Serra is an experienced guide through the Warren and can handle anything it sends her way, but when she's hired to escort the crown prince of Kandria to the Capitol, what once seemed like a normal job takes on terrifying consequences.
 
 
"We'll need to burn Errod's body," the half-Fae said after a tense silence. "The wraith could still use it to attack us and I would rather limit its options. After we're done with that Your Highness, since you're so grateful, you're going to explain to me just what it is you did to earn the wrath of a wraith."

 
This is one of two short stories I wrote in my absence that takes place in a world called Althea. I was talking with some of the girls in chat (you know who you are *hugs*) and they convinced me that they're worth posting, so here's a little something until I can finish chapters of my serial stories.
 
 
The city of Nesmon: 67th day of Spring, Fifteenth year of the Sixth Era

Serra leaned against the wall in the shade of the awning above her, softly stroking her furry companion slumbering within her large satchel and listening to the contented sleepy murmuring in the back of her mind. She watched as the other denizens of Nesmon's marketplace called out their wares or used other methods in attempts to lure in customers and their hard-earned coin. Her spot was on the far end of the section devoted to caravan guides and sell-swords, well away from the other female ‘guides' and the men. She didn't really fit in with either of them, as anyone with two working eyes could see. Obviously, she was female, but she wasn't dressed like the others. Where those women wore fine dresses, jewels, make-up, and perfume, Serra's slender form was clothed more like the men; a sturdy leather tunic, boots, and gloves over her simple hose, a loose fitting blouse, and a short-sword and dagger at her belt. Rather than the large brimmed hats that the men favored though, a bright green scarf held back her long auburn tresses and half covered her ears.

A reedy and nasally voice suddenly inquired, "Excuse me Miss, but are you a guide?"

"Aye," she replied as emerald eyes with flecks of gold looked up to examine the voice's owner. He was an elderly fellow, clean shaven, and appeared to be a servant by the look of his embroidered livery. Though he appeared clean and well-groomed, his livery was dusty, wrinkled, and torn in places, a sign that he had been on the road a while, and that it hadn't been an easy journey. "I'm a guide, a proper one mind you," she clarified once she was done looking him over.

"A proper one?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

She gestured to the perfumed and prettied girls with a sneer. Her own mother had been one of those women, and sadly not much of a mother, until the crimson fever had taken her when Serra was twelve summers old. Her mother had managed to teach her one thing though; that she never wanted to end up like her, selling her body for coin and eventually with a child she didn't want. Perhaps her mother might have felt differently had Serra not taken after her father so much. She had never known her father, but her mother had often told her that if she had known that Serra was to be the result of their time together, she would have charged him more.

"Those are members of the Whore's Guild," she explained, the thoughts of her mother causing her to frown. "They'll escort you across the Warren for a price, but only to keep you company, keep your bedroll warm, and provide an evening's entertainment. Without a proper guide though, you'll take weeks getting through that maze of canyons, if you do at all. I know the Warren like the back of my hand, I know the dangers and I'm prepared for them. I could get you through there, and to the Capitol in five days."

The man leaned in close and said in a hushed tone, "Excellent, my name is Gideon. I am a retainer to his Royal Highness, Prince Harmin Kinsaire."

"Serra," she quickly replied, giving her own name and making a point not to react visibly to the very familiar name of his master. "I have three rules: I sleep alone, your Master pays for the supplies, and I've guided nobles before, so I'll let you know now, I don't care if he is the crown prince, out there I'm in charge, and if I give an order it's for everyone's safety. That means that everyone follows it, even him."

Gideon nodded, wiping sweat from his brow with a worn and dirtied handkerchief. "I am certain that my master will find that most satisfactory. How soon could we be underway?"

The sun was setting later that evening when Serra had their small group make camp for the night. They had managed about four hours of travel and so far all they had encountered were a few poisonous snakes, which had been easily dealt with. It was unseasonably hot and Serra paused to fan herself with one of her hands as she set out her bedroll near the fire that one of the prince's guards had started. The last light from the setting sun was beginning to fade and the camp was mostly set up; the horses were tethered to trees near a small stream, the fire started, and supplies had been set out to make the evening meal.

Camp set-up had been done in silence, with none of the friendly chatter that Serra was used to when guiding other small groups or caravans, but that didn't really surprise her much. Neither his Highness nor his companions had been very talkative during the ride so far, and they all looked to be in much the same condition as Gideon had when she had first met him, worn and haggard. Oh sure, Prince Harmin was handsome with his blond hair, blue eyes, and fit figure, but his fine clothes were in a similar condition to Gideon's, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he was extremely jumpy.

Serra wanted nothing more than to deliver him to the palace and be finished with this whole business. Ever since she had accepted the job, there were little things that were bothering her. First, she was paid in advance, and almost three times the going rate. Secondly, Gideon had been in a rush to get them supplied and underway, having them ready to leave in the mid-afternoon rather than waiting for first light as she would have preferred. Then there were the horses; the group had already had them and didn't want to wait for as long as it would have taken for her to arrange to rent the rintars that she would have preferred for a small group like this one. The large feline predators might not be as fast as horses, but they gave a smoother ride, were more agile, and they were ferocious in a fight. Horses were far too skittish for her liking, and these seemed more skittish than most. Finally, there was the size and condition of their group.

Sadly, Prince Harmin's entourage seemed no better off than he or the horses and was much smaller than she had been expecting. Most noble entourages traveling through the Warren consisted of at least two dozen people, including servants and guards. Serra would have expected at least twice that for the Crown Prince, but this group numbered four in all: The prince himself, Gideon, and two guards.

Prince Harmin and Gideon were both distracted and jumping at shadows, and their two guards weren't much better off. Nephrin, a tall man with short-cropped dark hair who was walking with a limp, had watched Serra's every move with suspicion since they had set out, when he wasn't watching the shadows that is. The other guard was named Errod, a man of average height and stocky frame with raven hair who looked too weary to even lift a sword, let alone wield one. The state of their nerves was reflected by that of their clothing, messy and torn, as even both of the guards' chainmail coats were badly damaged. They all looked to be one step away from the embrace of Ku'ur, but what bothered Serra most was that they all seemed to expect the God of Death to be waiting around the next corner.

Once she had finished setting up her bedroll, Serra removed her satchel from its place on her saddle and released the creature inside. Zimma yawned and stretched as she stepped out into the fresh air and firelight. She was almost two feet long from her nose to the tip of her tail, vaguely vulpine in her face and body, with ears that were each as large as the rest of her head and large pale blue eyes. The luxuriant fur covering her body and her long tail was predominantly a dark smoky gray, but her ears and feet were black, as were the wispy swirling patterns covering her whole body. A mane of black bristly hairs covered her neck, surrounding her face, and ran along her back all the way to her bushy tail.

"What in the Dark Kingdom is that?!" The prince yelped as he hurriedly backed away from where he had been setting up his own bedroll to put the small fire between Zimma and himself.

"This is Zimma, she's a nekkin," Serra replied. "I found her last spring when she was a newborn. Her mother killed a full-grown wild rintar before dying of her wounds, so I raised her myself. Sunlight hurts her kind, so she sleeps during the day and won't be much help to us then. At night though, she'll keep us safe as we sleep. Most of the predators here won't go near a nekkin unless it's wounded or sleeping."

Her companions looked Zimma over with expressions ranging from curious and confused to wary and uncertain. Errod stepped closer to inspect her. "It don't look that tough," he scoffed.

"Careful Errod, it might lick you," Nephrin joked, his voice humorless.

Zimma looked right back at Errod, wondering if he had food for her. Serra giggled at the images of food that the nekkin sent across their mind-link. "No she doesn't look tough," Serra agreed with a smile, "and Zimma is usually very good natured. She has very sharp senses though, she's also whisper quiet and can slip into the shadows like darkness itself. Then there are these." She placed the nekkin in her lap and carefully and gently caressed the bristles along her back with her gloved hand before explaining. "When Zimma becomes angry, afraid, or otherwise agitated, the hairs in her mane and along her back stiffen into very sharp quills filled with a deadly poison. She doesn't need to be tough, she just needs to let you get close enough for one little prick."

Errod backed away and Serra suppressed a laugh. She had been speaking the truth, but people's reactions to it never ceased to amuse her, especially since Zimma wouldn't harm a fly unless provoked. It was then that a cold wind blew through the camp, causing Serra to shiver. Zimma jumped from her lap and a feeling of fear washed over her as her pet looked around nervously, her quills rising and glistening in the firelight. She didn't seem to be the only one afraid either as the prince and his entourage looked around them, their eyes darting about like frightened rabbits.

Serra reached for the hilt of her short-sword as she looked around, wondering what had Zimma so scared. Predators in the Warren knew better than to come near a nekkin, and if it had been a danger that Zimma was familiar with, then an image of it would have accompanied the feeling of fear she had sent across their mental link. The horses were terrified as well, rearing and whinnying in fear, prevented from fleeing hitched as they were to the trees. And what about the prince and the others? They were terrified, she could see it in their faces and the way that they were reaching for their weapons. Was it Zimma that had scared them? She quickly discarded that idea, from the way they were searching the darkness around the campfire. Something had them scared, so what did they know that she didn't?

Zimma's head snapped around, her attention now focused on Errod, hissing at him as the guard's face contorted in rage. He didn't seem interested in the nekkin though, as his wrathful gaze was focused on Prince Harmin instead. His large bastard sword drawn and raised, and his anger palpable, Errod rushed toward the prince. Serra swiftly drew her own blade and leaped over the fire to place herself between them, blocking his thrust, his sword striking her own with the ringing of steel on steel.

The prince backed away and shouted, "To me!" Nephrin turned to move toward him as Gideon shielded the prince with his own body. Meanwhile, Serra tried to keep Errod back and take his measure. He was strong and fast, inhumanly so it seemed, and it was all that she could do to just hold her ground as he delivered an overhand strike that struck her own blade with enough force to crack it and send a wave of numbness through her arm all the way up to the shoulder. Strong and fast as he was though, his movements were jerky and seemed driven purely by rage, lacking any discipline or strategy. He was predictable, so she would have to use that.

Serra gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing in her shoulder as she held her ground and reached out for Zimma's mind. *Get behind him,* she instructed as Errod lifted his sword overhead to strike again. As he brought the sword down toward her once more, she stepped aside and parried, batting it aside with enough force to break her already damaged blade. As he was knocked off-balance she used her momentum to spin and deliver a powerful kick to his midsection, knocking him back into Zimma's waiting quills.

Errod staggered and fell to his knees, several quills sticking out from the back of each of his hose-clad legs as he then fell forward, his chainmail making a tinkling sound as he hit the ground. His body shook, shuddered, and then was still as a cold chill settled over the campsite and a dark aura with glowing red eyes rose from the corpse. Zimma stiffened and hissed, her fear once again washing over Serra as the guide realized what they faced and her own fear took hold.

"A wraith," the young guide gasped, her voice barely a whisper. Brutally she shoved the fear aside, she needed to act before it possessed someone else. She dove for the cooking supplies, scrambling through them until she found what she was looking for. Reaching into the small bag of salt, she extracted a handful and threw it at the specter floating toward the prince. It shrieked in agony, the aura of darkness pulsing wildly before vanishing.

"We don't have much time," she said, shooting a glare toward the prince's group, "it will be back soon, so stay still and don't distract me." Quickly she went to the northern edge of the clearing and drew the cursive symbol that Odella had taught her in the earth. Feeling for the light of the magic within her, she poured it into the symbol until it began to glow with a pale golden light. Then, wasting no time, she went to the eastern, southern, and western edges and repeated the process.

She was weary when she returned to the campfire, where the others were staring wide-eyed at her. "Douse yourselves with water," she ordered, "be certain to get your entire head and your clothes damp." She took her own water skin and poured part of the contents over her head and face, then dampened her clothes before dumping the rest of the water over Zimma. Once she was sure that each of her charges had followed suit, she used the remaining contents of the small bag of salt to dust each of them, including the nekkin, from head to toe.

Seeing their looks of confusion, she explained, "Salt hurts spirits. Being damp will help the salt stick to your clothes and skin, and keep it from possessing you if it gets through my wards. I can't be sure how long those wards will last, I've never had to use that spell before, but it should last at least a few hours."

"You're a Warder?" Prince Harmin asked, his eyes wide.

Serra shook her head as she thought about that group, originally founded by the Fae and dedicated to Aris, the Goddess of light and Warder of Souls. She herself had never met one, but they supposedly saw it as their duty to protect and guide people of all the Races: They ran orphanages, schools, and healing centers in many large cities and trained in unarmed combat and magic to defend the weak. "As much as we could really use one right now, no I'm not. I learned what I know from the Romyin, their caravans often pass through here and one of them took me in after my mother died."

"Gypsies," Nephrin spat. "Nothin' but trouble. Thieves and shapeshifters who use dark magics and consort with the Fae."

Serra shot him a withering glare, so angry that Zimma hissed at him, her quills rising once again. Sure, her caravan had picked a pocket or two, and the Call allowed them to take the forms of animals, but they were a kind and generous people who were deeply connected to nature. Their magic was anything but dark and his disdainful tone made her seethe. "That Gypsy magic just saved your lives, so if I were you I would be grateful and thank the person who cast it." With that she adjusted her scarf, revealing her pointed ears.

"Filthy Sylvan scum!" Nephrin snarled, moving threateningly toward her. Zimma placed herself between him and her mistress, quills still raised and hissing angrily.

The prince placed a hand on the guard's shoulder and frowned, shaking his head. "She's right, Fae or not, she saved us and we should be grateful. Thank you Serra."

"I'm only half Fae, Highness" she clarified as she nodded to the prince. "My mother was human."

"What self-respecting woman would bed one of those creatures," the guard grumbled.

"A whore," Serra offered casually.

The guard tensed up, fists clenched as he glowered at her. "Enough Nephrin!" Harmin commanded, his grip on the man's shoulder tightening before the man could say anything more. "We. Are. Grateful." The prince's tone left no room for argument.

"We'll need to burn Errod's body," the half-Fae said after a tense silence. "The wraith could still use it to attack us and I would rather limit its options. After we're done with that Your Highness, since you're so grateful, you're going to explain to me just what it is you did to earn the wrath of a wraith."

It took less time than Serra expected to build a small pyre and set Errod's body ablaze, with the help of the prince, Gideon, and Nephrin. As the corpse began to burn she offered a prayer to Aris to take his soul into Her care and guide him to the Isle of Plenty. Then, as the others left to eat and attempt to get some rest, Harmin asked, "What do you know about Goran's Tomb?"

Serra turned to face him, her full attention now on the prince. "Only stories told around the fire on nights like this. It was an ancient city struck by a disaster and now it's a tomb, a place so cursed that not even Aris or Ku'ur will go there to collect the souls that haunt it. Is that where you met that wraith? What business would the crown prince of Kandria have in a place like that?"

Harmin nodded grimly as he replied, "The stories are pretty accurate; nothing lives in those ruins, not a single person, animal, or even a blade of grass. In millennia past though, it was the Capitol of Kandria and the jewel of all Althea; known far and wide for its marketplace, craftsmen, and architecture. It was a thriving city where people of all the Races lived and worked together in peace."

"So what happened?"

"Nobody really knows," the prince answered with a shrug. "Most of the stories that I was told say that they dabbled in magics far beyond their ken or control. My story begins long before that though, not at the Goran's end, but rather the beginning. King Naetherion, the first King of Kandria, was so respected and admired by all that Siyural, the first High-Queen of the Fae, had bestowed him with three magic gifts, each imbued with her own magic, to ensure that his bloodline endured. These gifts were the Crown of the King, the Proof of the King, and the Guardian of the King."

Serra raised an eyebrow at that. "It's not like the Fae to trust Humans with any of their magic, from what the Romyin told me. They fear that such artifacts would be misused."

"Which is probably why only two of them were entrusted to Naetherion himself," Harmin agreed. "The Crown was just that, a crown that would provide strength and vitality to him and those of his bloodline, allowing them to live long lives. The Proof was a scepter with a large crystal that would shine only when held by one of his bloodline. The Guardian was a sword though, a weapon entrusted to one of the Fae, a Sylvan named Dannik, who was loyal to Naetherion and who ‘swore by blood and blade' to protect him and his lineage. In the stories, Dannik was often referred to as the Guardian and the sword itself was called the Guardian's Blade."

After a brief pause to collect his thoughts, Harmin continued his story. "When Goran was destroyed, some of the royal family escaped and the Capitol was moved to Kingsvale. The line of kings endured, but the three Gifts were never recovered. My father is sickly and frail, he set this quest to me, so that I might prove that I am worthy to rule when he is gone and he might see our heritage restored."

"So to inherit the throne, you ran off like a fool to do it." Serra muttered disapprovingly.

The Prince placed strong hands on her shoulders, shaking his head sadly before looking into her eyes. "Serra, I respect your courage and your skills, but please do not assume that I will take insult lightly just because I have followed your orders thus far. There are no other heirs, I would inherit the throne regardless. I do this for my father, mostly in hopes that the Crown may improve his poor health, but failing that, I would at the very least see his final wish granted."

Serra's heart fluttered as a sharp sting of remorse twisted her insides. She tore her own gaze away from his deep blue eyes and swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. "I apologize, Your Highness, it would seem that I have badly misjudged you. I wasn't close to my mother and I never knew my father, so I'm the last person who should have made assumptions about your relationship with your father, or your intentions."

He cupped her chin to look into her eyes once again, managing a weak smile as he did so. "I accept your apology, but only if you will accept mine for Nephrin's behavior toward you." Then realizing what he was doing, or perhaps seeing Serra's burning cheeks he stepped away awkwardly, his gaze suddenly on his feet. "Oh! I am so sorry."

"Apology accepted," she managed, her heart fluttering again as her eyes scanned the camp, the roaring flames of the pyre, looking anywhere but at him. "You should… probably tell me what happened. I… can't be sure when those wards will fail after all."

She could hear the prince take a deep breath before speaking again. "I set out from Kingsvale with a hundred men. Things started out well enough; we managed to get through the ruins of the city to the palace with no trouble other than feeling that we were being watched the whole time. At night we would hear things and see things, but nothing attacked us until we tried to leave with the Gifts. That is when the wraith showed up, and it has been attacking us every night since. In four nights we went from a group of one hundred to four."

"I don't really know much about the spirit world," Serra said with a sigh as she considered the situation. "I can try casting the wards again if they fail before dawn, but it would take some time and it's really only a temporary measure until we find out why it's after you and how to destroy it. Here's what I know; wraiths can only act in darkness unless they possess someone, and even then they can't control them during the day, only hide in them. Usually, they're tied to the world of the living by a place, some unfinished business, or an object. If it were tied to the place it died, it wouldn't have been able to follow you, so obviously it's not that. It has to be one of the other…" The realization hit her like a hammer and her eyes widened as she gasped, "You still have them with you."

Once they were certain that the body was mostly cremated Serra and Harmin returned to the campfire, where everyone but Zimma was sleeping. The nekkin looked up from eating some meat that Serra had set out for her, her satisfaction and an offer to share slipping into Serra's mind. *I'm fine Zimma, you can keep it all to yourself,* she sent back affectionately as she took some bread and dried meat from the supplies for herself and the prince. Harmin made a detour to his bedroll to gather three leather-wrapped bundles before sitting beside her in front of the fire. They ate in awkward silence, the prince sitting close to Serra's left side on her bedroll, and once they had finished the prince leaned forward to unwrap the bundles.

The first bundle revealed a crown made of a sparkling silvery-blue metal, studded with sapphires and bearing the crest of the royal family of Kandria. The second was a scepter made of the same metal, it too bore the royal crest and small sapphires, and it was topped with a massive blue crystal. Finally, he opened the final bundle to reveal a sword in a scabbard. The scabbard was simple enough, sturdy black leather with silver filigree, but when he drew the sword to show it to her, Serra whistled appreciatively. It too was made almost entirely of the silvery-blue metal, but it was different than the other artifacts as it bore no gemstones, nor the royal crest. The blade itself was simple and slender, nearly four hand lengths with a slight curve to it and a diamond cross-section that bore a strange cursive glyph. The hilt was carved in the shape of a fairy clothed in leaves and standing on a claw-shaped pommel, with her outspread wings forming the guard.

"That metal? Is that fairy-silver?" Serra asked in awe as artifacts sparkled in the firelight.

Harmin nodded with a smile. "Aye, it is, though the Fae call it Starstone if the stories my father told me about the three Gifts are accurate. It is light as a feather but stronger than steel, and more valuable than gold to the Fae. The fact that the Gifts were made from it, and imbued with the first High-Queen's own magic, makes these possibly the most powerful and valuable relics in Althea that are not in the hands of the Fae themselves."

"That wraith must have a connection to the artifacts, probably someone who died when the city was destroyed. Perhaps it was protecting them and saw you as a thief. Have you tried using them?" she suggested. "If your story was true then the scepter should glow when you hold it."

"I tried all of them, but nothing happened. I am starting to worry that maybe my family is not descended from Naetherion. As for the wraith, it could simply be greed. The only people with a strong connection to the artifacts would have been King Laurik, any others of Naetherion's lineage who didn't survive, or the Guardian at the time, but many of the details of Laurik's reign were lost in the destruction and over time." The prince sighed and looked down at the artifacts set out before them.

The half-Fae pursed her lips as she considered the artifacts and the story that Harmin had told her. "You likely wouldn't be able to use the sword anyway. Unlike the passive magic in the crown or the scepter, I have a feeling that the sword was dangerous and could have been misused by humans. It was entrusted to a Fae loyal to the king, so perhaps only one of the Fae can use it."

The prince's expression turned pensive as he looked over the sword and then Serra herself. Finally, after a long moment of consideration, he offered her the sword. "Please, give it a try," he requested.

Serra took the sword carefully in her right hand, nearly dropping it in surprise at the weight. It was lighter than her short-sword, despite being near twice the length, and extremely well-balanced. She could feel the magic inside of it, a bright and pulsing white light in the back of her mind, but she couldn't seem to influence it, and it didn't seem to be affecting her in any way. "There could be some sort of ritual involved," she offered in disappointment, "something that wasn't mentioned in the story. You mentioned that the Fae swore by blood and blade, perhaps that has something to do with it. It could also be that my human half won't let it work for me."

"Perhaps you are right," Harmin agreed, looking defeated. In all honesty, Serra couldn't blame him, a magic sword might have given them a chance against what would be upon them again all too soon. The wards were beginning to fail, she could feel their magic fading, and her power had not yet returned to the point where she would be able to cast them over the entire camp again any time soon. The crust of salt on their skin would hopefully keep them from being possessed until they washed it off, but as angry as that wraith was she didn't think that she could take anything for granted.

The guide frowned as she considered the situation. She had promised to get the Prince to the Capitol, so she needed to think of a way to keep him safe. She had never failed a client or broken her word before and she didn't intend to start now. Her options seemed few though, and most of them were suicidal. She was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped as the prince took her free hand in his and asked, "What is it?"

Her heart raced as she looked toward him, her other hand still gripping the sword with white knuckles. Carefully she placed the blade beside her as she met the prince's azure gaze, his face a mask of concern. It wasn't surprising really, given that she still hadn't thought of a way to protect them all. That thing was trying to kill him, it had been obvious from the way it had looked at him. Finally, she sighed and admitted, "The wards are failing, and they'll be gone soon. The moon isn't even halfway across the sky yet, and I don't have the power to place wards around the whole camp again this soon."

The prince's brow furrowed in worry and he took her other hand in his as well, giving them both a squeeze. He was so close now that she could feel his warm breath on her face and it made her own breathing quicken in response. "You need to run Serra, go back to Nesmon and leave us to our fate. This is not what you signed up for."

"He's worried for me?!" Serra's heart skipped a beat at the thought, and at that moment her decision was made. She swallowed the lump in her throat and frowned at him, standing up straight. "I told you that I would see you safely to Kingsvale, and I will not go back on my word. I may not have enough power to protect the whole camp, but I can protect you. If I keep the wards limited to that, it should keep you safe until dawn."

Quickly she snatched up a stick and drew a circle in the earth around her bedroll, followed by the warding sigil at each compass point. After imbuing the last of them with all the power that she could summon she rose shakily to her feet to tell the Prince, "Stay within the circle with the artifacts, do not break it, leave it, or let anything else from inside leave it." He opened his mouth to argue, but her look of determination silenced his protests as she left him to wake the others.

Zimma hissed, her quills raising as once again a wave of cold blanketed the camp. Serra watched her stalwart companion, trusting in the nekkin's senses as she tightly gripped her dagger and waited for the inevitable attack. She risked a quick glance to where Gideon and Nephrin stood at the ready near the protective circle around the prince, several paces away so they wouldn't break the circle unintentionally. Where is it? Her eyes fell back to Zimma, and a sense of alarm rushed into her mind as the nekkin's gaze fell on her.

She turned just in time to see the wraith behind her, reaching for her, and swung her dagger at it out of pure instinct. It was like attacking smoke, the steel of the blade just passed right through the shadowy creature as it lunged toward her. Its pained shriek filled the night air as it pulled away, causing Serra to breathe a sigh of relief as she carefully backed off, a bit numb where it had touched her, but otherwise safe. Furious, it threw itself directly toward the prince, screaming once more as it hit the wards. The ethereal being scrabbled against the protective circle, frantically looking for an opening, but it found none. It stopped then for a moment, seeming to consider the wards, before looking at Gideon and Nephrin in turn and then returning its gaze to Serra herself. Her blood ran cold as the wraith howled in fury and launched itself back toward her, only to find Zimma blocking its path.

The wraith batted the nekkin aside, pain and distress filling Serra's mind, and then nothing as Zimma landed in the bushes. Frantically she reached across their mental link as she backed away from the angry spirit, breathing a sigh of relief as she sensed that her pet was merely unconscious. Agony shot through her hand as she failed to step back quickly enough and the wraith's slash caught it with enough force to knock her dagger from it and slice through her glove, leaving a bloody gash along her palm. "Stupid," she hissed, gritting her teeth and scolding herself for not keeping her entire attention on what was in front of her.

Another slash, but this time Serra stepped to the side, taking a deep wound to her shoulder that probably would have slit her throat if it had caught her full on. She rolled away from a third attack, coming to her feet near the dying campfire and turning to face the wraith once again. "Serra!!" the prince shouted, his voice shaking with concern from the safety of the circle.

"I'm fine if you don't count being injured, unarmed, and unable to hurt this thing," Serra shot back, clutching her bloodied arm. The wraith was gliding toward her again with malevolent purpose and she knew that if she didn't find a way to harm it soon it would rip her to shreds. She thought of all the spells that Odella had taught her, but none of them would be useful against spirits, even if she did have the power left to cast them. Then something clattered to the ground beside her and she turned her head to see the Guardian's Blade, sparkling in the dying firelight.

"Use that!" Harmin's voice called out.

Serra's eyes snapped wide open in shock as the wards fell and the wraith turned its attention back to its true target. She snatched the sword up with her bloodied hand and rushed toward Harmin, certain she wouldn't be in time, when Nephrin placed himself in a guard position between the specter and his prince. The furious wraith passed through his sword and threw him aside, now only the unarmed Gideon standing in its way. Time seemed to slow as the servant too was tossed away and the shadowy mass moved toward the prince, arm raised to deliver a killing blow. "No!" she shouted, "I'm not going to let you die! I swear that I will protect you, no matter what!"

The strange glyph on the sword flared, bathing the entire campsite in cool blue light as Serra blocked the wraith's attack, the back of her glove burning away to reveal the same glyph glowing on the back of her hand. The specter screamed and backed away as Serra felt white-hot power coursing through her veins, heightening every sense, making her feel stronger and faster. Her wounds were itching furiously, the deep gauge on her shoulder seemingly healing as she watched, her torn and bloodied tunic the only evidence that she had ever been hurt as the light began to subside.

Serra didn't give the wraith a chance to recover, slashing at it and instinctively channeling the sword's power outward in a wave of azure light that sent the apparition flying back, screaming once again. It rose from where it had fallen, its attention now focused on Serra and the sword, beginning to change before her eyes, becoming less of a mass of shadow, and taking on a more distinct form. Still shadowy, it was now more translucent than before, its features coalescing into those of a Fae holding a very familiar sword.

Everything made sense then, this irate spirit was the last Guardian and it was trying to keep the Gift's safe for the heir. It didn't seem to know that Harmin was that heir though because the scepter wasn't reacting to him. "Why isn't it reacting?" Serra thought as she followed the wraith's movement's to stay between it and the prince. "Either he was doing something wrong when he tried to use the artifacts before, or he isn't of Naetherion's lineage after all." She risked a quick glance over her shoulder to ensure that she was still between the spirit and the prince when the blood caked on the shoulder of her tunic caught her attention. "That's it! The Guardian swore by blood and blade. My hand was bleeding when I took the sword this time so it recognized that I have Fae blood, but that's not the only time that blood was mentioned in the story. Prince Harmin didn't say that the Gifts recognized Naetherion's lineage, he said Naetherion's bloodline!"

"Your Highness!" she called out, "The artifacts recognize blood! Cut your hand and take the scepter!" Without a second thought, Harmin Kinsaire heeded her words, taking his dagger and delivering a shallow cut to his palm, wincing at the pain. Then, as he dropped the small blade and took the scepter in hand, the crystal atop the scepter came to life, azure light filling the canyon.

When the light faded the wraith was gone and the prince sported a pale blue tattoo of the royal crest on his forehead, just below his hairline. *The proof is given. He is the rightful King,* a voice whispered into her mind. *The Proof and Crown are his to command, as are you. Guard him and his bloodline well.*

It was quiet after that, both her and the prince still too shocked and too relieved to speak much as they checked on their companions. Zimma only seemed to have hurt her pride, as she didn't seem to have anything physically wrong with her once Serra had extracted her from the bushes and carefully prodded her awake. Nephrin seemed fine too, save for a few small abrasions, and he even managed a muttered, "Thank you," as Serra bandaged them. Gideon though had landed awkwardly when he was thrown and suffered a broken arm.

Serra had given the prince's retainer a healing tea that would help him sleep and had just finished splinting his arm when the servant looked up at her, making an effort to smile through the pain. "Thank you Serra," he said, "I knew as soon as I met you that you would keep us safe." Then he drifted off to sleep.

*Guard Zimma,* Serra instructed the nekkin as she climbed into her bedroll to try to sleep, not that she felt that she could with all that had happened. It seemed that she wasn't the only one either, as she caught Harmin looking across the fire at her. "You don't have to stay all the way over there if you can't sleep yet," she offered with a smile, her heart fluttering anxiously. "You could come and keep me company for a while."

Harmin blinked in confusion, then stared at her a moment before finally responding, "I… I thought you slept alone."

"I usually do," she responded with a nervous laugh, "but usually people don't live through wraith attacks either. There are exceptions to every rule."

Six days later Serra stood on the balcony of her accommodations in the royal palace overlooking Kingsvale as the sun set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of red, orange, and gold. She looked over the Capitol with apprehension before taking her eyes off the city and looking thoughtfully down at the blue sigil on the back of her hand once again. That and the Guardian's Blade hanging from her belt were uneasy reminders of her tenuous situation. She now stood on the edge of two worlds, the one she knew, and the one that stood before her now.

The king had been extremely grateful for her service to his son, and for the recovery of the Gifts. He had rewarded her with a large sum of gold, rooms in the palace where both she and Zimma were made as comfortable as possible, a closet full of royal finery, and within a fortnight Harmin was to be crowned king. This was a happy ending for all right? So why did she feel so conflicted? She had vowed to protect Harmin, and now she was bound by that vow and her feelings for him. From that first moment they had spoken to one another, she had felt a connection to him, a connection that had only grown stronger in the battle with the wraith and the remainder of their journey to the Capitol. As close as she and the prince had become during that journey though, non-Humans had never been very welcome in Kingsvale.

A gentle touch to her hand broke her out of those thoughts and she turned to see Harmin standing beside her. He looked much more the royal prince, now that he was dressed in fresh finery and had several good night's sleep behind him and Serra felt a bit out of place, even in the hunter green silk tunic and hose that she now wore. Harmin took her hand in his and smiled that charming smile of his as he asked, "What is wrong Serra?"

"I am not sure that I should be here," she admitted reluctantly.

"How could you think that? I want you here with me, and besides, it is your right and your duty as my Guardian."

"You want me here, and you want to make me feel welcome, but will your people feel the same?" She shook her head sadly as she thought of Nephrin's early reactions to her. He may have come around a bit since then, he was even being somewhat friendly now. This though was a whole city, in a whole kingdom of people that felt just like he had at first, distrustful of both magic and the Fae. "I'm just not certain that they will accept me, even as your Guardian. Them accepting me as more than that is even less likely."

Harmin gripped her hand tightly in his own, even as he lifted the other to her face, softly caressing her cheek with his thumb as he looked intently into her eyes. It was like staring into a cerulean sea and, as always, Serra's heart began to race as a blush painted her cheeks. Finally, he said, "You helped return the three Gifts to us, but those were only part of our lost heritage. Goran was the jewel of Althea, a place where all Races could live and work together in peace. That is who we were, and who I would like us to be again."

"That will only happen when your people learn tolerance and acceptance," Serra said with a sigh, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"And together we can teach them, by setting an example and by showing them that you and your people are not what they thought, as you have with Nephrin. It may be a long journey, but this is where we can take the first step. I believe that with you by my side, Kandria can make that journey and regain all that we have lost. Will you walk that path with me?" He held Serra securely in his arms and she could hear the rapid beating of his heart and the quickening of his breath as he awaited her reply.

As she considered his words and the intent behind them, Serra found that they rang true. Besides, when she really thought about it, her decision had been made the moment that she had chosen to protect him instead of fleeing and saving herself. Serra raised her head and kissed him softly before nodding and replying, "Aye. My place is by your side, now and always, no matter what the future may hold. It may be a long and difficult journey, but I've recently learned that difficult journeys can provide the richest and most unexpected rewards."