lip. "I'm Diona Cooper, her sister."

Edited August 29, 2010. 1,523 words.