'Nother update! I'm getting a lot more writing done then I thought I could!

I've started another story, (no, I'm not going to dump you guys for it) this one for Twilight. Its post Breaking Dawn and about (dare I say the name? Whatever. I'll just do it. ) Renesmee, and its called That I Must Love a Loathed Enemy. I got the name from a line in Romeo and Juliet. I'm really excited about it! Its almost as fun as this story.

Misslune - I'm glad you approve! I'll keep your words in mind. I'm sorry to say though that I can't give definite days for updating. I'm busy with family a lot at the moment. But I can promise you that I will update, even if it takes a while.

Michigander3893- I hope this relieves your pain. ;)

About Ankhel's name: it starts 'ah' as in 'ah, what a lovely cup of tea,' not 'AHHHHH THE MONSTER'S GOT ME BY THE ANKLE!'

'Kay?

Also, telnara is a standard Scanran greeting, like hello.

Lizzy

"No," my breath caught in my throat as I caught a glimpse of whirling arms, legs, a frightened face. "Its a man!"

There was no time to act, to move, to think. One moment we were gaping up the steep slope at the plummeting figure, the next he had thudded straight into Edril, effectively stopping his wild tumble downward and knocking to old man off his feet.

For a long moment he just lay there, his body obscured by the heavy furs that he wore, his eyes covered by what appeared to be a strip of tough bark with slits to see through. His only truly distinguishing feature was his decidedly square jaw.

Dazed, the man stumbled to his feet, looking at each of us in turn, Edril cursing on the ground, me staring dumbly, Rosto crossing his arms and assuming his 'I'm going to get some answers' expression. The man's gaze lingered on him. He peered disbelievingly at him for a moment, then exclaimed, "Rosto!" and continued on in rapid Scanran. I was surprised -- and very pleased -- to understand the greater part of what he said.

"Telnara, Rosto, my brother in battle, what brings you here to the edge of the halsfag?" I couldn't understand the last word.

"And you, my friend?" Rosto replied, as unsettled as any self respecting Rogue will allow himself to be. "I never thought to see you again, let alone in such a manner."

The man snorted. "But I am glasnorok now. Anyone maybe so in this wreck of a country if he can prove he has some courage and much gold."

Rosto frowned. "But you always -- ah, I understand. Claria. She is still at court, then?"

"Love makes a fool of the strongest warrior," the man shrugged, then his eyes flicked to me. "Even heartless Rosto?"

"Not at all," Rosto said smoothly. "This is my cousin, Rebakah Cooper. Things are rough in Tortall for any with Scanran blood right now. Beka, this is my oldest friend, Ankhel Durvast-Mitten."

"Telnara," I mumbled. Nice to know that somethings never changed; I was just as shy in Scanran as Tortallan. Though, judging by his last name, I had every reason to be nervous. 'Fear his rage,' it meant.

"But what are you doing here, Ankhel?" Rosto demanded, and I couldn't tell if he was angry or it was just my being unused to the rough sounds of the language. "You know the ice far to well to fall by chance!"

Ankhel shook his head, "Nor did I." He muttered a handful of curses I'd heard many times before from Edril.

Edril! I glanced at him to check that he had survived the collision without scathe. He was sitting in the snow, mouth turned sourly down, arms crossed petulantly. I decided not to worry about him.

"I was pushed by an assassin," Ankhel sighed. "Its not the first time, either. Sometimes I wonder how the gods-blighted country has stayed together as long as it has."

"Is it wise to talk so?" Rosto asked carefully, a warning and a question.

A short bark of laughter was his reply. "Don't fear for me, my friend. Treason is fashionable at the moment." He sighed again. "A hundred years ago, civilization had never been heard of in Scanra. It won't take another hundred years for it to be forgotten again. It makes one wonder, does it not, if that old king of legend, what was his name?"

"Everald the -- "

"The Hope Bringer, I remember now. It makes one wonder if he really did Scanra such a favor."

The name stirred something in my memory. A story I'd heard as a little girl in Mutt Piddle Lane. King Everald of Tortall had been brought up alongside a man of Scanra, Hirram. Together, they'd fought to establish Hirram as the King of Scanra -- a country accustomed to the warring of clans and authority coming from the strongest and the toughest. The attempt had been shockingly successful, for a while at least.

"Things are worse then I had imagined . . . " Rosto murmured, then looked back up at Ankhel. "What have you done to have assassins after you?"

"Nothing, and that's the worst of it. They weren't after me, but Coval Minstanav, our bold King Questiar's favorite official."

"Have you no respect, boy?" Edril growled as he at last clambered to his feet, glaring.

It was hard to see behind the slits in his mask, but I could have sworn that Ankhel rolled his eyes before turning to face Edril.

"My apologies, Master Gietonbrere. I trust you are in good health?" Not waiting for an answer, he turned back to Rosto. "Your sister has missed you more then you can know," he said. "You will see her, I hope, before you do anything else? She says that since you left, there's no one to have informed conversation with anymore."

"What, are you not able to keep up with Claria, then, Ankhel?"

Ankhel smiled. "I asked her the same thing, and you know how she replied? 'There are better uses for you then conversation.' "

Rosto chuckled. "That sounds like the Ria I remember. Is she as good a fine lady as she was a thief?"

"To tell the truth, there's not much difference."

I really wanted to meet Claria. She sounded very . . . personable.

"So you plan to establish yourself at Questiar's court, such as it is?" Ankhel asked.

Rosto smiled a many-layered smile. "Yes, that is my plan. Besides, Cousin Beka has a great wish to see the Scanran Court while it lasts."

"About as much as she wishes to die a slow death by torture, so help me" I muttered in Tortallan.

Rosto turned face me, his eyebrow predictably raised. "I thought this was your idea, Beka," he replied in the same language. "Not getting cold feet, are we?"

"If I am," I answered, scowling at him. "Its because of all the sarden snow you have in this poxy place."

A slow smile spread across Rosto's face, and he looked at Ankhel, who in turn let a grin break out across his face. Too late, I remebered that there was a possibility that Ankhel Durvast-Mitten spoke Tortallan every bit as well as Rosto had done the first day I met him, fresh out of Scanra. Had probably learned it at the same time as Rosto.

I could feel a flush stealing across my face as, at the same time, the two Scanran men turned to grin at me.

"I can't wait to introduce her to Claria," said Ankhel fervently.

To be continued . . .

Remember to visit my profile and vote on the poll! Thank you all for the reviews! --Lizzy