Switching Places

By Rebecca Patch

Chapter One

Bran Springs A Trap

Disclaimer: I own none of the fantastical, wonderful, amazing… (Goes on, and on, and on…) characters in this story—they belong to Sherwood Smith. The only thing that is mine is the oddness of the plot and the warping (hopefully not too bad) of the characters, and possibly new characters.

I glanced at the sky apprehensively. It was dark—the stars shone brightly from their simple pockets of sky. The weaving of black trees around me felt safe—but I knew that nothing was safe, not until this cursed war was over.

For the hundredth time in the past hour I thought of Bran. My brother was out there doing only-he-knew-what.

Once again, I wished for the war to end. Although I knew the justness and importance of our struggle, the entirety of the thing, being a commander and all, was more than a bit tiring.

I sat down on a tree stump and rubbed my tired eyes. Each day seemed to drag on forever, an eternity in only a few hours. My stomach complained—when was the last time I had eaten?

I lifted my eyes to the stars again, as if attempting to glimpse from them some wisdom from them that I could not seek nor find myself. The stars simply shone back, as beautiful, blank, and silent as ever.

I turned, to head back to the camp.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a feeling of unease crept over me. Something was amiss.

I crept stealthily, stirring not a twig, into the dense foliage to my right. I knelt in the shadows of the dense bushes and trees, listening intently. The wind carried no trace of sound—humanoid, or otherwise—to my searching ears.

Despite the coolness of the evening, my body felt aflame. I could not say why—but I still carried this distinct feeling of unease, which rippled through my body like the tide.

I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. The air was still—to still. Still as death.

As I craned my ears for some sound, any sound at all, I was rewarded. A sharply metallic klingg! shot through the night air.

It seemed another of our traps had gone off.

Although I detested laying animal tracks to pick off Galdran's men, I had to face the facts. 1) We were badly outnumbered, and 2) They were breaking the Code of War. And, although the thought of trapping human beings like animals sickened me, it was better than the alternative.

I smiled slightly at the idea of the enemy being caught in yet another trap.

Unhurriedly, I made my way back to camp. I loved walking under the stars, with the night air blowing through my hair. I seemed so alone up here—it was as if I owned the whole mountains. I was so… free.

Camp, much to my surprise, was a flurry of activity. I frowned slightly. This much activity could only mean that something had happened to tip the scales—on way or another. I needed to find Bran, or Khesot, our general, and quickly.

I ran through the throngs of agitated people, pushing my way past them until I reached my tent. Oria was waiting for me. She held a tray in one hand, bearing a small amount of food, and some water, and a worried frown creased her pretty forehead.

"What is it?" I asked, immediately.

The frown deepened. "Mel—you mean… you do not know…?"

"Know what?" I asked intently, beginning to feel quite worried.

My worry increased three-fold when Oria did not answer. "It's not my place," she said, reluctantly, "I'll find Khesot. Stay right here."

I frowned. Since when did Oria order me around? I followed her orders—I knew that if she was giving me orders, then it was for a very important reason.

Khesot arrived within five minutes.

I could tell from his face that something was wrong. "What is it?" I asked.

His eyes looked worried. "Countess…" He said, and trailed off.

"What is it?" I asked, thoroughly scared.

"It's your brother…"

"What about Bran?"

The silence was interminable. It remained unbroken for what seemed like forever. Khesot licked his lips as he watched my face, unsure of what to say.

"The enemy's got him."

The world seemed to spin….

The enemy's got him.

The enemy's got him.

Got him. Got him… the enemy…

"How did this happen?"

"Stumbled into a trap," Khesot said. "I guess you were right about them."

"When?" I asked, numb from shock.

"Had to have been under an hour ago," Khesot said, "We got the news just before you arrived."

My throat constricted. I knew when the trap had gone off. After all, I had heard it. Heard it, and laughed, thinking it the enemy.

"But Bran knew how to dissemble them," I whispered.

Khesot made a face. "He didn't have time, my lady."

I whirled around, attempting to make sense of what he had said. I needed to scream—but that would alert the enemy to our position.

"What do you propose we do?" I asked.

Khesot made another face. "Normally, I'd say attack, take 'em by surprise, and get Bran back. However…"

"What?"

"There's a possibility that they don't know who he is. If we go after him, it will leave them without a doubt. Then Galdran has bargaining power."

I pondered for the merest of seconds. "It's a chance we'll have to take." I said, "We don't know how much they know, but we can't leave him there."

Khesot nodded. "Very good, my lady."

I walked from the tent, surprisingly calm.

Author's Note: Sorry about the incredibly short chapter. I hope you like it! Read, and review my friends!