This chapter begins with a flashback sort of thing, and as I said – things are going to be more bloodthirsty.

Thank you to all the readers of this story: I know there aren't really very many, but you are all the greatest. I know I may not have as much experience as any of you in writing drama stuff and it may not be any good, but thank you all for taking the time to read this. I might be as stuck up as Ralon and I know a lot of people disapprove of me for various reasons but I use this story as a sort of refuge. I can't say that I don't care about how many reviews I get – I do care, I care a lot – but I want to write this, because I really think it has potential. So the point I'm trying to make here is thank you all for taking time to read this, and I do hope you'll tell me what you think.

I don't own the characters. I own the depressing story I put them in.

Chapter five: Punishment and Revenge

When he was younger, the year before he went to the palace, he once had a pet bird.

Ralon had found it, by the river that ran through fief Malven. He took it back home with him, and kept it, even though he knew his father wouldn't consent. It felt good to him, to be doing something that he knew he wasn't allowed. The sense of anarchy in him was strong. He wanted no authority over him, and trained the bird as if it was something of his and his alone.

He had kept the sparrowhawk in a closet, and all it ever saw besides the closet was him. He was the one that gave it food, and drink, and when he was angry the bird got neither. And like that, a few months went by. The closet began to stink. Ralon knew that it was bird of prey, that it needed to be let out eventually, but he didn't care. It was his bird. He could do anything with it. It had to remain loyal to him, and to him only. He could tell it what to do, and it would do it. And so intent on keeping this bird like this that he never once realised that the bird might revolt. Why would it want to revolt against the only thing that it knew?

Then came the day that the bird escaped. He wasn't in a good mood that day, not having gotten what he wanted to eat for lunch, and he trooped up the stairs to his chambers, no food or water in hand, to jeer at the bird, as if to say, 'it's your fault'. When he got there he found the closet door was ajar. He yanked open the door and found no bird inside. It had gone, against his wishes.

The bird couldn't have gotten out by itself – Ralon had closed the door too tightly, only a human could have opened it. Well, even if the bird could have gotten out he wouldn't admit it to himself, he was too proud. His first and only suspects were his brothers, who had come back to Malven from the training at the Palace for the summer. They would be the sort of people who let his bird out just to spite him, as they had done similar things before.

As Ralon was the youngest he was often picked on, but this lasted until he could stand up for himself. When this happened, his brothers found out that he, the youngest, was the biggest brat. He was the most proud, the most self-centered. He would make all his brothers pay, for thinking him an easy target. And though they never admitted it, they were afraid of him.

He had stormed down the stairs and through the house that day, knocking aside people, animals and furniture alike. He ran out the back and while he was rushing he had realised that he didn't know where he was intending to go – but he had to keep going because whoever who took his bird would be watching him, and he couldn't afford to seem indecisive. And finally, his feet took him to the river where he had first found the bird. The bird was there, alone, standing on the bank of the river and drinking water.

There was no-one else in sight.

There were no clues to tell him who had actually took his bird out of the closet. There was no-one on whom he could take revenge on, no-one he could make sorry for taking his bird.

Except the bird.

Maybe it could have gone out by itself, through the open window, he admitted to himself. But at any rate, the bird was at fault. Even if someone had taken it, it could have gone back to the closet. It could have fought whoever it was, trying to stay in the closet as this was what Ralon wanted. Ralon, its master, its overlord, who it was to obey. Yes, the bird was at fault. It had gone against his wishes, and it needed to be punished.

The bird hadn't seen him yet. Its senses had all been softened by living in the closet. Ralon removed one of his boot laces and crept up behind the bird. He suddenly pounced on the bird, pinning it to the ground, and while it struggled he tied a large stone to its feet.

The fact that the bird hadn't flown away before he got it convinced Ralon that he was doing the right thing, 'punishing' the bird. He was the one in power, and if the bird chose to defy him, it could take the consequences. And with being in power, he knew that when giving out a punishment it had to be harsher than the crime that was caused. Otherwise, the offender might attempt it again.

Holding the bird in both of his hands, he waded into the water until it was up to his waist. Then, he dropped the bird into the water. It sank with a plop, and he waded back out again without a second glance. The bird could never defy him again.

Ralon remembered his bird often now, especially when he was planning to revenge against Bleid. Well, he preferred to call it punishment. With people of equal status it was called revenge. When the prosecutor was of a higher class than the other it was called punishment. It was like this with the bird, five years ago, and it hadn't changed. Ralon was still the higher class. He would always be – he was of noble birth, he was smarter, he was educated – he was just better.

Ralon had started to hear rumours about him now. Rumours that he was a coward. Word of his stolen money had come out, and everyone wanted to know why he wasn't doing anything about it. Bleid and his friends were getting very confident.

He hated the comments about him, of course. They angered him. And no-one made any attempt to cover them up. It reminded him of gossiping servants in the Palace, back-stabbing 'friends', squabbling about money…

It all seemed so long ago when he was a noble, a page, a bully, but respected nonetheless. He hadn't thought about his disgrace much, he realised. It tormented still, and sometimes when he dreamt he dreamt about his father's hollow laugh, bouncing off the walls, which slowly closed in on him, suffocating him. And that laugh – it never left him alone. It was hard to imagine that all that had been merely two months ago.

He would've been a squire now. All his year-mates would be squires – Gary of Naxen, Raoul of Goldenlake, Alex of Tirragen, his friends. What if he had stayed? He knew that he'd never make it through the Ordeal – was it worth it to spend just four more years as a noble and then die, shaming his family? Was it better the way he did it, leaving? Was he right, choosing to go and live at Malven? It was ironic, though, because he didn't end up living at Malven. If he did, he wouldn't be going through this torturous life.

He wouldn't have to live through Bleid's tormenting comments, since he never bothered to quieten down when Ralon was near. Ralon overheard from Alya the cook talking to the supervisor that Bleid was planning to leave the village soon. He would, wouldn't he, thought Ralon. He's got all my money. Ralon knew that he'd have to act, fast, or he'd lose his chance of revenge forever. The trouble was how was he to get his revenge?

Bleid announced his departure. He and his friends were leaving the mining village, and he stood up and made a speech on all of their behalf one night at dinner.

"Dear friends," he said, his voice carrying dramatically throughout the hall. "We are sorry to leave you all here at this village, but my friends and I have decided that it is time to move on in life. Go to a different place, and see where our luck takes us." He paused for effect there, and Ralon thought that he would've rehearsed this many times. His rugged accent had been forced out of the speech, and his voice was theatrical.

No-one was really listening, but he kept going anyway. "I know that some of you may not have liked me during our acquaintance" here, he flashed a smirk at Ralon "but now you can rejoice that I will be gone. For the rest of you, we give you the best of wishes – it has been a pleasure."

Bleid sat back down again, his friends cheering and clapping, the most of the rest of the hall gave him some polite, indifferent applause. Ralon watched Bleid lounging in his chair, smirking and looking like some content cat, and decided that he would have to go after Bleid.

He rode through the forest, but he couldn't see any signs of Bleid of his friends. Ralon was beginning to get a little worried. What if this wasn't the path they had taken?

He kept riding, but was still disorientated. But then he heard the unmistakable sound of a crunch of leaves on the ground. Ralon smiled to himself. They were around – they were just hiding.

Ralon dismounted, squinting around to see if he could see any traces of them, and suddenly found himself surrounded.

Bleid and his friends stood in a circle around him, all of them looking directly at him, expressionless, except for Bleid who was smiling. He had his hands tucked in his belt and Ralon's money purse was tied to it, next to his dagger. Ralon's teeth clenched.

"What do we have here, boys?" Bleid asked lazily. Ralon realised, with a jolt, that his smile reminded him of himself. "If it isn't our young friend Zen…"

A little cliffhanger ending, just to get you curious. My next chapter shall include a fight and blood. This story's going to turn out to be quite gory. How appropriate is it that I'm also reading a murder mystery?

Thanks to my friend, reviewer and critic, Lil Miss Barton.