“Might as well keep that one, it’s shoddy steel, not even worth melting down. And it can’t be enchanted, not even the poorest wizard would waste magic on that junk. I’ll not pay your master for that kind of thing.”

“Cut wood, carry water, cook food, gather components... I hate this.” Rall groaned in frustration as he dragged yet another stack of books from one self to the next. One truly annoying habit his master had was his constant need to rearrange his library in ever more convoluted ways. Of course, Rall always had to do the hard work of moving and reorganizing, his master would never stoop to actually moving anything himself. And should Rall organize things incorrectly, or damage a book, the punishments were growing both terrible and creative.

The labor alone might not have bothered Rall so much, after all he often ran errands for his parents at their shop and the opportunity to study with Master Xabriar was something rare to be treasured, or so his parents told him. But the master’s attitude soured every errand, and Rall felt more and more each day as if the master resented his very existence. Some days he wished he’d hidden away during the yearly testing that uncovered his strong potential.. If only he had joined the City guard like his best friend Arron! He could see the affect of his friend’s hard training, both in his attitude and his physique. Arron also seemed to be enjoying himself, and Rall was more than envious.

Heaving the last of the great grimoire in place Rall dust himself off and started toward one of the darker corners to sit down and hopefully have a few moments to rest.

“Apprentice! Come and carry this refuse to the smiths, and tell him to destroy every last piece. And make sure he pays me for the base metals or I’ll string you up from the stairs and flay your flesh off in strips!” Rang his master’ voice through the citadel with a thundering roar. It was a spell of course. The master very rarely made the effort to tell him anything in person and was more than happy to thunder his commands through his domain at the expense of Rall’s poor ears.

Looking toward the gloomy stairwell that led to the upper floors Rall sighed with a sunken look. The master had never bothered to create any teleportation circles in the citadel like the Academy of Magic had. There was no need for such devices in his own tower. Sadly for Rall if he wished to travel anywhere in the massive tower he had to rely on his own two legs. The climb from his current level was interminable.

“Took you long enough, boy.” The master remarked snidely as Rall reached the top step, not even bothering to look up from his scrying pool to address his apprentice.

Rall dragged himself through the doorway, exhausted. “Sorry Master Xabriar, the Library is many flights down you see,” Rall began to explain, but was quickly silenced by his teacher.

“Enough of your blubbering, just take the things and go.” Rall shouldered the heavy bag, which clanked and shifted like it might be full of metal objects, and started down the many, many steps of the tower.

Stepping out of the tower, Rall was assaulted with the sounds of the city which were prevented from entering the tower proper by his master’s magic. Master Xabriar did enjoy his quiet. People passed by in every direction, street urchins playing hoop and stick in alleyways, shopkeepers crying out their wares, and messengers running between the towers in an unending marathon. Rall ignored all of it studiously as he shouldered his heavy burden, puffing already but determined to do his Master’s bidding before he could be punished for laziness.

Half an hour of walking later Rall dropped the bag on the floor at the forge, coated with sweat streaked by soot from the forge fire. “Master Smith, I have some things my master wants melted down. I’m supposed to ask for the worth of the metals.”

“Right then boy, we’d better have a looksee.” The smith opened the bag cautiously, and used a pair of tongs to lift items from it. He noticed Rall’s odd look and shook his head, “Never can tell what kind of thing the wizards might throw away. I’ll melt the lot down, but if any of it tries anythin’ funny you’ll get no copper from me. Da... These wizards don’t always see fit to warn us common folk before droppin’ stuff that might explode in our laps. Make yourself useful and watch, if you see anything with your mage trained eyes that I ought leave be, you let me know!”

Rall swallowed nervously and nodded. In spite of being apprenticed to the most powerful sorcerer in Gaerbron, he had never been taught the trick of seeing magical auras. The smith picked up a rod that looked like solid gold with his tongs, and set it in a clay bowl on the fire. Rall’s heart pounded like a racing horse as the bowl began to smolder, but slowly the rod melted into a puddle inside without a whisper or spark.

“That’s not so bad, there.” The smithy remarked with a smile, to which Rall nodded furiously. How about that gilded knife? I’ll try taking off the gold the same way, before melting down the steel. One good thing about magical junk, lots of precious metals.” As the smith took another bauble out of the bag to melt, the bag spilled open and a surprisingly shabby looking short sword in a ragged leather scabbard landing on Rall’s toes painfully.

“Did it bite ya boy? Best be careful now!” Rall reached down to push it back into the pile with the rest, but instead found his fingers closing about the hilt. He pulled a few inches free of the sheath and saw a blade chipped and pitted with rust, deep cracks visible just at the hilt.

“Might as well keep that one, it’s shoddy steel, not even worth melting down. And it can’t be enchanted, not even the poorest wizard would waste magic on that junk. I’ll not pay your master for that kind of thing.” Rall stared at it for a moment, wondering why his Master would ever have had such a thing, but just for a moment, he imagined himself at drill with Arron, swinging his sword at enemy hordes, protecting the people of Gaerbron. His master wouldn’t get any money for it anyway, and would never miss it. Just then the smith’s words broke his reverie, and he realized he’d missed the whole process of destroying things, daydreaming of soldiering.

“Right then, looks like nothing blew up, and there’s some decent gold and things there. I’ll send forty marks with ya, and call it fair. Don’t think to skim any off the top either, those sorcerers, they always know.”

Rall nodded as he collected the proffered money and the sheathed blade and made his way back through the city. The return trip was both quicker and easier without the weight of the sack but Rall had to keep a careful watch out. The master would not take it kindly if the money were stolen by some pickpocket or headthumper. He paused at the steps to the tower itself, realizing he had better not show up still carrying the junky sword, or his Master might actually carry out the threat of flaying his flesh off. One never knew with an angry sorcerer.

He carefully prized away a stone in the side of the second step and dug out some of the packed earth underneath to make a space just big enough for the short sword, then slipped it inside before replacing the stone. He kicked the small pile of dirt aside until very little sign remained of the hiding place, then entered the tower, wiping his hands on his pants.

As he reached the top of the steps again his master glanced up from some sort of work that filled the whole room with the scent of death. Rall tried not to choke, glancing at the bits of meat and the creepy eye on the workbench.

“Get on with it, boy, what did you fetch at the smith’s?” The Master’s voice was cold, calm, like the blade of a guillotine poised to drop.

“F-forty marks, sir. T-the smith s-said it was a f-fair price for the base m-metals.” Rall did not like the Master’s direct attention, especially not in a room reeking of death.

“And you trusted him?” he rumbled wild eyed, “Fool boy, you’re more trouble than you’re worth!” Rall nearly screamed as his Master lifted a hand, but when he did not cast some horrible magic Rall realized he meant for Rall to give him the money. Stepping forth, he placed the small bag of coins in his master’s hand, and immediately caught a backhand to the face from the other.

“Go on to your room, you’re of no use to me now. And don’t be late with my breakfast again in the morning or I’ll have the city watch called in to beat you in turns!”

Rall cringed and ducked back out of the room, gasping for fresh air and in fear for his life. This fear compounded when the Master’s voice boomed through the tower once again, nearly deafening Rall and sending him sprawling down the steps.

“Do you think I threaten idly boy?” he chuckled darkly in that thundering voice, “Are you a thief, to steal from your master? Do you think me an imbecile? Forty marks is a pittance for what I sent the smith!” Rall was at a loss for words as the accusations piled up but before he could protest his master acted.

Invisible flows of force carried him off his feet, left him hanging from the rail-less stairs of the tower, high above the floor below. Thin lines of fire bloomed on his skin over and over as some invisible lash struck again and again, leaving bloody welts and cuts all over his flesh. Rall couldn’t tell if minutes, hours or days passed in that white hot pain, but it felt an eternity before he was again deposited on the steps.

“Next time you’ll bring me the full worth of anything I send you to sell, or it’ll be your organs in my experiments!” Rall began to drag himself to his cot, long experience having taught him that sleeping on the stairs without treating his wounds would only make the pain grow, and it would be worse if he didn’t get enough sleep to wake and make breakfast before the Master arose.

---

Corana briskly walked down the hall's of the Great Academy of Magic at Gaerbron. The Academy was her pride and joy, hundreds of years of prestige and knowledge producing some of the greatest wizards and sorcerers in the realms.

But even the brightest and purest of places had it's underside; for Corana the darkness that threatened to corrupt her life’s work was Lord Xabriar. Since his rise to power in the council he had loosened the rules to research the dark aspects of magic, particularly the schools of demonology and necromancy. Dark arts previously kept under careful watch in the Academy’s halls and libraries were now practiced openly by unscrupulous characters who should have been placed under watch the moment they applied. She watched and resisted as that corruption began to spill into the streets of Gaerbron. Assassins’ and thieves’ guilds sprang up in the alleys and dark places of the city, and crime rose at an alarming rate.

All of these things weighed heavily on her mind, along with several recent attempts on her life. There was little doubt about the source of the attacks, though she was unable to uncover any solid proof of Xabriar’s involvement. No, the Academy of Magic was no longer a safe place for student or teacher.

How, she wondered, could she unseat Xabriar before he brought the entire city to utter ruin? His position in the council was powerful, if not yet fully solidified, and any who voted against him tended to disappear save Corana herself. And sooner or later one of these attempts on her life would succeed.

She paused in her introspection, noting suddenly that she was alone in a hallway where students should be milling about in pursuit of their studies. The hallways seemed somehow longer, darker than it should be. Acting quickly, she wove her magic into a shield, uncertain from which quarter the attack would come. But nothing happened, except perhaps the lights dimmed further.

“Little witch,” whispered a deep voice behind her, “such pitiful protection.” The voice was grating as if unused to speaking the human language, and arrogant. She turned to face the being, a hunched creature with charred cracked flesh which dripping glowing red blood onto the halls. It towered menacingly over her, its hulking mass moved easily through hallways that should be far too small to accommodate. Corana fought the visual distortion she knew the thing was creating, but it sapped at her concentration.

“So Xabriar finally sends a true demon to kill me.” she scoffed in disgust. Shifting her back to face a stone wall she poured as much of her magic in to her barrier as she could.

“Sends, mortal thing?” The demon roared as he pushed at the edge of her barrier. “No mortal thing sends Abrahar of the Black Flame Pits anywhere! “

Her mind whirled desperately, searching for some spell or ability to banish the demon. But without its true name, something no demon would ever give, such things where very difficult. With some of the other headmaster destroying the thing’s material vessel it might be possible, but the city would be left in ruins.

“Come now,” the creature hissed next to Corana’s ear. Its foul rotting breath threatened to gag her, twisting her stomach. “Do not resist me mortal thing, or the precious children you brought here to learn will suffer unending torment in the Black Flames!”

The beast reached for her with a clawed hand, thrusting her back directly against the cold granite stone wall. She reeled in panic. In an act of sudden inspiration, she dropped her barrier and willed all her magic into her right arm. Blue streams of power arced off of her fingers, charring her skin instantly, but she willed the pain aside. Focusing the chaotic arcane power, she ripped a hole between the planes just in front of the demons clawed hand.

The demon roared in defiance as its arm traversed the one-way gate into oblivion. She nearly cried out in relief; it would be unable to pull out, only forward.

But another clawed hand reached around the opening and shattered her defenses to grip her burned arm with unbelievable strength. Corana heard the sound of crunching bone and felt the white hot fire the burn through her arm, no longer able to will it aside. The bones of her wrist ground like millstones against each other as the demon dragged her toward the gate.

“No!” she shrieked and she tried to pull away. The demon chuckled and slowly pulled her closer. darting her eye across the room in desperation she caught sigh of a hanging battle ax. Even as her arm sank into the crackling portal to the elbow, the demon already mostly consumed, Corana grasped the haft of the decorative ax adorning to wall and yanked. Knowing she had only seconds, she gritted her teeth and swung one handed. The blade bit deep into her arm with a sickening wet crack, and she fell, her vision hazy. Moments later the portal closed, as Corana struggled to stay conscious. She was vulnerable now, and Xabriar would finish her if she let herself slip into blissful sleep, if she didn’t simply bleed to death.

Summoning the last of her fading energies, she called up the only spell she could manage in such a state, a personal gate to her sanctuary - a pocket dimension created just for her, that no one else could find. It would only buy her time, but she had no other options. Minutes later, the first students entered the hall, unaware of their own instinctual avoidance of the place until now, and found the pool of blood and the fallen axe.

---

Cale slipped between buildings with a practiced ease, only making the suspicious move once he was certain no one could see him. Once in the alleyway, he slipped off his dusty overcloak, careful not to catch his climbing claws in the fabric. He glanced up the wall, sizing up the four stories of stone, and decided he would find easy enough purchase. With the skill of years put into the profession, he scaled the wall silently in the darkness. Once he reached the top, he crept stealthily across the tiled roof, careful to keep from adding his own silhouette to the line of the roof’s peak. Once across, he bunched himself and leapt for a small window ledge on the next building and began climbing again. The guards below didn’t so much as twitch.

Muscles hardened by a lifetime of climbing strained just slightly as he reached to top floor of the tower, peering into the window cautiously. His studies told him that the wizard would be asleep at this hour, but one could never be too careful. Seeing the slight rise and fall of the blanket over the frail body, he scanned for any sign of exposed flesh. As the bed’s occupant turned in his sleep, an arm fell free of the blanket.

Cale drew forth a thin reed and aimed carefully, then blew. A tiny glob of near colorless liquid splatted neatly onto the webbing of his target’s hand between thumb and forefinger. He carefully drew back from the window as the sleeping sorcerer shifted again, then peeked back in, waiting a full count of six hundred. The regular breathing slowed and eventually ceased, and Cale crept inside. He found that hand again, checking that there was no sign of the poison, as well as testing for a pulse. The mark was dead.

Silently he slipped out the window again, scaling down the tower side and back to the window ledge on which he previously landed. A light came on in the window above, and he froze, his dark grey outfit blending fairly well with the tower stone.

“Master Stefan!” A cracking voice called out inside, Cale guessed the apprentice must be in his early teens, and quite upset his Master had passed on. Unfortunately, this left him little time to be cautious with his escape. He again leapt the space between buildings, and ran across the tiles. Before anyone could see him the assassin was gone, lost among the buildings of the city.

---

Gripping the tray of food Rall quickly inspected his work: a breakfast made up of freshly baked bread dipped in honey butter, sliced pork and barbecue chicken with a goblet of the finest wine he could find. After the way last nights ordeal went he did not wish to test his master patience, nor his flaying skills.

Rall firmly knocked on his master’s chamber door the customary four times, loud enough that his master should surely hear, but not so loud as to seem impatient or rude. Five minutes passed with no response, not even the scuffling of movement. Look down at the tray of food, Rall began to worry that it would become cold. Hesitantly he knocked again, a bit harder this time, and again time passed with no response. The master had always been the type to wake at the crack of dawn and demand his food to be on time. In the seven months Rall had been his apprentice not once had he ever deviated from this schedule.

Rall’s thoughts began to wander with morbid curiosity, maybe the leathery old wretch died in the night! The idea wasn’t exactly an unpleasing image for him. The stings from the bruises and scabbed over cuts from last night’s ordeal reinforced this idle thought into a fantasy he deeply wished to come true. Boldened by the hope of finding a corpse, Rall carefully opened the chamber door and peeked in.

His master lay slumped on the bed, still fully clothed, and looking far older than Rall had ever seen him. His master’s breath came slow and regular, so the old sorceror yet lived, but Rall couldn’t help wondering what working of power could leave him so drained.

“Boy... I smell the food... sly little cockroach... leave me to rest, leave the tower for today... breakfast tom’rrow...” Rall could scarcely believe his Master really woke up at all. His eyes never moved nor did his breath quicken, but none of that mattered beside the clear orders and lack of punishment for intruding. He barely managed to restrain his joy at having a whole day to himself!

Rall nearly skipped his way out of the tower, pausing to pack himself up a lunch of salt pork, dry cheese and a hard roll, then carefully dug out the rusted sword from its hiding place under the stone entry stairs. It did not appear to have been discovered by anyone, so Rall placed the stone back carefully. This hiding space worked very well!

He hurried to the city guard post where he knew Arron to be stationed with several older men, and peeked inside.

“Well, if it isn’t little Rall. Have you come on an errand from your Master? Well, out with it boy.” the guardsman, whom Rall’s mind refused to supply a name for, asked him the same question each of the rare days he managed to visit, and Rall was tempted to lie, but knew that would not likely work.

“No, sir. I have been given a free day.”

“Arron, there’s a little girl here to see you! Mind you don’t send her back to her Master bowlegged! Looks like she’s got a pig sticker this time, better watch your manners too!” The coarse laughter from the rest of the guardsmen sounded exactly like it had every other visit, cruel and mocking. Rall didn’t care, he was too excited to let some rough talk get him down.

Arron rushed into the guard room from the back entrance, almost banging his head against the stone doorway. He was a bit of a mess, his ash blond hair was drenched in sweat and his standard guard leather breastplate belt and sword were tracked in mud. The armor was a little big, but it really made him look like a real hero. "A girl?" he chirped in excitement until his eye settled in on Rall.

He shifted his gaze to the head guardsman. "You had better stop with this nonsense." he shook his head in anger. "Rall may be a bit small, but from what the sorcerer at the academy says, he has talent and raw power, and likely will be all our boss someday. Come on Rall, let’s go. They’ll just keep at it if we don’t. Where’d you get a sword?”

“It was gonna be melted down but the smith told me to keep it. The Master would beat me if he knew, so I’m keeping it hidden away. I was hoping you could show me how to use it. I mean, you must know all sorts of amazing moves, right?”

“You’d be surprised, most of it is practicing the same three strikes until my arm wants to fall off.” offered Arron good-naturedly. “Still, I can show you those, and how to trip someone while fighting. The best fighting moves are the dirty tricks, way better than any showy special sword moves.”

“That’s great! Maybe after I get through my apprenticeship I can join the city guard. I hate Master Xa... my master.” Rall made the sign of the evil eye to ward off his Master’s attention. He knew his master couldn’t really hear his name spoken from across the city, but the superstition was well-ingrained.

The boys walked to the west gate and were permitted passage, and they searched out an empty field left fallow with a dead-looking tree growing near the edge. The cool autumn wind ruffled Rall’s hair, left as unkempt as the rest of him. Arron didn’t seem to notice the cool, but Rall drew his cloak a little closer.

“Okay, this seems like a good practice spot. Now, watch my movements. It’s as much about planting your feet as how you swing the sword.” Arron drew the shining length of steel and Rall watched as if entranced while he performed the movements, the edge of the sword biting deep into the soft dead wood with each strike. Then he stepped aside, gesturing Rall to take his place.

Rall stood exactly like Arron did, with a few suggested changes for his smaller stature, then drew his sword from the sheath, setting that aside.

“Wow, no wonder the smith left you that out of the trash. I’ll be amazed if that junk doesn’t snap on the first swing! I can see cracks all the way across from here!” Rall reddened but said nothing, determined to show he could do what his friend could do. He swung the short sword at the tree, and knew before it hit that he’d done it wrong, it just didn’t feel right.

“That was terrible, you have to...” Arron cut off as Rall corrected his footing and swung again, this time with much better form, the blade biting into the wood surprisingly deep for such a badly-treated weapon.

“Okay, looks like you were paying attention. Do that a few more times. Swing like you fully intend the sword to cut through the tree.” Rall swung again and again, and though Arron was sure his arms must be getting tired the edge bit repeatedly into the wood, almost in the same place each time.

“Good, good, I think you’ve got that one! Now here’s how you do the next one.” For half an hour, Rall practiced, until his arms burned like his master’s experiments. Finally he let the tip of his sword sink into the ground in front of the tree, unable to lift it again.

“That was not bad at all, you could actually learn this stuff! Are you okay?” Rall slumped and dropped his cloak to try and cool off a bit.

“Wow, looks like your master did a number on you. I think you opened up some of those cuts, you better clean them when you get back. You look like you tried to wrestle a stinging nettle plant.” Rall finally gathered his breath after the hard workout.

“It’s not so bad, I’ve had worse.” he lied. “But I’m thinking about not going back. I hate my master, he doesn’t teach me anything! He just treats me like a slave and beats me on a whim. I’d rather learn to be a soldier, and if that means leaving the city to join a mercenary band, at least I’ll be away from him.”

“Rall... I know it seems awful right now, but the testing doesn’t lie. One day you’ll be a great magician. You don’t really have the build for soldiering anyway.” Rall knew Arron was trying to tell him he was a weakling in the nicest way possible, but the truth still hurt.

“And you’ll be a great swordmaster, hero of a hundred campaigns, right? Maybe you will be, but I will never learn magic from Master Xabriar. And now might be my only chance to get away.”

Arron frowned leaning next to the tree and gave Rall a good once over. “If you run away you’re pretty much abandoning your future.”

“If I stay with Master Xabriar,” he again made the evil eye warding sign, “I may not have much of a future anyway.” Rall cautiously looked around, making sure they were alone. “You know the rumors about Xabriar? I think they’re true, and I don’t think I’ll survive if I stay.”

Arron raised his eyebrows a bit. “You mean all the dead councillors, you think Xabriar’s really behind that? Did you hear another disappeared last night? The rumor is they never even found a body, just a bunch of blood, and nobody heard or saw anything. And Master Stefan died last night, but he was pretty old and weak. But Master Xabriar? I can’t imagine one sorceror would attack other sorcerers in the city!”

Rall slumped against the tree staring into the bright blue sky “I don’t know, I haven’t seen anything. But he’s a devil of a man and he hates me, I’m sure of that. If nothing else that’s good enough reason to run.”

“Why not request a new master from the council?” Arron’s question made sense, but Rall discarded the idea almost immediately.

“If I speak out against my master, I won’t last long enough for them to choose a new one. You see all this? He did it because I didn’t get more back from a bunch of trash than the metal was worth, and after the smith risked his life melting it down in the first place. And it’s not the first time. But each time is worse than the last. No, I can’t speak out against him.”

“Where will you go then? If you hadn’t noticed the realms are a bit uneasy, borders are tight. Lussax won’t even open the city gates unless you have traveling papers”

Rall snorted, “I’ll head west, or maybe north into the wilds. Maybe make my way towards the Imperium city!”

Arron roared in laughter at the idea of Rall scurrying around in the wild with his rusty sword hunting rabbits . “You’ll starve by the week’s end.”

“What am I to do then?” Rall yelled in frustration. “He’ll kill me if I stay, I can’t run home, my mother and father are no match for an angered sorcerer...“ sniffling, Rall shut his eyes in a desperate attempt to quell the tears building in them, “and according to you I can’t even run away!”

“I... I didn’t...” Arron hart sunk as he looked on his friend half way to tears. He had only seen the boy cry on two occasions in spite of numerous beatings he knew his friend received, and both times it left him feeling uncertain what to do. Why did Rall of all people have to be paired up with that devilish man? Rall wasn’t the tough sort, he never had been. As long as he could remember Arron had always been the one to pull Rall out of jams.

Clenching his fist Arron fantasized about storming into Xabriar’s tower and beating that leathery old bag of bones within an inch of his life for upsetting his friend so. But fantasies where that, just fantasies, and he knew the reality would end in a much more unpleasant way.

“Right then. If you’re determined to leave, I’ll find a way to help. But going out alone would be suicide. Maybe we can get you into one of the merchant caravans, hire you on as a message runner or something.”

“I could be a caravan guard, now that I have a sword!” Rall’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Umm, yeah, maybe. But regardless you’d have to be in disguise. The guard keeps track of merchant caravans, and all your Master would have to do is ask a question to find out where you went.” Both boys went silent for long minutes, trying to think of an answer. Finally Rall seemed to make up his mind.

“Arron... You know how the guards always tease me about being a girl, because I’m small? Well, if they already half believe it, why couldn’t we make everyone believe it, at least long enough to get me on a caravan out of the city?” Arron stared at him, incredulous.

“You’re not serious... You can’t let those morons get to you, Rall! Besides, you could never manage to get away with it, someone would figure it out very quickly!”

“I don’t need it to last very long, just long enough to get out of the city, right?” Arron shook his head.

“You’ve gone ‘round the bend, you know that right? But I guess you do what you have to, if you think it’s your best chance I’ll do what I can. I have a few silver, I can buy you some clothes, and with a little cleaning maybe your hair will turn yellow again, instead of the soot and dirt brown you sport now. And you can’t hire on as a guard if you’re playing girl.”

“Damn... Right then, the Master had me cook for him, I’ll hire on as a cook or something. Or I’ll mend things, whatever. I’m desperate, Arron, I have to get away. You’ll tell my parents I’m well and I’ll send word when I’m safely elsewhere?”

“Of course. Just make sure to send word, if I’m going to all this trouble you damn well better not get yourself killed or something.”

“Right. Oh, and get me something that can hide this sword, I might need it, and... well, honestly it’s the only thing I really have.”

“Of course, my princess. I’ll find a gown suitable for your personage.” Arron’s words lacked the spite of the guards’ mocking and his bow was well executed. Rall fired back in kind, finding himself smiling in spite of his fear.

“See that you do! Now off with you, and return before I lose my patience!”

---

Rall waited nervously in the field, not at all as sure of this plan as he’d pretended. He thought of what he’d heard girls did to look good, and took the time to wash his hair with water from a bucket hanging from a well in the field. It really did look like it might be yellow under the dirt of months of scrubbing chimneys and pots, at least the tips he could pull around to see. Then he cast about for berries, and found a mulberry tree not far from the dead one he’d been swinging a sword at. Crushing a few berries in his fingers, he smeared the juice on his lips. By the time he finished with all of this, a familiar voice called out from the practice tree.

“Rall, I’ve got a dress, it should be... by the First, how’d you do that? You almost look like a girl even in your apprentice clothes!”

“I listen a lot when I’m running errands for the Master. Girls in the market streets like to talk. Now come on, give over, I don’t have a lot of time. Caravans can’t leave the city gates after nightfall, and I still have to find one that will take me on!”

Rall took the wrapped package from Arron, who for his part simply stood there, dumbfounded. He quickly stripped out of his simple blue tunic and brown breeches, and unwrapped a rather expensive looking full length lavendar linen gown. It looked like something he imagined a merchant’s daughter might wear to a ball in the stories his mother used to tell, before he was chosen for apprenticeship. He tried to be careful putting it on so as not to damage it, and found it involved some wired contraption designed to hold it away from his hips. He hung his belt and shortsword inside the skirt, and it didn’t show much, standing up anyway.

“How do I look, think I can get away with it?” Rall turned to see what his friend thought, and found Arron staring still.

“If I didn’t see it with my own eyes... Never mind. Yes, I think you’ll manage. Come with me, I’ll help you get hired on with a good merchant caravan.” Arron grabbed Rall’s arm and led him back through the west gate with a wave to his fellow guardsmen. One of them offered him a thumbs-up gesture and Arron turned red, but kept moving.

“I know that several caravans leave late afternoon through the east gate for Lussax, if you’re with one you’ll be able to get past the gate check. Just for heaven’s sake keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.” Rall nodded, letting his friend lead the way. The whole thing felt surreal, and he wasn’t even sure why he was doing this, but it really did seem his only chance to escape. He was distracted by his musings, and only came back to reality once he heard Arron speaking again.

“Please, you have to take her! My cousin is in danger from my uncle, he’ll kill her! We have family in Lussax who will watch her, if she can just get out of Gaerbron and across the border! She can cook and sew, and she won’t be any trouble.”

“Listen, young man, if you’d just stop talking a moment, I’m trying to tell you of course I have space for a girl who can sew. Especially to save such a sweet child from trouble. Now, child, what is your name? I’m Valan, and this is my wife Roda, and our children Tomas, Greta and Harald. The guards are Martem and Samuel.”

“Umm, I’m Ra..na, thank you for helping me...” Rall was terrified he would be found out, but the older man just nodded and smiled.

“She’s a shy little thing, isn’t she? Well, come on then, we haven’t all day, climb into the wagon and go help my wife with her work. We’re just about to leave. You’re lucky you caught us, had you come asking around an hour later all you would have found is Bertram, and his crew are a rough bunch. Travelling with that lot wouldn’t be much better than staying with your drunken father.” Arron took over again before Rall could try speaking more.

“I really appreciate it. Now Rana, don’t forget to send word once you arrive, and be careful on the road, travel can be treacherous. I’ll deal with your father as best I can.” Rall, still confused and scared and excited and most of all glad to be free of his master, smiled at Arron and nodded, then climbed into the wagon.