And fifteen years later, our story really begins. See the first installment for all disclaimers/warnings.

Destiny Deferred

Fully fifteen years had passed since the black day when the Karayan Chief Lucia died fighting in a faraway land for a cause she believed in enough to give her life for. The people had mourned their loss deeply, but time and necessity allowed such wounds to heal. The harsh truth of the matter was, if the Karayan Clan was to survive, they couldn't dwell on matters of the dead and lost.

The Zexen Ironheads were far too greedy to let the Karayans mourn their loss in peace.

Thus, a new Chief had eventually risen to continue protecting their lands, customs, and people. Life went on as it always did, leaving the past and what might have once been behind.

That particular morning, things appeared peaceful and calm enough. The skies were clear azure dotted with fluffy clouds, promising fair weather ahead for the workers, warriors and wanderers who inhabited the village of the Karayan Chief. A warm, playful breeze swept from the southwest, strong enough to stir the long grass of the valleys and fields, yet gentle enough to do nothing more than tickle the tanned skin of most of the inhabitants.

Not all of those in the village shared the bronzed skin of those who lived freely in the vast plains, however. One such individual exited the hut he had been resting inside and looked about, feathers rustling in the playful wind.

"Oh, wonderful," he muttered underneath his breath. "So much for maintaining my appearance before my meeting with the Chief…"

Sergeant Jordi of the Duck Clan shook his head ruefully, thankful at least for the fact that the Karayan Chief wasn't one to judge others solely by appearances. Such petty judgements were more in line with the elitist snobs of the Zexen Council than with the far-roaming tribesmen.

Still, it was a subject of minor annoyance to him. The sergeant took great pride in serving as a representative of his kind, in showing skeptics just how powerful a Duck Clan soldier was. For several years he had been a wanderer, traveling around the vast Grasslands and even, occasionally, into other territories… wherever fate or his latest assignment sent him. He preferred leaving as many favorable impressions as possible behind him.

But here he already knew he was among friends. His travels always seemed to lead him back to the Karayan village, the closest the tribe had to a capital city, mainly because this was where the Chief and some of their strongest warriors resided. Here, the people knew the mallard well, to the point where they generally referred to him as simply 'Sergeant Joe'.

This village was more or less a second home to him… particularly since he hadn't been back to the Duck Clan Village in years…

But now was not a time for such musings, not when he had duties to attend to.

Shaft of his halberd resting comfortably on his shoulder, the sergeant strode purposely toward his destination. The dirt pathways that wound freely through the village loosely connected all the scattered huts of woven grass, leather, dirt and stone. His destination was the largest of those huts, located in the rough center of the settlement.

While walking along, Sergeant Jordi's deep violet eyes wandered, sweeping from side to side as he instinctively cased his surroundings. No sign of any problems greeted his idle gaze… indeed, the village seemed remarkably calm today, a good match for the weather.

Something bumped against his leg, and the mallard looked down to behold a small, lovingly made leather ball resting against his feet. A little girl ran over and tugged on his sleeve. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a spiky ponytail, but several strands had already escaped their bonds and hung freely over her face, drifting lazily in front of huge, expressive amber eyes.

"Excuse me," she said, "can I have my ball back?"

Sergeant Jordi picked up the leather sphere and handed it to her. The girl grabbed it tightly with tiny, chubby hands and smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Sergeant!" she piped, then turned and ran off, holding her treasured toy tightly.

The duck looked after her for a long moment, the slightest shadow briefly passing over his eyes. However, it might have been merely one of the wispy clouds drifting across the sun. Whatever the case, it swiftly passed, and Jordi hurried on his way. It simply wouldn't do to keep the Karayan Chief waiting…

The hut belonging to the tribe's leader was easily one of the largest dwellings in the village. However, its size was more attributed to the fact that the Chief's family also lived there, as well as their… 'pet', who took up lots of space alone.

The true indication of which was the leader's domicile was in the fancy patterns emblazoned on the leather flaps that covered the entrance, the same color scheme echoed in the beadwork and other decorations found scattered around its perimeter. The chief's colors were white, black and purple. White symbolized the Chief's purity of soul and devotion to keeping the people safe; black promised death to enemies of Karaya; purple the Chief's wisdom and leadership.

But Sergeant Jordi would have recognized the chief immediately even if he hadn't been decked out in the patterns symbolizing his standing. It wasn't exactly difficult, seeing as how he was easily the tallest in the village, rising head and shoulders above all others in the clan.

Kayarans were skilled warriors, but they rarely possessed such muscular builds as the Chief did. His imposing stature alone was enough to convince some would-be threats to rethink their plans. But this would hardly have been enough to warrant his becoming leader if he didn't have any wits. Thankfully, his mind was said to be as sharp as his blade.

Currently, however, the Chief was sitting in the grass in front of his hut's entrance, working hard on a little hobby of his.

"Still polishing that piece of junk, Jimba?" Sergeant Jordi asked conversationally while strolling up to the house. "I thought Luce would have made you scrap that thing long ago."

Chief Jimba looked up from his work, greeting the mallard with a welcoming grin. The large, deeply tanned man balanced the chestplate of a suit of armor in his crossed legs. The plate mail had clearly seen better days: battered, beaten and rusty as it was, even with most of the dents carefully fixed, it would probably never serve as anything more than an interesting decoration and conversation piece.

"Well, every man has to have his little hobbies, right?" he laughed. He patted the back of the armor, causing a dull clank. "Besides, it reminds me of old times…"

"Don't tell me you think of the war with the ironheads as 'the good old days'," Jordi asked dryly.

"Did I say that?" Jimba rubbed the back of his head and let out another burst of chuckling. "I meant back before I ended up Chief…"

The sergeant nodded slowly. He could understand why Jimba would look fondly back on the days when he wasn't expected to look out for anything other than himself. While the large man shouldered the burdens of leadership well, it wasn't an enviable position.

"Humph. Seeing that pile of scrap metal just gives me bad memories," a deep, feminine voice muttered from inside the house.

Jimba turned and smiled at the woman who emerged from the hut. Though her tone had been nasty, she returned the smile. Her face, framed by brown hair that matched her coppery skin, was that of a proud matron, kind and stern at the same time.

"I've lost too many sons to men wearing those iron shells," she continued with a shake of her head. "Can't see why you'd want one of those ugly things lying around."

"Well, you can at least take comfort in the fact that the soldier this belonged to is never going to don it again," Jimba assured, patting the suit on the back.

Luce just snorted, "Like even the ironheads would be stupid enough to send out one of their men wearing such a useless piece…"

"You never know," shrugged Sergeant Jordi. "I wouldn't put it past that cost-cutting Zexen Council to pull such a stunt if they thought they might get away with it…"

"Unfortunately, I didn't call you here just so we can trade insults about the ironheads," Jimba told the mallard. The Chief stood up, pressing his hands into his back, adding, "Though it does concern the Zexen Council…"

"Why do I get the feeling I won't like where this is headed?" muttered the drake.

Jimba smiled apologetically. Sergeant Jordi hated it when he smiled like that. It was impossible to hold a grudge against the Karayan with the friendly blue eyes, yet another reason why he made such a fine leader. It was a trait that appeared to run in his family…

"As you probably already know, we recently began peace talks with all of the Grassland clans, as well as the Zexens."

"Yes, I've heard of it. You're going to have a meeting with all of the Clan Chiefs shortly, correct?"

"Yeah, that's right," nodded Jimba. The ever-present sparkle in his laughing blue eyes faded a little while he went on, "However, there's a slight problem."

"What is it?" asked Sergeant Jordi.

"The Zexen Council isn't going to send a proper representative." Jimba sighed, shrugging his large shoulders. "They plan upon sending some of their revered Knights, but won't spare even a single one of their officials."

"I don't like it," Luce interjected her opinion. "Most of the clan leaders are attending, along with some of their finest warriors. The ironheads have more than two hands' count of chiefs, yet they can't even spare a single one for this meeting?"

"That's just the way the ironheads work," snorted the soldier with a shake of his head. "Who can tell what goes on in their heads? I think those heavy helmets they favor cut off circulation to the brain…"

"I'm afraid there may be more to it than that."

Sergeant Jordi's purple eyes narrowed, picking up on the change in the Karayan Chief's tone. Jimba's deep voice had taken on a solemn note, lowering to a quieter pitch than usual. His steel blue eyes swept from side to side, checking for potential unwanted audiences. The Duck Clan soldier stood at attention, knowing he was about to hear something important -- something his chief wouldn't want to repeat.

"Recently," Jimba said in a low whisper, "there have been sightings of strangers near the village. While we haven't been able to catch anyone yet, several hunters have reported catching sight of somebody out of the corner of their eye."

"…Soldiers?" Sergeant Jordi mused under his breath.

"Not sure," Jimba shook his head. "Still, we can't take any chances."

"So where do I fit into this?" asked the mallard.

"I need you to deliver something to Vinay de Zexay for me." Reaching into his finely dyed leathers, the Chief produced a thin leather tube, one the soldier recognized as a message container used to keep important documents safe and sealed while being transported. "This holds a letter for the Zexen Council. Not only does it hold important details about the ceasefire, it also contains a veiled warning. If they're responsible for whatever we've been noticing out there, they should pick up on the fact that we're aware of their movements. If not… they should take it as a general warning not to abuse the current peace talks."

"You believe that the Zexens may be up to something?"

"The ironheads are always up to something," sniffed Luce. "Sometimes I think betrayal and backstabbing is in their blood."

"You may be right," Sergeant Jordi nodded. Looking back at the Karayan Chief, he asked, "So I'm playing delivery boy now, is that right?"

"Right. You have experience dealing with the Zexen ironheads, so I'd feel more comfortable knowing you were handling this for me."

"Of course, Chief Jimba, but…"

The muscular Karayan raised an eyebrow. "But…?"

"Well, you know how close-minded the ironheads can be," Sergeant Jordi shrugged. "They'll probably assume I'm there on behalf of the Duck clan. How will I be able to convince them I'm your representative?"

"That's simple," answered Jimba with a smile. "We'll have one of our warriors accompany you on your trip."

"Who?"

"Aila."

"Aila?" Sergeant Jordi echoed. "No offense intended, of course, but, why her?"

"Aila's proven herself to be a skilled hunter, but she hasn't spent much time outside the village," explained Jimba. "I think this is a good chance for her to see Zexens somewhere other than a battlefield."

"I've already talked to her family, and they've agreed that it's a good idea," Luce added. "She should be near the village gates and ready to go when you are."

"…Fine then," the Duck Clan soldier nodded. Taking the message and tucking it into the folds of his tunic, he said, "I'll just get my things ready and meet her there shortly."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Take care of Aila and yourself while you're dealing with the Zexens."

The mallard nodded again, then saluted the Karayan Chief, turned stiffly on his heel, and headed back toward his hut. He wasn't too thrilled with the thought of having to deal with the Zexen Council, but it only made sense for him to be involved. Karayans as a whole weren't generally good when it came to dealing with the ironheads…

A teenaged girl clad in supple leather clothing traced patterns in the dust using the end of her archery bow. Her short brown hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, sweeping down to the base of her neck in large curls, while her green eyes were half closed with annoyance and boredom.

"I can't believe Chief Jimba wants me to tag along on this little trip to Zexen territory," she groused, resting her chin in her palm.

"I can't believe you're complaining about going!" exclaimed a young Karayan boy crouching beside her. Flopping onto his back, the lad stared up at the sky with huge emerald eyes and added, pouting, "I wish Luce would let me go too, I'd love to see what an ironhead village looks like!"

"Oh, yes, it's going to be such a great experience!" she replied sarcastically. "How could I not look forward to having to head off to some dirty, nature-choking city filled with idiot ironheads that'll call me a freak and barbarian when they're the ones killing the earth!"

"Geez, you don't have to be so sour about it!" the boy complained, sitting up again and staring at the older girl. "If you're gonna be that way about it, why not let me go instead?"

"Wish I could, but Luce'd throw a fit, remember?"

"Yeah…" The boy's lower lip jutted out as he pouted, "It's not fair. When are they gonna start treatin' me like an adult?"

"When you actually are an adult," Sergeant Jordi commented wryly.

The young Karayans turned to see the Duck Clan soldier striding toward them, their Chief close behind him. Both got to their feet, and the boy scrambled up to meet the pair.

"Jimba, can't I go too? Please?" he pleaded, latching onto the man's arm and gazing up at him with pleading green eyes.

"Sorry, Lulu, but Luce'd kill me," chortled Jimba, gently disentangling his arm from the kid's grasp. Ruffling the fiery shock of crimson bangs that crowned the boy's forehead, he suggested, "Why don't you go check on Fubar? I'm sure he'd be happy to see you, especially if you brought food…"

Lulu wiggled away from underneath Jimba's heavy hand and glowered at him.

"Stop treating me like a little kid!" he shouted, then turned and ran off.

"But you are a little kid…" Sergeant Jordi pointed out with a shrug of his shoulders and a sigh.

"Don't worry. He'll get over it soon enough," Jimba assured them, rubbing the back of his head and smiling crookedly.

"Well then," the sergeant shouldered his pack, "Shall we go, Aila?"

"Yeah, sure…"

The young archer adjusted her quiver and checked the small pouches on her belt, ensuring they were tightly secured. Sergeant Jordi waited until she nodded at him, then turned and started up the pathway out of the village. As Aila turned to follow, however, Jimba reached out and gently squeezed her elbow.

"I need you to do another small favor for me, Aila."

"What is it?" she asked, turning back to face him.

"Deliver this to the Lightfellow residence in Vinay de Zexay," he told her, handing over a finely carved wooden talisman. "It holds the spirit of a knight who died bravely in battle. Could you do this for me?"

Aila ran her fingers reverently over the polished mahogany disc, admiring the detailed woodwork. It felt warm to the touch, warmth she doubted originated from simply resting against Jimba's thick chest for some time. Being sensitive to the nature of the spirits, she could tell that the token carried some significance.

"All right," she assented with a nod, carefully tucking the talisman into her tunic. "I'll take good care of it until I can deliver it to the Lightfellow family."

"Good girl," Jimba smiled. "I knew I could count on you. Now, hurry and catch up with the Sergeant, okay?"

Aila nodded again, her curly ponytail bobbing, then turned and dashed up the winding pathway. Jimba watched her retreating figure, sunlight reflecting in his steel blue eyes as his smile became a touch more wistful.

Hopefully, having this little special assignment would allow Aila to deal with the rest of her mission a little better. He understood full well her bias against Zexens, and knew that dealing with the Council was not likely to change her view of the ironheads.

Still, it wasn't simply a distraction. The talisman did mean a lot to the Lightfellow family, and he hoped it might help lay some grieving hearts to rest…