This is the first chapter for my Kris Eleven Challenge, I doubt I'll actually be able to get it all finished before the deadline, but I'll finish it, one way or another.

o0o0o0o0o

It was early, the pale light of the Capchen sun rose over the city of Ninver, the weak light blocked by the smoky haze that continually perpetuated the cramped, sprawling city. The peat fields that surrounded the city smoked from subterranean fires contributed to the unpleasantness of Ninver, but the two murky, sludge filled rivers that forked around the river delta the place was built on gave the whole area the rancid smell of decay.

Standing on the deck of the small ferry that was wading itself across the muck, Trisana Chandler wished more than ever that she had ignored the letter. Ripped it up, even.

The red haired bespectacled mage scowled as she fingered the worn piece of parchment, the ink slightly smudged from her anxious reading and re-readings. The creases had deepened to the point where the merest touch let the letter flop open, sending another flush of unease through Tris as she traced the letters again….

Dearest Sister,

If you are reading this, then the conditions have become desperate enough for my servant to see this delivered to you. I regret I cannot send this to you personally, as even now, the Emperor, crowned just this past fortnight, is watching House Chandler.

I will be frank with you, if we do not sign the new Merchant Charter, he will execute everyone connected to House Chandler. There is a reason he is known as the Scarlet Sword, he has a penchant for killing even the pets of those he executes. You are safe, sister, under the protection of the Duke of Emelan and his heiress, Sandrilene fa Toren who I understand you regard as siblings of a sorts.

My son, your nephew, is not.

I married just five years ago, at the insistence of Father, to the cousin of the Old Emperor. Now, as she has left me a widower just this past spring, my son is the next in line and a threat to the current imperial rule. I worry for him, Trisana, the Emperor is a ruthless man and has not let age stop his bloody mark on Capchen.

Fanatics have overrun the streets; anyone who doesn't worship the Emperor is accused of heresy and treason and is executed by fire. The truth doesn't matter anymore; when you have been accused they threaten everything and everyone you love and torture you to confess.

I know I wasn't there when you needed me, Tris, but I don't want my son to die. I want him to pass his fourth birthday and learn how to walk and talk and love and-

A few spots of ink betrayed the authors trembling hand.

I want you to take him away from here, Tris. I want him to be safe away from this hell that used to be our home. There have been rumors of the Emperors men moving in, even as I write this letter to you, and I know that the life line of House Chandler is growing short.

Your servant,

Niall Chandler

Tris sighed as she tucked the letter back into the small leather pouch that hung from her side, the symbols for safety and prosperity shining a golden glint of magic in the corner of her eye.

Niall…it had been ages since she had thought of her younger brother. He had only been six when she had been sent away for the first time, and only vague recollections of a giggling little boy with unruly amber hair and bright blue eyes remained of her estranged sibling.

Tris generally wasn't a very forgiving person, heaven knows the grudge she had against her father and mother hadn't ended with their deaths only the past year. They had been the first to start the bitter road she had tread until she had finally come home to Discipline with her true family. However, even she couldn't leave a child to be executed, no matter what lineage, or what they were related to.

As the ferry touched to the dock, Tris absently threw a few coins to the scruffy ferryman before stepping off onto the hard wood of the quay. The weather witch had to choke down the lump that had appeared in her throat as she turned to see the tall creaking masts, each flying the flag of Capchen, two white rampant griffins on a black field, and the merchant house flag beneath it. Most of them were adorned with a blue coat of arms on a white field, the letter C barely visible while they flapped in the wind.

House Chandler.

Tearing her eyes away, Tris stiffly managed to get to the street, mechanically following her feet as they remembered the twisting route to the merchant quarter, the winds that clung to her like a second skin rustling and snapping like her fraying temper.

She knew she shouldn't have opened that letter.

o0o0o0o0o

It was night when Tris could finally manage to drag herself to the towering gates of the House Chandler complex. The moon was barely half full, but bright enough to light to streets that were unlit by lanterns. The huge stone columns, carved into ornate laurels and flowered trees were silent sentinels, echoing the arguments of decades past…

Tris shook her head as she passed through the gates, perturbed by the silence of the courtyard. Usually, unless it had changed since she was eight, it would be teeming with the Night Watch, the hired guard the House used to protect its inhabitants.

Where were they?

Tris exited the courtyard, striding down the long hallway, wind licking at her heels. Then she turned onto the main courtyard.

The heady, rusty smell of blood permeated the air like foul smoke. The ground, once dirt, was clotted a dark red that squelched like marsh mud beneath her shoes. The white washed walls of the small empty space was painted with a spatter pattern of red, seeping from the bodies pinned to the walls by crossbow bolts-

Tris turned away, her internal fight with her gag reflex losing as she lost the remains of the lunch she had eaten at the inn. She had seen the dead, at Tharios, killed by a vengeful prathmun serial killer, but nothing like this. These bodies were desecrated, slashed and hacked like carcasses before a butcher,.

Men, their faces caught in terror, terror for their families or for their lives, Tris didn't know.

Women, dried tear tracks on their stiff faces as their faces contorted in pain or grief.

Children, confused, scared, alone eyes open and trusting, even as the sword came down-

"Mama?"

Tris started, quickly turning to face the voice that had called out from amid the carnage. The two braids that framed her face sparked and she gathered her magic to protect herself.

"Mama! Mama!"

Tris's head snapped to the left, her eyes narrowing as she tried to pinpoint the panicked child. Movement caught her eye and she quickened her step as she approached a shifting horse corpse. She recognized the stallion as her father's pride thoroughbred, it's eyes milky and white. The white of the horses body was stained with puddles of red on it's hide from spear wounds to the flanks and throat, it had clearly been attacked and killed with about as much mercy as anyone else.

"Help me!"

Tris knelt down and lifted the horses heavy neck, dragging it off of the small body it had been crushing and blinked as the small red-headed blur sprung up and tackled her middle. She looked down to see the crying face of a small toddler looking up at her, his bright green eyes puffy with tears as snot ran down his nose. "Da won't wake up!" the little boy cried, his voice echoing over the silent courtyard. "I tried to shake him awake but juice kept coming out and Gran'pa and Gran'ma won't either and-"the boy relapsed into gibberish, too tired and hysterical to be coherent.

"Shhh." Tris whispered, partly to reassure the little kid and partly to keep away from any straggling killers. The little boy clutched at Tris's wide breeches, burying his wet face into its folds.

"Da said you would come." The little boy murmured, exhausted from his small episode. "He said you was my Aunt and you'd keep me safe, just like Mama."

Tris looked down at the little boy. Could it be?

"Is your name Jared?" Tris asked quietly, kneeling down to the little kids' small height.

"Ya'" Jared mumbled, slipping a little on the blood-slicked ground. "'m Jared."

"What happened?" Tris murmured, wiping away some of the filth away from his face with the hem of her skirt.

"I was 'avin a bath. Lotsa' yellin'. Red guys' wit' long pointy sticks and swords, like the stuff Da tells me not to touch." Jared wiped his dripping nose off on the back of his hand. "Da told me to 'ide. Got quiet. Da won't wake up." Jared looked up at her with anxious eyes. "He said if 'e wouldn't wake up you'd take care of me."

Tris felt her face soften. "Come on." She muttered, taking his hand in hers. They had only gone as far as the main gates when Jared started to lag, his green eyes drifting shut as he stumbled along.

Tris sighed and picked up the five year old, her winds reaching out to caress Jared's filthy blood and dirt covered face and envelope him in a cocoon of winds imbued with the warm thrum of her magic. Jared found himself lulled into oblivion, and the next time he would awake, it would to the rocking of a ship back to Emelan.