Prince Henry Wynter was the Heir to the High Throne of the Heptarchy and prophesised to one day lead his people to unparalleled greatness. Twenty two years after he abandoned his destiny and his throne for the chance to be the person he felt he was meant to be, he finds that Fate has not yet finished with him. The events surrounding the proposed appointment of a new Heir to the High Throne have consequences that reach as far the remote farmstead refuge of the former prince and threaten to destroy the new life that she has built for herself.

CHAPTER FIVE

 

The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon

Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Mid-Morning

Synnove hated life at court with, as she had once raged to the Lord High Weaver, its duplicitous, arrogant, self-serving retinue of inbreeds that formed the high families of the Heptarchy. Were it not for the fact she was apprenticed to the Lord High Weaver she would have happily been anywhere else but the Wynter Palace. She understood why the Lord High Weaver as the Royal Weaver had to be close to the High Family but she looked forward to the ending of her apprenticeship in six months time and the freedom her ordination as Arch Weaver, second only to the Principal Weaver of her magical order, would grant her after nearly five years of study.

That however was in the future.

In the present Synnove found herself clenching her right hand tightly shut in frustration behind her head, grasping at the disorganised mop of blue tinged dreadlocks that contrasted surprisingly pleasingly with the warm brown of her skin. She watched as her latest visitor, a richly dressed woman who was in the process of an overly elaborate curtsey in front of her, prepared for whatever case she had dreamed up to persuade Synnove to weave her magic. Most of the supplicants she saw were politely referred to more junior members of her Order after their audience with only those who status demanded it or whose pleas warranted it, being attended to by Synnove directly.

That didn't stop them trying to get her to personally weave her magic for them though. Synnove's mastery of siden was renown throughout the High Court and had seen her become the youngest Master Weaver in her Order for four generations. Those supplicants lacking the required social status or genuine case and who were not pleased by the prospect of Synnove referring them to lesser weavers in her Order would often try to pre-empt her rejection by offering to buy her skills. Synnove usually rejected them outright, treating them with barely concealed distain. A few pompous individuals demanded her skills but were soon given a lesson in the levels influence that the Weaver Orders held at High Court. Most of these individuals found that a high ranking noble dependent on Synnove for their enhanced beauty would side with her in a heartbeat over some middle ranking member of the nobility.

The most foolish however tried to lie to gain access to her skills.

Synnove had already sent two supplicants away for trying to deceive her this very morning, the last left with a particularly painful set of boils that whilst not leaving any permanent mark would make sitting down impossible for a week. As her thoughts wandered Synnove found herself fighting the urge to drown the woman before her in her own bodily fluids, something that her weaver skill would have allowed her to do with little more than a flick of the wrist.

Taking a calming breath, Synnove closed her eyes and sought to bring peace to her spirit through opening her senses so that she could once again feel the natural rhythm of the sea lapping at the sands of a distant shore. In a few seconds Synnove felt her heart rate align to the rhythm and opening her eyes to focus her attention on the noblewoman before her, appraising the woman's appearance critically with eyes that saw far more than normal eyes.

The cut and materials of the woman's dress spoke of a skilled seamstress using design to gloss over the quality of materials. There was a little wear to the clothing, something not visible to the normal eye but clear enough to Synnove. This was confirmed by the mix of colours in the dress which were identifiable, to those who followed the fashions of the High Court, as two years out of date. The bright colours of her outfit had been replaced by darker colours, and the crimson so prominent in her outfit had been replaced by navy blue as the signature colour of preference.

Next Synnove's attention turned to the jewellery the woman wore, which was expensive for most people but not by the standards of the High Court. Her pendant contained the most valuable jewel she wore but Synnove estimated it was worth at best five hundred Gold Crowns, far less than the value of the smallest piece of jewellery adorning the ladies of the most senior houses. The pendant did serve to draw eyes to the noblewoman's greatest physical asset though, as Synnove had no doubt was the intention, and she couldn't help but giggle slightly at the thought that the greatest mystery for most of the men that Lady Woodstock met would be the colour of her eyes because they probably never looked at her face for very long.

Her skin showed several blemishes on her face and arms and Synnove noted a few marks from what she suspected had been a bad case of childhood chicken pox. Her long dark hair was well kept, although a little oily. Overall, her face and figure were attractive enough to make her stand out from the average woman. The rounded edge to her ears without a trace of a point was confirmation of her low birth status which meant that she genuinely was the early twenty-something she looked, a rarity amongst the slow aging á¦lfe rich bloodlines of the High Court.

She guessed that the lady before her had married above her station by trading on her ample bosom and pretty face to snare a junior member of a major noble house or a senior member of a minor house. As a consequence, her social status and the fidelity of her husband were dependent on her appearance and her as yet untested ability to deliver an heir. And hence, Synnove thought, her visit to the most sought after weaver in the water element of siden. While the Principal Weaver of her order was more skilled than Synnove her natural strengths lay in other areas, leaving Synnove as the most gifted weaver in her order when it came to unnaturally enhancing the natural beauty of a subject.

"My Lady Synnove, I am deeply honoured that you agreed to grant me an audience."

"Think nothing of it, my Lady..?"

Synnove let the question hang for a few seconds, waiting for the noblewoman before her to pick up her cue.

"Oh! L-l-lady Woodstock, My Lady," she stammered. "My husband is Sir Anthony, 2nd Baronet of Caldicot."

'Well, that answered that question,' thought Synnove. 'King Henry granted a slew of titles to knights during the first Brythonic campaign. She's minor house at best. Sir Anthony is probably little more than a gentrified knight.'

"How is life in the Brythonic Marches, My Lady Woodstock?"

"Not easy, My Lady. The Brythonic people still refuse to acknowledge the Angelcyn Crown, even after thirty years and the benefits we bring them. Their language is baffling and they seem reluctant to learn ours. And after a generation of rule, it is still not safe to travel much beyond the boundaries of the towns due to the threat of raiders from the islands that remain beyond our control."

"You must be enjoying your visit to the High Court then? A chance to get away from it all?"

"It isn't quite w-w-what I thought it would be," stammered Lady Woodstock, her cheeks colouring crimson.

Synnove nodded in sympathy, knowing that many in the High Families considered the lower ranks of the nobility to be little more than peasants and did little to hide their contempt.

"Well, court life isn't for everyone," said Synnove, giving Lady Woodstock her most reassuring smile. "Now, to what do I owe your visit my lady?"

"My Lady Synnove, I most humbly ask for your assistance in a personal matter of great importance for which my husband with his considerable resources and influence amongst the High Families would be most appreciative of should you need his assistance one day."

Synnove worked a jewel encrusted ring loose from her index finger on her right hand and held it up to Lady Woodstock.

"I do not mean to be cruel My Lady, but this ring was a gift from the High Queen in appreciation for services rendered to her family. Your pendant is worth what, five hundred Gold Crowns? This ring is alone is valued at twenty five Platinum Sovereigns, five times your pendant. As for influence, I'm apprenticed to the Lord High Weaver and can gain private audience with any member of the Privy Council on request. Can your Baronet match that?"

"No..." said Lady Woodstock, her shoulders slumping as her head drooped down.

"I thought not. If you make an appointment with Adept Wickham, she will be able to discuss your needs," said Synnove, a tight smile on her lips. "If you have nothing else to add, I have things to do Lady Woodstock and I will bid you good day."

Lady Woodstock took a few steps towards the door before stopping and turning to face Synnove once more, her cheeks glistening with tears. Slowly, she reached up to her neck and fumbled for the clasp holding the pendant around her neck, scooping the lose pendant up in her right hand.

"I have no wealth, no influence and no breeding. My lady-in-waiting is my younger sister and I have no servants. My father told me when I left to marry the Baronet that my husband-to-be would lose interest in a farm girl and that I would be forced to crawl home and beg him to take me back."

Lady Woodstock crossed the short distance to Synnove forcing her pendant into the Weavers hand.

"I've been married for two years now. Two years and I cannot give him a child!" cried Lady Woodstock. "And with each year, my beauty fades a little and the reason for my husband staying wed to me diminishes just a little."

"Please My Lady Synnove, I was hoping that you might be able to provide me with a potion to enhance my beauty," said Lady Woodstock, her hands pressing the pendant forcefully into Synnove's hands. "I-I-I...f-f-f-fear my husband's head is being turned by the numerous b-b-b-beautiful women in court and t-t-t-that he will leave me for one who can give him a ch-h-h-h-h..."

Lady Woodstock's speech descended into unintelligible sobs that wracked her whole body and Synnove gathered the woman in her arms, fearing she might collapse. Steering Lady Woodstock to a nearby chair, Synnove knelt in front of her placing her fingers against the hysterical Lady's temples, channelling her siden to calm the sobbing woman's breathing. She had seen far too many noblewomen pass out from the dangerous mix of tight corsetry and strong emotions to take any risks. As her breathing started to regulate itself in a more natural rhythm, Lady Woodstock turned her red rimmed eyes to look imploringly to Synnove.

"I knew that the Queen Aliénor and her daughters were possessed of a beauty to rival the á‰se but there are so many beautiful women here. How can I hope to compare to them?" asked Lady Woodstock in a hoarse whisper.

Lady Woodstock looked down at her lap, the answer to her almost rhetorical question clearly weighing on her mind. She reached out to once more clasp Synnove's hands in desperation, new tear tracks merging with those already marking her make-up.

"I can't go back to the farm... I can't... I won't... go back... Please help me... Please..."

Once more expanding her senses, Synnove sought to read Lady Woodstock's physical and emotional sincerity. Her heart rate, breathing and blood pressure all seemed to confirm her sincerity, as did her aura, leaving Synnove in a quandary as to her course of action. She didn't want word to get around court that a few tears could make her manipulable lest the resulting outbreak of boils amongst the insincere women of the High Court reach epidemic levels. By the same token, Synnove had not been born into a family of Weavers or of wealth and she knew something of not fitting into courtly life. Synnove didn't know much about farming but she did know far more about fishing nets than most of the women at court.

'It would be one in the eye to the duplicitous, arrogant, self-serving retinue of inbreeds of the High Court,' she thought, with a smile playing at the corners of her lips. 'And it has been so long since I put on a show...'

"How long will you be at court, Lady Woodstock?"

"Two, maybe three weeks."

Synnove stood up, pulling her hands free from Lady Woodstock, leaving the pendant in its owners hands. She walked slowly away from her towards a rack of glass vials and bottles.

"I suggest you persuade Sir Anthony to finish his business in two weeks. The potion I will give you is only good for about fourteen days give or take. It will enh..."

A loud squeal interrupted Synnove before she could continue and Lady Woodstock ran the short distance to envelope her in an embrace from behind.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she sobbed into Synnove's back.

Clearing her throat, Synnove gently detached Lady Woodstock's embrace before pointing back to the chair she had been sitting in previously.

"You're...welcome. Now please resume your seat so that I may begin."

Picking up a small perfumery size rounded glass bottle, Synnove checked Lady Woodstock was seated before extending her empty left hand. Staring intently at the space above it, her ice blue eyes sparkled becoming brighter and brighter in colour until the glow from them seemed to change the colour of the very air around her. The ice blue tinge in the air was brightest in the space above her open palm and slowly a tiny spinning ball of blue light started to coalesce in the air above her hand. Slowly the blue light increased in circumference, revealing a swirling circular ball of ice blue liquid with gaps amongst the swirl rather like the spiral of a peeled orange skin.

Satisfied that she had the rotation right, Synnove carefully held the empty glass bottle above the blue ball, turning it so that the open neck was facing downwards. She reached up with her left hand to give the ball of liquid a gentle nudge watching as it swirled up into the open neck of the bottle. As it reached the bottle the ball contorted in shape squeezing in through the bottle neck into the circular bottle. Once the liquid was in the bottle, Synnove turned the bottle so that it was more correctly orientated for keeping a liquid inside it and placed it on the table behind her. Picking up a nearby mortar and pestle, she vigorously ground the contents for a minute before carefully tipping its mix of vegetable and mineral into the still swirling liquid in the bottle.

"Mélange!" cried Synnove, causing the bottle to flash bright blue once in response before she inserted a cork stopper into the neck.

Synnove walked over to Lady Woodstock, noticing that her eyes wide were firmly focused on the faintly sparkling bottle in her hand. Lady Woodstock accepted the bottle in trembling hands, more tears flowing down her cheek as she mouthed her gratitude to Synnove.

"It will be ready to ingest in an hour. Make sure that you drink half of it this week and half next week. It should take about half an hour for the changes to start and another hour for them to complete during which I would advise you to rest. Whatever you do, don't try and consume it all now. The human body cannot always handle the trauma of radical transformation and those who have consumed two much often die quite painfully."

"Do you understand?" asked Synnove after pausing to ensure that Lady Woodstock had heeded her warning.

Lady Woodstock nodded her head sharply in response, her eyes even wider as she looked back at the bottle. Anything more she might have said however was cut off my the sound of clapping coming from the open doorway. Leaning against the doorframe was a tall woman with a garland of flowers resting on waves of dark green tinged brown hair. Her simple green dress split to the thighs at the sides, sparkled with every imaginable precious stone in a tree like pattern across it. A sparkle that seemed reflected in the woman's forest green eyes.

As she approached the pair, her every step accentuated the sway of her perfect hips and the graceful movements of her perfect long legs. The sweet smell of wildflowers and a smile that seemed to hold the promise of golden summer days entranced Lady Woodstock, all thoughts of courtly life and her marriage driven to the deepest recesses of her mind. Had Lady Woodstock the presence of mind to glance upwards however, she would have seen Synnove rolling her eyes.

Coming to a halt in front of the two women, the new entrant pulled Lady Woodstock to her feet and slipped the bottle from her unresisting hands before passing it to Synnove to hold.

Lady Woodstock trembled as a hand was softly placed either side of her face, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head up slightly as the flower garlanded woman leaned in. Their lips touched briefly in soft pecks that tasted of honey before Lady Woodstock's lips parted to give the tongue gently probing along her lips full access. An involuntary moan escaped her throat, muffled by her companions lips pressed against hers.

The taste of the flower garlanded woman's honeyed kisses seemed to flow into Lady Woodstock's other senses - her vision blurring with golden light; the comforting warm feel of hands cupping her face; and the thick restful silence around her. A feeling of perfect peace unlike that which Lady Woodstock had ever known cocooned her senses and she happily closed her eyes before drifting into a deep soothing slumber.

"When she next couples with her Baronet, she will conceive a child," said the newcomer, releasing her hold on her. Easing the unresisting Lady Woodstock back into the chair, Synnove turned to the newcomer with a smirk on her face.

"If I ever needed proof of how big a ham you are, I got it just now. Mind you, I should have expected no less from a member of your Order, My Lord Applegate."

"Me? A ham? You can talk!" exclaimed the flower garlanded woman in a mock exasperation, a hand reflexively alighting on her chest. "It's been years since I saw such a show such as you just put on. The whole conjuring the floating ball of liquid from the water vapour in the room was more than just a little hammy, My Lady Fisher. Especially when you could have used the pump in the corner of the room to get water!"

The two women briefly held each other's steely gaze before embracing in a fit of giggles.

"It's been too long, Martha," whispered Synnove releasing the other woman from her embrace.

"It has indeed, old friend," sighed Martha wiping a stray tear from her eyes. "Though I cannot dispute the wisdom of the Lord High Weaver in sending me to Bernicia and Deira this past year to repair the damage our forces caused in suppressing the Pretender's uprising. I left a piece of the best part of me there all those years ago and while it has taken my Order all this time to repair the damage, it gladdens my heart to say that this years crops will flourish and the harvest will be sufficient to not just sustain the people but grant a surplus for sale and planting. And maybe, just maybe, one day I can finally be worthy of my title of 'Principal Weaver' again. I fear though that my actions may never be redeemed."

Not for the first time in her life, Synnove thanked the á‰se that the Lord High Weaver had not chosen her Order to go with the forces that suppressed the uprising. Far too many of those that returned in victory found in the years that followed that their conscience could not bear the weight of their actions. In particular she remembered the night a year ago when her beloved Thomas broke down, begging her to forgive what he had done. A man so strong and confident in normal or abnormal circumstances, Thomas had opened himself up to her and wept like a child in her arms. By the morning his composure had returned but she knew the hole in his heart remained.

Synnove knew it had been much worse for Martha.

Or more precisely, Lord Martin Applegate, Principal Weaver of the Order of Earth Siden, one of the three sanctioned elemental orders of magic on Eorá°e. Lord Martin had been a popular and fair leader of his Order, his pleas for mercy often staying the hand of the High King when his baser instincts interfered with regal judgement. It had been a surprise when the 28 men and women of his Order had been chosen to accompany two regiments of the Yeomanry of the Household to suppress the Pretender's uprising but many in the three Orders saw it as a sign that the current Lord High Weaver's time was drawing to a close. The common consensus at the Wynter Palace had been that Lord Martin's presence would mitigate the excesses of the Yeomanry and bring the conflict to a swift and humane conclusion.

This would turn out to be far from the case.

The conflict had been vicious and protracted, with the forces of the Angelcyn Throne continuously harassed through persistent guerrilla attacks on their supply lines and foraging parties interspersed with hasty engagements springing up and then melting away too quickly for Angelcyn forces to bring their military advantages to bear. By the fourth month of the campaign, supplies were low and morale lower. Finally, they forced an engagement at the Battle of Bamburgh, only to see the Angelcyn forces routed with disastrous casualties. A desperate last stand two days later in fields outside the market town of Belford saw the capture of the Pretender against all odds when the battle seemed lost, throwing the uprising into disarray. The forces of the Pretender melted away from the battlefield but not before slaughtering the Angelcyn baggage train, sparing neither the wounded or the non-combatants travelling with it. Amongst those non-combatants were seven novice members of the Order of Earth Siden.

The following day the reprisals against the civilian population that supported the Pretender began.

"I went back to Belford," whispered Martha, tears running down her face as she tried to look anywhere but at Synnove. "Did you know that the local farmers say that on a still night you can hear the screams of the townsfolk from the spot where Belford used to be?"

"It's superstitious nonsense of course," said Martha, wiping her runny nose with the back of the sleeve of her dress. "The whole town was ground flat when the fissure I caused to open beneath them closed on top of the sunken town. What they hear is sulphur and other gases escaping from deep cracks in the planet's surface."

Synnove reached out and pulled her friend into a hug, partially to comfort her and partially to hide the expression on her face. Not for the first time she found herself without success trying to reconcile the sweet, kind hearted Martha in her arms with the rage filled mass murderer she knew Martin to have been at Belford.

"Shhhh. It's okay," said Synnove rocking Martha gently as she sobbed into her arms.

"I couldn't find his grave, 'Nove. I...I...I looked and I looked but I couldn't find Billy's grave. It was only supposed to be a temporary grave...only temporary..."

"You couldn't have predicted it would happen. No one did."

"He was sixteen. I promised our momma that I would look after him. It was my fault he joined the O-O-Order...I can't even bring him home 'Nove. I can't bring him hoooooome," wailed the woman in her arms.

The two friends stood locked in a comforting embrace, Synnove gently rocking the pair and making occasional calming noises not caring for anything other than trying to reduce her best friends anguish. She knew not how long the two had stood there until she felt a hand gently touch her arms. Raising her head, she blinked back the tears in her eyes to focus on a young man wearing the livery of the Yeomanry of the Household, a sad smile on his face. Gesturing for Synnove to release Martha, he gently turned Martha around before dipping to curl an arm under her knees and pick her up. Martha's sobs paused briefly as she looked up at the man holding her before throwing her arms around his neck and renewing her crying with a vengeance. He kissed her tenderly on the top of her head before turning and carrying her out of the room. As he reached the doorway he paused to nod his head in acknowledgement of the older woman who was standing outside the room, before turning into the corridor and disappearing from sight.

Synnove dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief she had pulled from a pocket in her dress watching the elegantly dressed older woman enter the room. Synnove's half heartedly curtseyed was waved away by the woman as she crossed the short distance to her and gathered her into a brief motherly embrace.

"Agnes, she's not going to get better is she?" whispered Synnove.

"Better is a relative term 'Nove," scolded Agnes gently the corner of her mouth twitching slightly with a sad smile. "You as my chosen successor should know that everything is relative."

"If you mean will she be the person he once was again? I doubt it very much. We had all hoped her work restoring the damage he caused might help bridge the divide between the two aspects of hir being. That doesn't seem to have worked though and I fear Martin is as lost to us as he is to Martha."

"The spirit healers could do nothing?"

Agnes shook her head slowly.

"No. Like all members admitted to the Earth Order of Siden, Martha and Martin represented a duality of spirit, reflecting the earth as our mother and father. It is that very two spirited duality that is the problem. After the uprising Martin couldn't handle the consequences of what he had done so he retreated into his Martha aspect placing all the guilt and blame for his actions with Martin. Despite her protestations that she was still Martin and insisting at formal events as being addressed as 'My Lord' we began to suspect that Martha had become a single spirited being like you and I."

"So Martin is lost then," said Synnove, all emotion gone from her voice.

"For all intents and purposes, yes." said Agnes with a sad smile. "The assimilation of Martin's spirit by Martha's is nearly complete. Physically and mentally she will be unlikely ever to be Martin again. However, all that Martin is will be part of Martha, so in some small way he lives on."

"We can do nothing? What would happen if we could find his brothers body?"

"The Readers of the Paths examined the probable realities and advise that the recovery of his brothers body does not make a difference in the restoration of Martin's spirit, although it does bring Martha a degree of peace in the majority of probable realities. What is clear is that Martha does not survive in any probable reality without your friendship and the love of Captain Willows."

Agnes carefully knelt in front of the still sleeping form of Lady Woodstock, reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from her face.

"I know what Martin did a decade ago troubles you Synnove. It should do as a warning of the power of Siden in the hands of a skilled practitioner. Martin was not a twisted follower of fire siden but the Principal Weaver of good order. That however, did not stop him in a moment of grief and anger losing sight of what was right and good. Martin was a good man who did a horrendously evil thing. The question you need to ask yourself, is do you believe what Martin did outweighs Martha's chance of redemption?"

Reaching out with her index finger, Agnes gently tapped the centre of Lady Woodstock's forehead leaving a golden glow where she touched that quickly faded.

"Lady Woodstock will awaken shortly. I suggest you remind her of both Martha's and your gift before you send her on her way. The Readers of the Path have high hopes for the 3rd Baronet..."

 

~o~O~o~
 

The Royal Botanical Gardens, The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon

Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 - Mid-Morning

Prince Richard wiped the sweat from his forehead with a hand towel as he gazed up at the majestic giant before him. Were it not for the fact that his breath was still ragged from the exertion of his previous fencing bout, he thought that it would have been taken away by the size of the tree, easily 70 or 80 metres tall. He had heard of the giant sequoia trees from the distant savage Starfall Lands but had never seen one in person. There were only reputed to be four throughout the entire seven civilised continents and this was the only one in the Heptarchy.

Richard knelt by the small shrine set up at its base and pulled a Gold Crown from the money pouch on his waist which he offered to the shrine for luck, as was the custom in the Heptarchy. A small statute of Woden in the shrine indicated that which Richard already knew, that this was the legendary Woden's Tree, planted by the first High King, William the Great, in EY 2. It was under this tree that the High Kings were crowned and Heirs anointed and Richard had changed the location of his daily fencing bouts to here so that he might get a better feeling for the spiritual home of the Angelcyn. Every child throughout the Heptarchy knew the story that if the tree were to fall, so would the Angelcyn. Richard walked up to the tree and pushed hard against its bark to find it reassuringly immovable.

"I guess it's good for my reign then," he said with a laugh.

Satisfied that the sweat was removed from his face and his breathing back to normal, he returned to small gathering of people waiting for him to resume his fencing bout. His personal instructor, Chevalier Anton Le Fort, was berating his current sparring partner, an aging Yeoman Sergeant, over his footwork in the last bout. Richard had to smile because despite his poor technique the Yeoman was the most challenging opponent he had faced since arriving at the Wynter Palace.

The Yeoman Sergeant, William he believed was his first name, was an intriguing contradiction. Everything about the late forty-something yeoman on the face of it seemed to speak of a skill with the blade developed through a series of hasty fights in back alleys outside public hostelry's and the uncultured melee of the battlefield. The jagged scar on the Yeoman's right cheek looked a few years old and was partially obscured by several weeks growth of the salt and pepper beard stubble on his face. His long hair was far from Yeoman regulation length and his uniform was comfortably fitted rather than regulation fitted. And yet despite this, he seemed to possess a sharpness of movement that suggested considerable formal training beyond that provided to enlisted Yeomen in basic training or learnt in the drive to survive on the battlefield. Indeed, were it not for the Yeoman's rounded ears Richard would have expected him to be á¦lfe blooded like himself.

"Chevalier, I am ready to resume," said Richard, accepting his face mask from his aide and placing it over his face. Once both men had accepted their rapiers they saluted each other and then the Chevalier before adopting the commencement en-garde stance.

As in the previous bout, the Yeoman waited for Richard to make the first move, seeking to defend rather than attack. Richard began with a flurry of movement, driving his blade forward in a series of feints, attempting to force his opponent to commit to a move that would allow for an opening. Again, he found himself marvelling at the tight blade work of his opponent, which firmly closed any openings that might have appeared.

The two men continued the pattern of attack and retreat for several minutes, each potential opening shut firmly by the Yeoman in response to the attack, while never making an aggressive move to Richard.

Richard pulled back slightly and circled his opponent looking for an opening.

"You're...probably...the...most...challenging opponent I've...fought," gasped Richard, trying to bring his breathing back under control. He noted that his opponent on the other hand, having adopted a minimalist defensive strategy was breathing calmly.

Attempting to distract his opponent, Richard stamped his forward foot on the ground in an appel and then lunged. The Yeoman quarter turned to the inside to dodge the lunge and parried Richard's blade away from him.

"Are...you...ever...going...to...attack...me?"

"You're good My Prince, possibly even great," said the Yeoman, parrying a further lunge from the Prince. "The easiest way for me to win this bout therefore is to not engage and let you provide me with the opening."

Richard recovered to the en-garde position watching as his opponent did the same.

"You say I'm only possibly great Yeoman. Yet I doubt you've ever fought against a more skilled opponent with the blade."

"Fought? No. Fenced with a more skilled opponent? Yes."

The colour rising in Richard's cheeks, he once more attacked with his blade slashing at the Yeoman in a rapid series of moves. To his annoyance each slash was parried by the Yeoman with minimal effort and turned away. Closing the gap with the Yeoman, Richard's blade clashed hard against his opponents as he lunged, momentarily binding the two blades together at the hilt guard. The superior quality of the Prince's sword showing as the ornate basket hilt cut into his opponents simpler hilt guard.

"Who have you fenced with that is more skilled than I?" asked the Prince through gritted teeth, sweat beginning to run down his neck as each man sought to push the other away by brute strength alone to break the bind.

"The Wynter Lion."

Richard stepped back in surprise, disengaging his blade from the Yeoman's. When he spoke, his voice hinted at the building anger within him.

"You dare rank that...that...freak...above me?"

The Yeoman moved forward in a lunge that slashed at the sleeve of the Prince's jacket. The Prince retreated desperately parrying the Yeoman's increasingly aggressive attack as he attempted to regain control of the situation. A sharp riposte from the Prince's blade following yet another parry drove the Yeoman onto the back foot, allowing the Prince to regain his composure. Letting his eyes briefly drop to his opponents feet, the Prince shifted his grip slightly to further down the hilt to extend the range of his attack in response to the Yeoman's forward foot twitching.

The Yeoman took a small jump forward in a classic ballestra attack, attempting to throw the Prince off-guard. As his blade sliced through the air towards its target however, the Prince rolled forward coming to a stop on his back just in front of the Yeoman and straining to extend his blade upwards so that the point rested gently against the underside of the Yeoman's chin.

"You yield?" asked the Prince, ensuring that enough pressure remained to hold the blade steady but without cutting the Yeoman.

"Yes...My Prince."

Letting his sword arm relax so that the blade tip dropped to the ground, the Prince pulled himself to his feet. He brought his sword arm up into a salute that was stiffly returned by the Yeoman. Removing his face mask, the Prince indicated to the Yeoman to do the same.

"So, do you still think the Wynter Lion is better?" asked the Prince, seeking the Yeoman's gaze to ensure the veracity of his answer.

"Yes."

The Yeoman's tone brooked no argument or uncertainty and the Prince felt a grudging respect for the common soldier who dared to disagree with a Prince of the Blood Royal.

"I see..."

The Prince indicated with his hand for the Yeoman to come closer, which he warily did. However, in keeping his attention on the Prince's face he never noticed the uppercut from his sword arm until the hilt guard smashed into the underside of his jaw, knocking him backwards to the ground.

"Well, in that case I think I need to practice harder, don't you?" said Richard, bringing his sword up again in a fencing salute. "I will see you the same time tomorrow and every day after that until you can admit that I, Prince Richard, am better than your precious Wynter Lion."

Turning his back on the Yeoman, the Prince walked towards the Chevalier and his awaiting retinue, pausing as he passed his rapier to an aide.

"I think Yeoman, that you will find that the Wynter Lion is second to the Lionheart in all things. Not that it will matter either way when I am the Heir."

As the Prince and his retinue left the clearing, two men in the outfits of the Yeomanry of the Household moved to join the Yeoman Sergeant lying on the ground.

"There really is no such fool as an old fool," said the oldest of the two yeoman as he extended an arm to pull the Sergeant to his feet. "And you William, should know better than to disagree with a member of the High Family. Especially a bastard son like Prince Richard looking to assert his authority."

William gingerly touched his chin, wincing slightly as he touched the soft underside. "You may be right, Arthur. You may be right."

"And I don't want to hear you ever disagreeing with a member of the High Family, regardless of the sort of example the Sergeant here is giving you. He's bloody lucky not to be under arrest or dead," said Arthur pointing at the remaining Yeoman, a young man of in his late teens.

"Yes, Corporal."

"Good lad. I'm twenty nine days short of my twenty and I don't want any trouble from either of you until I've been given my honourable discharge, land grant and pension. William here might be foolish enough to risk trouble but he's a three termer and if he hasn't learnt by now he never will. You on the other hand aren't even two years into your first ten. You could be gone, like that," said Arthur, clicking his fingers. "Just remember that, boy."

"Yes, Corporal," said the young yeoman contritely.

William chuckled quietly, sparing a quick wink to the young yeoman when he was certain the Corporal wasn't watching. Picking up his rapier, William walked over to the shrine in front of great tree and knelt down in front of it, bracing sore muscles against the pommel of the rapier which he stuck point down into the ground. He pulled a Copper Coronet coin from a pocket in his jacket and placed it on top of the Gold Crown left by Prince Richard.

"Your time will come, Richard," whispered William in a tone of voice so low that the others could not hear him. He placed the tips of his fingers on the feet of the small statute of Woden in the centre of the little shrine, as if in prayer. "And when she arrives, you will regret your insults towards her today."

William could hear the shuffling of feet behind him and turned to look over his shoulder at the young yeoman nervously looking in his direction.

"Sergeant...is it true that you met the Wynter Lion and fenced with him?" asked the young yeoman.

William smiled at the question and couldn't help but think how much the yeoman reminded him of his own children, so far away from the Wynter Palace. The hair on the yeoman's face was little more than peach fuzz and his voice was still soft, not yet stressed from drink or yelling instructions on the parade ground or in battle.

"What's your name, yeoman?" asked William.

"Bryan, sergeant. Bryan Hillis."

"Well, Bryan. It's true, as a young yeoman I did fence with the Wynter Lion on many occasions. Even won a couple of bouts though truth be told, I lost a lot, lot more than I won," said William, a wide smile crossing his face as his eyes took on a far away unfocussed look as if he was seeing events from the distant past and not those of the clearing around him. His silent reverie however, was interrupted by the young yeoman.

"Did you meet him Corporal?" asked Bryan.

"No lad. I've only been a Yeoman for twenty years. The Wynter Lion had been gone a couple of years when I enlisted. The old guys talked about him a lot though. Not one of them had a bad word to say about him either. Then again, none of the old timers had a bad word to say about the traitor Amherst before he killed a dozen yeomen and ran off with that princess, so you never can tell." The corporal spat onto the grass after mentioning Daniel's name.

Neither of the two yeoman, noticed the pained look that crossed William's face in reaction to the mention of Daniel's name.

"That being said, there's something odd about the whole thing concerning the Wynter Lion's quest to rescue the princess as well. Take the princess. You ask five different people want her name is and you'll get five different names. It's damn odd if you ask me," said Arthur, rubbing his chin in thought.

"W-w-what did the Prince mean when he said that the Wynter Lion was...'queer'?" said Bryan, switching his attention between the two older yeomen to see which would answer.

"Never you mind, lad. Never you mind," said Arthur, clearing his throat. "Old wives tales told amongst three termers who should know better. Isn't that right, William?"

William nodded his head in reply to the pointed look that Arthur gave him before turning back to face the great tree.

"Sergeant, what was the Wynter Lion like? As a person, I mean. The tales I was told as a kid say that he was fearless and had the strength of ten men and that his purity of heart meant that evil would wither at his touch. They say he swam across the Blue Ocean to the Starfall Lands in pursuit of the kidnapped Princess and that when he returns he will lead us all to glory."

William let out a deep laugh that echoed around the clearing, spooking a couple of birds from a nearby tree.

"What was sh...the Wynter Lion like?" said William pausing for a moment in thought. "The Wynter Lion was the best person I ever knew. Or ever will know. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't pray for the Wynter Lion's continued safety."

 

~o~O~o~
 

The Royal Botanical Gardens, The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon

12 June EY2441 (30 Years Ago)

In the twelve years of Daniel's young life he didn't think he had ever felt such soreness as he did today. Every muscle in his body cried out in pain from the exertion he had put it through and he was fairly certain that under his chainmail tunic were some serious bruises that would take more than his mothers kisses to make better. The most painful bruise wasn't under the chainmail however but on the back of his head, which he was gingerly prodding with his fingers trying to ascertain the exact size of.

"I said I was sorry," said the similarly attired young blonde haired boy walking beside him. Daniel noticed that his companion was trying to avoid looking at him in an attempt to hide the crimson flush on his face from view.

"I don't blame you Harry," said Daniel with a sigh. "I blame Sir Hugh for giving you a sword in the first place."

Daniel winced slightly as he pushed again at the bruise. "I've changed my mind Harry, I blame Sir Hugh and you."

Harry's head whipped around to look at Daniel, his mouth open in shock at the words of his best friend. The look of guilt and shock on his face quickly changing to that of consternation as Daniel erupted in a fit of giggles with the occasional wince interspersed as he moved his head too suddenly.

Harry gave Daniel a playful shove in the arm in retaliation, a small smile creeping across his face as Daniel's infectious laughter echoed around the gardens.

"Y'know, I'd never ever have guessed in a million years that you would be so good with that sword," said Daniel in admiration at his friends skill.

"Weeelll, it was only wooden," said Harry. A cheeky smile lit up his face as he continued. "And I was only fighting you."

Daniel stuck his tongue out at his friend in reply.

"It could have been worse. I could have hit a part of your body that gets regular use."

Harry dodged to the right as Daniel tried to push him back in retaliation.

"I am soooo going to make you regret that," growled Daniel, narrowing his eyes in an exaggerated scowl.

Daniel lunged at Harry, causing his friend to squeal with laughter as he dodged out of his grasp and race off down the path. Daniel chased after him, taking care to ensure that he kept close but not close enough to catch his friend, making the occasional good natured grasp at him that caused another outburst of squeals and laughter before he ran off again. On one occasion the two friends were chased off a flower bed by an annoyed groundskeeper as they trampled over freshly laid plants. They eventually came to a halt at a crossroads in the paved path, surrounded by ornate rose beds.

"I have to get back to the Palace," said Daniel with a frown. "My mother has hired a tutor to provide for additional Latin lessons. What about you?"

"I'm free until lunch. Unlike you, my Latin is fine," said Harry, sticking his tongue out at his friend again. "Mind you, your Latin might be better if you didn't spend so much time in the lesson annoying Matilda."

Daniel chuckled in response. "Your sister likes it really. Besides, no girl can resist my charms."

Harry rolled his eyes in response. He had a pretty good idea from conversations with his sister that she did in fact find Daniel annoying, particularly when he tugged at her braids.

"I'd stay away from Matilda when her sword lessons start next year."

"Yeah, yeah," said Daniel with a laugh. "What are you going to do?"

"I think I might take a walk through the gardens. It's been a couple of months since I've stopped at the shrine by Woden's Tree."

"See you at lunch?" asked Daniel.

"See you at lunch."

The two friends grasped wrists in the traditional yeoman style of farewell and set off down different paths. As he reached the wall around the Botanical Gardens, Daniel glanced back at the giant sequoia which towered above the other trees clustered around its base. He'd been taken to see the tree on his first visit to the Wynter Palace and his mother took him on every subsequent visit to leave a Gold Crown at the shrine in order to ensure that he continued to have the blessings of the á‰se.

However, what Daniel had always really wanted to do was climb the tree. Unfortunately, he had never been there alone to do it. Until now of course. Daniel chewed at the centre of his lip nervously and looked around. In the ten minutes he'd been walking along the path since parting company with Harry he had only seen one groundskeeper and she was intently concentrating on the flower bed she was working on.

'In fact,' he thought. 'I'm not even sure she saw me.'

Daniel looked back at the Wynter Palace a good fifteen minutes walk further on from the walled Botanical Gardens. He knew his mother would be extremely displeased if he skipped the Latin class.

"I can always learn Latin another day," mused Daniel out loud. "But will I get another chance to climb the great tree?"

With a mournful sigh turned back to face the Wynter Palace. He could picture just how cross his mother would be. He loved her very much and didn't want to disappoint her. Daniel took a last long look at the great tree in the distance.

"She'll get over it," he whispered as he turned and raced back down the path towards the tree.

 

~o~O~o~
 

Daniel burst into the clearing in front of Woden's Tree, breathing heavily from his running. He'd been pretty lucky he thought in that he'd only passed a couple of groundskeepers and they had done little more than glance up at him before returning to their work. He bent over to catch his breath for a second before looking up to see a blonde haired young girl staring at him with wide eyes and a startled expression on her face. Pulling himself upright, he gave the young girl a sheepish smile.

"Sorry if I startled you," said Daniel, stepping forward with his arm outstretched. "I'm Daniel."

The girl made no effort to move, continuing to stare at him. Daniel took the opportunity to take a better look at her. He guessed she was about his age, with an angelic face surrounded by a gender neutral page boy style much like that worn by Harry and himself. Daniel decided she was probably the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen. Even more beautiful than Matilda, though he noted that she did look a little like her.

Her attire however, surprised Daniel. Instead of the flowing gowns often worn by the young girls at the High Court she was clad in a chainmail tunic that seemed slightly too big for her. Not by much but it looked as if it belonged to someone slightly taller than she was and her leggings and boots were also a little baggy but not by enough to fall down. It was not unusual to see girls in armour on the training grounds and indeed the Founding Documents clearly stated that man and woman were equal in all respects. What was unusual however was to see one in chainmail so far from the training grounds.

He withdrew his proffered hand when she had made no effort to take and cleared his throat in an attempt to attract her attention.

"What's your name? I'm sorry again for y'know, surprising you."

The young girls lips moved slowly making the shapes of half formed words. Her complexion by now had turned from white to deep crimson.

Daniel tapped at the chainmail tunic he wore and indicated to hers. "I don't remember seeing you on the training grounds."

"Did you see me? You couldn't have missed me if you were there. My friend Harry nearly knocked me out during our bout!" exclaimed an excited Daniel. "Do you want to see my bruise?"

Daniel didn't know much about girls, only having a younger brother but his pretty sure a cool bruise would impress just about anyone. In response the girl just shrugged and Daniel thought she went a deeper shade of red if it was possible.

Daniel bent over in front of the girl, parting the hair on the back of his head to enable her to get a better view of his bruise.

"Does...it still hurt much?" asked the girl timidly.

"It hurt a little when it happened but I didn't cry or anything," said Daniel proudly. "Besides, you should see what it did to Harry's sword. It broke it in tw..."

Daniel stopped suddenly, seeing the broken sword tucked in the girls belt. Pulling the broken sword from her belt he reached into the dented helmet hanging by its chin strap from his belt and pulled out a pointed piece of wood. The girl made an attempt to grab at the broken sword put he turned his back to block her. Daniel pushed the jagged ends of both pieces of wood together to form a complete wooden sword. Turning to face the girl, he held the sword up so that she could see.

"What is this?" asked Daniel angrily. "Where is Harry?"

The girl collapsed to her knees sobbing, covering her face with her hands. Daniel's anger quickly evaporated and he found himself involuntarily rubbing her shoulder trying to comfort her.

"Shhhh! I'm not angry really. Honest. Just amazed that Harry would part with the sword. We promised we would always keep the bits as a keepsake of our first bout."

"I did Danny, I really did," said the girl in between sobs. "I never gave it up. It's me, Harry."

Daniel frowned looking around the clearing.

"Very funny Harry," he yelled. "Now why don't you come out from wherever you're hiding."

The girl sighed and wiped at the tears running from her eyes with the palm of her hands. Clasping her hands together as if in prayer, she closed her eyes. As her face screwed up in concentration, Daniel took a step backwards as she started to sparkle like she was covered in reflective fish scales. As each sparkle disappeared, Daniel noticed that the skin under it seemed to subtly change. He watched entranced for a few seconds before he realised how the girl was changing. Stumbling backwards he fell heavily onto his bottom as the sparkles faded and Harry was visible kneeling in front of him. The transformation took little more than ten seconds from start to finish Daniel guessed.

"H-h-h-harry?"

Harry nodded his head in response.

"How...long...have you..."

"Been able to change like this? About five years, though only in the last couple have I been able to change so quickly."

"Are you cursed?"

Harry pulled a face in response.

"No. That girl you saw is who I want to be. I can't really explain it but it feels like she is the real me rather than Harry."

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow," said Harry with a small smile.

"So...can you do other magic? Are you like the Earth Siden?" asked Daniel.

"I don't think I can do more magic, though I might be able to use a weaver bow."

"That would be so cool!"

"Yeah," said Harry with a grin. "I don't think I'm like the Earth Siden though. They are happy changing between forms but I only want to be a girl."

"So being a girl...makes you happy?" asked Daniel, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Sort of. Being me makes me happy. And I'm a girl in here," said Harry gently touching his chest where his heart was.

The two friends looked at each other in silence for a few minutes, each trying to work out what to say to the other. Finally, Daniel broke the silence.

"Err...it's not y'know, contagious is it? Being a girl?"

Harry stuck his tongue out at a friend and laughed. Closing his eyes and grasping his hands together, the sparkles returned to his skin, quickly changing him back to the beautiful young girl of earlier. When she opened her eyes, a devilish smile appeared out of place with the sweet face that framed it.

"I've never tested if it is contagious or not," she said with a sly grin. "Let's find out shall we?"

The girl lunged at Daniel, falling on top of him as she tried to wrap him in a hug. Daniel's initial screams of outrage soon degenerated into laughter as he saw that nothing was changing in response to contact with her. The two friends roared with laughter before the girl rolled off Daniel to lie on her back next to him.

"I can't call you Harry when you are like this can I?" chuckled Daniel. "I guess that makes you Princess Harriet?"

Daniel glanced over to see her pull a face as she turned her head to face him.

"Ewww. No thanks. You remember my cousin Harriet? The one who called me all those names?"

"So what do I call you?"

"I...I kind of like Georgina. I mean my middle name is George anyway, so it's not that big a change."

Daniel held out his hand to Georgina.

"Nice to meet you Georgina," he said. "I'm Daniel."

"I'm ch-arrrrrrm'd," said Georgina in an exaggerated posh voice as she grasped his arm by the wrist in a yeoman style greeting. Daniel stuck his tongue out in response before a smile broke out on his face.

"Does anyone else know about Georgina?" asked Daniel.

"Nope. Just you."

"I won't tell anyone."

"I know," said Georgina with a smile, releasing Daniel's arm.

"How do you think your parents would take it if they knew about you? I mean Georgina," asked Daniel.

"Not well Danny," said Georgina with a sigh. "Not well."

"It doesn't bother me, Georgina or Harry, you're my friend."

The two friends laid back again, staring up at the great tree towering above them both. They lay in comfortable silence, neither wanting to break the peace of the moment, and enjoyed the warm late morning summer sun. After lying in silence for what seemed like eternity, Georgina spoke first.

"What brought you to here anyway? I thought you had Latin?"

"Eh. Figured skipping a lesson wouldn't be the end of the world if it meant I got a chance to climb the great tree."

"Danny!"

"C'mon, what use am I ever going to have for Latin?"

"Apart from it being used in the law and trade, not much. But then I'm not the heir to a kingdom that gets most of its gold from trade with the Septem Provincae," said Georgina.

"Oh. When you put it like that..." said Daniel sheepishly.

"Oh, indeed," giggled Georgina.

The two friends lapsed once more into silence before Daniel spoke after a few minutes.

"So, are we going to climb this tree or not?"

"What do you mean 'we'?"

"It will be more fun if we both do it. It's not like anyone is going to know anyway."

"Except me of course," stated a third voice.

Daniel and Georgina scrambled to their feet to see a young man, probably not much more than a teenager himself Daniel guessed, in the livery of the Yeomanry standing behind them.

"How...how long have you b-b-b-been standing their?" asked Georgina.

"Not long," said the Yeoman with a smile. "Just long enough to hear of your friends climbing plans."

Daniel frowned, turning his head between looking at the tree and looking at the yeoman. "I'm not going to get to climb the tree am I?"

"No."

The yeoman reached into his tunic and pulled out a leather pouch from which he withdrew two coins. He tossed one each to Georgina and Daniel. While Daniel caught his one handed, Georgina fumbled with hers before grasping it in both hands.

"You can however, make an offering to Woden at the shrine," said the Yeoman. "And perhaps you, young man, might want to apologise to Woden for thinking about climbing his tree?"

Daniel reached out and grasped his friends hand, sensing her nervousness. Together the two friends walked over to the small shrine and knelt before it placing both their Copper Coronets on the offering place.

"We'll find somewhere for you to change on the way back to the Palace," whispered Daniel. In response Georgina nodded her head quickly, glancing back at the yeoman nervously.

"C'mon you two, it's time you headed back to the Palace so that I can continue with my rounds," called out the Yeoman.

Daniel and Georgina nodded and hurried off as quickly as they could back towards the Palace without attracting undue attention. Neither friend would realise for some minutes that they were still holding hands.

 

~o~O~o~
 

The Wynter Palace, Isle of Avalon

Woden's Day 24 April EY 2471 (The Present) - Late-Morning

Agnes Smythe, Principal Weaver of the Order of Water Siden, let out a tired sigh as she laid down on her bed. It was taking increasing amounts of her siden to keep moving and she had little opportunity to rest all morning. She'd excused herself from overseeing the daily minutiae of the Order's business, leaving it in the capable hands of Synnove and claimed that she wanted to meditate on some matters that the Readers of the Paths had mentioned.

In reality however, this was only a part of the reason for her need to rest. The other, and more compelling reason, was that the life stone around her neck was running out of charge and she was beginning to feel all of her one hundred and seventy two years of life and two weeks of death.

"Here, let me help you," said a figure materialising out of the shadows of the room. Agnes smiled at the woman, a portly matronly type with a blue dress and an oversized red bow.

"Thank you, my friend," said Agnes with a tired smile.

The woman removed a stone from a small ornate wooden box on the bedside table and reached around Agnes's neck to untie a leather cord. Pulling the leather cord from its hiding place under Agnes's clothes she grasped the dull red glowing stone on the end of the cord and exchanged it for the bright green glowing stone she had removed from the box. Tying it back around Agnes's neck, she noticed an immediate improvement in her mental alertness.

"I'm sorry to have asked you to stay Agnes's, I know how much you had wanted to cross over and be with your husband rather than clinging to the remnants of this life," said the woman with a sad smile.

"It's fine Saxnot. Really," said Agenes clasping Saxnot's hand in her own. "I understand the need to remain here for the next few weeks. If I had not, I would not have worn the life stone on the night I died."

"Thank you, old friend," said Saxnot. "It won't be much longer now. I sense that the pieces for this cosmic chess game are nearly all assembled on the board and Herla's proxy will be making his opening move within the next few weeks if he hasn't already."

"Let us hope so. You and I both know that my time here is limited. Life stones can only prolong life after natural deaths such as mine not reverse death and you cannot intervene directly to boost my siden under the rules of the Hunt."

Saxnot snapped the fingers of her free hand causing a chair at a nearby table to glide across the polished wooden floor of the room until it stopped next to Agnes's bed. Slipping her free hand behind her to smooth her dress, Saxnot gracefully sat down so as not to unduly crease her dress.

"Show off," laughed Agnes, a rosiness returning to her cheeks with each passing moment.

"Maybe," said Saxnot emitting a school girl like giggle that seemed at odds with her matronly figure.

Agnes closed her eyes, resting her head gently back against her pillow. "I still cannot tell who Herla's proxy is yet. The situation isn't helped by the lack of resources at my disposal of course. All of the Order of Earth Siden apart from Martha will be in Bernicia and Deira for another six to eight weeks and half of my order has been deployed to Mercia to deal with flooding from the Rivers Tame and Anker threatening Tamworth."

"Can Martha be of any use to us?"

Agnes sighed, opening her eyes to meet Saxnot's searching gaze. "On a good day when she's functioning well, yes. On a bad day...she's too fragile. I fear that she could not cope with the stress of the Hunt."

"I feared as much. I wouldn't put it passed Herla to have fanned the flames of the Pretender's Uprising all those years ago to have achieved such an outcome. Amongst the á‰se he is renowned for playing the long game. What of the Order of Air Siden?"

"Half are in Portsmouth with the fleet, while the remainder left I do not trust. Not even Principal Weaver Harrison if I'm truthful. He's the Lord High Weavers man through and through and far too focused on power and glory."

"What about Synnove?" asked Saxnot. "Can she lead our forces if needed?"

Agnes squeezed Saxnot's hand briefly. "I hope that she doesn't have too. Why else do you think I've stayed here?"

"If she had to though?" persisted Saxnot, her voice taking on an undercurrent of urgency.

"If she had too...yes, she could do it. But doing what may need to be done to win could tear her apart in much the same way as Martin's demons have him. If I can do anything to spare her that, I will."

Saxnot nodded in understanding and stood, releasing her friends hand so that she could pull a cover over her. "You my friend need to rest so that the life stone can replenish your siden reserves."

Agnes gently swept her hands over her face, nodding her assent to Saxnot's instruction. "Saxnot, can you tell me one thing? Will I live to see the return of the Wynter Lion?"

A small sigh emanated from Saxnot as she briefly looked heavenward.

"I do not know, my friend. The probable realities have yet to fully coalesce and the paths are still tangled. It might be better to ask a different question..." said Saxnot, gently tugging at the ends of Agnes's bed covers to ensure they were straight.

"The better question to ask is will the Wynter Lioness live long enough to see you."

~o~O~o~
 
To be continued
 

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to either comment, pm or kudos me in respect of the Wynter Lioness so far. It's been hugely appreciated on this story, given the length of it and the irregularity of the posting. As usual I would also like to thank Persephone for inspiring this with her stories and without which this story wouldn't be here.

Part of the delay for this chapter was I wrote 9,000 words of a 12,000 word Hallowe'en tale that missed the contest deadline. That story will probably be published when its eventually completed. I'm intending to produce at least one more chapter of WL before Christmas and then use the Christmas hols to try and regain the story buffer. Overall, we're nearing the end of the set-up section of the story, so we're more or less a third through depending on how the next couple of chapters pan out. Once more thank you for taking the time to read WL, it's greatly appreciated.