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Nyssa Smith's life seems to be heading nowhere good and her dreams of being a knight impossible to attain. When a dragon is sighted near her village carrying off a young woman and an arrogant nobleman seems eager to sacrifice the village men in an assualt against it for his own glory, can Nyssa save them all by getting there first? And if she enters that cave, will it change her life or end it?

 
 
The sound of footsteps distracted her, very heavy sounding footsteps and Nyssa turned her gaze toward the front of the cave to see the dragon coming right toward them. It was the single biggest creature that she had ever seen, or even imagined, and could easily swallow her whole. How did those people not notice it? She needed to get them out of the cave. Aris preserve me, she prayed silently to the Goddess of life and light as she unsheathed her sword and dropped the sheath as she leaped out of the crevice, placing herself between them and the massive creature. "Go!" she shouted at them. "Run! I'll keep it busy!”

 
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 village of Ribel: 23rd day of Summer, Fifteenth year of the Sixth Era

Nyssa frowned, her back and shoulders stiffening as she felt the sharp sting of a large hand slapping her bottom. She gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to slap the offender in return, instead clenching her fists tightly at her sides as she made her way back to the bar for another round of ale. Each night it became more difficult to resist such urges, as they conspired with the growing desire to just leave the Big Fish Inn, and perhaps the village, never to return.

It hadn't always been like this; she used to help her father in the forge. He was the village blacksmith and had raised her on his own since her mother had died in childbirth. Since she was an only child, it had made sense for her to work with him. That had all changed a fortnight ago when the innkeeper Trebor had approached her father with his proposal: Nyssa was to be betrothed to his eldest son Thomas, his younger son Treban would become her father's apprentice, and Nyssa would learn to be a proper bride and help run the inn under the ever-watchful eye of Trebor's wife Renna. It was a deal that worked out well for all involved, or so Trebor claimed. Nyssa's father got a proper apprentice, Treban would learn a good trade, Thomas would get a bride, and Nyssa would get a husband and learn to act as a proper young woman should. It certainly seemed a fine deal to her father, who had quickly accepted.

Oh aye, it seemed that everyone was happy now, especially Trebor. He had made out like a bandit. One son got a future bride, another a trade, and Nyssa was working in the kitchens by day and the tavern by night without being paid a single copper. The only one who wasn't happy was Nyssa. Firstly, Thomas was ill-mannered, stupid, and wanted nothing more from his life than to be an innkeeper like his father. He was certainly not the husband she would have chosen for herself, if she had decided to wed at all.

Secondly, the work at the Inn was the worst sort of drudgery; cleaning by day and serving meals and drinks by night while being molested by drunk fishermen and shepherds. The mere idea of living with Thomas, working in the inn, and churning out babies for the rest of her life made her strongly consider throwing herself into the sea.

Nyssa wanted more from her life than that, and as a result, it made her feel like she didn't really belong with the people of her village. They were happy to take what life gave them, while she longed for adventure and freedom; for a life where each day wasn't the same as the last. She longed to see the capitol city Havenhold and maybe even leave Ranoor to go to the mainland and explore all of Althea: There were so many things to see and so many Races other than Man that she would like to meet one day; the various types of Fae, the Kobolds with their great machines and alchemy, the Dwarves and their forges, and probably so many more that she had never even heard of.

She even thought of trying to become a knight. There were rumors from those who had been to the Capitol and some of the larger towns that King Joren was recruiting new knights. Some of the rumors even said that women and those of lesser birth were being accepted as long as they were of the right age and could pass the test involved to acquire the King's Mark. Nyssa thought that would be like a dream come true, but they were probably only rumors since she had never heard any real first-hand accounts.

She dismissed her fantasies with a sigh as she claimed an ale tankard for each hand from Thomas and returned to the monotony of serving, shuffling her way morosely between the tables. Once the tankards had been placed on the table and the coppers were taken, she placed the coins in the cash box as Trebor watched. He always watched Nyssa closely, as if afraid she was going to run off at any moment with all of his hard-earned coin, as if she could get very far on a few measly coppers.

A wave from one of the tables by the hearth caught her attention and she stifled a groan as she noted who it was and made her way over. Parrin was the son of the local Count, and he made damn well sure that everyone knew it. Nyssa had a special kind of hatred reserved just for him; and not just because he was selfish, arrogant, and rude. He was indeed all of those things, but her hatred for him was over a sword.

Last winter Parrin had come to her father to commission a sword. Her father hadn't made a sword in many years, most folks in Ribel didn't need anything more than harpoon heads, knives for cutlery or for gutting fish, the occasional horseshoes, and other odds and ends. The winter had been a harsh one for the whole village though, and they had desperately needed the promised coin, so he had agreed. For twelve days she and her father had worked hard on the blade, but when it was ready he had refused to pay.

Though the sword was sleek, sturdy, and well-made, possibly her father's finest work ever, Parrin had claimed that it was not regal enough for someone of his station and that he would merely buy one from a proper smith the next time he was in the Capitol. Her father had been furious and the next day the blade was gone when she had arrived at the forge, probably melted down by her father and forged into something else.

Nyssa clenched her fists as she made her way toward the hearth. “Another ale m'lord?” she practically hissed once she was close enough.

"Aye," he replied absently, his eyes roaming over her tight-laced bodice. An unpleasant shiver slithered its way down her spine at the direction of his gaze, so without another word, she turned and made her way swiftly back to the bar for the ale.

She had been getting far more attention from the men who frequented the tavern at night than she was comfortable with, but having it come from that arrogant fop Parrin had made her feel violated. It wasn't even like she was beautiful or anything, in fact, she considered herself to be quite the opposite. At fifteen, her years of helping her father in the forge had shaped her as much as the metal she had worked with, keeping her slender with what Renna had opined was, "Too much muscle for a proper woman." Her skin was also darkly tanned, and her features seemed plain with her dull brown eyes and hair. Renna had also bemoaned her lack of good childbearing features: Her hips were too narrow and while her breasts were not small, they were merely modest in size compared to some of the plump and pretty girls of the village, not near enough to satisfy a hungry babe.

She wrote their interest off to too much ale, and her being the only serving wench, as she claimed another tankard and rushed back to deliver it with all possible haste. The sooner she was done with Parrin, the better she would feel. She placed the tankard on the table in front of him and snatched the empty one for washing as he fished in his pouch for a copper. Once he had found one and held it out to her she took it quickly, but not quite quickly enough. He took her hand in his own and with an arrogant smile, he said, "Good to see you doing something more suited to you Nyssa. You make a fine tavern wench, and maybe with a proper apprentice your father's work won't be so shoddy."

"How dare he?!" Fresh anger welled up inside her, setting aflame her feelings of hatred, her captured hand clenched in his own as she tried to pull away and her free hand, the one holding the tankard, swung at his head.

Everything seemed to happen at once then. The front door of the inn swung open, letting in a burst of wind and the shout of “Dragon!” made the whole tavern room go quiet and still. Nyssa turned her head and Parrin let go of her hand in shock, causing her to lose her balance and fall to the floor as the wooden tankard flew from her hand and hit the wall behind him.

All eyes were now on Garen who had hastily entered the tavern, clutching what looked like a ragged piece of red cloth, and closed the door. “There be a dragon in the cave past the far east pastures! Saw it me-self, I did. Flew over me 'bout midday and scared the flock sumthin' fierce.”

“Are you sure it weren't just flyin' past?” another of the shepherds questioned him.

“Nay,” Garen replied with a grim expression and a shake of his head. “The beast flew by again not more'n a few hours ago. Followed it, I did. I saw it enter the cave, clutching some poor lass. An' I saw these layin' all about the area, it be dragon-hide or me name ain't Garen.” He shook the hide clutched in his hands for emphasis.

There had been talk of dragons being seen in the skies all over Ranoor in the past six months, but never had one been sighted so close to Ribel before, so like the stories about the knights, most people dismissed the talk as rumors. Now though, it seemed that those stories might indeed be true, the scrap of dragon-hide certainly seemed real enough to those who saw and touched it.

Parrin stood up, sticking his chest out like some puffed-up peacock trying to find a mate. “This dragon is a menace and we must deal with it swiftly! The beast will need to hunt, so keep the women and children indoors. It will sleep during the day, so I will lead any men who are with me to attack it after dawn. Who is with me?!”

Every man in the tavern but two raised their hands and cheered, “Aye!” One of the two was Trebor, who seemed far more interested in the state of his cash box, and the other was Nyssa's father, who never even looked up from where he was eating his dinner near the entrance, except to glare at the young nobleman.

"Then let us start planning," Parrin said with a smile that caused Nyssa's stomach to sink. "With your help, I am sure to slay the beast and save the princess!"

"Who said that the girl Garen saw is a princess?" Nyssa snapped as she stood up and straightened her skirts, angered once again by the sheer stupidity of the assumption. "It's far more likely she's a shepherd's daughter or something alike."

“Does it really matter?” Parrin countered dismissively. “Either way, as a member of the nobility I am the only one fit to rescue her. Now make yourself useful girl, and fetch these thirsty men some drinks.” The last was said dismissively as he handed her a silver piece and slapped her on the rear.

Nyssa fumed, but complied, since there was obviously no getting past his ego to talk any sense into him. As the evening passed and the plans were made though, she felt a growing feeling of dread, as well as relief that her father hadn't got caught up in this nonsense. These men were fishermen and shepherds; they had no experience fighting anything, much less a dragon. They also had no weapons aside from harpoons, or knives used for gutting or shearing. The only one with a real weapon was Parrin himself, an ornate and bejeweled blade that Nyssa thought would likely snap in two if he ever actually used it. It was also plain to see that Parrin didn't care whether these men lived or died as long as he lived and was seen as a hero.

The thing that bothered her most though, was that the fool was obviously forming his whole plan based on those insipid minstrel tales rather than real information. Garen had said the dragon flew over at midday, but Parrin was certain it would hunt by night and sleep during the day. He also seemed certain that the girl was a princess. Why was it always a princess in those damnable tales and songs? Did they somehow taste better than other people? Nyssa doubted it with all those perfumes and silks that they tended to wear. And if it was to eat them, then why capture them and not just eat them right away? Were the dragons saving them for dessert after the banquet of fools that they would be feasting on from the obligatory rescue attempts? She doubted that knights went down easy either with all that armor on. Those stories never made any sense.

The tavern closed late that night and as the men all staggered to their homes and beds, Nyssa came to a decision. She needed to stop this farce before it began, her conscience wouldn't let her do otherwise. She didn't care much if Parrin died, he was an arrogant fool and the world would be better off once rid of him, but the others would bother her. Their ill-conceived attack might actually put the girl in further danger, and she didn't deserve that, if she was still alive at all. As for the men, she might not like most of them, but they were mostly good men and didn't deserve to be led to their deaths. For she had no doubts that they would all die while rushing in to follow that idiot with little sleep, no real weapons, and still too deep in their tankards from their long night of drinking.

Her decision made, she headed for home and slipped silently to her room. She didn't want to wake her father, as he had looked to be in a dark mood when he had left the tavern. Usually, when he had the spare coin, he stayed there late of a night drinking and talking, but he had left after having only one ale with his meal. Once in her room, she changed as quietly as she could, donning a dark knee-length wool tunic and stockings that she had worn beneath her leather apron while working in the forge, thinking them far more practical for the task she had in mind than a bodice and skirts. After adding a pair of worn boots she started gathering the things that she would need.

First, she gathered clothes to take with her; even if she somehow lived through this she didn't think that she would ever come back to her life in the village. She thought it best to be practical and limited herself to three changes of clothes. Those were wrapped in her warmest blanket, which she thought she would use as a makeshift pack. Secondly, she needed a knife, and she chose one of the first she had made that still kept a good edge. Lastly, she removed the laces from two of the bodices she would be leaving behind and placed both those and the sheathed knife within her meager coin purse for later. She would have liked to take more, especially as she took one last look around her small room, with all the odds and ends she had made with her father over the years, but she felt it best to travel light. Her throat tightened and she could feel tears stinging her eyes as she turned to leave, bumping right into her father.

“Good time to be leaving, with a dragon in the area,” he said conversationally with a nod toward the makeshift pack slung over her shoulder.

“This is not what you think..." she began to reply lamely, chewing nervously on her lower lip.

“Looks like you are leaving the village to me,” he replied gruffly, cutting her off as he crossed his arms in front of him and leveled a stern look at her. “About time too, I thought you would have left after a few days of that nonsense at the inn.”

"Wha..." she started to ask dumbly, but at this point, Nyssa's nervousness gave way to complete and utter confusion and she just stared, unsure what exactly she should be asking.

Finally, he laughed. "Nyssa, the people of this village are like the fish they catch and the sheep they shepherd. They are happy living each day the same unless something happens to disturb things, but I could see since you were a young girl that you needed more than that. You are a hawk, and hawks need to fly free. You needed a bit of a push to get out of the nest though, so I took Trebor up on his offer."

“Why didn't you just tell me?” she finally managed to choke out.

“I know my daughter, Nyssa. As long as you were working the forge with me you never would have left, even if I encouraged it, you would have thought that you were abandoning me,” he told her, ruffling her hair as he often did when he wasn't sure whether he should scold or praise her. “Treban is doing well though, he likes the work and he'll make a fine smith, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Won't Trebor be angry?” she cautioned, a bit worried about what the innkeeper's reaction might be when his son's betrothed ran off.

“Aye, but he'll find some other village lass for Thomas. I think that he got about enough free work out of you, and his son is learning a good trade, so he made out well enough.” He replied, dismissing her concerns with a shrug. Then his expression and his tone turned serious as he looked her dead in the eyes. “I hope you're not planning on trying to fight that dragon before you go.”

"Not if I can help it," she said honestly, though she squirmed a bit under his intent gaze. "I was thinking more of sneaking in and seeing if the girl is still alive. If she is I'll try to sneak her out to safety. Then maybe I can stop Parrin from leading those men to their deaths." A heavy sigh escaped her father's lips and he shook his head, but she quickly cut off his possible arguments. "I know that cave Da, I used to play there. There are other ways in there, too small for grown men, but I might still be able to fit. If I can't I'll give up on the idea and just leave, I promise."

Her father sighed again, but gave a brief nod. "You'll do it whether I approve or not, but you'll need a weapon, just in case things don't go as you plan." He motioned her into the larger room, led her to the corner beyond where his grass-filled mattress laid close to the hearth, and then began to shift the rushes that coated the dirt floor. Then he began shifting the dirt itself, digging roughly three inches before he found what he was looking for. Finally, he produced a bundle wrapped in dirt caked rags. Nyssa let out a startled gasp as he removed the rags to reveal a sheathed sword and held it out to her; she recognized that hilt, and she should since she had helped to forge it. "I didn't have the heart to destroy her, she was too fine a blade," he explained.

Nyssa ran through the east pastures as fast as she could, encumbered as she was with the sword and her blanket-wrapped possessions. She figured that she had roughly an hour before dawn, and maybe another after that before Parrin arrived at the cave with his mob. Her breathing was haggard, and her chest burned from the effort, by the time the pasture gave way to the rocky hills that formed much of the coastline. She kept her pace quick, but advanced cautiously, keeping an eye out as best she could in the light of the half moon.

Glints of reflected moonlight on the rocky ground ahead caught her attention and she approached slowly in a crouch to inspect the source. "Dragon-hide," she noted mentally as she inspected a scrap. It was cool to the touch, metallic-looking red scales over thick sturdy skin. There were scraps all over, some smaller than her hand, while others were several horse-lengths. If it had been shedding this much then it had been here a while, several days at least, to her mind. Yet there had been no sheep reported missing. That didn't feel right to her, especially with the pasture so close.

Thinking herself close enough she began to prepare: She carefully scraped free two patches of the thick moss that was about all that would grow in this rocky area and used the laces she had removed from her bodices to fasten them securely to the soles of her boots. She was hoping that the soft thick moss would muffle the sound of her footsteps enough that the dragon might not hear her. Once that task was completed, she looked through the scraps of dragon-hide until she found one large enough to wrap around herself like a cloak. If it came from the dragon it might still smell like the dragon, and possibly mask her own scent. Also, the legends said that dragon-hide was fireproof, and that could very well save her life if things went bad.

Satisfied that she was probably as prepared as she could be, given the circumstances, she looked toward the moonlit hillside that housed the cave and gathered her things. The hill, like most of the area, was solid stone with the gaping entrance of the cave on the southwest side. There were cracks and crevices all over that hill, and two for sure that she knew led all the way into the cave itself. She thought the one was likely too small, it had been a tight fit even when she was a child, but the other might just be big enough. She headed swiftly to the north side of the hill, hoping she was right, as the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon.

Nyssa found the crevice that she was looking for quickly and hid her belongings nearby to collect later, taking only her sword and makeshift dragon-hide cloak. Both felt heavy to her, but it was a comfortable weight that made her feel a lot safer as she slid inside the opening. The gap was big enough, but only barely, as she had to get to her knees and crawl at first. Since she had no light to go by, she had to feel her way along, more than once bumping her head or scraping some other part of her body. Finally, the crevice became high enough to stand in, and soon opened up into the cave itself, where Nyssa had to muffle a gasp of surprise at the bright light and smell of frying bacon that greeted her.

“Do you think we'll find someone today?” she heard a feminine voice inquire.

“You never know,” a man's voice replied crisply, “but it would be nice. I would like to get out of this cave and back to Havenhold, Aureal's problem kept us here two days longer than I would have liked.”

"Does the dragon hold two people captive now? They don't sound terrified. And what is this talk about finding someone?" These thoughts rushed through Nyssa's mind as she peeked around the corner of the crevice into the rear of the cave where the voices were coming from.

The rear of the cave was brightly lit by torches, and the two people were talking across a cooking fire. The girl was almost as slender as Nyssa herself, though Nyssa thought the other girl might be taller, and perhaps a bit older. She wore an embroidered gown and her long blonde hair was kept in a loose braid that was swept over her shoulder and went down to her hips. "It's not like she could help it," she snapped back at the man, "it's a natural part of becoming an adult. She wouldn't have been able to concentrate on the test in that condition, she was too irritable and distracted."

"I know, I know," the man grumbled. He had his back to Nyssa, so it was hard for her to make out any details aside from his short-cropped black hair and the dark blue cape he wore.

The sound of footsteps distracted her, very heavy sounding footsteps and Nyssa turned her gaze toward the front of the cave to see the dragon coming right toward them. It was the single biggest creature that she had ever seen, or even imagined, and could easily swallow her whole. How did those people not notice it? She needed to get them out of the cave. "Aris preserve me," she prayed silently to the Goddess of life and light as she unsheathed her sword and dropped the sheath as she leaped out of the crevice, placing herself between them and the massive creature. "Go!" she shouted at them. "Run! I'll keep it busy!”

The pair seemed to be in shock, just staring open-mouthed as she turned and held her sword out, waiting for the dragon to make its move. She really hoped those two got over their shock and ran, because she held no delusions that she could actually kill the beast in front of her, or even wound it. While she was strong enough to wield the sword she held, she had no real training in the use of it and the dragon was watching her carefully with those huge green eyes, as if it too were waiting for her to make her move.

The dragon's nostrils flared and its great head darted toward her. Thinking it was going to breathe fire she turned, wrapping the cloak tightly about herself, to see the man and woman still staring at her. It was over, she would never be able to save them both now. They were all dead and she knew it. No flames washed over her though and, to her complete bafflement, the pair of people stopped staring and started laughing as she felt a pushing at her back. The pushing was the dragon's head, close enough to gobble her up, but it wasn't. Instead, it seemed to be sniffing her. Nyssa's head turned very slowly to get a far closer look than she really cared for at that draconian muzzle; there were far too many big sharp looking teeth for her liking, each longer than her arm. Its emerald eyes were so close she that could see its slit pupils looking her over as its nostrils flared again.

Suddenly it pulled its head back as if burned, opened its great jaws, and spoke. "Is that my skin you're wearing?" The creature's voice sounded female to Nyssa's ears, though it was guttural and sounded very perturbed. It was also accompanied by the hysterical laughing of the man and woman by the fire.

“You... you can speak?” The words tumbled out of Nyssa's mouth uncertainly as she began to wonder if this was all just a very strange dream.

“Of course I can speak,” the dragon snapped, snorting indignantly before adding, “do you start all conversations this way?”

“Yes! I mean no!” Nyssa blurted out before taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I mean yes it is your skin, but no, I don't normally start conversations this way.”

“Why in the name of Syndair would you prance about wearing someone else's skin?”

“Aye, that is a good question,” the man's voice agreed now that the pair had stopped laughing.

Nyssa turned to see them slowly approaching her and thinking that she might actually be safe, she lowered her sword. “I thought it might help protect me,” she explained. “I figured that if it still smelled like the dragon, it would mask my scent and keep the dragon from noticing me. The legends say that dragon-hide is fireproof and few weapons can pierce it too, so I was hoping that it would keep me alive.”

”I'm standing right here,” the dragon sniffed indignantly again. “And I am not a dragon, I am a Drake. Please just relax, I am not going to eat you, or burn you to ash, or whatever other horrible fate you might think that I have planned for you. I must admit that using my castoff skin was a clever ploy; I never even noticed you until you jumped out screaming and started swinging that sword around.”

"There are big differences between dragons and Drakes, lass," the man told Nyssa sternly, "but that lesson can wait a few minutes. Let me have a look at you now." He began looking her over from head to toe as if inspecting a prize sheep at the Spring Faire. "Hmm, you put moss on the soles of your feet, no wonder you startled us so badly when you jumped out. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders, and courage too, the way you jumped out and tried to distract Aureal to 'save' us. Not some soft lass either, probably the blacksmith's daughter from all that muscle and that sword. Can you use it?"

“Not really, my Da thought I should have a weapon if I was set on coming here,” she answered truthfully.

To her surprise, the man just shrugged as he replied, "Swinging a sword can be learned and strength can be trained, but courage and wits, those are traits that few possess in abundance. What is your name, lass?"

“Nyssa Smith,” she answered simply, still unsure what was going on. The man had an air of authority that demanded respect though, and she wasn't dead yet, so she thought that it might be interesting to see where this would go.

"You have impressed me, Nyssa Smith, and that is no easy task. I am Cayne Reddin, the Drake is called Aureal, and the lass is Janith Cooper.”

Nyssa's sword fell to the ground with a clatter as she stared open-mouthed. "Cayne Reddin?!" Everyone in Ranoor knew that name.

Janith laughed at the expression on her face and moved closer to give her a companionable slap on the shoulder as she confirmed what Nyssa was thinking. “That's right, you're looking at Prince Cayne; third son of King Joren and Commander of the Knights of Ranoor. I'm one of the knights too, Cayne asked me to play the part of the captured princess for Aureal's test.”

“Test?” Nyssa asked in disbelief.

“You wouldn't believe how many times we had to fly over the pasture yesterday to get the attention of that sleeping shepherd and then get him to follow us here,” Janith said with a laugh, as if Nyssa would know what she was talking about.

"The shepherd!" Nyssa exclaimed as she was reminded of part of the reason she had come. "There's a mob coming to try to kill the dragon! I mean Aureal! They could be here anytime!"

Prince Cayne merely nodded as if he had been expecting it. “Aye, that often happens when we run a test. Many folk feel braver in a group, but unless they have ballista or some manner of magic they won't be able to harm Aureal. If she needs help she can call for Sokair and Gralt, they are waiting in a cove not far away. The Drakes will do their best not to cause any serious harm to those people. They will just keep them busy while I explain things and we complete the test; that is if Aureal approves.” The last had the feel of a question as he directed his gaze toward the Drake.

Aureal seemed to catch his meaning, looking Nyssa over once again as Nyssa took the time to get a better look at the Drake. While most of her hide seemed to be covered in those dark red scales, the scales on the underside of her belly and long serpentine neck and tail seemed to be a bright gold. Atop her head was a crown of bony ridges and a pair of gill-like flaps pulsed slightly where Nyssa thought her ears should be. Her hind legs looked powerful, but her forelegs were shorter, almost like arms, with thumbs on the forefeet to help her grip things. Each digit on both sets of legs ended in savage-looking claws as long as Nyssa's legs. She couldn't really see Aureal's wings very well, folded up as they were, but what she did see was the same dark red as most of the rest of her body.

Her assessment of the Drake was cut short as Aureal spoke. "Aye, I think she'll do nicely. I approve." With that, she turned and headed toward the mouth of the cave.

“Now tell us how you came to be here, Nyssa, and then I have a few things to explain to you,” the prince said, his gaze now resting on Nyssa once more.

Janith had finished cooking the pair's breakfast and they shared it with Nyssa as she told them her story and then Cayne began by telling her the differences between dragons and Drakes. Dragons were large and ferocious, their actions fueled by their baser instincts and needs; hunger, territory, and their desire for gold and other treasures. Drakes were smaller than their feral cousins with notable physical differences, such as the shorter forelegs with hand-like forefeet. The Drakes were also a lot more intelligent, in fact, folk on the mainland considered them among the sentient Races of Althea, just as much as Men, Fae, Kobolds, or Dwarves.

The Drakes had fled the mainland almost a year ago as a darkness spread across Althea; War had broken out between Men and Fae and in the chaos dragons, orcs, and ogres were becoming bolder, attacking settlements of all the Races. The Drakes had been no exception and had lost many of their kin to attacks by their larger cousins, their numbers dwindling to under three hundred. They sent an emissary to King Joren, asking for sanctuary in return for service to the Crown as defenders of Ranoor.

Once the details had been worked out, the King had Prince Cayne see to the Drakes' needs and discover how best to utilize them. The prince decided to pair each Drake with a human partner, but not just any partners would do, they would need to learn to be proficient in both aerial and ground combat. These people would need to be trained from scratch alongside their Drake partners, and they would have to get along well enough to spend a lot of time together. Thus he began the tests.

The first test in the Capitol was meant to test for courage, determination, and resourcefulness. It was held in the King's Forest and open to anyone between the ages of thirteen and twenty. Applicants found themselves challenged with the task of spending three days in the forest while Drakes rotated in shifts and did everything they could to harass and terrify them. If a Drake found an applicant that they approved of, they could claim them as their partner and end their test then and there. There had been over two thousand applicants, but only two-thirds of the adult and near-adult Drakes had found partners.

“Janith here was one of the first to be chosen,” the prince said with a chuckle at what Nyssa assumed was some private joke.

“I caught Sokair by surprise,” the blonde girl began to explain with a grin. “There I was, sitting high up in a tree trying to get the lay of the land when he landed and started sniffing around. He started sniffing at the tree and I thought he was going to find me for sure, so I did the first thing that came to mind. I snapped off a branch, and as soon as his head got too close for comfort I jumped on it and started bashing. We're best friends now, I can't imagine life without him.” She sighed happily, a dreamy look in her eyes as she added, “We still have that branch.”

Cayne chuckled again at the girl before getting back to his explanation. "Since we still needed partners for some of the Drakes we decided to test some of the towns and villages, but without letting them know they were being tested. We try to issue a test every fortnight, choosing a different location each time. The scenario for the tests is that we allow a resident to see a 'dragon' in the forest or a nearby cave, flying overhead, or about to gobble up their livestock and see how they react. This time, at Aureal's request we based the scenario on those tales about a dragon holding a princess captive."

“You should hear her complain about how stupid those tales and songs are,” Janith quickly chimed in. “She thought finding a partner that way would be ironic though. We were all settled in here and ready to begin the test three days ago, but Aureal started shedding her skin so we had to put it off until she was done.”

“You surprised us when you showed up,” the prince added, “we have never had someone manage to sneak up on us that way. Most hide and some try to form mobs, but once in a while one or two will show the qualities we are looking for, like you did. If we find one then the Drake performing the test can choose to claim the person as their partner and a Knight of Ranoor. If more than one is found, the Drake will choose one and the others will be taken to Havenhold for other Drakes to choose from.”

Nyssa could feel her jaw drop and she stared open-mouthed as what he was telling her sunk in. “You want me to...” She couldn't seem to finish the sentence, afraid that she might be wrong.

To her surprise, the prince nodded, a solemn look on his face as he placed a hand gently on her shoulder. "Aureal has approved of you, but the choice is yours to make. I warn you that the life of a Knight of Ranoor is not for the faint of heart so please consider carefully. Should the chaos on the mainland reach this far, we will fight against it. Some of us may have to go to the mainland as well for diplomacy and to re-establish trade. You could be asked to do just about anything for the sake of the Kingdom. Also, you and Aureal would be true partners; living together, training together, and fighting together. Her opinion matters as much as yours, and you would see to her needs as she would try to see to yours."

Was this really the kind of life she wanted? She could still go back home, marry Thomas, and spend the rest of her days at the Big Fish Inn. No, that life was not for her. The life being offered her was something she could have never conceived of a few days before; not only would she be a knight, but she would be partnered to a Drake. It didn't take her long to decide. “I accept, Your Highness.”

Cayne reached into his coin pouch, extracting a silver medallion and handing it to her. It boasted an engraving of what appeared to be a drake holding a sword, and she was so enthralled by it that she almost didn't hear the prince say, “Welcome, Lady Nyssa, to the Knights of Ranoor.”

"Thank you, Your Highness," she responded, with a grin that threatened to split her face in two.

“My knights call me Commander, or just Cayne,” he corrected her with a smile. “Now let us go see how Aureal is faring and conclude this test, then we can take you to Havenhold to get settled in with Aureal until you can both be officially knighted by my father.”

Nyssa smiled as she retrieved her sword and sheath. Aureal's roars and the screams of terror outside the cave had quieted fairly quickly during their talk and she wondered if the mob hadn't already fled. When they stepped outside the cave entrance the mob was indeed gone and Aureal had been joined by two other Drakes; one with green and gold scales and the other blue and silver. Both of the unfamiliar Drakes wore a thick leather harness, fastened tightly about the base of their necks with a multitude of straps of various lengths secured to the upper half. Parrin was with the Drakes, not looking pleased at all to be lying face down on the ground with Aureal holding him down with her hand-like front paw. He was trying to reach for his sword, which laid on the rocky ground just out of his reach.

Janith ran over to hug the green and gold Drake, smiling as she said, ”It's good to have you back Sokair.” She looked pointedly at the entrapped nobleman and asked, “So, what's the catch of the day?”

The Drake answered in a deep rumbling voice, “That one ordered his men to charge Aureal and then abandoned them so he could try to sneak into the cave.”

Nyssa leveled a cold glare at Parrin. “I was afraid that you would try something like that.” Her expression softened though as she looked toward the red and gold Drake and asked in concern, “You weren't harmed, were you Aureal?”

“I am unhurt, as are the men,” Aureal replied, flooding her with relief. “A few good roars sent them running for home.”

“Let me go you stupid beast!” Parrin shouted as he tried to squirm free and reach his sword.

For some reason, hearing him talk to Aureal that way made Nyssa even angrier than she had been in the tavern the night before. If anyone was a beast it was him. He had intentionally led those men into a situation where they were likely to die without a second thought, while Aureal had been careful not to harm them. In the short time that she had spent with the Drake, Nyssa had found her to be intelligent and her reactions to things not much different than her own would have been. She unsheathed her sword, gripping it tightly in both hands, and swung downward as hard as she could.

Her sword struck the flat of the blade that Parrin was still reaching for with the sound of metal on metal, causing him to retract his hand in shock as the bejeweled sword's blade snapped just shy of the hilt. Nyssa cast a withering glare toward him, turning her sword so that its point was mere inches from his nose. “Do not talk about my partner that way.”

“I would listen to her Parrin,” Prince Cayne advised as he stepped forward.

“Y-y-your Highness?” the Count's son stammered nervously as he realized who had spoken.

Cayne ignored him and looked down at the broken sword on the ground, “A regal looking weapon, though not much use in a real battle. I have seen similar blades sold in Havenhold for no less than thirty gold pieces.”

"That's funny, he could have had the one that broke it for fifteen silver if he had paid for it as promised," Nyssa muttered.

"A fair price for such a well-made weapon," the prince agreed with a nod as he looked over the sword in her hands. His expression turned pensive for a moment and suddenly he smiled. "Janith, let us go get our supplies packed while Nyssa goes to collect her belongings. Aureal, please hang on to him for a while longer, we have a stop to make before heading back to the Capitol.

“Aye,” the Drake replied, “but I can't promise he will remain in one piece if he keeps squirming.” She winked at Nyssa, eliciting a gasp of surprise from her, followed by a smile as she left to gather her things.

Flying had been the single most exhilarating experience of Nyssa's life. The wind in her face and hair and the refreshing spray of the light rain that had started just before they left the cave made her feel alive in a way that she never had before. She would have preferred to be flying with Aureal, but her new partner had no flying harness or straps yet. Instead, she had been seated behind Janith atop Sokair's neck, just forward of his shoulders. Parrin hadn't been so lucky, having spent the whole flight grasped tightly in Aureal's draconian fist.

She had been surprised when Cayne had them land behind a stand of trees outside her village and dismount, and more than a little nervous as well as he had her ring the gathering bell. Nerves gave way to an intense feeling of pride when the prince had Parrin identify him and then announced to those gathered that she, Nyssa Smith of the village Ribel had earned the King's Mark and a place among the Knights of Ranoor. That alone would have been enough for her, but he had also commanded Trebor to pay her ten silver for services rendered. Best of all though, Parrin was to pay her father twenty silver for her sword and the same again each for fifty more swords of the same quality to be donated to the Knights of Ranoor as punishment for his various misdeeds.

As they left the village at mid-morning Nyssa was wearing Janith's spare riding jacket; thick wool and leather, dyed in the King's blue and gold, and proudly displaying the knight's emblem over her heart. "It's strange how a simple title and the right piece of clothing can change things," she thought to herself as she left the village, the villagers treating her with reverence, and wishing her well. The crowd thinned as they reached the outskirts, until there was only one man remaining. Her father had tears in his eyes and was beaming with pride as he stood there. She swallowed the lump in her throat and ran to wrap her arms around him. "I'll miss you, Da."

“You'll be fine,” he assured her, holding her tight. “You're a hawk, you were meant to fly.”

Reluctantly she let him go and brushed the tears from her eyes as she rushed to catch up with her fellow knights and their Drakes. "Thank you, Commander," she told the prince uncertainly, "you didn't have to do any of that." She still wasn't really sure she could call him by his first name, though Janith had said that she would get used to the idea in time.

"Of course I did," he argued as he gave her a boost onto Sokair's neck and helped her strap in, "you are a Knight of Ranoor, and I take care of my own. Now let us get you away from here and where you belong."

As he left to get strapped in atop Gralt she mulled over what he had just said. “Where I belong? Is he talking about Havenhold?”

Janith laughed in front of her as she kicked her heels lightly, spurring Sokair to launch himself into the air with Aureal at his side. She turned and gave Nyssa a wicked grin as they climbed into the sky and she had to shout to be heard above the wind. “This is where we belong!”

 
 

 

---

 

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."