-Shade stands in the corner of the library, putting the final, finishing touch on the last of shelf upon shelf of children's books. The floors are clean, the toys are piled neatly in their boxes, and at last- at long last- that infernal Arthur's Computer Adventure game with the repetitive, nerve grinding music has been turned off. Dusting off her hands on the rather worn-out knees of her jeans, she checks her watch.-

Shade: Hah! Finished, with a whole thirty seconds to spare.

-Grabs her cart and starts to drag it after her out the door. As she passes through the doorframe, however, a rush of hyperactive six-year-olds and one hysterical mother neatly stampedes her. Various crashes, thuds, and small, localized explosions ensue.-

Shade: -Lying on her back, staring dazedly up at the ceiling-...why me?

Computer: Hi! My name's Arthur...

Honestly, some days...

Brutal2003: Soltrane's name was originally something like Coltrane, but I didn't really fit. So I changed it to 'Sol'. It doesn't have anything to do with trains at all, though I did notice the similarity.

The Sharra: Reincarnated characters? I hadn't really given much thought to that sort of thing. Bah, you've got me thinking now though. -Snickers and runs off to plot-

Chaos13: Yup! You guessed it. For Solana, at least. Kaelin isn't anyone's descendant in particular.

Scorpio: Hmm...Dart's problem with wingly magic. Let me see if I can my reasoning behind it...Okay, right. It's sort of like an unnatural allergic reaction. Dragon magic and Wingly magic don't mix very well, and since Dart is carrying Ark around in his head, he feels the effects of certain spells and devices quite strongly. Some of them, anyway.

Silverwing: Another love interest for Dart? Gah, to tell the truth, I haven't really been planning on it. Makes things a whole lot simpler for me when he just stays focused more or less on what he's doing. And seeing as I've already got the whole Nova/Garren thing going on (It'll be expanded on more in later chapters), I think that one love-side-story thingmabobber is enough to keep me busy. Yes, I know I'm lazy. Hit me. lol

YSYF: Honestly, I didn't even realize that I've been doing that. To come to think of it, actually, I think Solana is the only one I've done that with. Most of the other characters meet and join or do whatever in the same chapter they're introduced. Except for Zion, I think it was. Bah. I don't know. It's just the way things have happened to turn out during the writing. The character I'm introducing this chapter should have some time on her own before the other dragoons catch up to her, though.



Asalla's POV:

The sea stretched away for as far as the eye could see, broken only occasionally by the breakers dashing themselves against the tail end of the Aquaria Coral reef. A lone sailboat skimmed over the white caps out near the extremes of my vision, propelled along by a heavy onshore wind. A few billowing clouds skated past on the wind currents high overhead, milk white with only a hint of grey underneath. There would be no rain over Tiberoa today, or for the rest of the week, in all probability. There rarely was, until the mild-cool temperatures of winter.

I leaned back from the edge of the balcony, careful not to disturb any of the winding ivy that covered the top of the balustrade, spilling over the edge in a tangled mat of green leaves and tiny white flowers. Here and there, there was a splash of blue against the whites and greens; bluebell creepers that had interwoven themselves with the original vine until the two were virtually indistinguishable. The balcony itself was crisscrossed and veined by the latticed roots of the ivy, pushing through the cracked tiles and sinking into the overflowing flowerbed positioned against the wall. I had planted it my self during one of our early stays in Fletz some years previously. Tradition dictated that the towers of Fletz Palace were to be the residence of the Kingdom's heirs, but seeing as the only crown prince was hardly out of his infancy the Queen had offered the towers to us. Ayrel had declined, preferring to stay in one of the rooms in the palace, but I was grateful to be clear of the rush of palace life. Mathis had moved into here as well, though somewhat regretfully. The formalities of the court had grown on him, and often he was loath to leave them.

I put one hand on the doorframe, looking out at the lonely tower opposite of my own with a gentle smile on my face. Boys and their little games.

Inside the door I kicked off my slippers, pushing them against the doorjamb. There were no carpets here, much to Mathis's constant annoyance; I liked the feel of bare marble beneath my feet. The walls had been sheathed in marble too, through it was hidden here and there by pots of hanging flowers or silver embroidered silken star charts. Only the ceiling was not; some cunning artisan had fashioned the inside of the dome from thousands upon thousands of tiny tiles of mother of pearl so that it shone and danced like fire whenever light touched it. Even the most brutish of races could see that whoever inhabited it at the moment, it had been build for a princess.

A tray of crystal decanters sat on the table at the far side of the room, a few thin slices of pale cheese set on a napkin next to it. House keeping had been and gone; were it not that I had sensed their entry I would not have known it. There were several winglies in the palace staff; none too strong or magically inclined, but the accuracy of their teleporting was unsurpassed. To the courtiers and other functionaries of the palace they were the perfect servants. Silent and swift, their apparent ability to appear out of thin air and then disappear in a similar manner made them exactly what the courtiers had dreamed of: all but invisible. By request we were served by one of them exclusively, a petite young woman whom everyone referred to as Betha. But in all the time that we had been here, I had hardly seen her for more than six seconds at a time.

Pouring myself a goblet from one of the decanters, I walked back to the balcony, stopping at the arched doorway. Before our arrival there had been no doors to shut the circular room of the tower off from the balcony; in Tiberoa the weather seldom turned harsh enough for there to have been any need. Now two finely carved doors, paneled with blue-tinted glass, had been added at my request. Not for any discomfort caused by the weather, but because I felt anything was better than an open doorway to the sky.

Sipping from the goblet, I tapped one finger absently against the bowl of the glass. I'll be the first to admit that I was worried. But then, I always grew worried when Dart and that accursed dragon were out of my sight. They had a habit of appearing unexpectedly where and when we least expected them, usually with disastrous results if we lingered for too long. But now...I took another sip, watching as a seabird soared up past the balcony, spiraling up on a thermal of hot air. Ayrel seemed confidant that if he did appear again she could handle him. Certainly after her match with him in the mountain village of Vista it seemed that she should. Even Mathis was enraptured by the idea, ecstatic at the thought of Dart being put down once and for all.

Finishing the rest of my wine, I returned the goblet to the table. For all of their confidence, I still had my doubts. Dart was an experienced fighter; whatever tricks my daughter may have had to enhance her own abilities, she simply didn't know well how to handle a serious situation such as that the same way he did. The trick with the dragon buster would not work again, of that much I was sure. And then there was Garren. For all the people that we had sent out searching for him, no one had sighted him in years. To all appearances he had disappeared off the face of the known earth. I knew him too well to believe that he had just given up and returned to Ulara, but I also knew that it wasn't like him to lie low for so long without serious need. He hates it when he's not a part of the action. But at the same time, I didn't think that we'd have to worry about him appearing suddenly behind us looking for a fight. No, if Dart was still licking his wounds, then Garren almost certainly wouldn't appear until Dart was ready.

So why was I so nervous?

Our reports from Bale indicated that they had captured two possible dragoons a short time ago, but the two had escaped after the compound had come under attack. I had heard nothing of them since, but apparently the temple in Kazas was compiling a report on one of the two, a man who had lived in the town for many years and had something of a history with the temple. This was significant on its own, but it also had a grimmer outlook: the dragoons were beginning to rouse themselves again, and in spite of what the public had been led to believe, it certainly seemed that they would be rising against us. Even the one dragoon we had had was gone now, killed by something we hadn't been able to yet identify. His spirit had disappeared and there was no sure way to find out entirely what had happened, seeing as after the event many of the frightened nobles and courtiers had fled back to their estates, which ranged from as far away as Doneau to the Serdian borderlands. From time to time they filtered back into the city, but for the most part they stayed away, still too shell-shocked to venture out of their homes.

A polite knock came at the door and I looked up. "Come in."

Ayrel entered quietly, shutting the door behind her. Kicking off her slippers she pushed them against the wall next to mine before padding across the floor to me, the silk hem of her skirt swirling and brushing against her ankles as she walked. That was a surprise; Ayrel usually avoided skirts and such like the plague.

"Problems, dear?" I asked mildly, reaching for the chalice and decanter as I did so. Not for myself, but it might help to calm her nerves if she were upset again. That happened fairly often of late.

She snorted, stopping in front of me and plucking at the skirt with her fingertips. "You wouldn't happen to have any of my clothes lying around, would you? Just plain, normal clothes?" It was almost a plea.

I nodded, pouring a glass and setting it back on the table again. Perhaps she wouldn't need it after all. "Over there in the wardrobe. I think I still have some of your older outfits hanging up in there."

"Thank-you." Walking to the wardrobe she pulled it open and began to rummage through the contents. For a few minutes there was nothing aside from her mutters and the rustle of cloth. At last she straightened, pulling out a hanger that held a pair of rust-colored boy's breeches and a loose silk blouse. Stripping out of the skirt she kicked it across the floor; a moment later the shirt followed. Almost unconsciously I bent over, picking the skirt op and shaking out the wrinkles before looking at it critically. It was a pretty thing; ocean blue hemmed in ivory. Folding it up, I sat it on the bed next to me and reached for the shirt.

"These are really quite nice, Ayrel. Whatever possessed you to wear them? People might start to realize that you're a girl." Folding the shirt, I set it on the bed next to the skirt and patted it down.

"Please don't joke mother. It was the only way I could get that confounded woman to listen to me." Giving the breeches a final tug, she grabbed the blouse and pulled it over the head. In spite of my joke, Ayrel was rather impossible to mistake for anything but a girl. Over the past year or two she'd matured quite rapidly, and the boy's pants and blouses she preferred if anything only accentuated that, whatever she might have preferred.

"Who? The Queen?" I reached for a piece of cheese from the tray.

Ayrel snorted like a horse, tightening the laces of her blouse and turning around at last. "That woman's got about as much intellectual right to the throne as a painted turtle. The only reason the public hasn't gone into open rebellion as of yet is because her advisors have managed to keep her from making any seriously huge mistakes until now."

"Do you mean the whole business with the dragoon? Is that what you wanted to talk to her about?"

"Partly." Ayrel grimaced, throwing a glance at the neatly folded finery on the bed next to me. "Problem is, that woman won't even listen to me if I don't look like one of those over-dressed peacocks fluttering around the court father likes oh-so-much. I don't honestly think that she even has the brains to realize who I am."

"I think that's going a bit far, dear. What are you going to do about it?" I nibbled on a bit of cheese, then set it back down. I wasn't all that hungry anyway.

"What am I going to do? Nothing, that's what!" She said, tossing her hands in the air and pacing back and forth. "As brainless as she may be, I need her. Better a stupid queen who'll eventually do as you say than a clever one who'll try to supplant you."

"I hardly think that anyone clever would try to supplant you, dear. It's slightly impossible. Now stop pacing. You're going to make me dizzy."

"Only slightly." Automatically she stopped; staring without seeing at one of the star charts hung on the wall. "In any case, there's not much to do about it at the moment. Oh, by the way, we'll be staying here for a few more weeks yet."

My stomach plummeted. Surely Dart must know where we were by now. Why give him time to prepare? "Why is that, dear?" I asked, keeping my thoughts from affecting my voice.

"A dispatch came in by pigeon this morning," she said. Reaching out to the empty air in front of her she snapped her fingers, more for dramatic effect, I thought, than any real need. There was a small flash, and a thin scroll of waxy looking paper appeared out of empty air to drop into her hand. Involuntarily my eyes widened slightly; Ayrel grinned at my reaction. I let that pass: while I normally kept emotion from my features as much as possible, there was some justification to my surprise. Teleportation is in itself a rather basic art, but transporting objects rather than yourself by the will of your mind is an infinitely more difficult task, however backward that may seem. In fact the only person I had ever seen perform this task successfully was Charle Frahma, and even that was rare, never in excess.

Ayrel was undoing the twine binding now; with great care she unrolled the crackling strip of paper. "It came from somewhere in Serdio," she was saying, "From one of the fishing villages along the coast." Holding it as though afraid that it might crumble in her hands, she passed it carefully to me to read. "Careful; I think it got a bit damp somewhere along the line. It's a little smudged, but you can still understand it."

Holding the paper gingerly, I scanned through the message.

Bearer found three days ago in the farming village of Seles.
Returning to Fletz with the North Wind. Voyage expected to
last the week. Cutting though the Midlake river system to cut
time. Commander requests full escort from Doneau port but
does not anticipate any immediate danger. Bearer causes no
trouble, but makes no move to co-operate either.

A.S.

I scanned through the letter once or twice more, but there wasn't much to read. Letting the paper roll itself shut once again, I passed it back to my daughter, who took it and tucked it into her blouse. "Interesting," I commented. "The letter was dated almost a week ago."

Ayrel dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "I sent off the escort as soon as I read the note. The Commander is right; I don't think they'll have any trouble, but it's probably better to be safe than sorry. In any case," she said seriously, "we need this White-Silver dragoon. The healing powers it offers alone will make up for the temporary loss of the Jade spirit."

"Temporary?" I asked, brushing back my hair from my face. The balcony doors were still open and a healthy breeze was blowing through, carrying the heavy sent of the sea mixed with the gentler fragrance of my blossoms. One of the crystal wind chimes set near the door danced in the wind, filling the air with its musical tinkle.

Amidst this Ayrel's smile seemed positively radiant. "I'm going to find it again mother. And then I'm going to find its bearer. Because if we have two, or even one dragoon, you know he'll come. He won't be able to resist it. That we possess the white-silver spirit is like a hot knife burning into his brain. He'll come, and when he does, I'll tear him down permanently."

I looked away from her confidant smile, letting my eyes drop to the floor, following the cracks and veins running through the marble. Hubris. I'd come across the term several times while browsing through the literary texts in Ulara's vast library. Simply put, it meant pride: overweening, unshakable pride in oneself and one's abilities. In the great stories it was a common affliction among characters; so great was their pride that in the end it provided the means for their defeat. Was this what was afoot here?

"Dear..." I started, then trailed off, not knowing how to continue. Ayrel gave me an odd look, her smile slipping somewhat. Steeling myself, I started over. I would not let something as petty as pride bring her down. "Are you sure you can?" I held up my hand as she opened her mouth, a look of indignation on her face. "I know you're strong, Ayrel. Soa, but I know how strong you are. But you have to realize that Dart is powerful too, and Ragnarok even more so. You won't be able to catch them off guard again like you did last time.

"Don't confront him, Ayrel." A note of plea entered my voice as at last I voiced the fear that had plagued me for the past weeks. "You're not strong enough yet. Track him, trap him, but don't confront him without a trump at your back. He won't use the dragoons against you just yet Ayrel; Ragnarok's sense of vengeance won't allow him to. Find a way to trap him daughter, before he finds a way to trap y-"

"Are you suggesting," Ayrel cut in coldly, "That we run, mother? Don't try to coddle me. I've run from him mother; we all did, for sixteen bloody years. And what good did that do?"

"We survived!" I half-yelled, tears welling up in my eyes. It was all coming apart...

"Yes. Yes we did. And how many people died because we ran? I'm sick of this, mother. I'm sick of running, and I'm sick of hiding. But most of all I'm sick to death of your doubt. Father believes in me; why can't you?"

"Because sometimes your father can't see beyond the end of his own nose! He wants to believe that there's an easy way to end this, one that doesn't involve Garren appearing out of the darkness to beat him into oblivion!" The tears were flowing freely now, rolling down my reddened face in great, glistening streams. "Your father is even more afraid than I am; that's why he lets himself be fooled by his own made-up delusions! You can't bring him down Ayrel!"

"I won't run!" Ayrel snapped, her silver eyes, so much like my own, hardening in resentment. "You're the one who's deluding yourself, mother! Not me, not father! You! Hide in your tower and cry and scream all you want, but you can't stop me! I'll destroy the Black Monster, mother, and while you weep the world will rejoice!" With one final, killing glare she disappeared in a flash of white-green light, her presence fading fast from the tower.

My knees buckled beneath me. Unable to help myself I collapsed to the floor, hugging and clutching my skirts; weeping like a broken child .

Mariko's POV:

The ship's timbers groaned and sighed in the darkness; burrowing my head deeper into my pillow I pulled the quilts closer around me. The room was warm and dark, if it weren't for the gentle rocking I could have almost convinced myself that I was at home in my own bed instead of here in this floating prison. Sighing into the flannel of the down-stuffed pillow, I tried to let myself relax. Maybe they'd forget about me; maybe, if I was lucky, they wouldn't come to wake me up...but that was wishful thinking. I could hear footsteps even now coming down the hallway, pausing on the short stepladder leading up to my door.

There was a polite knock followed by a slight pause before the door swung open. The room flooded with pale light, evaporating my wishful thoughts in an instant as I sat up, pulling the quilt around my shoulders. The cabin boy, carrying an oil lamp, crept into my room and set it on the bedside table, risking a quick glance at my face before tightening the bolts around the base of the lamp that would prevent it from falling and breaking in rough weather. Once he was finished he stood attentively off to one side, swaying slightly with the motion of the ship.

"That'll do, Nate. Go and fetch some breakfast from cook." The speaker, a husky voiced woman in her early twenties, ducked though the doorway and took a speculative look at me. "Oatmeal with sugar, I think. And tell cook that if he tries to slip any of that greasy lard he calls pork into it I'll have his head on a pike."

Nate bobbed his head in agreement and practically flew from the room, shutting the door hurriedly behind him as he left.

The room wasn't very large, but it was more comfortable than the quarters enjoyed by the ship's crew. This was to say that I slept in a proper bed instead of a rough bunk and the room was sparsely furnished with a bedside table and a plain wooden stool. It was on this that the woman, who called herself Amaya, now sat, watching me curiously as I roused myself. She was some years younger than I was; though you couldn't discern it from her manner. She was dressed plainly in a loose sandy tunic and black breeches, all partially covered by the grey wool cloak she wore pinned about her neck. Her dark red hair was pulled back from her face in a long braid that fell nearly to her waist, and serious grey eyes peered out of a face framed by loose flyaway strands. She had been something of an attendant to me for most of the voyage, though really there was no need for it.

I sat on the bed, the quilt pulled about my shoulders. Amaya had pulled back the wood slat covering the small porthole window, and now natural light spilled into the room, mingling with the honey-gold light of the lamp. The circular porthole had been filled with a thick, brine-covered piece of glass so no sea water might splash in, but provided enough of a view that I could make out the blurred outline of the coast sliding slowly by.

Amaya cleared her throat slightly, following my gaze out the small window. "We left the river system late last night. The captain decided to chance it in the dark." She frowned slightly, as though she didn't entirely approve of the decision, but her brow smoothed as she continued. "There's a good wind behind us now. If the weather stays clear like this for much the rest of the voyage, we should be able to reach Doneau within a day or less. The captain says sundown, but I'm not entirely sure about that."

I looked away. Doneau. So they were planning on taking me to Fletz after all. There hadn't been much said as to destinations until now. Swinging my feet out of bed and letting the quilt slide from my shoulders, I got up and fished a change of clothes out from the sack beneath the table. Pulling out a plain, woolen grey dress, I began to change while Amaya continued to gaze out the porthole.

It had a week since we had left Seles, though after five days of sitting in my small quarters on the rocking, pitching ship it seemed much longer. A week and three days since Captain Soltrane of the Serdian Dread Knight corps had ridden into the village on a tired out mount and a small, mounted troop of dread knights trailing behind him.

I'm not much of a scholar. To tell the truth, I've hardly picked up a book more than once or twice in my life. But I do listen to the old stories; I remember in the dim recesses of my youth sitting on my wingly father's knee, head against his chest while I listened to him tell me stories about the great wars and tales of the ages past. And so when the Captain came to me at last, offering a smooth, perfectly round pearl-like gemstone for my examination as he had to all others he had come across, I was rather taken aback when it burst into a blaze of light at my touch. Not so much by the light itself, perhaps, as by what I knew the light to signify.

Almost before I knew it I was on horseback, riding north with the troop toward the coast of Ilissa Bay. Neither my mother nor I had had any say in the matter; it had all happened before I had had any time to think it over, to react... I had just finished dressing when there came a polite knock at the cabin door. Ducking outside briefly, Amaya returned carrying a tray holding a wooden bowl of oatmeal, a mug of water, and two reasonably fresh apples. She set them down on the table, selecting one of the apples for herself and polishing it on the front of her shirt.

"Eat, my lady. My masters would not be pleased if you were to arrive on an empty stomach." She flashed me a quick grin before biting into her own apple.

I ate mechanically, spooning the lumpy mess of oatmeal into my mouth quickly, before it became cold. The water was lukewarm and slightly stale from being stored in a wooden barrel, but I drank this even faster than the porridge. Taking the apple, I got to my feet again, brushing past Amaya to look out the porthole window and watch the coast slide by. After staring for a few long moments I gave her a questioning glance, even though I already knew what the response would be.

Amaya, I had soon discovered, was surprisingly adept at reading people from their expressions. It was not as clear as words, perhaps, but in my case it was the best that I could hope for. She was shaking her head now, apologetically. "I'm sorry, but the captain gave orders that you weren't to be allowed on the deck. It's rather messy up there anyway at the moment, I guess. They had some problems with the rigging last night; it got caught in the trees while the were fording the river and part of the sail was torn."

I nodded, then looked away. I wasn't sure why I bothered...well, asking wasn't quite the word for it. I haven't always been a mute. When I was younger I used to be able to talk very well. But I was struck with sickness a short time after my tenth birthday and addition to being temporarily robbed of my eyesight while recovering, I lost my voice as well. And while my vision had eventually returned as good as ever, I had never regained my ability to speak completely aside from a few weak sounds. And while this doesn't bother me usually, there are times when I feel the loss most acutely.

Amaya remained with me for the better part of the day, disappearing up on deck as we drew nearer to the port. She would be going ashore with her masters, and needed time to help them prepare. And unless she would be traveling with us, which was unlikely, this would probably be the last that I would see of her. Brooding, I took to lying apathetically on my cot, staring up at the ceiling. It seemed that there were no longer any constants in my life, save for that everything was slipping away.

I must have fallen asleep, because when I next opened my eyes my lamp had burnt out and the cabin was dim. A thick bar of light streamed through the glass pane of the window, illuminating the patch of floor it fell upon with the red-gold light of sunset. Small motes of dust were swirling there, only visible when they entered the path of the light. Lying on my back I watched them, idly wondering when was the last time the cabin had been given a really good cleaning.

A knock came at the door. I half-sat up, expecting to see Amaya, but was met with disappointment as the shy face of the cabin boy poked into the room.

"We jus' arrived in port, Lady," he said cautiously. "Captain Soltrane requests that you gather your stuff an' come up on deck. E' said that the escort's ready and waiting." He slid the rest of the way into the room, keeping against the far wall and watching me with the same cautious expression.

I took a deep breath and sat the rest of the way up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and getting to my feet. There wasn't much to pack, save for a few stray items of mine that had found their way out of my bag and into various corner of my room. I retrieved these, stuffing them into the knit sack along with the rest of my clothes and the few possessions that I had been permitted to bring. Wordlessly the boy handed me a thin grey cloak, hardly thicker than a bed sheet, to drape over my shoulders, fastening it at my throat with a plain silver clip. Hefting my bag, I slung it back over my shoulder and pushed my pale hair back from my face.

When the boy seemed sure that I was finished and ready, he opened the door again and led me out into the narrow hallway beyond. Walking along the passage I realized that the boat was still rocking slightly with the motions of the waves; we must have moored in the harbor instead of drawing up to a wharf.

Above, the deck was crawling with activity. Weather beaten sailors of every size and description rushed about, some carrying ropes and tackle, others toting about heavy bundles of luggage. Almost immediately had I crawled out of the hatchway the boy disappeared into the confusion, hurrying off in the direction of the bow leaving me standing alone and unsure of what to do next.

"My Lady...Mariko?"

Captain Soltrane had appeared at my elbow, and when he spoke I jumped involuntarily before turning to face him.

Captain Soltrane was not as physically intimidating as the other dread knights I had seen passing through Bale and before boarding the ship. While he was still considerably taller than I was, he did not tower over the men around him; in fact, he was shorter than a good number of them. Nor did he have the hulking, muscular physique that would have given him an advantage in combat. Even under the plates and mail of his armor he appeared slim, almost lanky. And yet I knew from overheard snatches of conversation among the other dread knights on board that his men did not only respect him.

They feared him, and it wasn't because of his rank.

There was a slight pressure under my elbow as Soltrane guided me away from the hatchway, around the curve of the cabin to the rail. Here a large longboat was suspended out over the side by ropes and pulleys. A few bales of equipment had been loaded in, but for the most part the seats were left unoccupied, awaiting passengers.

Leading me to the rail, Soltrane helped me up over the side and into the longboat. Climbing over a bundle of canvas, I carefully sat down, arranging my skirt about me knees as best I could. Setting my own bag between my feet, I glanced back at the deck of the ship, half-hoping to see Amaya pushing her way through the crowds towards us. But there was no such luck: sailors still labored on the decks in a milling crowd, and aside from myself no woman was anywhere to be seen.

The boat rocked slightly as Soltrane climbed in to sit across from me, reaching to catch his blackthorn stave as it was passed to him. "I hope that I find you well rested, My Lady," he said politely as he set the staff in the bottom of the long boat. "There's been a slight change in our plans, unfortunately."

I gave him a significant look and to my surprise he chuckled, the laugh sounding strange coming out from underneath the fierce griffin helm he wore. "It would seem that you were never informed in the first place, I suppose. I'll have to speak to your attendants, then. The original plan was to take you from the port to Fletz in easy stages, so that you might have some time to recover from your voyage. I would have preferred this, but..." he looked away, toward the city of Doneau, "...it appears that someone else has decided to take a hand in things."

After the last of the sailors were seated the boat lurched downward suddenly, and I leaned over to grab the rail. What did he mean, someone had taken a hand in things? What was going on? Uneasily, I followed his gaze to the waterfront. The waterfront itself was not broad, as the city seemed to extend inland rather than following the curve of the coastline. It was hidden in shadow; the blue grey shades cast by the looming buildings lining the front extended down to the water, stopping just short of the docks. The sun was below the line of the rooftops, and with it shining from behind the topmost edge of the shadow, the rooftops themselves, seemed to be surrounded with a thing halo of light. The scene was at once both beautiful and foreboding; inwardly I cringed away from it. I suddenly did not want to find out what awaited me on that shore, and for one brief moment I found myself wishing that I had inherited more of the powers of my wingly father: wings, to fly away from here, or perhaps the extraordinary ability to teleport... And then rationality reasserted itself. Wishes and longings would do me no good now. The only ability that I had inherited from my father- a very limited ability to create and manipulate fire- would do me little good here. Looking away from the waterfront, I set about once again rearranging my skirts.

Soltrane must have sensed my mood, because he shifted slightly, turning to look at me once again as the longboat came gently to rest in the blue-black seawater. "I must say, I think I understand something of how you feel, my Lady," He said softly. When I looked up he was fingering the edge of his dark blue cloak, eyes hidden by his helm. "Driven about without a choice...it's a terrible way to have to live. Pray that you can make your own choices again soon, my Lady. Don't let yourself become trapped in the spiral." With that he fell silent, although he still absently caressed the hem of his cloak as he stared out over the water.

He remained like that for the rest of the short voyage, and the only sounds were the steady creak and splash of the oars in their locks and the heavy breathing of the sailors rowing the longboat. The sun had disappeared completely now; in the deepening twilight we drew up to the spidery wharves. It was low tide and the wharves loomed high above us as we rowed in between them, spidery beams slick with weed and encrusted with barnacles. We continued on past, until the wooden bow of the little boat butted against the stone wall of the harbor. A few minutes more and the sailors had maneuvered the boat sideways, so that we were positioned full against the smooth, flat stones. An ancient stair had been chiseled into the rock in ages past: Soltrane rose and stepped over the side of the longboat, one foot on the wooden seat and the other on the lowest stair. Taking me by the hand he helped me out of the boat; after a few curt words to the sailors he pushed the boat away from the wall and started up the stairs, beckoning for me to follow.

The stairs led up to the deserted street above. Following a short distance behind my guide I looked around, both confused and unsettled at the same time. It was hardly past sunset; normally the docks of a port would still be abuzz with activity. But the street was empty, save for a stray dog wandering mournfully near the mouth of an alley. In both directions the street curved away out of sight, deserted. Here and there the windows of the shops and homes were lit with faint lamplight, but the grand majority of them were dark and gloomy, even fronted as they were by wooden window boxes filled with a variety of different flowers, their heavy perfume mingling with the salt air.

"Keep up," Soltrane called from up ahead, and I hurried after him, sparing one last glance for the empty streets. So odd...

We did not have far to walk. A short way into the city we came to a small square, adorned in the center by a large flowerbed surrounded by a low brick wall. Low, whitewashed buildings with gently lit windows surrounded it on all sides, but it wasn't the architecture that was important.

Soltrane reached out one hand, indicating me to stop as shadows detached themselves from the walls at the far side of the square. Grounding the end of his stave in the stones in front of him, he dropped smoothly to one knee, head bowed and both hands clasped about the shaft of his stave. "Commander Bevan." He said respectfully, still staring at the stones. "My Lord."

"Rise, Captain." Bevan's voice was cold with the indifference of authority. As he drew closer the shadows dropped away and I was able to see the spikes and twisted helm of a dread knight's armor. A long cloak fluttered behind him as he walked; it could have been any color, but in the darkness all was reduced to shades of black and grey. "You made good time. The Grand Commander will be sure to reward you for it."

Soltrane rose to his feet once more, nodding his head in acknowledgement. Now more people were coming forth from the shadows, gathering around until there were twelve all told. All of them dread knights, I realized. Soltrane seemed to take this in too, reaching down to tug at one of his belt buckles as he spoke. "Such a formidable escort. Does the Grand Commander not think me able to handle my charge?"

"You did request the guard, Captain."

"With all due respect, Commander Bevan, the request was not mine. Commander Virgil made the suggestion while I was meeting with him in Bale." Soltrane's voice might have tightened slightly, but it was difficult to tell.

"Ah, so it was Virgil. I had wondered about that." Bevan chuckled, but the sound was dead, devoid of real emotion. "Always the cautious one. But I suppose some caution is in order in situations such as this. Is this the one?" The last mark was directed at me, and he gestured in my direction.

"Uh, if you please sir," Soltrane cut in, "she is a mute. Lady Mariko Ella Ruche."

"Ruche. That's an uncommon surname."

"According to the mother, the father was a wingly from a colony on the fringes of the forgotten lands."

"Interesting." Bevan had drawn close enough that I could make out some of the fine details of his armor in the moonlight. It wasn't especially pleasant to look at. Short, spiked studs adorned every convenient surface of the armor. The helm had been modeled after some ancient, hideous lizard, attentive to detail right down to the minute scales etched into the steel. It might have been something to make a craftsman proud after its forging, but after time and use it now appeared rather battered, with long scratches and scars marring the workmanship. "Very interesting. The Moon Child will be glad to hear that."

I did a quick double take, looking from Soltrane to Bevan. The Moon Child?

Bevan reached out and took my chin in between his forefinger and thumb, tipping my face up so that he might get a better look at me. I stared back at him defiantly as he took it in: pale, silver-blonde hair, violet eyes, the slightly angular look to my features that just didn't fit with the rounded features of most other Serdians... Half-breed. It might have just as well been painted across my forehead.

"My Lord Commander?" The voice came out of the gloom from the center of the square. The dread knight surrounding us shifted to face the newcomer, and for a moment the air was filled with the faint jingle of chain mail. Two of them stepped aside, allowing a young man in a uniform I recognized to be that of a guardsmen hurried into the circle, casting nervous glances at the silent knights surrounding him. "My Lord Commander, Captain Sieg sent me to inform you that the carriages are ready."

"It's about time." Bevan pulled his hand back, releasing my chin. "Tell him that we will be there shortly. Oh, and have some sort of food prepared for the Lady. The carriages will slow us down, I fear. This ride will be a long one."

The messenger bowed and retreated hastily from the circle into the darkness beyond. Bevan watched him go, then nodded. "Alright, everyone. You heard the kid, get a move on. Soltrane, I'm charging you with the Lady's care. The carriages are at the South Gate; you'll find your horse in the stable nearby." He looked around the quiet square, noting the dread knights as they dispersed into the night. "I have some business to attend to here. If the Grand Commander asks for me I should arrive in Fletz sometime tomorrow evening."

Soltrane bowed as Bevan walked past, not rising until the other man had moved out of the square and out of sight around the corner. I looked down, scuffing the cobbles with the bottom of my shoe. The Moon Child. Of course they would have been planning to take me to her. I had heard news from a traveler passing through the inn that Dragoons had been pledging allegiance to her, but... why had they hunted me out? Was she really that desperate for help?

"My Lady. Please don't fall behind." Soltrane had already started across the square; stopping to turn back and look at me, he waited patiently for me to catch up.

Falling into step behind him, I followed meekly, not really paying attention to where I was going. There was no way out of this now. Maybe, if I had tried to run earlier, but not now. The Moon Child was awaiting me now, somewhere across the barren wastes of the Tiberoian heartland. There was really no other choice.

"Pray that you can make your own choices again soon, my Lady. Don't let yourself become trapped..."

I shivered, pulling my cloak closer about my shoulders. No. I would not become trapped. I would go to Fletz, if only because my options were limited. But once I arrived, well...

Only time would tell.



Woot. In comes the white-silver! Getting dragged off to the wrong side against her will, of course, but yeah! Another dragoon! -runs about in circles-

Garren: -watching her from the relative safety of the countertop- My, aren't we hyper today.

Shade: -trips on the rug and falls flat on her face-