I know, I have four other fanfics going, but I needed to write this.

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"We're back. Oh, it's good to be home," Ilane of Mindelan said. Her voice and face were devoid of emotion, but Kel knew she was happy.

"Yes," said Piers of Mindelan, "Home. And all the affairs of the estate to look after. I almost wish we were back in the Islands."

"I don't," Kel said. Keladry of Mindelan had been raised in the Islands, and hid all emotion, just as her parents did. "I want to be a knight."

"No, Keladry," he said, firmly, "A woman's place is at home."

"How can you say that?" she asked, "After all your time at the Yamani court."

Piers shook his head, keeping his face unreadable. "I worked in the court. That does not mean I agree with their ideas."

"But you let me train," Kel protested, "You let me learn."

Her father shrugged. "It was a diplomatic opportunity. You leave for Convent in the morning."

Her mother had not protested. Ilane of Mindelan was a strong willed woman, but she would not go against her husband.

Kel sat in the coach staring miserably out at the rocky countryside. Her backside and legs were numb from sitting still for so long, and she was bored. Her glaive sat on the seat across from her, and her trunk was tied to the top of the coach.

She had been traveling for three days, but they were nearing the border between Scanra and Tortall now. The Convent was situated dangerously close to Scanran territory.

Kel shifted lightly. Suddenly there was a jolt. The steady clip-clop of the horse's hooves on the ground halted. There was the rasp of a sword being pulled from its scabbard, and a sickening squelch, as the sword was stabbed somewhere soft and fleshy. Likely the stomach, Kel thought. The driver. It was him, probably killed by Scanran raiders. Although they were crude, they were rumored to be so fast that the victims usually had no chance to cry out, before they were killed.

She shivered. They would be coming into the carriage after her next, and she could do nothing to stop them from killing her as well.

But she could go out fighting.

She crept silently to the other side of the carriage and drew the curtains closed.

She lifted her glaive, wincing at the clunk that it made when it banged against the seat. She unwrapped it delicately, savoring the silky feel of the fabric. She gazed at the weapon reverently for a moment, at the way the silvery blade gleamed in the dull light, at the shine of the polished teak handle.

Kel grinned humorlessly and wrapped her loose skirt around her waist. She hefted the glaive and opened the door.

There stood the Scanrans. Three big, blond, ox-like men who stood chuckling at the coach drivers lifeless, bloody, corpse. The leader was obvious; a man of almost seven feet, with thin, shiny braids woven in his loose, chin length hair. He was handsome, or would be, if not for the jagged scar that trailed from chin to forehead, deadening his left eye. His remaining eye was a pale, watery blue. His mouth was cruel, his nose strong, his jaw covered in stubble. He wore a filthy blue shirt, brown breeches, and a bearskin cape.

The other two looked much like him, only shorter, less commanding, and less handsome.

Kel walked silently around the coach until she was standing directly behind the men, then said, "I am Keladry of Mindelan. You have attacked my coach."

Then, remembering the few words of Scanran she had learned in the Yamani Isles, she said, "Jag heter Keladry os Mindelan. Du attag och bil jag."

They stared at her a moment.

Then they burst out laughing.

Kel supposed she did look rather strange, a little girl with her dress tied up, holding a weapon twice her height.

The Scanrans kept laughing. Finally, the leader said, "Jag heter Davin. Du widian, Keladry os Mindelan."

My name is Davin. You are dead, Keladry of Mindelan.

Kel shuddered and lifted her glaive. They laughed again.

She took a stance, and swung the glaive up and down, slicing the leader, Davin, right in the arm. She pulled the glaive away, and hacked at the shortest of the men, but did not make contact. She pushed on the glaive, but it didn't move. She turned, heart filled with dread. Davin was holding the blade of the glaive in his bare hand. Blood was flowing freely from the wound on his forearm and palm. A drop landed on her forehead. She wiped it off, terrified. Her mind reeled. Was it better to leave the glaive and run, and hope she was discovered, to surrender, and likely be killed, or to keep on trying to fight her way out?

As it happened, she wasn't given a choice.

Kel heard the thunk of metal on metal, and felt a cold, sharp blade at her neck.

"Should I kill the girl?" The one with the knife at her throat asked in Common.

"No."

Kel squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the blade to cut through her throat.

Nothing happened.

"No," Davin repeated, "No, she will be a hostage. Tie her hands. Take the horses, and hurry!"

Kel's hands were bound roughly around the neck of a black gelding. Davin sat on the bay, holding her glaive, and the men used the other two. Kel's gelding was placed on a lead, held by Davin, and towed unceremoniously through the forest.

Kel swallowed a sob, and looked up at the bright midday sky.

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