Chapter One – Raiders

The scroll bearing the seal of Margrave Pendry, Archon of the Order of Coelum, lay on her bed. The instructions were clear. Accompany the Furst Guards and Jame Dunrick to Wychering.

The morning sun lit the room through open lead-paned windows as curtains billowed and birds sang in nearby gardens. Lilac floated on the air, a clean scent that always brought a sense of calm. But, at this moment, it did little for Ameline Harsent. She stared into the electrum mirror at her mother’s reflection.

A frown and furrowed brow brought creases across her mother’s placid face.

“What is it, Mother? I have to hurry.”

Her mother peered at her with penetrating hazel eyes. Ameline hated that look. She set the hairpins down and turned to face her mother.

Erwenna Harsent’s dark hair, up in a tight ball on top of her head, gave her such an odd look that Ameline had to force away a grin.

“Sir Morgan Lasair, we expect him any minute. He expects to see you.”

“What? Mother, no. I have been instructed to leave with Jame and the Furst Guards when they arrive. I have no time for Morgan Lasair.” Ameline frowned.

“They can wait in the main hall, while you entertain Sir Morgan and that is the end of it. Get out of your riding clothes and into proper attire.”

“Mother, wait, I—but Margrave, the scroll.”

“No buts, you will do as you are told.” Her mother turned and walked towards the door.

“Erwenna,” Ameline called out hoping to irritate her mother but received a dismissive wave instead.

“Be quick, do not keep him waiting,” her mother called back as she left the room.

“Why am I forced to entertain Morgan Lasair?” The door closed with a clunk. Ameline pulled the rest of the pins from her auburn hair and let it cascade down her shoulders.

The low thunder of hoof-beats sounded through her open window. She peered out to see Jame Dunrick, a mounted archer, and five of the Furst Guards riding up. Jame, in his black cloak, and brown jerkin, his long dark hair visible even with the hood up, dismounted. He was a fine man and her best friend.

He glanced up at her window, smiled and waved.

Glancing down at the small table beside the bed, her eyes fell on the pendant Jame had given her years ago, they had promised each other forever. Jame was not noble born and custom demanded she marry a noble. Ameline detested customs.

In a small act of defiance she slipped the pendant over her head, tucked it inside her dress and left the room.

Her mother met her in the hall, accompanied by her little sister, Cerella.

“He is here, in your father’s study.” She gave Ameline an approving look as she adjusted the silk at the cuffs of her pale blue dress.

Cerella snickered, her brown braided hair forever in her hands. “You look like a fancied cow.”

Erwenna glared at Cerella. “She does not, now hush before I send you to muck the stables.”

Ameline stuck her tongue out at her sister. “Why must I do this? I am not a throw-piece, Mother.”

“I dare say I agree, you have been given your choice of suitors.” Her mother arched an eyebrow. “I was not afforded such at your age. Alas, you have run them all off. I do not like the ways any more than you do, but it is the way of things. He has only come to call. Your father nor I will promise you. That is your choice, but you must choose among the nobles.”

Ameline sighed, “Alright, I shall speak with him but only for a moment.”

“Be your sweet, charming self, my dear,” her mother cooed. “And perhaps you may just find he is a likable fellow.”

“Or you can give him a lip-clap,” Cerella jeered.

“To the stables.” Her mother pointed and gave Cerella a small smack.

Cerella’s shoulders slumped, “Mother.”

“You were warned. Now off.”

*

The door opened with a slight groan as she eased into the study. Shelves cluttered with books lined each wall. A small desk, with quill, ink and her father’s pipe, sat near a window with pulled back curtains. Sir Morgan Lasair sat in her father’s high-backed chair, a leather bound tome in his hands. His face darkened from the sun, his hair, light brown with some curls. Dark eyes that held a certain gleam, as if he knew something that the rest of the world did not. An impressive man, though dressed simple. Plain browns and tans while the rest of the nobles pomped in brights and florals, though he was anything but simple, somewhat of a legend for his efforts at Karamere, known as cunning and calculating, traits she did not mind in a man. Jame lacked that, straightforward as a bull.

Word games and riddles pleased her the most but Jame would rather shoot straight and drink.

Lasair was a Mage Senior in the Order of Coelum and officially considered a Mage, whereas she was not.

It was not that she disliked Morgan, but she felt pushed. Still, he came calling and she must attend him.

Ameline inclined her head.

“Sir Morgan, how nice of you to call.”

Morgan looked up, smiled and stood, setting the book down.

“Lady Ameline,” he said with a bow.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Sir?”

“The pleasure is mine, Lady, but I did expect you in your riding clothes.”

Confusion must have played so plain across her face, for he smiled and even chuckled.

“You have a secret, Sir Morgan?”

“No.” He gave her a quizzical look.

“Why did you expect me in my riding clothes?” What game is Mother playing at?

“We ride with the Furst Guard. Jame and the others await in the main hall. I am given lead.”

Ameline fidgeted with the lace on her cuff.

“I thought—I thought Margrave had recommended to the King that I finally be allowed to go out in the field. I have been told nothing, except to await Jame and the Furst.”

“Ah, good Margrave. Yes, he sent the letter as is required of the Archon to do, but no, Lady, it was I that asked for you.”

What game are you playing at Sir Morgan?

“Then thanks are in order. And I do thank you, Sir—”

“Call me Morgan, I insist.” He gave her a quick smile, a flash, and then his face took on a hard look. “Margrave is a good man, but his tendencies lean toward politics and books.” He crossed his arms and gazed out the window. “I believe that doing, going out in the field and putting your abilities to practical use makes a better teacher than books and classrooms.” His voice held passion and energy.

“So you did not come to call on me?” Despite how she felt, disappointment cut into the edges of her consciousness.

“Call on you?” He turned and faced her. “I must say, you are beautiful. None would dare deny. But no, I am not here to call on you.”

Her heart sank a little. She should have felt relief but instead—well it was confusing.

“My mother said…I should go change then. Morgan, if you will excuse me.”

“Of course, Lady.” He nodded. “But first we need to discuss the mission.”

“Yes, please.” Ameline tugged at her sleeve.

You are beautiful. Jame had never said that to her, though he had hinted a few times.

“It is regrettable that Margrave saw fit to leave out the details. It is no secret. We ride to Wychering, people are missing. The rumors say Dredspel raiders are taking slaves.”

Dredspel, a small city in the kingdom of Aastri, on the border to Havenfurst. They had raided before the treaty, now to violate that, could mean another war.

“Dredspel? Slavery? That is a high crime, Sir. But the treaty with Aastri, have we not sent an envoy to speak to King Vax?”

He was beside her with a deft move and took her hand into his.

“We shall speak as we ride. It is going to be a long day. But after the mission,” he looked at her, his dark eyes hinting, “I should very much like to call on you.”

“That would please me, Morgan.” She let go of his hands, inclined her head to him, turned and walked out.

Heat flushed to her face and she was glad he could not see. What had she just said? Guilt floated up as she remembered the pendant around her neck.

Chapter Two – The Ride

Her mother met them outside. “And what of my daughter’s safety, Sir Morgan?” Erwenna Harsent asked as Ameline mounted her mare. A fine horse she called Etty.

“Mother? I am old enough to hold my own. I do not need anyone to look out for my safety. I am in the Order after all and it is my duty.”

“And one you are all too happy to oblige,” she gave Ameline a guarded look.

“I will be fine.” Ameline glanced towards Morgan, “May we go?”

“Yes, and Lady Harsent, you have my assurance.” Morgan gave a gracious bow.

They passed through the east gate kicking up dust as the horses cantered along and hit the small trail that wound its way around Hawkryng Lake and down towards the river. The mountain range from which the lake and river drew their names loomed in the distance, its peaks mist-covered and mysterious. Tall firs lined the far shoreline closest to the mountains, evergreen hinted on the northeast wind.

Morgan Lasair rode up beside her.

“Let us ride together, I will take lead. We will follow the Hawkryng down to Cordonva and from there take the east road to Wychering.”

Ameline nodded and followed him to the front, she glanced at Jame as she passed, smiled then cantered up to Morgan.

“Are you going to tell me why we are headed to Wychering, and not an emissary from the King?” she asked.

“Simple enough, Lady. We investigate first, send an emissary if our investigation bears fruit.”

Jame came riding up, a frown on his face.

“Aye, what are ya going on about? If ya is discussing the mission I think we all should know.”

“I had a question, Jame, not that it is any of your business.”

“This mission concerns all of us, Ames.”

She knew that look, knew that Jame did not like her talking to Morgan. She slowed Etty and leaned close to Jame.

“Are you jealous, Jame Dunrick?” she whispered.

“No, I just—I need to talk to Sergeant Bollard.” Jame slowed and let the Sergeant catch up to him.

Her spirits lifted as the day brightened and early morning mist gave way to the warm sun.

Being a mage was all that she ever dreamed about, since her abilities first revealed themselves and that small puff of smoke left her hand.

Now she was going out in the field.

She glanced at Jame. She loved him, but at times he acted as if she did not matter, other times he exuded a jealousy that lovers would find astonishing. He did not mention their promise much, and when he did, it was as if it was a pleasant memory. It seemed the realization that they would never be together had dawned on Jame long before it had her.

Water churned and gurgled as they reached the river, riding ever southward. The Furst Guards chatting created a distant din behind her. They wore the livery of Havenfurst, red with black finishing and a fierce gray wolf emblazoned across the front of their tabards.

Morgan held up his fist.

“Hold, we water the horses and break here.”

She led Etty across the sandbar to the water’s edge and let her drink.

Jame came walking over.

“Nice day, eh?”

“It is lovely,” Ameline replied gazing up at the sky.

“Figure it is about an hour past mid-day.” Jame handed her a cake of gingerbread while looking skyward.

“Thank you, Jame.” She nodded and accepted the cake.

“Aye, ya welcome.”

Jame sauntered back to his horse.

His height, dark eyes and that cleft in his chin gave him an allure, as well as his mountain-folk accent. It angered her to think that a silly custom kept them apart.

She retrieved her water-skin from Etty’s saddlebags, sat and sipped as she watched insects play on the water’s surface and the soft ripples from the wind glittering it with bright shimmers.

The Furst tended to their horses and checked their weapons. A breeze kicked up their tabards and whispered through the leaves of nearby trees. She looked to her left and found Morgan Lasair standing next to her. He made no noise in his approach. Cunning indeed. He glanced down at her, sat and propped his forearms across his knees.

“Why did you ask for me to come on this mission? Jame and the guards can easily handle raiders, alone,” she whispered, hoping the others did not hear.

“You moved up the first ranks quickly, Lanc taught you well.” He rubbed his close-trimmed beard with a black gauntleted hand. “You are a fast learner but I hear the Fifth is giving you a difficult time.”

“Difficult? No,” she lied, “I mean yes a little but nothing I cannot handle. My question remains unanswered, Sir.”

“There is a fear that this is not Dredspel raiders claiming slaves. People are missing. Children and some adults from Wychering. Whispers of dark magic and demons.”

“Warlocks, necromancers and the likes?”

“Yes, possibly so.”

Ameline swallowed and licked her lips. Necromancers?

He laid a hand upon her shoulder, a strong and reassuring grip.

She turned her head towards him, locked on his eyes and found courage there.

He hesitated a moment then his hand slid from her shoulder to her arm.

“We are here only to investigate. Look for traces of magic, that is what you and I are here for. Jame, and the Furst will look for signs of raiders.”

Ameline nodded.

“Do you like riddles?” he asked.

Does mother have to tell everything?

“Occasionally,” she replied.

“Well, chew on this while we ride and when you think you know the answer, let me know.” With that said, he rose. “Saddle up, break is over. We ride.”

“The riddle, Sir?”

“Yes, Lady Ameline. What is very personal but shared with everyone?”

She whispered the words to herself as she mounted her horse.

Jame was lagging a bit behind her so she slowed and let him catch up. He gnawed on an apple core, turned, looked at her and threw it on the ground.

“You two seem to be gettin along. What was that about?”

“Nothing.”

“Looked like nothing to me,” he smirked.

“Oh mind your own.”

“Meant no harm, Lady Ameline.”

“Before I tell you to sod off, what is very personal but shared with everyone?”

“Now, now, that is no way for a proper lady to speak. But to answer ya question, I could tell ya,” he grabbed his crotch. “But ya would get jealous, Lady Ameline.”

“You—you. Jame Dunrick, why. Your parents—does your mother know you. Oh, just sod off.” She kicked her horse and caught up with Morgan Lasair, who, by the look on his face, had heard the whole thing. The man was smirking.

“Something funny, Sir.”

Lasair chuckled, “Not at all, Lady Ameline. Have you figured out the riddle?”

“Not yet but I am working on it.”

“Yes, Lady—”

“Stop calling me Lady, please just call me…Ameline…,” she trailed off.

Morgan Lasair winked at her.

“Your name, Sir Morgan. Your name is very personal but is shared with everyone. Clever.”

Morgan inclined his head towards her, “Thank you.”

“Now I have one for you.”

“By all means, do tell.”

Ameline put a finger to her lips and thought for a moment. “A slave I have been and shall remain. To a cruel mistress I’m tied with invisible chains. Yet always I put on the same brave face. She keeps me her prisoner, but leaves me some space.”

He looked perplexed. Had she done it? Had she baffled the cunning Morgan Lasair?

“Let me think on it, Ameline. I promise not to cheat as you attempted.”

“Men.”

Morgan Lasair shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “What? Wait, do I need to sod off?”

Ameline slowed and rode between Morgan and Jame. Two grinning fools.

After a few minutes of plodding along the small trail, Morgan looked back at her. He opened his mouth.

“Ah-wooooo.” He tilted his head towards the sky and howled again. “Ah-woooo. The moon, Ameline.”

“Well done. You have alerted every bandit from here to Old Michel Point of our presence.”

Morgan shook his head, “And they would be fools to attack us. Five of the Furst, a bowman and two mages? Dead before they even acquired a single copper.”

“Truly,” Ameline replied. “Though we have one mage, not two. Officially.” She spurred Etty ahead.

Morgan rode behind her and by the sound of it Jame had joined him. She could hear bits and pieces of the conversation.

“Willful, that one,” retorted Jame. “Been that way her whole life. Like trying to tame a wildcat.”

“She is young, and hubris is for the young.”

“Aye, same age we are, she and I,” Jame said. “Ya seem a bit—old and I never met a mage that was not full of, what was that word? Hubris.”

“I am not that old.”

They were talking about her as if she was not there. Agitation welled up.

“I can hear what you two fopdoodles are saying.”

“Ah, Ames, have we said somethin’, untrue?” Jame smiled as she turned back to glare at him.

“No but it is improper.”

“I am not proper born, Lady Ameline.”

“Well, he is,” she said looking back. “And you two can—”

“Sod off,” both Jame and Morgan said together and laughed.

Morgan caught up with her and rode in silence for a while.

“I am sorry, Ameline.”

“You are rude, Sir Morgan.”

“Just a bit of fun. I understand you wish to ride with the Furst Elites?”

“And what is that to you?”

“To ride with Jame?”

Ameline blushed. “That is no concern of yours.” A discerning man.

“Well, you will endure much more sport than what Jame and I have partaken in, if you ride with the Elites.”

Ameline nodded, and pointed. “Cordonva,” she said changing the subject. The sun descended into the west, the city a welcomed sight.

Cordonva sprawled out before them. East of the capital, Kithskule, Cordonva was an important place as all roads coming from the east led to it. From Buklocva by way of Buklo Pass and from Aastri by way of Dredspel, a city near the border.  Any and all eastern trade came through Cordonva. Aastri had tried to take Cordonva in the last war. The Furst Elites ended that.

“We stop here for the night,” said Morgan.

Cobblestone wound through Cordonva. Wagons creaked, and oxen groaned at the whip but all made way for the Furst Guards. Smoke rose from chimney’s and baked bread made her mouth water. Wattle and daub houses sat side by side, lining the narrow road. Dirty faced children waved at the guards as they passed.

A lone copper-clad spire rose above all the other architecture, that of the town hall.

They found an inn, The Shepherd’s Pie. Oaken doors with iron supports swung open as two patrons filed out. Henry pushed his way in, making room for Morgan.

Smith-wrought chandeliers hung from the rough beamed ceiling, dripping wax from candles slowly burning. Ages of sweat, blood and smoke gave the dark room an acrid scent.

Ameline, carrying her saddlebags, crinkled her nose in disdain. Morgan glanced at her and grinned.

“First time in an inn?”

“No, but the ones I have visited did not have this reek.”

“Will you be needing rooms?” asked the innkeeper, wiping his hands on his apron and glaring at Ameline while speaking to Morgan.

Morgan nodded. “Yes. Food and drink as well.”

“Aye, low on rooms but suppose you and the lads can bunk up in two. Will the lady have one of her own?”

“Yes please,” Ameline replied.

“Find a spot then and sit down.” The innkeeper stomped off.

After everyone had finished, they sat for a while and talked. The guards spoke of wives, children, and home. Jame of hunting in his beloved mountains.

“We ride in the morning. Better get plenty of rest,” Morgan said standing up.

Ameline picked up her saddlebags and headed for the stairs, Morgan right behind her.

“I need another drink,” said Jame. “And I want to hear the music, maybe find a lass to dance with. I will be up in a bit.”

Ameline turned her head to find Jame grinning at her.

*

Half an hour later, Ameline cracked open her door and peered out. No one was milling around upstairs. She slipped out of the door, closing it with a soft touch. Music played downstairs, a festive tune. Several couples were up and dancing as a lone man played the nyckelharpa and sang.

She looked for Jame among the dancers but he sat alone at their table with a mug and a sour look. Hoping to sneak up on him, Ameline took discreet steps towards Jame, touched him on one shoulder and side-stepped to the other.

Jame’s head zipped to the left and then to the right before he discovered her.

“Still looking for a lass, I see,” Ameline laughed.

“Danced with four already, I will have ya know.”

Ameline sat, took Jame’s mug and turned it up finishing his ale.

“Truly? You must be boring for I see none here now.”

“Ya need to get back upstairs, rest is what Sir Morgan said ya need.”

“I have a mind to do as I please.”

“No surprise there, Ames. And what is it that pleases ya at the moment?”

“I still have this,” Ameline replied, pulling out the pendant he had given her years ago.

“Aye so ya do.” His eyes softened. “That old trinket. My ma accused me of taking it, ya know? Always denied it.”

“Remember this?” Ameline asked as she held up her scarred hand.

“Aye, I do. Like it was yesterday. Hurt bad, that.” Jame held up his hand to her, revealing his matching scar. “Ya brother walloped me good, but it was youse idea.”

Ameline aligned the scars and put her hand into Jame’s and stared into his eyes.

“My apologies for that.”

He clasped her hand and held it.

“Dance with me, Ames.”

Small shocks tingled up and down her spine at his touch. She rose with her hand still in his and grinned.

“Since I am the only lass left in here, I guess I have to.”

“Ya sure you would rather dance with me and not Sir Morgan?”

“He is charming…”

Jame glared.

“Sod off and dance with me,” Ameline jested.

Jame laughed and took her into his arms.

Ameline smiled as a tune spilled out into the air and their feet moved to the quick steps of the song. Jame moved with grace and pulled her along. He twirled her around and zipped her back into his arms, all the while stepping to the tune, never once missing a step. She knew court dances, the formal ones, not country folk dancing such as this.

She laughed as her hair slipped out of place and spun with her body. Her first dance with Jame, and maybe her last. When would they ever have this chance again? Holding both of his hands, moving in and out, she lived inside a dream as the music stole the seconds away.

The tune ended and Ameline suspected the dance was over but a slow cry came from the nyckelharpa.

The Cliffs of Verlance.

A song of two lovers who meet at the sacred cliffs to speak their vows of unending love.

She looked into Jame’s eyes.

He stepped in and put his arms about her waist and pulled her close, so close she smelled the ale on his breath, the leather he wore, and sweat.

They moved to the slow tune.

Enraptured in the moment, she laid her head into his chest and he held her there.

Jame held her.

Ameline’s blood coursed hot. The words, she wanted to say the words. They burned inside her, to say and mean, to feel the weight of them returned, but she knew better, and it hurt. Why must it be this way?

No matter how much she felt, to say the words, to give any hope of what could not be. She dared not say them.

The song ended, they stepped apart, Ameline planted a soft kiss on his cheek and darted back up the stairs to her room.

Her memory of this night would forever remain…perfect.

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