To get a better view of the newcomer, Adrina had to slip from the shadows of the balcony, for his back already had been turned to her when she spotted him. The distinct robes of his office were an easy clue as to who the man was as he removed his riding cloak and wrapped it over his arm. Father Jacob was first minister to King Andrew, head of the priesthood, and there was no mistaking the great swirling circles of white that decorated the sleeves of his otherwise black robe.

  A visit by both men, especially at this late hour, was unprecedented and in her mind Adrina found only one answer.

  “War,” she whispered in reverent tones. The Minors were at war.

  As she waited, Adrina slipped into an uneasy slumber and it was some hours later that a distant voice called out in her ear “Your Highness, Princess Adrina?”

  Grudgingly, Adrina stirred. Her room was so dark, the world so blurry. It couldn’t have been day. She closed her eyes and attempted to return to sleep.

  “Are you all right, princess?”

  Adrina recognized the voice of the burly captain of the guard now. She felt his hands on her legs and screamed. The scream, a long and high-pitched wail, brought guards from down the hall and Lady Isador, and roused King Andrew from his bed a second time.

  “Get your hands off me! Go away!”

  “I think you should come with me, princess,” said Captain Brodst.

  Again he attempted to help her up. Again she screamed.

  Motherly Lady Isador came barreling toward the captain screaming, “Hurry, hurry!” to the guards that were right behind her.

  “Get your hands off her. Guards, guards!” she continued.

  Eyes wide, Adrina watched Lady Isador tangle with Captain Brodst.

  From down the hall, she heard her father’s moaning and the clamor of heavy feet running toward her. Suddenly she realized she was lying in the hallway beside the balcony. She slapped a hand to her mouth as the events of last night came flooding back to her—the voices in the hall, Keeper Martin and Father Jacob’s unprecedented visit.

  “By the Mother,” Adrina whispered as she broke out in laughter. The scene was comical. Her lying in the hall. Small-statured Lady Isador barreling down on the burly captain. Her father waddling down the hall in his night slippers. Guards running to her rescue.

  Lady Isador stopped wrestling with the captain and stared at Adrina.

  “She’s lost her mind.” The governess gasped.

  Lady Isador swept Adrina up in a motherly, smothering embrace.

  “You oaf,” she screamed at Captain Brodst, “what did you think you were doing?”

  King Andrew stopped directly in front of Adrina and Isador, and then turned to stare at the captain. Uneasily four guardsmen were pointing their long spears at Captain Brodst. One of the guardsmen’s hands was shaking so violently that the spear was swaying back and forth mightily.

  Embarrassment replaced Adrina’s cheer. She had no idea how she would diffuse the situation. She looked from the captain to the guards to King Andrew to Lady Isador. Apparently, no one else knew what to do either. The guards maintained their stance, spears pointing at their beloved captain. King Andrew scratched his head and attempted to wipe sleep from his tired eyes. Lady Isador was trying to hug the life out of her. Captain Brodst was staring down the four guardsmen, almost tempting them to charge.

  Adrina let Lady Isador help her to her feet and then she walked toward Captain Brodst and took his hand.

  “Thank you,” she said, “will you escort me to my chambers now?”

  The captain walked her to her chambers, where Adrina thanked him again, then closed the door. For five days afterward no mention of the incident was made to her, though she did notice that any time Captain Brodst came near Lady Isador he became very defensive. When this happened, Adrina would hide a smile with her hand and usually Captain Brodst would turn away, an irritated look in his eye.

  Adrina spent those days trying to piece together what had transpired behind closed chamber doors the night of the unexpected visit. That is, when Lady Isador or Chancellor Yi weren’t giving her lessons on courtship and etiquette, and discounting the horrible day she spent with Rudden Klaiveson. The more she probed for answers, the more intrigued she became. No one in the whole of Imtal Palace would talk about the visit—Emel included.

  She was working on a plan to change that. Emel would talk. She had only to find the right time and the right words.

  ***

  Across a vast open courtyard, on the far side of the summer parade grounds, lay the palace stables. Performing his perfunctory duties as acting sergeant delayed Emel and by the time he arrived at the palace stables the others of his company had been and gone.

  His steed, fittingly dubbed Ebony Lightning because it was jet black and could outpace even stallions bred for the king’s swiftest messengers, still waited in its stall. He had known the appointed time of first formation and so he had not hurried—then he had still had a full half hour.

  There was a reason Ebony Lightning was the swiftest steed in Imtal Proper and maybe even in all the land, and that was because of the special bond between horse and rider. Before and after every ride, Emel rubbed the horse down from the poll of its head to the dock of its tail, up and down each powerful leg. In his proud eyes Ebony was the tallest stallion in all the lands high, and when Emel rode him it was from this height that he looked down upon the world.

  Emel would have given anything to be like the Kingdom huntsmen, free like the four winds. His skills as a tracker stemmed from these desires. He had even pulled several short assignments at High Road Garrison—the last being during the past winter and spring—which allowed him to exercise these desires. He had not been able to take Ebony Lightning with him then, but now things were different—since the animal was from the king’s stocks and, while he had cared for the great steed for many years and been its only rider, it was only recently that he had been given the horse, a reward for services rendered.

  He was putting the finishing touches on the rubdown when Adrina found him. Now he could only watch from afar as the other riders began to file through the outer palace gates and listen to the ridemaster’s call, knowing the evident anger in the tone.

  From the expression in her eyes and the saddlebags beside her, Emel knew without doubt what she wanted, yet he maintained his plea one last time.

  “Adrina, I will say this one more time, please give me back the harness and let me go. They’re passing through the palace gates. Damn you and your foolishness.”

  Adrina batted thick eyelashes. “Emel, please, I want to go riding with you. I’ll have my father talk to the ridemaster if need be.”

  “Adrina, it’s not the ridemaster I’m worried about. Now let me go.”

  Adrina dangled the harness in front of him, the only harness that remained in the stables—as far as Emel knew. Adrina had carefully hidden the others.

  “No, not until you say yes.”

  “I’m late and I am going to be in trouble.” Emel was clearly flustered.

  “Just ask, my horse is already saddled, I won’t complain or anything, I promise. I’ll even be quiet. I won’t say a word the entire way. You know how much I want to leave the palace… It’s so dead, Emel, it’s all dead… I see nothing but these damned gray walls and all I want to do is scream, shout at the top of my lungs and curse the whole of the world.”

  There was evident sadness in her words and Emel understood it. He understood what it was to be swallowed by the sense of loss, to mourn for so long that all you remembered was the sadness—forever retreating to that hollow place in the pit of your gut where sadness swells from—yet his oath was to the Kingdom and not to her.

  Also, he had sudden visions of spending another winter and spring at High Road Garrison.

  “I never hit a girl before, but if I have to, I will,” said Emel.

  “I am not a girl, I am a woman, and I… if you hit me—” The princess paused. Still determined, she continued with a cool tone that was almost callous, “If you hit me, I’ll hit you back.”

  Emel believed her. She had been trained in hand-to-hand combat the same as he had—an actuality that Adrina was proud of—and the fact that she had bested him once or twice on the competition field led him to believe that she could be capable of it again.

  “Okay, you win, I’ll ask. Now let’s hurry,” said Emel, hoping to snatch the harness from relaxed hands, and that is just what he did. He put the harness in place and was in the saddle nearly as fast as the wind—by his standards—but, by the time that he had finished, the persistent princess had her mount.

  “Adrina, please, just forget it.”

  “I’ve never been on an adventure. I’m all set for excitement,” answered Adrina, pleading her case with the tone of her voice, still holding to the melodramatic.

  “We aren’t actually leaving until tomorrow. Today was to be practice. There are a dozen other guardsmen who will willingly take my position. Please just leave me alone. I have to show the ridemaster I know what I am doing. Besides, the ride to Alderan City on the edge of West Deep is hardly an adventure. I’ll be back in a few weeks. I’ll take you riding then.”

  “I don’t care, I just want to be away, as far away from Imtal as possible. Besides, I know something of the reason we are going to Alderan by the sea.”

  Adrina directed her eyes at him—it was mostly true.

  “We aren’t going. I am going. If I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my chance too. Ridemaster Gabrylle is sure to be angry.”

  Adrina knew the departure was shrouded in secrecy. Ridemaster Gabrylle had been told to make the journey look like training for the young palace ridesmen. Adrina had heard this from a kitchen cook that bedded the ridemaster. She owed the rather large woman a string of favors for the telling.

  “Seven days ago, my father had two important visitors in the night. One was Keeper Martin, head of all Lore Keepers. The other, Father Jacob, first minister, head of the priesthood. Keeper Martin brought grave news from the Far South.”

  “Really?” asked Emel, “You’re not jesting are you?”

  “Do I look like I am? By the Mother, I tell you it is the truth. You didn’t know this, did you?”

  The thought of lying outright crossed Emel’s mind, but the truth was that he didn’t know. As far as he knew no one had been told of this, though he was admittedly extremely curious.

  “No,” he said truthfully, definitively.

  “I heard the whole plan,” said Adrina. She was lying and vowed to repent later, if it worked.

  “How do you know? I wasn’t even told, and I am a Sergeant at Arms.” He made the title sound lofty.

  “And I am the king’s daughter, aren’t I? I am privileged to certain information that you aren’t.”

  Emel was taken aback by her words, but believed her. Possibly she really did know, he thought. “All right, but you have to tell me everything.”

  “Of course, first you must tell me the reason we travel to Alderan. Then if you tell me the truth, I will tell you what I know.”

  “We travel to Alderan to meet a ship that sailed from Wellison in the South three days ago.”

  “Thank you.” Adrina spurred her mount on.

  The two moved across the pristine green of the open parade grounds at a slow trot. Emel purposefully reined his mount in despite its urge to race away and chase the wind. He wanted to find out what Adrina knew, for then he could ride off, leaving her behind without a care—or so he hoped.

  “Well. Aren’t you going to tell me something?” asked Emel.

  Adrina wasn’t about to fall for this ploy. “Yes, I’m going to tell you, just not right now. Only if you talk to the ridemaster. Is it a deal?”

  Flustered and confident he’d never find out what Adrina knew, also sure she would chase him down even if he charged his mount out the gates, Emel waived his better judgment. He agreed to her wishes. Anyway, he knew the final words of approval were not his. Maybe if King Andrew said a final no, Adrina would tell him what she knew anyway—if he stayed on her good side. Emel said, “I’ll talk to the ridemaster.”

  Chapter Five:

  Realization

  The hours passed slowly in the peaceful hollow Vilmos had retreated to, its gentle serenity carefully lulling him into mindless complacency. Thoughts of returning home seemed so distant, so very distant. After all, he could dwell in the valley forever, couldn’t he?

  There was a finality in the thoughts that frightened him, and it was only this that ended his feelings of complacency and propelled the urge to return home to the foremost thought in his mind. With one last look down over his valley, Vilmos turned and walked away, leaving the peaceful vale far behind in a few powerful strides.

  Strange though it seemed, the return trek was never as easy as the initial folding of thoughts one on top of the other that it took to get to the peaceful vale. No, the trek home was a long and arduous journey through a darkened land. Vilmos had to pass along the little country path that parted the dark wood and run for some distance veiled from the sun, with a perpetually icy wind at his back. He had to cross the distance from the woods to the village.

  The next step of the journey was to enter the quaint country home that was his father’s. His face set in a heavy mask of personal anguish, he did so on his tiptoes, moving slowly and quietly. He crossed to his room and closed the door without a sound. Approaching the bed, his bed, he sat down unaware of the gaunt, still figure already present. A moment for adjustment taken, Vilmos opened his eyes and retreated from his special place—the place he could have retreated back to with a simple folding of thoughts but which never relinquished him without first warning him that the world was a cruel and callous place.

  That he would remain in his room throughout the rest of the morning was already a given. He found contentment by idly sitting on the edge of his bed where he could gaze out the clear open window and think of nothing in particular. And when he finally did venture out of his room, it was not until the midday had come and passed.

  Upon cursory inspection, Vilmos discovered his father had already departed. On Seventhday, which was today, his father met with the Three Village Assembly. He was sure they would discuss the recent bear attack. Goose bumps ran up and down his back. He could have ended up just like the girl from Olex Village—and only Lillath would’ve cared.

  A cherished notion to run away vaulted from his mind. There was work that needed to be done. Helping his mother, Lillath, brought Vilmos happiness, even though he considered “housework” a woman’s chore.

  Whistling a little tune, quaint and cheerful, he diligently started. Sweeping the floors was an easy task, so he tackled that first. He swept out the kitchen and the long, oblong floor of the visiting room in a matter of minutes. Bedrooms and halls were next and after them, as always, the porch. He was sweating now and the cool perspiration felt good. It was “honest work” he did, or so his mother said.

  He paused for a time, though not long. Wood blocks still needed to be split and piled by the wood shed. His room needed to be cleaned. The bed made. His few belongings gathered and placed back into the wooden chest that lay at the foot of his bed.

  After several hours of continuous labor and an examination by his mother, Vilmos was finished. Joyfully, he scrambled into the kitchen to sneak something to eat, yet as always it was his ill-fated luck to be caught.

  “Vil-MOS! What are you doing?” Lillath asked. She tried to hide laughter with her hand. “Never cease eating do you?”

  “But I am hungry.”

  “Go ahead. Don’t eat too much. We’ll have an early dinner. Don’t forget today is Seventhday and we’ll all go to the service, won’t we?”

  Vilmos frowned, then replied, “Yes, mother,” but in his mind, he wished they would not go. He hated the long sermons, during which he often fell asleep, which got him into even more trouble.

  In a moment Vilmos knew that without fail he would be told to review the history and as he didn’t want to do that, he gathered up his bread and cheese and tried to leave.

  “Not so fast. Hold on a minute Vilmos,” Lillath said, “forgetting something?”

  “No mother. I put the bread back into the box, honest.”

  In a blur he was out the door and headed toward his room, sanctuary one solitary step away when the voice reached him.

  “Mustn’t forget to study your history. Someday you’ll fill your father’s position. Even with your faults.” She added the last part in jest, but Vilmos didn’t catch the false sarcasm in her voice immediately.

  “And what faults are those?”

  Lillath tried to hide her smile with a shielding hand. “I’m only joking. Go study the Book.”

  Vilmos lifted the heavy book from its resting place. Usually the Great Book would lie before him the remainder of the day, but mostly his mind would wander. Vilmos turned back to his mother and asked, “Mother, are there other books? I mean, surely all knowledge cannot be contained in one book.”

  “Don’t ever let your father hear you talk like that.” Lillath paused and stared at the boy. Her tone became milder. “Books are a rare, rare thing in the land. It takes years, lifetimes, to pen a single tome. And only a true book smith can press scrolls into such a leather binding as befits the Great Book.”

  Vilmos smiled. He opened the book about midway, and then set it down. Normally he would have turned away immediately and stared out the window. But today the book seemed to want to open to a particular pair of pages, a group of pages shuffled and he was staring at a new section of the book. Thinking fondly of what his mother had said, he mumbled his way through the inscribed words.

  With the simple lives of children, the story began…

  Thousands of years ago wars ravaged the lands, spread by the slow incursion of the race called Man to the brother races until it seemed that humankind would not endure.

  Great-Father had not intervened until this time, he had spread his gifts thinly out to each of the brother races, imparting each with but one simple gift, but even the wise and the great could not have foretold the coming of the scourge of evil spread by a maligning of those same simple gifts…