So Grandma was wrong about all Sorcerer's being evil wizards. That doesn't mean that they aren't dangerous people to be around. Imps and demons, pirates and bandits, you just never know what you are going to run into as an apprentice of a merchant slash Sorcerer. Nor the impact it will have on your life.

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Fair warning to you right from the start, I am no heroic figure like Igor the Wise or SanjI the Nose or even Alase the Sunderer. On the bright side, I am also not a black-hearted villain like Esther of Neruman or Darrel the Roamer. As a result, you may ask why you should read the saga of my life?

My answer, although I am not those figures, my path caused me to march in sync with their and other adventurer's paths. So while I caused little of the great history from our time, I did observe a fair share of it. So whether you asked the question or not, you could read this story to learn more about what you know. Or if you hope for some entertainment while visiting the little house out back, well I intend to provide that as well. However, even though it is about me, it’s a small story you should read only when you are without more pressing matters.

After all, that is the state in which I find myself while writing it.

That and because everyone says it would be cathartic to write of my life, which may make more sense if I felt the need to participate in such a cathartic exercise. Well, let us ignore that possibility for now, it requires deep thought, and I always struggle with deep questions. Instead we will deal with another less deep, but infinitely more important question for a writer. Where to start my story?

Many will think the answer is obvious, start at the beginning. However, some of you, specifically those who subscribe to the Asthelhorne Monthly Biography Journal will know the current approach is to define the end and walk back through time. A strategy that works well for someone near their end, but I personally hope for many more good years that will lead to additional chapters of my life, even if not my story.

With the end out of the way, we are back to the start. The problem, my start is too damned boring for the beginning of a saga, even about me. Do you really want to read about how the seven year old me stole apples from Nan Fickles’ orchard? Not bloody likely. Therefore, my editors and I decided to start with the beginning of the middle.

Don't worry, you will not miss much and my writings may wander further into the start at different points of my rambling. After all, the straight path rarely led me where I needed to go, which sometimes turned out back at a beginning. So why tell my story differently? And if this does not work, maybe my editors at the Greater Asthelhorne House of Publishing can survey a proper road for my story.

So on with the start of the middle, actually early-early-middle for those who value the precise.

"You’re what?" My shouted question to the Master rang louder than respectful, but he seemed not to notice as he calmly answered.

"I am a sorcerer. And you will learn this art as well, while apprenticed to me."

"Umm...I thought you were a merchant? For the last three months you’ve been teaching me how to be a merchant. And...and do my parents know you’re an evil wizard? They never would have apprenticed me to an evil wizard!"

"I'm not an evil wizard, Drake. I'm a sorcerer, and it’s my sorcery that is one of the secrets to my success as a merchant." Master Elladoo answered, rather primly for someone who just defined himself as a sorcerer or evil wizard or whatever.

"You are too. If you're a sorcerer, you’re an evil wizard. My Grandma told us stories about sorcerers and how they summon demons and imps and all sorts of nastiness to bring plague and plight and badness to all of us innocent types. I thought you were nice, but now you're not. You're an evil man!!"

By now my voice reached a level that could only be described as shrieking. Most parents would recognize this sound, but poor Master Elladoo and his wife never had the fortune of children, which caused his eyes to bug out in panic while trying to control a twelve year old going berserk. That response, in itself, should prove his unlikely candidacy for evil sorcery, as anyone with those abilities would smack me down without a second thought. But he just stood, completely flabbergasted, watching me rant incoherently. This continued for a short time until I felt a cuff to the back of my head, a cuff I recognized and one shut me up immediately.

"Hoy, what's all this bloomin' racket?" Turning to the grizzled and disgusted face of Sergeant-of-the-Guard Torin Hussel, a man scarier to me than any evil wizard, froze my vocal cords. "I asked you what your blasted caterwauling was about? Tell me!"

"Mas-master Elladoo said he is...he is a evil wizard." I said, stuttering and wilting under his glare.

"He's not an evil wizard you little twit. He's a sorcerer. Even more so he is a very good merchant. And you should thank your lucky stars he decided to offer your father an apprenticeship for you. After all, you either joined Master Elladoo or ended up with the life of a pig-herder."

Well that left me taken aback, both by the spittle flying out of the Sergeant's mouth and the concept of being a pig-herder. After all, if not for my apprenticeship, I would follow in my father's footsteps to become a baker. But my mother did not raise me dumb enough to say that to the raving lunatic berating me, just dumb enough to challenge a non-lunatic sorcerer. No, instinct kept me standing there with head bowed as he continued his rant. "Betcha your Granny told you that all sorcerers are evil wizards, crazy old bat! And don't give me that look Mr. Whiney pig-herder, I may not know your Granny, but every single one I’ve met is crazier than an outhouse dog after being locked in a closet full of bumble-bees for a fortnight with a some bitch in heat outside howling her desire the entire time. You shouldn't listen to no old wive's tales, boy. If you do your head will end up full of rotten crap, not just the regular manure that resides between your ears currently. Do you understand me?"

"Umm..."

"And another thing ya little tear-splattering turnip, this is the chance of a lifetime for you. Master Elladoo is a wise man who has offered you something amazing. Why if I had such an opportunity when I was a lad I would have dived in head first like a holy hermit coming into town after spending 30 years in the desert when he finds the local whore house. So I think you should take some time to consider your future and decide if you are going to stay as Master Elladoo's apprentice or leave and become your town's snot-pickin', village idiot!"

"Yes, sir."

"And boy, apologize to Master Elladoo."

More stunned than chastened, I nonetheless apologized, "Sorry Master Elladoo!"

"Apology accepted Drake. I am sure you felt quite a shock, I remember feeling so when my Master first informed me his sorcerous abilities. I am not sure I handled it much better than you. So run along and give some thought as to whether you want to stay as my apprentice. If not I will see that you get home to Corels safely. Give me your decision at supper."

With a quick, "Ok sir." I escaped as quickly as possible from the Sergeant's glare and headed to my favourite spot at the post, the docks. There, all alone, anyone could do some thinking about their life. Looking back, it is easy to come up with counter arguments for every thought that made me stay, but I am older now. And with age comes not necessarily wisdom, but an experienced eye. Now I would not be drawn in by Master Elladoo's niceness, after all evil often hides its true face from the innocent. Also, Elladoo Post did not provide a welcome rustic relief from fishy, dirty Corels, instead it served as a beacon for bandits and raiders and thieves. Furthermore, continuing my apprenticeship did not offer a great opportunity to learn reading, writing, trading, weapon skills, geography or even mystical arts, it actually offered an opportunity for an evil wizard to bend me to his will. And it wasn't an opportunity to travel and...well you get the picture.

The long and the short of it, Elladoo Post remained my home. And though my experienced self likely would not make the same decision, I would not be myself with a different choice.

And so my apprenticeship began anew, but actually very little changed. My days were spent brushing up on reading and math with Mistress Elladoo, the Master's pretty and pleasant wife upon whom I developed a major crush. Practice with a crossbow, sword, shield and spear under the insane eye of Sergeant-of-the-Guard Hussel and his corporals with the post's guard. Lessons in horseback riding and animal husbandry, for the oxen and mules we used to haul our wagons, fell to Gergen Bleke. And most importantly, the time spent reviewing the Annals of the Glanlies Trading Commission with Master Elladoo and his journeymen assistants, Clara Holnd and Durk Norset. The Annals, an ever growing set of books that encompassed topics such as geography, history, laws, tax and tariff information, supply and demand concepts, trading hints and lists of products, buyers and sellers. They proved fascinating and gave me a feeling of pride to realize that we on the Glanlies Peninsula forsook rule by nobility, instead we elected Commissioners to sit upon the Glanlies Trading Commission and run the affairs of the peninsula.

Outside of the training, I received multiple opportunities to take part in trade missions around the local area. Our outpost usually dealt in the purchase of commodities we transported to the one of the cities for use by tradesmen. In turn they produced goods from those commodities which we sold back to those who farmed/mined/hunted what we bought. Over the next year I went West across the Rillian to buy wool and grain. Went North East of the post to meet with some of the Northern Plains tribes to obtain skins and furs. Even a trip on river craft to the North to collect iron, silver and gold bars along with some gems from the Hanglish Mines. The people varied, but each daily proved their hardiness, able to take care of themselves, though always happy to see someone from outside their community. A great adventure for a young boy just into his teens.

But one thing remained on the back burner, Master Elladoo's aspect as a sorcerer. Likely a result of my initial reaction, combined with the numerous other tasks and lessons that deluged an apprentice, but for a year and a half nobody mentioned it. Then one night, when the moon turned full, well actually one sunny afternoon, Master Elladoo approached and asked, "So Drake, are you ready to begin learning about sorcery?"

By this time I quite liked Master Elladoo and thought him a very nice man, but my Granny's warning still rung, so there remained a bit hesitation when I answered, "Ok."

Smiling at this response, likely one he expected, Master Elladoo said, "Well I planned on doing some sorcery this afternoon, so how about you watch me and hopefully you will see it is not all that evil."

This offer seemed fairly honest so I nodded my head and followed as he went into teacher mode. "Honestly, my skills in sorcery are minor. In fact I can only perform the first and second level spells. The first level spell is one that allows communication with others. While the second level spell is used to gather information. It is not perfect but it helps me scout our territory and determine who is ready to sell or buy. In fact both spells are considered so helpful in the art of trade that the Commission will not fully support a postmaster unable to perform them. And the communication spell is vital in the protection of our peninsula."

By this time we approached one of the stone bins where we stored grain before milling and transportation South. At least I always assumed we used it like all other bins, but Master Elladoo unlocked and opened the door, then with a welcoming gesture he said, "Welcome to my workshop."

If you are like me at that point in my life, then you expect a Sorcerer's workshop to contain jars full of bizarre things, walls and walls of books, strange candles and flames, bizarre symbols all over and just a general sense of strangeness. It is true this strangeness can be found in the workshops of high-level sorcerers, but Master Elladoo's place rather let me down. When lit, the normal looking wall sconces showed a plain round room with 5 pieces of furniture; a desk with a large comfortable chair against the wall just to the left of the entrance, right in the middle of the room stood a smaller version of the chair with a little table beside it, and the last piece, not part of the set, a regular kitchen chair about a quarter of the way around the room, to the right of the entrance. Outside of the furniture, what the floorboards stood out the most. Some craftsman having place the boards at the middle of the room into a diamond shaped pattern, with each width of board in the pattern showing a darker wood. All in all, the room under whelmed.

Gesturing me to sit in the plain chair, my Master took the chair at the desk and said, "The first and second level spells may not appear that spectacular, but only a limited number of people in the world can perform even the most minor of spells. First off, you must be left-handed. Secondly, you must be born under a Waxing Crescent Moon. And lastly, you must be the 4th child born to your parents. When Master Chenester in Corels learned you met those conditions he informed the Commission in Glanlies he found a potential apprentice. And since I sought someone to fulfill this role and with my post’s proximity, they informed me of your existence. This led to my initial offer to your parents to take you as an apprenticeship. And I am happy to report that, even without your stepping upon this new path, I would be more than happy to keep you on as an apprentice Merchant. But if you choose to follow me down this path it will open many more potential paths of success."

Above all else, the Master never forgot that the heart of a merchant belonged to a salesman. Feeding me a double handful of praise and promise wore away most of my last defenses and led to me listening more attentively, even nodding my head now and then.

He said, "Success, because these spells provide the ability to gather and exchange information. And as Sigger Dulles wrote in Book 3 of The Annals, 'A forewarned merchant is a successful merchant.' The first level spell keeps the Commission forewarned about everything that happens at their posts. As it is a spell we use to pass messages back and forth to Commission Headquarters in Glanlies."

Well this did not seem evil to me, in fact it made perfect sense. "Is that how you know when the crafters are running low on wool or skins or ore or wood? And when to purchase and forward a shipment?"

"Exactly. But it also helps with security. I can be informed of scouting reports about bandits or make a request for support."

"Wow, how does it work Master Elladoo?"

Smiling the smile of a successful fisherman he opened the top drawer of his desk and took out a bowl and a water jug. The bowl, glazed blue ceramic, held three handles, one in the shape of a mouth, one in the shape of an ear and the last in the shape of a bell. While the matching jug showed no distinguishing marks. After I ran out to fill the jug with water, Master Elladoo poured that water into the bowl before he placed the jug back in its drawer and led me to guess it did not serve a magical purpose. A good guess, as the Master gestured at the bowl and explained.

"This bowl has a twin in Glanlies, through it I can talk and listen to one of the Warders on duty at the Hall of Bowls in Glanlies."

"But how does it work?"

A rather bizarre explanation involving spirals and invocations, gestures and hand placements and general magical mystical type of things followed. I am sorry I cannot go into further details, but rules state, and the penalties are quite harsh, that a student of the sorcerous arts cannot pass them on to a non-practitioner.

However, you can be assured I finished that day impressed and interested in learning more. So during the next seven month period, in addition to the various tasks and learning already described, my afternoons now involved a short, half-hour trying to replicate the spell using a set of practice bowls. That is until the day I talked with a Warder myself. A big day for me and in celebration I pulled out one of my Father's favourite recipes and baked a celebratory Apple-Pecan Bunt Cake.

Being a first level sorcerer brought pride to my heart. And the cake brought goodness to my stomach. Yum-Yummy!

Excitement at this new skill completely washed away all childhood fears of magic and replaced it with teenage confidence. It caused me to approach Master Elladoo and ask about taking the next step to learn the second level spell. But he put me off, saying he wanted me to practice the first spell until would offered no further learning. For, despite believing my skill with the spell, he disagreed. So for the next few months I practiced, until I handled the majority of the Post’s communication with the Commission in Glanlies. Finally he decided to teach me the next spell, though my excitement dimmed when he uttered the following words.

"Although the first spell is harmless, the second spell is the one that can start a sorcerer down the path of evil if he is not careful. For it is this spell which allows us to communicate with the demon world." Seeing the old doubts return to my face he moved to smooth the fear. "But I am wise enough to know my strength is not enough to walk too far down this path, so I only summon and talk to the lowest demon, the imp. Why don't you observe such an encounter tonight?"

"Umm...ok if you think it’s safe?"

"Aye Drake, it is safe."

That night after supper, and well before the summer sun came close to setting, Master Elladoo collected me and went to the kitchen where Cook Winset prepared him a tray including a kettle of tea, accompanied by a pot of honey, and a plate of sugar cookies. When I looked curiously at this tray he just smiled and shook his head as if to say, not now, before we headed out to the non-bin bin. After I lit the candles in the wall sconces, he took and set the tray on the table in the middle of the room, beside the small chair. Soon afterwards we sat in our respective chairs and he entered explanation land.

"It is not widely known but the world of demons is unlike our world of rock and earth. Instead their world is one without substance, one which encompasses the world in which we live, yet is not part of it. In fact, if we are to believe the imps, many worlds exist like ours, all encompassed by their own. This means they can observe things within our world, but are unable to partake in these events. That is unless we, the residents, invite them into our world. Therefore, we must take care, because they are powerful and capricious, and so we use protection such as the rhombus."

"The rhombus?"

"Aye the rhombus. It is the pattern on the floor, within which we are able to create a portal into the demons' world that allows us to see and talk to them, yet serves as a barrier they cannot cross over from their world in order to wreak havoc."

"Oh you mean the diamond? But I thought you need a pentagram as protection from summoned demons?"

Frowning at my questions, Master Elladoo answered, "No it is not a diamond. That is a poor description of the shape, since it connotes a gemstone that is not naturally shaped as a rhombus. Best to call it a rhombus. And its simplicity of form provides a much better barrier than the overly complex pentagram. It reflects the four directions that define the world and is much easier to draw or make. All in all it is safer and better than a pentagram, though some do take the more elaborate approach. No the rhombus is the answer for the smart sorcerer. But enough of the fine rhombus, let me explain what I plan for tonight.

"I am going to summon an imp named Parfalamew. A treacherous little weasel, but also extremely curious and so is full of information. And fortunately for us, I learned his weakness. That is key, remember to always learn their secret. Parfalamew loves tea with honey and sugar cookies. So while munching and slurping away he will happily tell us, poor pathetic humans that we are, everything he knows. For tonight, I ask you just observe and do not talk. There are certain things I wish to learn and if you send Parfalamew in a tangential direction, I may not be able to get him back in line. Understood?"

"Yes sir,." I murmured, more than a little perplexed about what would happen. But though perplexed, my curiosity kept me there, fully intent on learning about imps and their summoning.

Soon his actions quenched my curiosity about imps, well at least about the imp Parfalamew. A small, incredibly thin, grey, mannish shaped figure, who, despite his size, Parfalamew spoke in a deep voice and loved to hear himself speak. Master Elladoo only needed to form a question about an area of curiousity and the imp would go on and on, always in a condescending tone, describing what he, The Great and Wise Parfalamew, knew.

By the time the tea and cookies disappeared, I felt ready to drop the smith’s anvil on Parfalamew. But not Master Elladoo, who skillfully prompted the imp to learn that the sheep in Favern Valley would soon be sheared, that the Northern Tribes traveled South hauling travois loaded with winter skins, that the Semplel Forrest Marauders imploded when their leader died of food poisoning and a myriad of other interesting facts about what occurred within a couple hundred miles of Elladoo Post.

And so began another part of my apprenticeship, sitting in and observing my Master converse with Parfalamew, or Dingledrol the happy lover of roast beef sandwiches, or Serrasellie who remained entranced by the smell of flowers, or a variety of others who may or may not know some information that would help our trading efforts in the region. We knew when communities harvested or mined commodities and learned when villages ran low on goods. We learned of river pirates or bandits that crossed through the post’s territory and passed this information on to the garrisons at North Fort or Corels. No wonder Master Elladoo's post proved so successful, for he definitely fit the category of forewarned.

About four months after my introduction to imps and only a couple weeks after my fifteenth birthday, Master Elladoo planned another session with Parfalamew, who served as both the most obnoxious and most well informed imp amongst those with whom we dealt. He sought information about rumours of crofts, North West of the Rillian, being raided and burned out. Worrisome enough for the Master to attempt learning the truth.

So once more, with a tray of tea and cookies prepared, the Master began his summoning. Meanwhile, I settled into my chair, now equipped with a cushion, to watch. But we both sprung to our feet when Parfalamew appeared not on the ground as normal, but floating five feet in the air.

Actually floating is not an accurate description, instead a tall, blonde demoness held him by the scruff of his neck. Though not sure what Master Elladoo thought when he saw her, my fifteen year old brain immediately found itself distracted by her overwhelming femaleness and minimal amount of clothing. With a sneer on her face she looked around the room and shook Parfalamew questioningly.

"Yes, Mistress. These are the nasty humans who made me poke my unworthy nose into your business," said our sniveling friend Parfalamew.

"Are they, my sweet? Well how kind of you to point them out to me. Still, the next time I find you sneaking around in my business I will bake you over a fire with a nice honey marinade and serve you to my friends Ido and Odi. Now begone." Suddenly, with Parfalamew disappearing, she turned towards Master Elladoo and said, "Hello there, lovely man, I bet you want to be Sandrelessa's friend, don't you?"

In a nonchalant tone, one worthy of much admiration, Master Elladoo replied, "If you are Sandrelessa, my dear lady, then I don't think I do?"

"Not only inquisitive but rude as well, this really won't do. Why do I feel this is going to turn ugly?"

"Because both you and I know the Carthanan are capricious, vicious and untrustworthy? And since you are a Carthanan anything you say only delays the inevitable struggle which cannot help but end badly for one of us?"

"Oh poo, so you know about us do you?" Giggling like a schoolgirl, she spun to point at me and ask, "How about instead of the two of us fighting, you give me the young one? Heck, just to show you how nice I am, I won't even tell Darrel the Roamer about your spying on him and his fun."

"Ahh so that is who you work for? I should have known one such as he would keep one such as you in his service. I warn you to leave now or meet your doom." With those words my normally mild Master took a deep breath and almost appeared to grow larger.

"Do I take the young one, then?"

"No, foul demoness, you don't take the young one. Drake, get out of here, now!"

Hearing his command I moved towards the door, except that my feet remained planted where I stood. Instead my gaze locked on the Carthanan, who smiled at me as she tittered and cooed. "Hello, Drakey-poo. Don't you want to come and play with Sandrelessa, sweetheart?"

I really didn't. In fact the happy thoughts in my brain, once so enthused to see so much of her, found themselves chased away by the creepy-crawly feeling brought forth by her sickly tone. Yet she held me with her gaze. Then my feet unconsciously moved me in her direction and, not even, the Master's shouted invocation stopped my forward momentum. Nor the suddenly glowing rhombus, which shrank inwards. Nor the action of Master Elladoo ducking behind his heavy, oaken desk. But Sandrelessa found them distracting, for she glanced in his direction and lost part of her hold over me. However, she quickly returned her gaze, a gaze that now held something close to fear and shouted, "Come to me, Drake!"

Like a stone out of a catapult, I suddenly found myself leaping towards her. But just before reaching her the rhombus finished its rapid shrinking into nothingness. This resulted in an explosion of light from where Sandrelessa stood, an explosion of light that hit my leaping body full on.

I remember no more.

Of course, you probably know the result of my first encounter with Sandrelessa, if for no other reason than the cover the publishing house plans to use when including my biography in their monthly journal, but please forgive me if I do not jump to the obvious. Instead let me relate my next memories in the manner in which I remember them. The first of which involved me waking sore and exhausted. The second memory consists of the realization I did not want to wake and caused me to mumble. "Leave 'lone. Wan' sleep."

"Drake sweetie, we need you awake for a few minutes."

"Don' wanna. Sleepy."

"I just want you to drink something before you go back to sleep, honey."

The voice finally penetrated as Midwife Nerise's, who looked after the care and well being of the citizens of the post. And with recognition came a grudging, reluctant realization she would win the battle, since Midwife Nerise, polite and sweet as she always appeared, never lost an argument with someone in her care. Opening my eyes proved a chore and a half, and success resulted in the agonizing light from her candle making me slam my lids shut once more. But she saw the blink and said, "That's a dearie."

Some sort of broth, but she did not get much into me before I fell back to sleep.

Upon my next awakening, I felt much better. In fact, I did not require any prompting to do so; though, when I did, I immediately remembered the disastrous encounter with the demoness. Another difference at this awakening, the scent of lavender filled the air to inform me someone shared the room with me. Based on the scent, I knew, that instead of Midwife Nerise, it Mistress Elladoo waited for me to wake.

As previously mentioned, the lovely Mistress Elladoo held my heart in thrall. Furthermore, despite the respect the post felt for Master Elladoo, none felt he would ever make a better deal than the one that resulted in winning her as his wife. As a Deglace, one of the premier families of the peninsula, she could pick her suitors, but none of them realized she did not seek the soft life of a merchant princess, tucked away in a pristine townhouse within the City of Glanlies or a manor outside the capital. No, the Gods made Esselde Deglace of sterner stuff and she craved adventure. She wanted to see the borderlands, learn of the wild tribesmen, test herself and not be coddled. So when somewhat gawky, yet visionary, Hiram Elladoo came calling upon the Deglace for financial backing to open a post in the North, he fortunately found Esselde acting as her father's assistant. She decided they were kindred souls. Before he knew it, a thoroughly bedazzled and ecstatic Hiram Elladoo found himself heading North with the means to build a first rate post but also a beautiful, new wife.

But I digress, which is an easy thing to do when on the topic is Mistress Elladoo. No it is not time in my tale to dwell overlong on that fine lady, though as time passes I will find opportunities to tell you more of her. For now, let me say that one did not normally find her in my quarters, which I shared with the post’s bachelor. In fact it proved downright shocking.

In surprise, I found myself scrambling out of bed and hurrying to say, "My apologies Mistress Elladoo, I should not be abed at this hour..."

At this point, the thought that something might be drastically wrong barged its way to the front of my mind. Not waking in the bachelor’s quarters the least of these surprises. Everything felt different, from the way my body moved as I jumped out of bed to an unusual presence under my nightshirt. The strangeness I felt resulted in a muttered question, "What?"

Lowering my gaze left me struck dumb, or awed, or something unexplainable at the sight before my eyes. A sight, that when combined with the blood that rushed to my head at jumping out of bed, caused me to plop right back down in dizziness and ask, "Is this a dream?"

"No Drake, sadly it is not a dream. Hiram is not sure what went wrong, but he surmises that just before the rhombus' protection spell destroyed the demoness she realized her last tie to reality consisted of the spell she held over you. In her panic at approaching death, the spell overcame her control and drew much more from her than she intended. Thus when she died, the spell, including her very essence, flowed down the link towards you as would a rope to an anchor. It makes no sense to me, it seems so very impossible, but look at you!"

At this statement, she covered her mouth in embarrassment, but continued to stare at me with wide open eyes. I understood why she reacted in this way. The form that sat where I should sit would not make anyone think of the old Drake. What she said, bizarre as it sounded, could not be denied. I said, "I look like a girl."

"More of a young lady than a girl. An extremely pretty young lady at that."

"But I don't want to be a pretty young lady!" I said. And if that sounded like whining, don’t blame it on my new higher pitched voice. My state of mind, at that moment, would make anything I said, even with my old voice, sound like a whine.

"I know you don't, Drake."

"Everybody will think I am a freak!"

"No they won't. Hiram and I won't let that happen."

"How about my Mom and Dad, they won't recognize me!"

"Don't worry Drake, we will let them know what happened and that although changed, you are healthy. They are good people and nothing will stop their love for you."

"But I’m a boy."

By this point I found myself on the Good Ship Emotion after it has wrecked upon the Shore of Despair."

(Editors Note: I apologize for making you read one of the worst metaphor-like combinations of all time, but Drake refused to let me change it. He explained that when writing it, it felt like he road a canoe through a river's rapids, sucking him in and making him hold on for dear life until making it safely through to the end. And yes, that makes no sense.)

Seeing the tears run down my face, Mistress Elladoo rushed over to sit beside me and pulled me into a hug. And though only a day before I could only dream of such attention, on that day I needed the comfort to bolster the thin barrier of sanity keeping me from turning into a bawling babe.

"Don't cry, sweetie, Hiram and I will do everything we can to make sure you can be changed back. And if not, we will ensure you always have a place here."

Not wanting to think about her second statement, I found myself latching onto the first and asked, "Where is Master Elladoo? Can't he do something to fix me?"

"Well we thought with your condition, it would be better if you woke to Nerise or myself. Also, Hiram is very busy and..."

I would like to interject some context before explaining my reaction to this statement. So far my writing glosses over much of my life at Elladoo Post and focused upon the non-mundane, all of which included exciting events or times of high stress. Therefore, I may not come across at my best, appearing disrespectful to my elders and bordering on spoiled. Honestly, that’s not a fair picture. I usually acted the attentive kid, followed orders and rarely found myself in serious trouble. Ok on with the story.

Before Mistress Elladoo could continue with her explanation I shouted, "He's busy? I've been changed into a girl and he's too busy to see me? What is so important that it’s keeping Master Elladoo busy?"

"Well, Drake, we learned Darrel the Roamer and his band of cutthroats are in the region. Besides the demoness mentioning his name, one of the local hunters arrived two nights ago with the reports of a camp just west of the river. Where Darrel and his men gather for an attack on the post."

This got my attention and hijacked my thoughts into an entirely different direction, "But both Clara and Durk are out with caravans. We’re missing half the guard complement. We’re not ready for an attack."

"Aye, Drake. We definitely are not in shape for an attack; furthermore, we have been welcoming many of the farming families within a days walk, who are afraid of bandit raids, which leaves us crowded. Fortunately a number of them are capable with a bow and can augment our defense. But everybody is busy preparing defenses, particularly Hiram."

I could easily imagine how busy both Master Hiram and Sergeant-of-the-Guard Torin Hussel would find themselves. Plans existed for defending the post, but they relied on enough defenders to man the wooden wall surrounding the post. And even with our full complement of guardsmen, we still may not stave off an attack by Darrel the Roamer and his merry band of murderous thugs. They owned quite a reputation, not just for brutality, but also for skill.

Part of that could be explained by Darrel being a product of Glanlies, born into a gentry family and trained by the Commission Militia. A natural with the sword, a gifted leader who felt a voracious appetite when it came to tactics and military history. Only one problem, he proved himself batshit crazy.

Like all the top-notch psychos he kept the truth hidden for quite some time; however, about twelve years before he visited the post, the City of Glanlies experienced a rash of abductions, rapes, and murders. Until one night when a patrol of watchmen caught Darrel, red-handed, trying to bundle a struggling young lady into his carriage. Fortunately for the young lady she escaped, but Darrel killed the rescuing patrol and some others while escaping from the city. For a few years nobody on the peninsula heard anything more of him. Then, even though everybody hoped him dead, rumours told of him joining a mercenary band somewhere on the Simolean continent. Every once in awhile a new rumour would make its way north concerning his adventures, each bloodier than those before. Until eight years after he escaped Glanlies his mercenary band tried to commit a coup in the city state that hired them for protection. However, their employers actually engineered the plot in order not to pay the band and once more Darrel proved lucky to escape with his life. After that point he earned the eke-name "the Wanderer", deciding to give up all attempts at respectability and embracing the life of a maniac. From that point on he and his remaining band of now cutthroats found themselves linked to nearly every villainy about which you could think and the bounties offered for their heads spread across the nations and places they wandered.

Recently he started a brand new game, going after his old colleagues of the Glanlies Commission. He raided a couple of smaller outposts, a mining camp and a number of caravans. Apparently he now decided to target Elladoo Post and picked worse time, at least for the post’s inhabitants, to do so.

It is amazing, but the fear of death pushes lesser fears into the background. For instance, the knowledge of Darrel the Roamer's closeness took a more urgent place in my mind than the incomprehensible change of sex. Change pushed further into the recesses of my brain when the alarm bell started to ring and we heard a shouted, "Riders Approaching!"

Mistress Elladoo's glance jerked toward the sound, although she could not see anything through the walls, before returning to me with a look that seemed to ask permission to leave. Somewhat in a daze, I nodded approval and she hustled out of the room, leaving me unsure of what to do. However, no sooner did her footsteps disappear before I heard another set, which soon resolved themselves into Midwife Nerise. However, unlike Mistress Elladoo or myself, she did not focus on what happened outside, but upon her patient, me. Placing her hand upon my forehead, she said, "You look a lot better, Drake. How are you feeling?"

With less than my full attention I provided that old standby answer, "Good."

"Are you still feeling tired?"

Slowly she drew me back into the room and this time my answer involved thought, not just reaction. "Actually I am not feeling tired at all, I feel wide awake."

"Ahh...that is interesting. Master Elladoo was correct not to consider you sick, just exhausted from your transformation. How about hunger, are you feeling hungry?"

"I'm starving. And I'm really, really thirsty."

Smiling at this answer, she said. "Well Drake you are in luck, I brought a tray of food with me, but left it in the hall in case you did not want anything. Why don't you move over to the chair and table while I get it.”

Moving over to the chair caused certain things to come into focus. Of course, as a guy, the most noticeable thing were the breasts on my chest, they definitely seemed noticeable. Though not as large as I originally thought. Next I realized my hair now made me a towhead, although not quite the pure white of the demoness. Still, an unusual colour in an area of black and brown hair. Outside of the colour, there seemed quite a bit of it though tied in twin, thick braids hung most of the ways down my back. Realizing someone had taken the time to do the braiding made me ask, "Ma’am, how long did I asleep?"

"A dreadfully long time, dearie. It's almost 3 full days since you and the Master faced the demoness," she answered, more than a hint of disapproval in her face and voice. "Everybody felt awfully concerned. But you never experienced a fever, you just slept the sleep of the exhausted. I mostly worried you would dry out, which explains why you are as thirsty as you say. But enough of my nattering. Eat your meal."

Standing close to the Midwife I recognized the third thing about my change, I stood taller than before. I could see out of the high window with no difficulty and the top of Nerise's head now reached my chin. This both surprised and weirdly pleased me, since my previous height found me only a few inches taller than the midwife.

Taking Nerise’s advice to heart, I sat in the chair beside the table now bearing the tray. Sitting on the wooden chair brought about the next difference, one less noticeable on the bed's mattress. I now came equipped with more padding on the back side of my lap than in my prior incarnation. Gulping down a cup of fresh well water and beginning to eat my meal of tasty venison stew and fresh baked bread; I noticed the last few items possible to see without a mirror or a full disrobing (something I don't think I could handle on an empty stomach). The colour of my skin no longer matched the olive common on Glanlies peninsula, instead it now appeared a pale, peachy cream colour. Lastly I noted my wrists and hands. More finely boned, a narrow wrist attached to a slender hand with long fingers. The end of those fingers holding long finger-nails, strong and well shaped, but almost hornlike in consistency.

Trying to ignore the observations of my new self, I distracted myself both by eating and noting the worried way Nerise peaked out the window. Fighting the battle between my hunger and the desire to join her observation, I asked, "What is happening, Ma’am?"

Glancing quickly back at me, she replied, "Now, Drake, don't worry about it. Just eat your meal and then we will get you back into bed."

"Ma’am, Mistress Elladoo already informed me of the approach of Darrel the Roamer and his crew. Furthermore, I realize we are missing a large contingent of our guard. I also know both you and the Mistress are worried. Even ignoring what has happened to me, the situation seems bleak. How can I not be worried? Please, won't you tell me what is going on? Otherwise, I will quit eating and see for myself."

With a sigh, she nodded and said, "There is a great, bloody gaggle of the blood suckers, but they stopped a good ways away from the post. Maybe they are surprised to see the gate closed and men on the walls, as they likely are used to surprise on their side. Wait, one of them is coming forward with a white faced shield to speak to Master Elladoo on the wall. Oh, it doesn't appear a happy conversation, in fact they just exchanged rude gestures. Now the rider is returning to his friends and talking to someone in black, who I guess is that beast, Darrel. Oh my, here they come. Actually not all of them, just some with bows and others with shields to cover them are coming forward. And the men on the walls are shooting back. Someone is going to get hurt, I need to prepare in case it happens."

By this point I did not need her description of events. The last of my meal sat forgotten on the table and I used my new height to stare out the window to watch the arrows and bolts fly to and from the post. With a quick "get to the basement." in my direction, Midwife Nerise hurried out of the room. As she left to do her duty, I wondered about my own duty?

Those who did not fight would hided in the basement warehouse, but did I belong there? Before my change, I’d trained to to play my role in the defense of the post. I drilled regularly with the guards and most considered me a good shot with a crossbow. In fact, for my fifteenth birthday Master Elladoo gifted me with my own crossbow and sword.

Did my run-in with Sandrelessa change my duty? I knew nobody would feel surprised to see me down in the basement, but......it would make a statement. It would say I accepted this change, that I no longer considered myself Drake. This left me only one choice for me, which I put into action by running downstairs to the second floor and the bachelor quarters and my regular bunk. Meeting no one on the way or inside the large room, I threw open my chest and pulled out some trousers and a tunic, unconsciously pulling off my night shirt which struck me dumb.

Now I’d never seen a naked woman, outside of my dreams, and nothing prepared me for the sight that met my unclothing. Let me start by saying the obvious. Oh my gods. Just as my hair did not meet the norm for this part of the world, neither did my new body seem to conform. Whereas most of women stood shorter and more curvaceous, I stood tall and willowy. Not lacking in curves, just a less pronounced hourglass. Much of the height difference appeared due to my legs, which appeared disproportionately long, but very nicely formed. I fought the desire to explore, but...

...but I had no time. My friends needed my help. Shaking my head in denial, I pulled on the trousers, encountering slight resistance as I pulled them over my hips before finding myself unable to fully tighten them on my thinned waist . Hoping my hips would keep them up, I pulled on the tunic, finding it provided little support for my new attributes. Though pulling on my leather jerkin and wrapping my sword belt bout my waist did offer some of what the tunic missed. Thus covered, I pulled on my boots, now somewhat large but there seemed no danger I would step out of them. Lastly I place the now somewhat loose pot helm on top of my head. Thus clothed, I scooped up my crossbow plus two quivers of bolts and ran from the room.

In the gap between my running out of the bachelor quarters and arriving at the wall, let me describe what we were In the time between leaving the bachelor quarters and arriving at the wall, let me describe what we defended. Elladoo Post stood as a good sized frontier fort, but it still just a frontier fort. That meant a wooden wall, made by embedding logs, side by side, upright into the ground, surrounded three sides of the post. These logs stuck out of the ground to a height of around 10 feet, made higher on the outside by a stake filled ditch dug around the outside. The longest wall, of about 70 paces, held a gate at its center and wooden towers, 15 feet high, at either end. While the fourth side, the river side opposite the long wall, consisted of the main building of the fort, a combination of keep, hall, warehouse, inn, barracks and general all purpose building. In this impressive structure the residents of the outpost lived and worked. Three stories tall, four if you counted the basement warehouse, with all but the top floor and roof being stone. It made that side our most secure and pushed any attack towards the gate wall.

Another thing about the fight, it would not be a battle of great numbers. The post's population stood at 78 people, with 32 of those away in the two caravans. And of the remaining 46, only 26 of us would fight on the walls, although I did later learn the refugees augmented our defense with 10 hunters and farmers. Meanwhile, Darrel's bandits numbered 57 men.

You would think, with the wall, even though outnumbered we could easily defend ourselves. But Darrel and his men counted themselves veterans at this type of raid. Professional soldiers, who wore chain mail armour, making them hard to kill. If we could keep the fight at a distance, using our bows and crossbows, we stood a chance, but once it became hand to hand, only a few of the guardsman would not be at their mercy. We hoped to keep them away from the walls for a long enough period that reinforcements, requested by Master Elladoo, could arrive from North Fort.

Ok, back to me running out to help with the defense. I do not know what would happen if someone stopped me in my dash through the Main Hall. In fact, something deep in my soul wanted this to happen, for someone to send me to the basement, but then I exited into the yard and passed the point of no return. Running to a section in the wall with a gap between defenders I loaded my crossbow. Once complete, I looked through one of the vertical slits cut in the joint between logs to find a target. But before my eye found the slot, a hand grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me about.

"Hoy! Who in tarnation are you, girlie? And what in the Name of the Allfather are you doing out in this mess?"

Being confronted by Sergeant Hussel and his not knowing me felt bizarre. That combined with my general fear of the man resulted in a squeaky voiced answer, "I'm Drake, Sergeant. I’m here to do my duty."

Treating me to my first look of appreciation from a man, he replied, "By Sera's Sacred Womb, the Master told me you’d turned into a girlie. But he didn't mention you looked good enough to demand the little man in a gent's pants stand up and took notice."

Well didn't that hit me like a blackjack between the eyes. Trust the Sergeant's brutal honesty to take my mind in directions best left, particularly in the middle of a battle, unexplored. As I felt a blush spread across my face, he continued. "A beauty like you shouldn't be out here. You should head back to the big house and down into the basement with the rest of the women."

Thankfully this brought my mind back on a safe path, duty. "I can't. I know we are short handed on defense, every bow can help. I’m able to load my crossbow, so I don't see why I can't shoot it."

The Sergeant frowned at my answer, but could not deny the need. He said, "Ok girlie. You can stay, but if it appears they are going to make it into the yard you better hustle your cute little behind into the big house. You don't want to let those assholes get their hands on a pretty little morsel like you."

Then glancing past me, he yelled, "What in the name of Caling's Sword are you idiots looking at, the enemy’s on the other side of damned fence. Ya knuckleheads, think about it, you will get all types of opportunity to stare at our new chickie-poo in the future, but only if you survive."

With that last jab, he ran along the fence towards a tower. However, in this brief encounter he re established the basis of our relationship. One that left me feeling both; accepted despite and horrified by my change. In that particular instance, he left me blushing at the men nearby, many who knew me as Drake the boy, who returned looks that ranged from frowns to leers, nods of acceptance to head shakes of bewilderment. But the looks proved quick and fleeting, before they followed the Sergeant's orders and focused their attention on the outside of the post. To my surprise we spent much more time looking than shooting.

Looking through my chosen slit, I figured out why. The enemy did not make themselves ready targets. They held a position about thirty paces away, which put them within killing range, but mostly remained hidden behind the large shields carried by one member of each pair. In turn, the bow man would intermittently attempt shots at the slits through which we watched. I say try, because we met every such attempt with a number of bolts or arrows from our side. Basically a stalemate, though I could see two bodies laying on the ground amongst their ranks, showing where we found the mark.

This cat and mouse continued for a good hour with little changing, though we did get two more of them, but they lucked out and took out one of our men when he spent too much time looking out his slit. Personally I only took two shots the entire time and both of them embedded in a shield. For my first battle, it turned out less exciting than expected. Still everyone remained pessimistic enough to realize this calm would not last, despite how much we hoped and every moment of delay brought relief that much closer.

The bandits realized this as well, for in my quick looks through the slits,I saw a pair of men, likely Darrel and his lieutenant, in earnest discussion beyond the range of our bows. After their discussion, the lieutenant yelled something at the bandits who exchanged arrows with us. But though he spoke in a language I did not recognize, three quarters of their shield and bow pairs reversed towards their leaders told us what he yelled.

Corporal Deagel dashed my surge of hope as they retreated, when he yelled, "Sarge, looks like they're moving to stage two!"

Sergeant Hussel only gave me a moment to wonder what that meant before he started yelling instructions.

"Hoy, listen up! Damn it to Ardente's Antechamber, I said listen, not look. Keep an eye on the pricks who are looking to bugger you. That's better. Now the bastards know the post is not an easy place for them to get into; therefore, they are going to try and get rid of the walls. So heads up for grapnels overhead and try not to let them catch in the wall's cross-bracing. If one does, cut the damned rope before the assholes pull the wall down and jump on us like a horny dog on the mayor's wife. Also the candy-livered, turd-eaters will be easier to hit while throwing grapnels, so make them pay for attempting to pull down our lovely wall.

"But if the they do yank the horseshoe out of their ass and get a chunk of the wall down I want the civilians and the beautiful Miss Drake to high-tail it to the big house and get upstairs to the windows on the third floor. Bostly, when that happens I want you to take a couple of the lads, grab some pikes and hold the door. 'Cause when the rest of us cannot hold the walls any longer we will retreat to the house ourselves. And, Bostly, my boy, you better keep the door open for us or my shade will never give you a moment of peace. Everybody got that? Good. Let's kill us some bandit bastards."

So the next stage of the Battle for Elladoo Post began. Unlike before, the bandits grouped together as they moved towards the wall, except for four pairs who kept sniping at the wall. Unfortunately for me the big group ended up on the side of the gate where I watched. Understandably most of their throws did not make it to the wall. I say understandably because it takes a certain type of man to stand there long enough, leaving the cover of the shields, to really get away a good throw. After a few attempts, one of them became that sort of man. Maybe driven by bravery, impatience, anger or stupidity, but one big devil came closer than his brethren. One of his tosses even made it over the wall, though luckily it did not catch on anything when he pulled it back. Still sooner or later he would prove successful, so I decided to make him my target. Aiming to the spot from which he threw, II waited for him to show himself again. Waited and prayed that one of their shooters would not notice me and bring a sudden end to my plan.

As you likely deduced, fortune smiled on me while I waited. It seemed like minutes, but probably it took much less time before I spotted a spinning grapnel where my target would likely appear. Ready for it, I still felt surprise when a large figure appeared. But my surprise lasted barely a moment before I shifted my aim and let fly. I did not see what happened, focused on ducking away from the slit, but a yell did rise from the other side of the gate.

Later I learned I’d killed Duncan Smyte from Delos Village on the Isle of Curns. A murderer many times over, with combined bounties of 2300 gold on his head, and owning the dubious honour of the first person I ever killed. But at the time I could not know I’d hit him or if he just let out a bellow as my bolt whipped past his head.

However, it did seem to put fire in their belly. For more of them became the type of man who would stand and make a good throw. They paid for this bravery, but there arose the sound of steady thunks against the wall. Not just the outside, but inside, until finally one of them hooked on a cross-brace and with a heave of their desperate muscles they pulled down a seven foot section of wall.

At this break through, Sergeant Hussel’s orders went into effect and we scrambled back to the post building. Well I began the scramble, but only the others actually made it to their destination.

Me, well I fell victim to another indignity. When I turned to run, another grapnel, heaved over the wall, struck me square upon the melon. Sure I wore a helmet, but only of hardened leather and it did not provide enough protection for a half-stone of lead falling from the sky. Heavy enough to knock me unconscious to the ground. There I lay unnoticed, until everybody made it back to the big house.

If I wrote this story immediately after it happened, there is no way this embarrassing tidbit would be included. But in the time since it occurred, the incident became a watershed moment in the history of the post. Of all the strangeness that happened to me around this time, the grapnel to the head is the one that entered the post's folklore. Not unusual to hear something like, "not that long after Drake took the grapnel on the noggin" or "wasn't that around the time Drake got knocked out". Friends! Don't you just sometimes want to hold their head under water for an hour or two.

After a few years, even I saw the humour in the happening. But when it happened, I felt mortified by the whole thing and wished for a more heroic explanation as to why I slowly regained consciousness (dang, doesn't it seem like that happens a lot in this story) to the sound of a couple of unfamiliar voices talking.

The first voice spoke with an accent, the same voice that shouted orders earlier, "This better be worth it, Darrel. We already lost nine men and another twelve are injured. It’s pissed the men off."

"You better believe it's worth it, Gunther. The monthly shipment of from Hanglish Mines will pass through Elladoo Post in three days and by that time we will own it. When the barge docks for the night, we will catch them unaware. Its prize will provide more than enough loot to keep us in wine and women for years to come." This second voice answered.

Smoother and more cultured. Outside of its base tendencies, the rhythm matched Mistress Elladoo's cultured sound. This and the Gunther fellow calling him by name lead me to guess I lay in the presence of Darrel the Roamer. Not a good thing.

"Will we be able to take the post in time? It took us a whole day to gain the wall and push them back into their warehouse?"

"Today offered us the hard challenge, Gunther. The wall offered their archers more cover than our own, but now we are in their yard. All we need to do tonight is keep the fire banked at their door, so it’s ready to come down tomorrow. Then it’s time for hand to hand and the boys will slaughter them."

"Are you sure we aren't going to face any Glanlies' militia?"

"You really do worry like a Grandmother. Of course I am sure, my contact in Glanlies intercepted Elladoo's call for help. And I am sure of my contact in Glanlies, because I hold him by his short hairs and he knows that not even death will loosen my grasp." Darrel said, laughing as all civility disappeared away from his urbane voice.

Gunther joined in with a heartier laugh than his master, but still asked more questions, "Isn't that dangerous for your contact, what if someone finds out?"

"Who will know they sent a message? They’ll think we surprised the post, since these Commission fools are too confident in their communication system and would never send a physical message. So we’ll kill the only people who know about the message before tomorrow night is over"

"Kill them all?" The way the question ended all positive thoughts I may feel for Gunther. The toneless, indifferent manner in which he asked showed him no different than his leader.

Darrel's laughter grew colder as he replied, "We’ll let the boys have some toys. But save Elladoo's wife for me, I’ve heard the Deglace bitch is be quite the looker. Actually, only save her for me if she didn’t turn into some fat farmer's wife. And if we are lucky, we may find more tasty morsels like the blondie over on my cot."

By this time I found myself fully awake and trying to ignore a terrible headache, while keeping my composure and not moving. But hearing tasty morsel, almost the same descriptor used by the Sergeant earlier shook me to my core. It showed, because the awful laughter stopped and Darrel said, "But enough for now, Gunther. Leave me while I play."

Sensing someone approach I did not move, but it proved useless. Like a beast sensing his prey Darrel knew I no longer slept, "Really sweet meat. We both know you’re awake, so open your eyes and let's have some fun."

Ignoring him, I lay there trying to fall back into unconsciousness. But he slapped me on my thigh. Both the sound and the feel made me aware of my lack of clothing. No clothes and being in the presence of a rapist like Darrel caused my eyes to jerk open while I attempted to cover myself with my hands. The attempt only caused pain when my wrists came up short, held in place by ropes holding them to the cot. Staring into the soulless eyes and leering grin, my fear transformed into shudder.

"Hello, sweet meat, I did not realize Elladoo dealt in exotic goods until I saw you. If a curious man, I would want to hear your story, but alas...I am not a curious man. I am a simple fellow just interested in slaking my thirsts and you my dear are like a crystal pond in the middle of a desert. But before that happens, pretty girl, I must ask. Will you lie still for a moment and let me untie your arms without trying anything?"

Not believing my luck I could only nod at this bizarre request. Though doubting it would offer me the escape that immediately sprang to mind, it did seem to make escape more possible. However, Darrel remained wise in his evil ways, before he untied me, he first secured the entrance to his tent. Then making everything unabashedly real, he removed his clothes. I could describe what I saw, but that would humanize him and he does not deserved of that. A vicious, cruel beast feeding off of society like a rabid dog, worthy of nothing. Instead I will tell you that in his nakedness I saw a terrible fate, one that did not improve when he untied my wrists and stepped away from the cot.

Hesitantly getting to my feet, my glance bounced from him to the tent's entrance, then back to Darrel when he asked, "Do you know why I untied you sweet meat?" Not waiting for my head to shake, he answered, "Because I want you to fight. I want to hear you scream."

Those two statements solidified something within me beyond fear. From deep within me I felt something struggle to get out and it took me a moment to recognize it as rage. Rage at what happened to me. Rage at what was about to happen to me. Rage I did not want to hold in. And when the rage released, I no longer maintained control.

Darrel noticed something happening, as he stared and asked, "What?"

Finally I could respond to one of his questions, but someone other than I answered, "Don't you remember me, Darrel honey?"

"Who?"

"Darrel, you make a girl doubt herself. It's only been a few days, how could you forget?"

A switch went on in his mind as his eyes opened wide and he said, "Sandrelessa. I thought you left me? How are you...what are..."

With a giggle I heard myself answer, "Oh goodie! You do remember."

Before I realized what happened, or before Darrel could react, my body glided forward to snap his neck. As his body crumpled to the ground, my other self said, "Oh poo, I broke my toy. Well I guess I will go find another."

A horrific time followed, maybe even more horrific than what would happen if Sandrelessa did not lurk deep in my soul, ready to rescue me from Darrel. Even as a passenger, without any control over what occurred, I felt tarnished. Admittedly it left me alive and untouched, yet filled me with nightmares almost impossible to totally shake. This is one instance where writing could prove cathartic, but I don't want to remember what happened and am unwilling to write it down. Instead let me say the night rang with screams, all of them male. I remember moving fast, I remember talking in that little girl's, chirpy voice. And mostly I remember death, lots and lots of death.

Until nobody remained. All the bandits in the camp dead or fled, no one left for my rage to target. As quickly as she came, so she quickly departed. That other self, Sandrelessa, recognized her fate as it happened, but could only shout ‘No!’ before being sucked back into my soul.

She left me alone.

Naked, surrounded by death. Covered in the gore of that death and blood from cuts all over my body. Raising my hands to cover my face it appeared my earlier thoughts proved true. The long nails on my, claw like in appearance, served that purpose well.

Suddenly shock set in, combining physical exhaustion with pain and mental anguish. Falling to my knees, I tried to vomit. But the huge dry heaves could not expel any of the bile I felt. Not knowing what to do, the post beckoned me. Hardly noticing the mostly missing wall, I only could think, ‘I want to go home. I want my friends. They will help me.’

I tried to stand, but it required too much effort. So I crawled. It turned into miles and miles. And I just about made it. Almost at the tattered gate when...

...you guessed it, I passed out.

My promise to you dear readers, this is the last awakenings about which you will read, at least for the near future. I cannot say none will ever appear in my writing, at some point, after all I’ve experienced many awakenings for me since that point, but few are worth writing about. This awakening however is worthy of note.

It shares aspects with my prior two awakenings. It took some time for me to transition from slumber to awake, but something immediately told me I lay safe within the safety of the post. My guess, I slept once more in the bed in which I awoke before the fight. Similar to that time I could tell I wore my nightshirt. However, unlike that time, though similar to the awakening in Darrel's tent, my arms appeared tied to the bed frame. And again two men talked to each other, in the room with me, though this time I recognized the voices. Not that recognizing friendly voices made me less nervous with the binding. So once more I lay in place, letting no movement to betray my wakefulness, while I listened.

"Tell me how the shares work again, Stork?"

Based on Stork’s answering sigh, I suspected I missed the first, second, and maybe third attempt at answering this question from the less than sharp witted Jimi. "Ok, each man that took part in a defense will get a full share of the loot from the bandits and the bounties we can collect on their heads."

"The farmers too?"

"Aye the farmers too, they took the risk just as much as we did. And one of them bought it, just like Eddie and Mort. Speaking of the three of them, they will get a bonus share, both granted in their names to their families. So that adds up to 35 shares. When you add in the double shares for Deagel and Bostly, plus Hussel's 5 shares and we reach 44. Does that make sense so far, Jimi?"

The wheels likely turned, but Jimi sounded somewhat sure when he answered, "I got that part, Stork. I don't understand the next part."

"You mean the half shares? Well the guys out with the caravans get a half share. So since there are 22 guards and 2 corporals out with Clara and Durk, they’ll get 13 shares which takes us to 57."

"But why do they get anything, they weren't here?"

"I'm not sure of the exact reasons. It's just the way it's always been."

"Well I don't like it," Jimi said, almost in a pout.

"It does make sense when you think about it." Stork said, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "It could have just as easily been them here instead of us. I guess that implies that half the bounty we receive is the reward for just being ready, meanwhile the other half is the reward for the actual fight. And think how much it would suck to see all our buddies getting a reward and not get any ourselves."

"Yeeeah," Jimi begrudgingly agreed. "What about the rest of the shares, you only told me about fifty seven?"

"Well we will need to hire a factor to dispose of the goods in their camp. Armor, weapons, horses and so forth. The factor will also manage the gathering of bounties for the turds that we killed yesterday. I heard the Sergeant reading from a ledger he found Darrel's tent and it appears he kept track of the bounties on all their heads. He likely used it as a threat over his men, but if we can believe the ledger, they’re wanted all over the place. The factor will do a fair amount of traveling and will keep 10 shares for himself, which takes us to 67. That leaves 23 shares for the officers."

"Officers? What officers." Jimi stated categorically.

"Sure we do, Master Elladoo and Drake."

"Wow they sure get a lot, Stork. And I didn't know that Drake is an officer."

"Aye, and even if she wasn't an officer can you think of anybody who deserves the bounty more?" Stork stated. In the statement I gleaned a couple of things, both good and bad. Even though he’d known me for years, the use of 'she' proved the switch flipped in his mind that designated me a female. That I considered the bad, while the second item made me feel more positive. Even though tied down, he seemed happy with me and my actions. Hopefully in this he reflected the thoughts of the community. Much better than their thinking me some sort of monster, even if they might be right.

"Aye, I can't believe what she did. I went with the Sergeant when he scouted the camp after the screaming stopped. Remember that trapper who got attacked by a bear a few years back? It reminded me of that; as if someone let a bear loose in their camp. Nobody killed by weapons, just torn and broken. And not a single one of them injured, every one of them dead. However, the Sergeant hardly noticed as he frantically searched for something."

Stork broke in on the longest speech I’d ever heard spoken by Jimi, "Likely looking for Drake. You know how super pissed off he felt upon learning she did not make it inside with us. Blamed himself for letting her stay outside. And when the screaming started, you could see the anger on his face."

"Aye, he looked for Drake. We actually found her just outside of the gate. You should have seen her, Stork, all covered in blood and cuts. She scared me. Can you imagine? Scared of a pretty, little thing like her? But I knew she’d killed all those men in their camp. Of course, Sergeant Hussel felt worried about her, not scared. And he told me to carry her back into the post. She hardly weighs anything. How could she kill all those men?"

By the sounds of movement, one moved over to look at me. The closeness Stork’s voice when he spoke, confirmed by guess. "Are you still scared of her, Jimi?"

"No, Stork," he replied with conviction, which he explained with his next words. "I realized how she did it. It was the work of the Gods. Darrel and his men were terrible people, they needed to die. The Gods decided to use Drake to carry out the sentence."

Well that put a most positive spin on what happened. Stork agree with me, for he could not hide his disbelief when he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Course not. Who can know the Gods. But it makes sense. Why else would Drake turn into a girl before the attack? I bet Jiringel, the Goddess of Justice, possessed her. A Goddess could kill all those men, while a little girl couldn't, heck any single person couldn't."

"I don't know, Jimi. It seems like a stretch."

This time the footsteps that approached the bed sounded heavier, Jimi's footsteps. "Look at her Stork, she's beautiful. Not a mark on her. Yet three mornings ago, when I carried into this room she bore cuts and bruises all over her body. Where are they now, Stork?"

"They're gone Jimi."

"Exactly, they're gone. You and I both know cuts and bruises don't heal this fast. I expect the Goddess healed her in reward."

Well past the point of things getting a bit freaky, particularly since I knew the truth. And while his thoughts seemed so positive I wanted to believe, the direction of their conversation made me uncomfortable. I decided to awaken. So I let out a little cough.

This got the reaction, as Jimi blurted, "She's waking, Stork."

"You watch her, Jimi, I will get the Master and the Midwife."

I decided to draw out my awakening until the arrival of those two named worthies. However, it took some time, long enough that I realized even Jimi would wonder why it took me so long to awaken. Finally I opened my eyes to see Jimi looking at me with a gaze that held both worry and trust.

That might not seem like much to many people. But to someone possessed by a demon, it meant a lot. It made me smile, a smile he returned as those who Stork sought, along with the Mistress and Sergeant, came clamoring into my room. The room made only a bit larger with the dismissal of Jimi and Stork.

Jimi never convinced Stork of his beliefs. And in time Jimi I never served as Jiringel's instrument of justice. But from that day forward, both proved my friend and often my protectors.

With the guards gone, nobody for a few moments, until Master Elladoo stepped forward and asked, "Drake are you there?"

A simple question, yet full of hidden meanings.

"Aye Master Elladoo, it's me. Although, somewhere inside Sandrelessa still lurks. Which I am guessing is the reason I am tied up."

"Basically, but we didn't do it. No, you’re tied because Ensign Elfos Tillindal insists we tie you up." Based on the way he said that name, this Ensign did not exist as Master's favourite person.

It required me to ask, "Who is Ensign Elfos Tillindal?"

"He's a smarmy little git who is more impressed with himself than anyone else." Burst out Sergeant Hussel, showing he shared the Master's feelings. But then again, the Sergeant did not like many people.

Before he could get further into his rant, Mistress Elladoo interjected, although even she displayed a tinge of dislike in her voice when she said, "Ensign Tillindal is the commander of the militia detachment guarding the Hanglish Mine's barge. They arrived this morning and once he learned of the raid he decided to take control of the post. When he heard the stories, both of your change and what happened to the bandits, he immediately determined you a danger to everybody. He nearly clapped you in irons and placed a squad of his men to watch over you, but we convinced him we could secure our own. I am so very sorry, Drake."

"I understand, it’s not your fault. And it may be a good idea. I am possessed by a demon. I really don't know when she is going to push me aside, like she did in the camp, and take over. If it’s like in Darrel's camp, I couldn’t imaging. She took control and did terrible things."

Seeing tears in my eye, Mistress Elladoo reached down to grasp one of my hands, but Master Elladoo waved dismissively, "Bah none of that, Drake. I talked to one of the mages back in Glanlies and she guesses the protection spell, from the workshop, is still working upon you and will keep Sandrelessa at bay."

"But, Master Elladoo, she took over in the camp."

"Well the sage believes the spell released her since you faced greater danger than from the demoness. Were you in danger before she came out?"

Call me a wuss or a girl or whatever you want, but the question brought some fairly awful thoughts to the foreground of my mind. I did not know how to respond, did not even want to think about how close I came to being raped by that bastard, Darrel. I did not want my audience, even though friends, to know how close. In particular, I did not want the Master or Sergeant to know. Only days ago, I numbered one of them, but no longer. They would not understand, hell I didn't understand, but neither man would ever find themselves in the position in which I found myself in Darrel's tent. They could not even imagine themselves in that position, they could not understand the fear. I wanted to feel strong.

But I wasn't strong. I felt like a scared little boy and a scared little girl. Too much had happened to me. The past seemed horrific. The future appeared bleak. I could only cry.

My crying caused Mistress Elladoo to take control. Pointing at the Sergeant, she firmly stated, "You will untie this child right now, then go about your duties. Nerise, can you look after Drake while I talk to my husband."

She grabbed Master Elladoo by the arm and dragged him from of the room. As they left her voice scornfully mimicked, "Were you in danger before she came out? Hiram Elladoo, what kind of stupid question is that to ask? Of course Drake was in danger. You saw the poor thing when Jimi and Jimi brought her in. Naked, why do you think that...."

Meanwhile Sergeant Hussel, with the speed expected from one of the guards when he barked, untied my arms and stepped out of the way of Midwife Nerise who sat on the bed and pulled me into a warm, tender hug. He looked at us for a moment, then awkwardly patted me on the shoulder before apologizing, "Sorry Drake, we shouldn't have tied you up. I don't know why we listened to that fool Ensign; a wet behind the ears little twerp without an ounce of experience. I am embarrassed at myself. Call if you need anything, Nerise."

I really didn't notice much of this by-play, being wrapped in Midwife Nerise's arms and emotionally wrapped in my thoughts.

They say a good cry can do wonders for a person, but I am not sure that is true. Every time I find myself bawling, it seems more exhausting than helpful. Even when your stomach and lungs and throat want you to stop, your mind is not willing. Maybe it is different for other people, maybe it helps them. But for me it did not make me feel better, instead the crying became more painful than my memories. It forced me to compartmentalize those memories into a place to deal with later, which allowed me to focus on stopping crying.

It sounds easier in writing then it in real life. Still my control slowly returned and I could stop. Well either that or I just drained myself and could no longer continue. After stopping my bawling, I noticed the Mistress returned, watching me with worried eyes, and tried to smile at her.

Probably a horrible smile, yet she responded to the attempt by smiling back at me and asking, "Are you feeling better, sweetie?"

"Not really, Ma’am, but I don't feel like crying anymore."

No I didn't want cry anymore, nor did I want to sleep. I didn't want to stay in this room. And I really wanted a bath, I felt dirty. And like a normal fifteen year old boy, I wanted food to combat my starvation. I wanted creature comforts and did not want to think. I told them this and they obliged.

After I ate the meal delivered to the room, Mistress Elladoo offered a treat when she took me to her and the Master's quarters where a steaming bath waited my arrival. Confused she allowed me into previously forbidden territory, I looked questioningly at the lady.

She answered, "I suspected you are not ready to deal with the common bath house, so asked Mary to prepare my bath."

Curiosity about the quarters did not last, though larger and better appointed than most, they still belonged in an outpost. However, its inhabitant, Mary, the Mistress's maid, did not. An older lady, long in the employ of the Deglace family, she volunteered to join the Mistress after she lost her own husband. But everybody suspected she regretted that decision, as she never hid her disdain for us peasants. Once more she proved unable to hide her disbelief when Mistress Elladoo deigned to allow me to use her room, worse her tub. She made this crystal clear when she said, "The bath is ready, Milady. I will see she is bathed and sent to her room as soon as possible."

Luckily Mistress Elladoo consisted of sterner and kinder stuff. She said, "That is not required, Mary. I will look after Drake, but can you look through my things and find something for her to wear?"

Now that statement startled me. It maybe should not, but it caused the following thoughts to scramble around in my brain, 'Gack, what did she say? Everybody seemed much too sure about me being a her. Finding me something to wear from the Mistress' things could only mean, dresses. I'm not ready for that.'

"Milady, that is not appropriate. I will check amongst the post's women to find something for her to wear," Mary replied.

Pissed off, annoyed at the entire direction of my life, internal Drake decided to take this as the insult she meant and roared, within my mind, I am good enough to wear Esselde Deglace's dresses. Meanwhile rational, yet freaked out, Drake clamored agreement that guys don't wear dresses, even to prove themselves good enough to wear someone’s dress.

The Mistress, unaware of my inner debate, focused on the one with her maid. Pointing at me, she said, "Look at the girl, Mary. Is there anybody on the post with such a tall, slender figure? I know I don't, at least not no longer. But if you look in my old things you should find something that will almost fit Drake."

"Yes, Milady." Mary said. And with that surly response, she headed further into the Elladoo's suite.

With her exit, rational Drake took the opportunity to say, "Really, Mistress, Mary is right. It’s not appropriate for me to wear your things."

"Nonsense, Drake, what else are you going to wear. You can't really wear your old things, can you?"

I wanted to respond with a yes, after all Clara wore trousers and a shirt as often as she wore a dress. But I didn't, for I heard something in her voice, the same thing Mary heard, the voice of a Deglace. In this, Esselde Deglace would get her way, despite what we may think. Therefore, I sheepishly nodded my head in agreement.

Seeing this, she walked to the tub, a nice sized bronze affair transported from Glanlies, and tested the water. Frowning, she moved to a dresser and pulled out a polished wooden box. From which, she took a bottle and poured some of its oil into the bath, causing the scent of lavender to fill the room. Turning to me and seeing my stare of surprise at the bottle, she smiled and purposely misinterpreted. "I know you don't want to share the scent with an old woman, but for now it is the best we can do. Now take off your night shirt and get in the tub."

Smiling at her attempt at humour, I disrobed. This time my new form did not disturb me, not when I realized what covered my skin. Someone had made an attempt to clean me, after my misadventures in the bandit camp, but a damp cloth cannot completely clean one of the mess that is violent death. And though my cuts appeared magically healed, leaving no scars, they left signs of their presence in dried blood and gunk. Now even at my young age, the slaughter of pigs, cattle and fowl made me no novice to blood and gore, but animal’s blood is different. It does not offer terrible reminders, such as those that happened to me two days before. Suddenly, I wished my meal came after bathing, as I struggled not to throw up.

The Mistress sensed something of my thoughts, likely not that difficult when seeing me doing the fish face, and came over to guide me to the tub. "Here, sweetie, get in the tub. A good soak will wash everything away and make you feel good as new."

Stepping in, the heat of the water startled me, being used to the bath house’s lukewarm water. But I found this a good hot, it burned away my thoughts, made me focus on the act of sitting and concentrate on not crying out before my skin grew used to the heat. At that point, it felt lovely. The tub allowed me to mostly stretch my legs out and the higher end, at which I sat, allowed me to lean back so the water almost reached my chin. Did I mention it felt lovely?

"Ok, sweetie, let me get those braids out, we likely should not let them get wet. I’m new at the lady's maid business, but let’s not tell Mary and upset her professional standards." After some tugs and pulls on my head, hardly noticeable in the wondrousness of the hot water, she said, "Your hair is a rare colour, at first it seemed washed out, but it's not. I bet it will shine when we get it clean. And is it ever thick."

Until that moment, I noticed little more than its heavy weight and strange colour. Now with my focus turned on that feature, I found myself mumbling, "I'll get someone to cut it for me."

I heard a frown in the Mistress' voice as she asked, "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"MMmmm?" Ok, not the most respectful reply, but about then my brain stopped working, the heat of the water shutting it down.

"Well it is very rare to see a young lady without long hair. Even Clara, keeps her hair long. I am thinking you would look strange with short hair."

Well you can't deny her sales abilities matched those of her husband. Preying on my insecurity at being noticed worked perfectly in making me see the validity in her recommendation. But for the moment, Mistress Elladoo point seemed valid and such remained her hold on me that the temptation rarely returned. Not that it would matter in any case.

After removing my braids, she reached in her wooden box and pulled out a chunk of lavender scented soap. When she handed the perfumed chunk of soap to me, she said, "My bath is the one area in which I allow myself to spoil myself, Drake. My family regularly sends me soaps and oils and even this magnificent tub. If there is one thing I miss from about Glanlies, it is the bathing facilities in my family home. This soap is made using hemp oil instead of the tallow with which we make the soap used around the post. I admit, it is silly how much it costs to ship it here, but you will see it is worth every copper. Now, put it to good use. And don't be shy Drake, it is your body. Clean everywhere, and I do mean everywhere."

She probably noticed my initial hesitancy. My urge to explore my new form lurked in the back of my mind, but not something I planned to do in her presence. Still her permission proved needed encouragement to wash myself, yes everywhere, while trying to block out the strangeness I sometimes encountered. A few of which I noted deserved some focus at some later, alone time.

Let me tell you, it felt fabulous to be clean, and the Mistress words proved correct, good soap is so much nicer to use. Even if it did make me smell like her. Then again she always smelled nice, though very feminine. Well I could live with that for the moment if it meant no longer feeling icky.

While diligently bathing, I maintained enough presence of mind to notice Mary’s return with an armful of colourful clothing. Mistress Elladoo went over to talk to her about the selection and though Mary talked too quietly to hear, the Mistress did not attempt such subtlety. Therefore, I heard at least one side of the conversation.

“Good idea, Mary. A bodice and skirt will be easier to fit than a dress...They are kind of musty smelling. They should likely spend some time on the line first....Ok, before you leave, where are the towels?...No don't be silly, I own quite a few. You will just need to do some extra laundry....Ahh, in the armoire in the bedroom. Could you get us two or three before taking the clothes down for airing....Yes, that's a good choice, the blue will look good on her. And it is in the best shape of the things you found."

As Mary hustled off, Mistress Elladoo returned to the side of the tub, rolling up her sleeves as she came. Taking a last bottle from her magical bath box, she asked, "All clean?"

"Yes, Ma’am, I feel much better, just as you thought."

"Aye, you cannot beat the healing power of a hot bath. Just one more thing left, time to clean your mane. Hold your breath and close your eyes, I'm going to give you a bit of a dunk. Ok, now some of this hair soap, keep your eyes closed, it will burn if you get any in them."

Then she kneaded my scalp, followed by more tugging and pulling as she washed the long lengths of hair that hung from my scalp. It really did feel incredibly nice. With another warning, I experienced an additional dunk, plus some water scoop and pours before she deemed my hair free of soap. The last part of the hair washing procedure my least favourite part of the bathing experience, as the Mistress wrung as much water as possible from my hair as her strength allowed. With my hair washed, my bath came to an end.

When I stepped out of the tub, she handed me a big, quilted, linen towel with which to use for drying off. Body mostly dry, I tackled my hair as I would normally do, but the Mistress stopped me with a comment that doing so invited all sorts of knots. Instead she instructed, before helping me wrap my hair in another towel. We then found ourselves in a quandary as I had nothing to wear. When she left, Mary took even my nightshirt, without attempting to conceal a look of disgust at its filthiness. But as with everything else, Mistress Elladoo did not remain stumped for long.

Bustling into the next room, she quickly returned with a woolen shift. "Here you go, Drake, you will need a shift. And while it won't fit the best, it will do until we find something better."

Acting so nice to me, I could not fight when she helped me pull it over my head. After all, it did not seem too different to my nightshirt, although of a softer material and a longer length, covering me to just below my knees. But it felt clean and comfortable.

The question became what to do now? In Mistress Elladoo's mind I could not leave her rooms wearing nothing but shift, yet she needed to run some other errands, ignored while looking after me. She solved the problem by wrapping me in a blanket, despite the pleasant warmth I still felt from the bath, and sitting me in a large stuffed chair. Then handing me Annals #8 she told me to study chapter 12 to 14, which I found to focus on the perfume trade.

She said, "I need to leave you alone for a few hours, Drake. Longer if I need to spend too much time calming that idiot Ensign. When Mary returns, she can help you with anything you need."

Well I didn't hold out much hope about that, but kept such thought to myself. Instead I tried to read the book; however, I constantly found myself needing restart at the first page. Nothing penetrated my mind. I could not maintain the focus required to read from the Annals, many parts of which nobody mistook for exciting. No, my mind wanted to dwell on thoughts about getting changed into a girl and possessed by a demon.

Giving up on my attempts to read, I tried to focus on the first of these changes. Though more obvious, in many ways I found it the less disturbing metamorphosis. Yet I could not ignore the second.

My mind started a pitying debate as to which of the two things would cause people, specifically my friends and family, to dislike me the most. The turned into female thing made me a freak, while the demon thing made me a dangerous freak. Not much of a debate when I really thought about it, lots of people liked girls, especially pretty girls. And all indications pointed to me being a pretty girl, which reminded me I still needed to get my hands on a mirror. Meanwhile, very few people liked someone who might go insane and tear them apart.

Closing my eyes and concentrating on not thinking about what happens when a person is torn apart, almost resulted in a head-ache. Luckily, well kind of luckily, the hallway door opened and `caused a distraction. No surprise to see Mary, but I felt less prepared to see Dougie and Marcel, two of the warehouse workers, with her.

Mary, in that so kind fashion of hers, gave the two men their orders to take the tub downstairs, empty it and clean it out. When the two men kept glancing at me bedecked in a blanket and a towel, she actually made me grateful with a barked, "Pay attention to what you are doing, I don't want you to slop water all over the floor. I have enough to do without cleaning up a great spill."

After the two of them left with the tub, we experienced a few moments of uncomfortable silence, me watching her clean up the bathing supplies and she regularly frowning in my direction. After repacking the Mistress' box and returning it to the dresser, she looked around the room, as if hoping to find something else to do. When unsuccessful, she sighed and turned to me to ask, "How long has that towel been wrapped around your head?"

Deciding politeness would likely be the best approach to keep her sharp tongue at bay, I replied, "Since my bath, Ma’am. Should I take it off? I never had hair this long before."

"Yes, you may as well. From its appearance, it is too wet to offer any more help. Here let me help you."

"Thank you, I needed the Mistress' help putting it on." With the towel off, I said, "It's still damp."

"Of course it is, it takes longer than a glass turn to dry hair like yours naturally." She then ran her fingers through it as she went into teacher mode, "After washing your hair, or when you get up, you should run your fingers through it to make sure there are no knots. It is not fun when you catch a knot with a comb or brush. Speaking of which, do you own a comb and brush?

"I think there is a comb in my chest in the bachelor's quarter, Ma’am. Though, I usually just use one at the bath house."

"Hummph, well that won't do, I will take a set from the supplies, from those we trade to the Northern tribes.. Every girl needs her own comb and brush."

Admittedly I felt less ready to take the girl stuff from Mary than the Mistress, but Mary never treated me this nicely. But at the moment she seemed to enter her lady's maid mode, which meant she decided to pigeon hole me as a lady in her charge. Ack! Actually now, in hindsight, she probably saw herself my governess, which meant she saw me as less as a lady and more as a girl, or a maiden. Double Ack! Still at the time it felt natural to follow her orders.

"What should I do now, Ma’am, shouldn't I brush my hair?"

"No it is best to let it finish drying before brushing. When I go to get your things off the line, I will stop and pick up a brush and comb for you, so you can brush it out. Now stand up, I need to take some measurements. Lady Elladoo is right. Nobody's clothes will fit you properly, we will need to make some."

Somewhat hesitantly I stood and unwrapped myself from the blanket for her inspection. When she saw me in the shift her face flowed into a frown of disapproval.

"Now that won't do, the shift is much to short on you. Another thing we will need to make you. Let me get my tape for some measurements."

She measured me from my shoulders to the middle of my shins, the length and around my arms, and finally around my torso in a multiple places. Noting the measurements down she said, "Ok, I can make something work today, but tomorrow we will look into getting you some of your own clothes. I will check with Nan and see if she and her girl can fit you in."

Not able to add anything to this one-person conversation I stood there mutely, only partially listening to her muttering. Instead my thoughts returned to mirrors and the need to see myself. Guessing one existed within the Elladoo quarters, I worked up the courage to ask, "Excuse me, Ma’am. Is there a mirror I can use? I need to see what I look like."

"You mean you haven't seen yourself yet? It would be the first thing I would want if I went through a change like yours."

Shrugging in response, I said, "Other things seemed more important, plus I am kind of scared of what I will see."

"I don't know why, you really turned out quite spectacular. Still I suppose you need to see for yourself, so I will get the Mistress' mirror."

Once more she disappeared into the next room. I found myself curious about what I would find beyond the door, but not as curious as I felt about my appearance. When she returned, she lost some of the nice points recently earned when she asked, "Now you aren't going to faint or anything when you see yourself, are you? I wouldn't want you to break the mirror, it is very expensive."

Readily apparent by looking at it, with a frame done in silver. Still, I knew I would not faint and so I told her. Not fully taking me at my word she made me return to the chair before she handed the mirror to me. When she did, she regained some nice points with the kindness in her voice when she said, "Here, dear, why don't you get to know yourself."

And there she sat. It took some time to convince myself that actually, there I sat. As multiple people implied, well actually stated, I appeared quite pretty. But nothing remained of Drake in my appearance. The reflection in the mirror did not show a female Drake, nor did it look like either of my sisters, in fact, it did not look like anybody I knew. As with my hair and skin, my face continued the theme of light colouring. My eyes, overly large and round, stood out as a light grey, almost smoke-like. Above my eyes existed thinly arched eyebrows, whose colour left them almost invisible. My lips also fit the theme, a pale rose though they hid bright, white teeth as perfect as any I ever saw.

Outside of colouring, the other continued theme consisted of my fine bone structure. I possessed a narrow, petite face with high cheekbones, a small upturned nose and a somewhat pointed chin. All of it framed by a great mass of tow hair.

A refined face, not coarse like my previous, peasant face. And completely unrecognizable. I found myself staring into the mirror, trying to recognize something of myself. When that failed, it became time to try and get to know my new self. Oblivious to the rest of the world, I did not notice when Mary left the room.

How long did I stare into the mirror? Who knows, but based on my almost dry hair, it likely measured in turns. Not until Mary's return did my inspection end, but by that time I almost burned the new me into my thoughts.

Returning Mary said, "Hand the mirror over, Drake. That's enough vanity for one day and it is time for you to learn how to brush your hair."

What followed seemed almost as complicated as sorcery, though it did make my hair shine nicely. Once combed, she created two tight little braids from the hair hanging over my eyes. Wrapping these around the back of my head and loosely tying them together kept the rest of my hair out of my face. A simple style, one regularly worn by others around the post and in Corels. And simple enough, that with some practice, I could do myself.

Then came the moment of dread. Time to get dressed.

At least I remember dreading it. Reading back through the last number of pages, it seems I did not put up any fight along the path to girlhood. It does seem a valid recollection of the time, but it does not surprise me I fought so little. After all, two strong willed women, used to getting their own way, guided me along the path. Plus my mind remained in a strange place, too much already happened, all too quickly. It felt good to follow along for a time, to let others make the decisions.

Specially when the decisions made sense. And they did make sense. At the moment I looked like a girl. Why wouldn't I wear girl's clothes?

My hopes, that girl's clothes would not feel different from my boy clothes, quickly became dashed. It proved more complicated than just pulling on some woolen, shapeless robe. It started with the information I wore the wrong type of shift. Who knew different kinds existed? My initial guess that 'wrong type of shift' meant Mary wanted to get me out of Mistress Elladoo's things, but she proved me wrong. There are different types of shifts, different necks, different sleeves, different materials, different decorations, basically just different. The new one Mary retrieved for me met the different criteria in many different ways. Instead of getting me out of the Mistress' things, she soon dressed me in a fancier shift than the first. Finely woven, pure-white linen covered with silver threaded embroidery around the neck and the cuffs at the end of enormous, draping sleeves. And unlike the previous shift, which came to my neck, this one showed off my throat and more of what extended below the throat than I really wanted.

After I removed the first shift and before replacing it with the fancier one, Mary said, “Such a tiny waist”.

She wrapped a cloth belt around said waist and tied it in the back. The six holes, three per side, each held long ribbons. And though not recognizing such a belt, I easily guessed its purpose when I saw the pair of stockings in her hands, stockings differing greatly from those I wore in my boots during the winter. Instead of scratchy wool, they consisted of the same white, tightly woven linen as the shift. They also came much further up the leg than did those woolen stockings, completely covering my knees and reaching even higher. Instead of tightening them with a garter below my knee, each contained three holes in a thicker piece of cloth sewn to the top, through which Mary tied the ribbons hanging from the belt.

I can see your eyes rolling at this, and admittedly a full paragraph is likely more than such a common contraption deserves, but on that day the belt and the stockings both fascinated and scared. Something that simple confirmed how different my life now became.

Stockings secured and feeling much stranger than any worn before, I pulled on the shift and notice how one shoulder kept slipping down my arm. But the skirt, which Mary now offered, distracted me from this annoyance. Original thoughts of a normal skirt disappeared when I saw the velvet and dark, rich blue dyed clothing item. Definitely not a normal skirt, especially for Elladoo post. The other unusual thing about the skirt, a five inch width of white lace attached to the hem.

When Mary noticed my wide eyes, she said, "I realized the easiest way to make one of the Mistress' things long enough for you is to add some length, but did not want it noticeable. Then I remembered the lace I ordered last year, but which the Mistress never allowed me to add to any of her dresses. I don't know why, look how pretty it is with the skirt. Although you will need to take care when you walk. I just pinned it in place, what with no time for a proper sewing job."

What do you say to someone who never said a kind word to you, who suddenly changes her stripes and goes out of her way for you, when she makes a statement to which you don’t know how to reply? Well if you are a well raised young man like I me, you answer with a stunned. "Umm..yes."

"Here let me help you, as I realize how new this is to you. Bend over, your shift is too wide for us to pull the skirt overtop, so we will pull it down over your head. Ok, turn around and let me tighten with this belt. Just as I thought, your waist is even smaller than Esselde's at your age. There, that's all settled, time for your bodice."

Well the bodice matched the skirt, being the same blue velvet. Noticing the silver embroidery on the front panels of the bodice also made me wonder if the shift also belonged to the set. The bodice consisted of a full back connected to the two front bodies by silver ribbons, more of the ribbons would tighten it to my torso. However, before the tightening Mary adjusted the neck of the shift so it centered on my neck and each side barely rested where the shoulder straps of the bodice could keep them in place. When tightened, the bodice did not prove as unbearable as expected.

The fit did not particularly bother me, but I felt alarmed by what it did to my bosom. The front panels of the bodice only come to the bottom of my breasts and the uplifting effect it provided combined with the lowered neckline of my shift provided fleeting glimpses of my recently arrived charms. Now don't get me wrong, you wouldn’t call it a hey-boys-look-at-these type of show, but it more than proclaimed here-be-a-woman.

While I contemplated this, Mary stood back, looked at me with a smile on her face, and said, "You look beautiful, child. Lovely as she is, Esselde couldn’t do the same justice to the outfit as you. It's likely your colouring, it's so different from anyone I know. So fresh, so wintry and so lovely."

Didn't that draw out a deep blush and a mumbled "Thank you, Ma’am.".

Suddenly Mary smacked herself on the forehead and hurried into the magic room next door. This time she did not immediately return and left me standing there in amazement. Fidgeting with my skirt brought to my attention the shift’s huge, draping, totally impractical sleeves. It made me wonder how would I accomplish anything.

Of course it proved impossible to look down at the sleeves of the shift without noticing what my top did not completely cover. Trying to distract myself from this, I fiddled with the bow Mary tied to join the two bodies together before running my hand across the velvet. It oozed luxury. I knew of the material, a few rolls passed through the warehouse, but I never saw anybody but the rich wear garments of such a fine, expensive velvet. Heck, I never wore anything not made of the roughest wool, leather or linen.

Mary returned to the sitting room with a pair of boots dyed a blue to match the skirt, which, amongst all the strangeness of the day, struck me as the most extravagantly strange. Who goes to the expense of dying boots? Apparently the Deglaces of Glanlies, that’s who.

Mary said, "I cannot believe I almost forgot the boots. I can remember being with Madame Deglace when she browbeat the cobbler into dyeing them. He tooled in the pattern to match the one on your bodice, but Madame insisted on them also being dyed this dark blue. Poor man, he really did not stand a chance. Madame Elaine is a strong woman, and when decided what her daughter Esselde would wear on Tournament Day during Turin's Faire, no petty cobbler, even a Master Cobbler like Kloster Chance, could stop her.

And the gown made for Esselde to wear during the Last Day Fete, oh you cannot believe how lovely it looked. Of course I didn't bring it, I took a chance packing this outfit, but I thought that because it is a walking about outfit, Mistress Esselde may get some use out of it at this Godsforsaken post. Alas, she never wears it and when I realized it would no longer fit her I felt so sad that such a lovely outfit would never get anymore use, but look at you. It is like it was made for you and not the Mistress. I just hope these boots fit, cross your fingers."

Caught up in her outburst I actually crossed my fingers, not that she would be able to see my hands, still hidden by my sleeves. It must brought the needed luck, for the boots fit me almost perfectly, being just a tiny bit loose. While I adjusted to heels slightly higher than those on my riding boots, Mary once more took a step back to observe. This time a frown of concentration came to her brow and she began muttering to herself. Reaching a decision, she suddenly knelt and grabbed the bottom of my skirt, making me take a wobbly step backwards.

"Stand still, dearie. I don't think we need this lace hem.. All it does is hide those lovely boots. Weren't we lucky that I didn't sew it on?"

"Um...yes?"

"Most definitely. The boots are a work of art and with you being so young, it's not inappropriate for you to let them show. If the Mistress agrees to this look, it will make it much easier to fit you into more of her old clothes. Much easier on me," she said with a chuckle.

The surprises continued, who would guess Mary could laugh. But she really seemed to enjoying herself and I milked some positive vibes out of offering her this outlet for enjoyment. Though I did not doubt I would strip it away from her with nary a thought, if given the chance. Still you sometimes need to make do with what you are offered, not what you want. At that time it meant dressing as a merchant princess leagues away from where you would normally find such an individual, while entertaining a lady's maid. Absolutely bizarre.

It became more so when she decide to teach me how to walk in the skirt, something she called it the art of being graceful. For the next while I moved all about the room, in between every chair and up and down from every couch, with her constantly stating things like ‘tiny movements’ or ‘graceful, graceful’. Honestly, she proved a terrible teacher. With no idea what she wanted me to do, I learned in a similar fashion to finding the thimble. Where Mary spoke louder, the colder became my attempts. Based on the longer periods of this occurrence, I did learn a few things. Still I decided to observe and mimic those more used to their skirts.

Speaking of which, my number one role-model returned during a mostly silent few moments of my sitting and standing in the big, cushioned chair. When she saw me, Mistress Elladoo could not stop herself from clapping her hands in glee and squealing delightfully. "Why look at you. Aren't you just a gorgeous young lady?"

"Isn't she just, Milady? And such a joy to get ready, just stood there and let me do my job."

"Mary, I do believe you are implying something negative about me?"

Shaking her head, Mary answered, "Well not really, it is not like you ever wear anything nice. A blind scarecrow could get you dressed."

Laughing at the response, the Mistress say, "Now I know you are, Mary. Luckily for me, you can now ply your skills on Drake. He will definitely need help navigating his way."

The two of them just stared at me with goofy smiles on their face until Mistress Elladoo said, "Something is missing, Mary. What is it?"

"Milady?"

"Oh I know, didn't that outfit come with a matching choker? And did you bring it with you?"

"Ah yes, it did. And of course I packed it, just let me go get it."

With Mary out of the room, the Mistress made a spinning gesture with her hand. Guessing she wanted me to turn around, I slowly, kind of gracefully, spun in a circle. Once more she clapped and said, "I know you won't want to hear this, Drake, but you do look stunning."

How much can a person blush in one day? Is it possible to blush so much you burn your skin, similar to a sun burn? Well I did not quite find out that day, but she did deserve a reply.

"I guess, Mistress, though I would prefer to remain my old self. But thank you for lending me an outfit and allowing Mary to spend so much time helping me. And thank you so very much for being so kind to me earlier and now."

I am not sure why I felt so much more emotional around the Mistress than Mary. Maybe because Mary treated me like the Sergeant treated the old me, as someone expected to follow orders. But from the Mistress I wanted hugs and sympathy, possibly because she readily offered both. And this time she acted no different, flowing across the room to hug me and murmur, "Think nothing of it, child, you are like family. How can I not help family?"

Returning the hug, I barely stop myself from starting to cry, though a sniffle made it’s way into my voice when I said, "Thank you so very much, Ma’am. I really would not be able to handle this on my own."

"Good thing you aren't on your own. Isn't it?"

"Yes, Ma’am, very much so. And don't think me ungrateful, the outfit is very lovely, but is it not out of place at the post?"

"Oh, Drake, it is terribly out of place," the Mistress laughed, staring at the returning Mary who bore a somewhat sheepish look on her face. "I remember explaining so to Mary every time she brought it out for me to wear during the last couple of years. There is no doubt it is lovely to look at, but it is not an outfit in which you can do chores. The velvet is hard to clean and the sleeves of the shift, well I am sure you can guess how impossible it is to do anything with those hanging from your arms?"

Nodding at this last, I jumped into the opening and asked, "Then why am I wearing it, when it is so inappropriate?"

"Because my dear, you are going to play a role."

Mary proved quicker on the uptake than I and asked, "A role? What type of role, Milady?"

"First put the choker on her, Mary. I want to see the full effect. Ah, yes even better, you are dressed perfectly in the role of the innocent, young maiden. You see. Ensign Tillindal is quite a handful, sure we are hiding some raving lunatic from him. He is bound and determined to place you in irons. It is all Hiram and Torin can do to keep him from storming up here to get you. It is growing tense between his men and the Post's people, especially with Jimi spreading his beliefs."

"You mean about how Jiringel possessed me?"

"Yes, how did you hear about that? Mary, did you tell her?"

"No, Ma’am, it wasn't Mary," I protested. "When I woke earlier today, I overheard Jimi and Stork talking. Realizing I was tied up, I decided to listen in on what they were saying before I let them know I no longer slept."

Both Mary and the Mistress laughed to hear this, and the Mistress said, "Why, you little minx..."

Not something normal to call a fifteen year old boy. Dearie, sweetie and the like almost appeared like general terms, but definitely not minx. But then again, they also planned for me to play the role of the innocent, young maiden. Also not something meant for most fifteen year old boys either. Thinking of which, I asked, "Why will my playing the innocent, young maiden be of help, Ma’am?"

"Well, Drake, looking like you do, it would be very hard for anybody to see you as a threat."

Mary said, "We could use some makeup available. With those big eyes of yours, you definitely look the innocent. But with some makeup I could make it so not a single man would realize you ever allowed a thought into your pretty little head. Is the Ensign a young man, Milady?"

"Aye, Mary, I would guess he is just out of his teens. Likely the cause of much of his officiousness, not confident enough in his own position to not try to push it upon others. But if more confident, we might not be able to stop him. Why do you ask?"

"Well if he is a young man, Drake could flirt with him. Looking as she does, she could make him see her with the one eye, not the other two."

I don't think the Mistress even needed to look at me to feel the tense fear that suddenly overcame my body, she stood close enough to feel it emanate from my core. So she nipped Mary's proposal in the bud and said, "I don't think that is necessary Mary. Nor do I think our Drake is ready for such a task. Instead I will keep her close to me. She only needs to look pretty and pale, something which comes to her quite naturally."

Thankful for the reprieve, it did start another of those mental debates. 'They sure seem set on the she and her thing, don’t they. Hey, wait a minute, did she say stick close to her? Did that mean I would need to leave these cozy quarters? Let other people see me? Well of course I would, why else would they dress me up? Why would I act a role amongst people who knew everything about my situation? Of course I would leave this room and join the rest of the world.'

While my thoughts raged, Mary acquiesced and asked, "May I be excused, Milady. I need to see to the rest of your things that I believe will fit Drake. I should also prepare chambers for her, the bachelor quarters is no longer appropriate."

"Definitely not. She has been using number 3 guest room, why don't you prepare it for her."

After all the other things I meekly accepted, this is something I would fight and said, with significant authority, "I do not like that room!"

This time Mary’s empathy kicked in and allowed her to realize the room held strange and bad memories for me. She came to my support. "Actually, I do not like it either. It is rather inconvenient for me, since it is at the opposite end of the building from here and my quarters. How about I prepare the maid's room next to mine, it is not used and it will keep me close at hand to help Drake if needed."

With a nod of agreement from Mistress Elladoo, she strode off purposeful, leaving me surprised at how diligent she took her duties. In fact she left me feeling ashamed I always thought of her as grumpy, old Mary.

"One more thing, Drake. Your name does not really suit the new you, we must think of a better one for now."

Flush off my victory concerning the room, this battle felt even more important for me to fight. "Oh, please no, Mistress. My name is all that is left of me! Please don't take it away from me. Please!"

I think my vehement response surprised both of us, though the passing moments only made the desire firmer it in my mind. So the delay while she considered my response left me nervous, knowing she likely would win the battle if she disagreed. Such a relief to hear her say, "I never thought, Drake. Please forgive me. Of course we won't take your name away."

So I kept my name, although from that point both the Mistress and Mary seemed to silence the K in my name. I couldn’t really argue much, particularly with how much they did for me, that when they spoke my name it sounded more like Dra’e.

The evening that followed would best be described as surreal. It started with the Mistress deciding she too would dress for dinner, which resulted in a great deal of bemoaning the fact she owned nothing decent to wear. When she, with the returned Mary's help, finally decided on a red gown, she continued to complain, although rather halfheartedly. Mary offered no sympathy, stating that the Mistress decided, not her, to not bring or make any pretty dresses. Nor did she gain much sympathy from me, I thought she looked beautiful and told her so.

Once dressed, the Mistress provided much needed support, both emotionally and physically, when she linked her arms with mine and guided me into the hallway. We met nobody as we moved to the stairs, but during the descent, me carefully with a hand on the balustrade, the noise from the main hall made its way up to us. As we reached the bottom of the stairs, an unrecognizable voice shouted above the rest.

"I am becoming tired of your insubordination, Sergeant. You will speak more respectfully to me as an officer in the Commission Militia. If you are not careful, I will place you under arrest."

I could almost feel the communal cringe at these comments, nobody got away with talking to Sergeant-of-the-Guard Torin Hussel in that manner, the explosion did not take long in coming.

"Listen here you little puke. I am in charge of security at this here post. You can take your threats and shove them up your ass, if there's any room not taken up by your thick skull. As to the Commission Militia, where were you wondrous heroes when we actually needed you? You know, when the stinkin' bunch of savages attacked the post. If not for us, particularly Drake, you and your men would be feeding the vultures right now. So it's you Mr. Ensign of the Commission Militia who should talk respectfully to us!"

This brought about memories of the conversation between Darrel and his lieutenant concerning their contact in Glanlies, the one who intercepted the message from Master Elladoo. Nobody knew about the conversation, but maybe they already knew about the intercept? Did the Master contact someone Glanlies and together they realized something seemed fishy? If he hadn't, I might be the only person who knew why the Militia never arrived. Even if guessed, my information might provide corroborating information. However, it would draw attention from the argument to me, and I did not want that. Still the fire needed put out, and since the fire involved me, I could not do anything but try.

Entering the room, still upon the Mistress's arm, I pitched my voice to carry enough to cut through the arguing, as I said, "Excuse me Sergeant Hussel, I believe I can answer your question as to why the militia did not arrive before the attack."

Wow, my new voice cut through the sound of others better than expected, maybe because it rang out in a clearer pitch. And my words definitely brought a pause to the argument, in fact it brought a pause to everything happening in the room. Everyone's focus now drawn to me and the Mistress, well mostly me. Shock seemed the common response from those who never saw me in my new form, but I received welcoming smiles from the rest.

One of those, the Master, asked, "Drake, don't you clean up nicely? Why you almost challenge my beautiful Esselde."

So saying, he stood, crossed to us and kissed his wife. Then to various catcalls he guided her, who in turn guided me, to chairs at the table in which he and Hussel sat with an unknown young man, presumably Ensign Tillindal. A masterful show by him, deflecting much attention away from me by attaching normalcy to my presence. The majority of the post's citizens, good underlings all, recognized it for such and went about their business. They realized they could satisfy their curiosity at a later point. But the one person not distracted was the Ensign.

If you, like me, expected some sort of fop or a fool, then, like me, he would leave you disappointed. A perfectly normal looking, young officer; from the cropped hair on his head to the hobnail boots on his feet. He didn’t even look at me with a leer or with disdain or anything outside of an appreciative once over. In fact he remained all business when he asked, in a much calmer tone than the one he used to challenge the Sergeant. "So are you the demon-possessed?"

Taken aback by the bluntness of the question, Sergeant spared me a reply when he interrupted to ask, "What do you mean, that you can tell me why the militia didn’t arrive?"

The easier question to answer. "While held in Darrel's tent, I heard him and a Gunther fellow talking about a contact in Glanlies. Darrel said the contact would intercept any message from Master Elladoo."

My statement seemed to bring the three men to agreement, a surprised and disturbed agreement causing the Ensign to say, "That's not possible."

However, the Master proved not quite so ready to dismiss and said, "You know, that may explain my strange communication with Glanlies after the bandit attack. I didn't think anything of it at the time, relieved by our victory. But thinking back, the warden on duty seemed surprised to hear of the attack, he also proved vague in explaining why the militia did not show up."

Ensign Tillindal turned to the Master and asked, "Haven't you heard from the Fort yet?"

"Well the Warden asked if I still needed their presence. When I said no, he let me know he would stop their march. I am sure Glanlies can communicate with the militia in North Fort?"

"There are a number of members with the skill, though it is rare for them to go into the field with smaller units. I never patrol with one. Maybe a relief column could communicate directly with the capital."

Admittedly selfish to feel happy that a fairly serious breach in the peninsula's security took me out of the center of attention. Though my curiosity did need one question asked.

Happily Hussel asked it for me, keeping me on the side. "Hiram, did you talk to the same warden before and after the raid?"

"I can't say, Torin, they are basically face less entities, only a few allow their personality to show through. The ones I talked to before and after the raid belonged to the face less group."

Doh, I knew that. Better to ask, "What do we do, Master?"

Tillindal answered, "It's obvious, girl. We let someone know in Glanlies the problem with the communication system."

"And how do you propose to do that, Ensign?" Hussel sarcastically asked. "We can't very well use the communication system to do so."

Master Elladoo answered, "No the Ensign is right, we do need to contact the city. But as you say, Torin, we cannot use our regular channels. Luckily another channel exists for me. I will contact my cousin Sharlese, who I already talked to concerning Drake. She is a sage with the College and can initiate an investigation. I also think we should dispatch a rider to North Fort with a report of the raid and our speculation about the communication issue. Torin, can you prepare the report?"

"Yes, sir!"

"And, Ensign, you should also prepare a report about your findings. And if you feel there are any issues with the security of my post or with Drake, include them there. I heard your arguments, I disagree with them and am tired of them. And on this Post I am in command. Don't forget that the militia is just a wing of the Commission, a subservient wing. Remember that and it will go better for your career. Both of you are dismissed."

The Sergeant actually saluted before leaving on his task. After a moment a somewhat chastened Ensign followed suit, he said, "Yes, sir. And I will think on your advice."

With the two of them gone, the Master turned to me, sitting between him and the Mistress to say, "I do wish to apologize for my earlier insensitivity, Drake. Totally unforgivable."

"Apology accepted, Master. We have all been under a great deal of stress."

"Still, I will try to be much less of a lout."

"Well you may try, Hiram, but you are a man and it comes so naturally," his wife said with a smile.

"Likely true, my dear. But for now, Drake, please be aware that Esselde and I will do everything in our power to help you out of this...difficulty? As I said, I contacted my cousin Sharlese and her opinion is you need to see the experts at the College."

"In Glanlies, Master?" I asked, feeling a bit of awe at the thought of going to the big city.

"Aye, Drake, in Glanlies," said the Master, his smile showing he likely guessed my excitement.

"And don't worry, Drake, you will not travel alone," said the Mistress. "Hiram and I talked it over earlier today and decided I should provide your escort."

"Thank you, Ma’am, but you really don't need to do that," I said, though even I didn't believe me as I said it.

"Nonsense, sweetie. I wouldn't let you go to Glanlies alone even before your change. You most definitely need a chaperone. Plus there are other reasons to go. It is over a year since I saw my family, as their letters of mention. Plus, Hiram is not happy with some of our suppliers, so I can meet with them or find new ones while in the city."

"I'm going to Glanlies," I murmured.

"Yes, but it will take some preparation. Hiram does not want us to travel with the Hanglish Mine’s barge."

"I should think not, that idiot ensign will place poor Drake under lock and key in a heartbeat."

"Yes, dear, we all understand your feelings about Tillindal, but you should let it go. You more than put him in his place a few moments ago. Still I agree, lets wait for the next supply barge to come, it should be here next week. Hopefully, either Clara or Durk will return by then, because I would like to take a couple of men with us as guards. And of course Mary will come along and look after us. She will need some time to prepare. Are you ok with the plan?"

"I'm going to Glanlies?"

"Yes, sweetie, but we will pass through Corels first, which will allow us to see your family. They need to know what happened."

"My family? Gods above, they will never understand."

"Don't you worry, I really don't think you are giving them enough credit. And before you know it, we will get you right as rain. Though I am sure Mary will miss you, she quite enjoys bossing young ladies around."

I barely heard this last comment. Thinking about fulfilling a dream, going to Glanlies.

This writing is definitely harder than I guessed when I first started this project. My belief that a few days work would bring everything to fruition. Yet now, after a good month, my story has barely started. Maybe I should hire an assistant to help with the rest. But for now, what is written will serve as my first submission to the Asthelhorne Monthly Biography Journal.

Because I need to pause my writing and return to my real job. I am part of a Glanlies' trade mission to the court of Snaguine, a tough market we’re trying to crack. Particularly since they are such a hub for exotic goods from the south Simolea continent and offers us so many opportunities. I am happy to take part, except for the need to travel there on a ship, forgive me, my poor stomach. Maybe writing will provide a distraction from my woes? Well not likely, I am sure I will spend the two weeks on the boat in misery.

Hopefully when we arrive there will be time to write down more of my memories, there are so many more. My first journey to the jewel, that is Glanlies, a tumultuous time in Corels, meeting with my family, getting to know the Mistress' family, the strangeness of the College and so much more. Heck, I may even spend some time talking about trade. Otherwise, my chosen title is kind of meaningless.

‘Til then, enjoy yourself!