A Quest For Seanna (WIP)

A young woman stood on a balcony, looking out over the beautiful green countryside. In one hand she held a rose, and in the other she held a leather bound book. With a snap she shut the book and set it down on the wide stone ledge of the banister.

The sun shone on her copper colored locks. Her skin was downy and fair, as this was one of the few times a day she would step outside. Her bright green eyes gazed longingly towards the sea. She jumped as the wooden doors that had been carefully shut behind her were flung open and crashed against the outer wall of the castle.

"Rosevita," said the intruder, smiling warmly at her plump older sister.

"Why are you here, Gwenhwyfar? You know that I like to be alone in the afternoon," replied Rosevita, slowly turning to face her sister.

"Because mother wishes to speak with you," explained Gwenhwyfar, brushing a stray strand of her fiery red mane out of her twinkling blue green eyes.

"What for?" Rosevita sighed, envying her sister's slim but strong build.

"I do not know, but she has called for Mickayla as well," replied Gwenhwyfar, referring to the eldest of the three sisters.

"May I tell you a secret?" inquired Rosevita as they walked side by side back into her chambers.

"Of course you may," replied Gwenhwyfar, taking her sister's hand and smiling.

"I envy Mickayla. I know that it is sinful to envy, but envy I do."

"Why?" asked Gwenhwyfar, tilting her head to one side.

"Because she is everything that a Seannan princess should be. She is slim, and feminine - Princess Mickayla bar Antonius di Seanna," mocked Rosevita.

"If you are going to poke fun at her, I advise that you not use her title, as yours is the very same," suggested Gwenhwyfar, the voice of reason yet again.

Gwenhwyfar bar Antonius di Seanna was the youngest daughter of the king of Seanna. She was born to rule, some had said, and it was known that she would be King Antonius' choice of an heir when he stepped down from the throne. Despite being the youngest of the three daughters at 22, she was by far the strongest physically, mentally, and magically. Her talents were such that if she were a man, she could have been a knight, a wizard, or even a healer. However, she would have to content herself with being a Magian princess, or, a princess who had mastered the arts of magic.

"I suppose that you are right," sighed Rosevita, opening the door to her chambers.

"And I suppose that you have spoken of me in such a way to Mickayla, have you not?" asked Gwenhwyfar, stepping through the doorway.

"Of course not! I just . . ."

"Do not lie, your eyes betray you. I for one do not care what one says when I am not in their presence. I am used to it. However, I cannot say the same for Mickayla," said Gwenhwyfar, her thoughts drifting to her older sister.

Mickayla bar Antonius di Seanna was the stereotypical vision of a princess - hair the color of spun gold, eyes of blue, rosy red lips and beautiful skin. At the age of 25, two years older than Rosevita, she still was not wed, although many a man had eyes for her. She was the rightful heir, but because of her lack of interest in Seannan affairs, she would never become queen.

"This is probably why mother wanted to see the both of us," mused Rosevita. "I do so hate leaving my chambers. Whenever I am summoned it is always right in the middle of a wonderful fantasy I am thinking of."

"You should have been born a noble man," laughed Gwenhwyfar, "you would have made a wonderful writer."

"I have been writing a bit of a tale, I do confess, but if I ever see to get it bound, I would use a pen name," said Rosevita.

"Why a pen name? You're royalty, they could not refuse," said Gwenhwyfar, thinking about her sister's method of ordering things to be done for her. No one could refuse, of course, because she was a princess.

"I have used Mickayla's name in it," replied Rosevita with a shrug.

Rosevita bar Antonius di Seanna had always been jealous of her sisters. They had what she didn't - strength, beauty, and somewhere out there, their very own Prince Charming. Rosevita spent most of her days confined to her chambers at her own free will, reading books of fairy tales. Tales in which the princess was always beautiful and perfect, so unlike herself. Her only knowledge of the outside world was what she saw from the balcony that extended from her chambers. Often she would lean up against the stone railing and sing just like the princesses did in fairy tales, not knowing how off key she truly was.

"Is that all you do in your room? Read and write?" asked Gwenhwyfar. She had always loved reading and writing, but could not see herself doing only that every day.

"Well no, I watch Mickayla flirt with men in the gardens below my balcony, and when no one is around I sing sometimes."

"Is that not how many a princess found her Prince Charming in those fairy tales you so love?" teased Gwenhwyfar, and Rosevita nodded with another shrug.

Gwenhwyfar and Rosevita were strolling at a leisurely page down the corridor when a young light-haired man dashed across the hall and stopped in front of them.

"Siath!" laughed Gwenhwyfar happily. Siath bar Athidry di Seanna was the royal advisor's youngest son at 18, and would be advising Gwenhwyfar some day.

"Princess, your father wants to see you in his chambers. There is . . . a matter at hand that he wishes to hear your opinion on," said Siath, not speaking of any details because of Rosevita's presence.

"Our ways part here then. I shall see you later dear sister," said Rosevita with a smile, turning to walk the opposite way down the corridor. Once she had rounded the corner, Gwenhwyfar asked,

"What can be of such importance?"

"It's bad Gwennie, terribly bad," said Siath, using the princess' old nickname.

"Bad?" echoed Gwenhwyfar, reading the fear in Siath's soft brown eyes.

"It's Cauthien . . . Cauthien de Vivance."

~*~*~*~

The room was silent. Although it was rather crowded in the sitting room of King Antonius' chambers, not a single man in the room spoke. Each was wrapped up in their own thoughts. Why had the king summoned them? They all wondered. Each man that had been summoned had a different background. There were knights and swordsman, wizards and magi from all walks of life. The seasoned and the inexperienced sat side by side, both waiting for the last guest to arrive.

All twenty-something men had entered the room at about the same time, to see that the King, Lord Athidry, and Lord Siath were already present. King Antonius had sent Siath to summon the last guest as they took their seats. Not a word had been spoken since. The silence was unnerving. Bad news was to come.

Lord Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna cleared his throat loudly. He was the advisor Athidry's oldest son at 25, and was well known as perhaps the best swordsman in all of Dydion. Some said he had a stomach of iron, that he feared nothing. Others said that when he was in a rage, there wasn't a man in the world who could challenge him. His name was feared from the islands of Portus and Ithacus to the coasts off of Harvestia, and everywhere in between. He would be a formidable opponent even if his challenger did not know who he was. He stood well above most men of Seanna, with broad shoulders and icy blue eyes. He carried himself as a prince would, and after seeing him fight, many a man could guess his title. A few of those assembled in the room eyed him warily. They supposed that he had no fear of the news that was to come.

Artagel's brother Sir Samuel sat beside him, a dreamy smile playing across his lips. Samuel was nearly 23 with the brown hair of his father and the brown eyes of his mother. Although he was a knight, and a terrible opponent in battle, his name was known only in Seanna, as he had never been outside the borders. He hated traveling with a passion, now more than ever, for his wife was 3 months pregnant with his first child. He hadn't even heard Artagel clear his throat, nor had he noticed the uneasy glances a few men across the room had unknowingly aimed at his brother. However, he did take notice when the door to the King's chambers was thrown open and crashed against the wall.

"Forgive me for my tardiness King Antonius," panted a man, kneeling in front of the king.

"No need to ask for forgiveness Adrianth, I'm fairly sure that you did not burst in a few minutes late just to spite me. Should I even ask where you were?" asked King Antonius, smiling warmly at his advisor's third son.

"No," interrupted Artagel, "because I'm fairly sure that you wouldn't be pleased with the response."

"As you usually aren't," added Samuel.

"In the gardens with the ladies again?" asked King Antonius, and Adrianth turned red as his tunic. His father and two brothers shared a laugh at his expense, knowing that no amount of coaxing would ever cause him to change his ways.

Of course, the women of Seanna didn't mind his attention, and he gave it quite generously. In his 20 years of existence, he had been in a relationship of sorts with almost every woman in the castle. However quickly he tired of a woman he was courting one week, there was always another to replace her the next. This, he had learned, was because of his title, his wealth, and his physical appearance. Sir Adrianth was almost as good looking as his oldest brother with light blue eyes and hair of gold. Even though he spent many a day on the battlefield, being the vicious fighter that he was, most of his days passed as he flirted with the women in the very garden that Princess Rosevita's balcony looked down upon.

"Another laugh at my expense," he mumbled, standing and shuffling over towards his two brothers who smiled innocently at him.

"I'm sorry Adrianth, but you're such an easy target," said Samuel with a sigh, and Artagel laughed.

"Forget I even said that," said Adrianth with a sigh. "Shall I change the subject and inquire upon the whereabouts of Siath?"

"He has gone to summon the last guest," said Artagel with a glance at the doorway.

"Who is the last guest?"

"I don't know, though I wager I know someone who has a good chance of being brought back by Siath," replied Artagel, glancing at the door yet again.

"And this guess would be?" asked Adrianth as the door crashed open. The three brothers looked up to see a fiery haired woman come racing into the room, Siath trailing a few feet behind her.

"Is what Siath told me true?" demanded Gwenhwyfar, looking straight at her father for an answer.

"I was right," Artagel whispered to his brothers. "Who else would Siath be fetching but the heir to the throne?"

"What did Lord Siath tell you?" asked one of the men in the room.

"Lord Siath knows something about this conference?"

"Perhaps I should explain the circumstances to everyone in the room before I tell you yes or no," said King Antonius with a sigh. "Have a seat by Artagel," he added, gesturing towards the three brothers.

"Artagel?" she asked, turning to her right and seeing the swordsman leaning up against a wall. "You're home!" she cried, rushing over to where he stood.

"Indeed I am Gwennie, perhaps for a whole week this time," he said with a laugh, kissing her first on one cheek, then on the other as was the customary Seannan greeting between two old friends.

"Where have you been this past year? I haven't seen you since the spring of last when you set out in the dead of night for God knows where," said Gwenhwyfar, seating herself in an empty chair next to Artagel.

"Narn and Aegon mostly. I'm not welcomed anywhere else. I'll tell you about my travels later though, as I always do before I set out again," he said with a smile.

"Good. Now, perhaps, we shall hear what my father has to say," replied Gwenhwyfar, turning in her chair to face her father.

"Well, I really don't know where to begin," said King Antonius once the rest of the room had shifted their attention from the princess to the king. "As of now we are in a time of peace, and yet war looms on the horizon. You are my most faithful servants. Those who have not formally sworn to be available for my every beck and call have sworn so in their hearts. But I could never order any man to go on this journey. They must volunteer themselves. What I ask is far too dangerous to be an order of any sort. A man's heart must be in his mission. If it isn't, in this case it could mean death."

At the mention of death, a murmur arose from those assembled.

The door banged open again, this time Queen Persephone bar Llewelyn di Seanna entered through the doorway. All those who were standing knelt, and all those sitting focused their eyes on the ground. All, except for the king and Gwenhwyfar, who inclined their heads for a brief moment in acknowledgment. That was all they need do, as they were of the same rank.

The Queen sat down next to her husband and asked, "Have you gotten far? Forgive me for how long it has taken to occupy Mickayla and Rosevita."

Gwenhwyfar then understood that her mother had called down both of her sisters and not her so that they wouldn't interrupt the conference that she and her father had planned.

"Not at all," sighed King Antonius, glancing at the faces of the men around the room. Gwenhwyfar looked up at Artagel, and the worry was plainly seen in his eyes.

"Shall we continue then? I am anxious to hear the whole story. Siath was only able to tell me the scraps in the corridor," said Gwenhwyfar, shifting forward in her chair.

"Yes, we shall. Perhaps you will understand why I am so upset over this matter once you know what it is." The king sighed. "Cauthien de Vivance is one of, if not the most powerful sorceresses in all of Dydion. Unfortunate it is then, that she has sworn herself to the dark side. I have been corresponding with the leaders of Narn, Aegon, and Harvestia. All are concerned about the latest turn of events. You see, the last wizard to challenge Cauthien's supremacy came back alive when she thought he had passed on. Fortunate this is not only for the wizard, but for us. Cauthien had flaunted her plot to him before she attempted to be the cause of his death. He was a Seannan wizard, and came to me immediately afterwards to warn me about Cauthien."

"What is this plot?" interrupted one of the knights on the other side of the room.

"I'm getting to that, slow down," said Antonius. "Cauthien is plotting with Lyndos and Babylonia to take down the remaining countries in Dydion one by one. First Harvestia, as they refuse to bear arms and would be the easiest target. Then Aegon, Narn, and we would be the last to fall. If we were the last country left in a world controlled by Cauthien, I can guarantee you that we wouldn't stand a chance. No, I am not being a pessimist, I am being a realist. In order to nip this threat in the bud, King Octavius di Aegon has suggested that we send out a party of six to be the end of Cauthien de Vivance. Aegon, Narn, and Seanna will each send their two finest men for the job. That is why I have called you here today. I must find two men willing to go on this journey. I will not force anyone. Have I any volunteers?" King Antonius knew that the looks of sheer terror that passed across most men's faces when he said the name of the sorceress indicated the kind of luck he would have trying to persuade them to go on this journey.

Most men in the room were looking at Artagel. All prayed that he would volunteer, so that at least one spot was taken. It would make the chances of them going on the journey slimmer.

Artagel stood with his eyes tightly shut, weighing his choices in his mind. For one with the supposed stomach of iron, he was quite fearful of such a journey. But he knew that he must go. If he didn't, then who would?

"You have me," said Artagel, opening his eyes and stepping forward. A collective sigh of relief was heard from the men assembled.

"I will go as well," said Adrianth, stepping forward beside Artagel.

"Adrianth, I cannot let you accompany Artagel on this journey," said the king firmly.

"For what reason?" asked Adrianth, furrowing his brow.

"Because if this takes a turn for the worse, it would be taking two men from the same family. I am not a king without compassion, I could not do that to anyone, let alone my advisor and true friend," replied the king, and Lord Athidry smiled weakly in thanks.

"Alright," said Adrianth with a nod. "If there is one thing I've learned in my lifetime it's not to argue with you."

"A good lesson," said Athidry dully.

"Have we anyone else?" asked King Antonius, looking around the room with a sigh. It was just as he had expected. Those who truly understood the threat were too frightened for their well being to accompany Artagel, and the rest simply didn't see the need to take up arms until the enemy was at the doors of the castle with a battering ram.

"Anyone?" echoed Queen Persephone.

"I can go alone if I must," said Artagel, carefully masking his disappointment at not having a traveling companion. He always traveled alone, for none was brave enough to accompany him. It seemed as though he had been cheated of a companion yet again.

Another silence set upon the room, this one more intense than the last. Gwenhwyfar was afraid to breathe. Slowly anger built up inside of her. The cowards! The ignorant cowardly men who sat in front of her, more afraid for their necks than for the country they had promised to serve. Everything Siath had said was true. He had known that Artagel would end up traveling alone yet again. But this time the stakes were so much higher. Cauthien would be bent on stopping those who were trying to be rid of her. Artagel would be the easiest target. These fools were giving one of her greatest friends his death sentence.

"Cowards!" she cried, jumping out of her seat before she knew what she was doing. "Cowardly fools!"

"Gwenhwyfar . . ." began King Antonius, but the queen silenced him.

"Can you not understand? Even though he is one of, if not the greatest swordsman in Dydion, he is still a mortal. Cauthien can murder him. And it will be far easier to do so if he travels alone. Do you think he laughs in the face of danger? You say he has a stomach of iron. You quiver when he walks by. Don't you think it was difficult for him to volunteer for this as well? To knowingly put his life on the line? He is a brave man, perhaps the bravest I know, but he is not fearless. No man is. But because he faces those fears, he is ten times the man any one of you are. If you let him ride out of Seanna alone, it will be the last time you will see him. He will perish before he meets up with the other four men. Do you honestly believe that only four men could be the end of Cauthien de Vivance? But that's supposing that they don't run into trouble before they reach her. Could three men be the end of her? Could two? Could only one? You fine fools will not be the end of Cauthien, you will be the end of Dydion as we know it. When she comes for us, I hope she kills you first," snarled Gwenhwyfar, watching as the men lowered their eyes guiltily.

"Gwenhwyfar," said Artagel quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder, "all they will do is feel poorly about it. I doubt you could scold a single one of them into accompanying me."

"Why don't you go yourself, princess?"

Gwenhwyfar looked to see where the voice had come from, but couldn't identify who had said it. Although at first she had a mind to thrash whomever had spoken, she decided against it when she realized what a good idea it really was.

"Yes father, why don't I?" she asked, turning around to face her father. Both the king and Artagel looked at her in horror.

"You couldn't!" he blurted out without thinking, and Athidry placed a hand on his shoulder. Perhaps he too would find out what it was like to have a child go into danger.

"I most certainly could, father. I know fencing, healing, and the arts of the magi. I would be a most valuable companion."

"But . . ."

"They would not have to know of her identity, she could disguise herself as a man," said Queen Persephone, smiling at her daughter. She was the strongest of the three, that was certain.

"I trust her, King Antonius," said Artagel. "And I think that's more than I've ever said for most of the men I have traveled with."

"He is obviously reluctant about sending a woman on a journey of such importance," said a knight on the other side of the room.

"I am not fearful about sending a woman, I am afraid that I could lose my daughter. It's doubtless that she would be the only person that could go, for she has both the skill and the strength, but still I do not like sending her," said King Antonius with a sigh.

"It's the only way, Antonius," said Queen Persephone quietly.

Gwenhwyfar looked pleadingly at her father, hoping that his decision would favor her. King Antonius looked first at Artagel, then his daughter, and then his wife. After a moment of silence, he spoke again.

"It must be that way then. Gwenhwyfar and Artagel, I will see you in my chambers again after the meal this evening."

"Thank you father," Gwenhwyfar said with a smile.

"You are all dismissed," said Queen Persephone, and all those assembled rose to exit through the door at the front of the king's chambers.

"Gwennie, I cannot believe you volunteered," said Samuel with a shake of his head. "You were perhaps the only one who had no obligation whatsoever."

"Except for Adrianth and yourself."

"Yes, well, that is because I am going," said Artagel as they reached the door.

"I did what I must," replied Gwenhwyfar with a shrug. "I couldn't let you travel alone."

"You should be a knight instead of I. That was quite a lecture you gave those men in there. I don't think they've ever felt so guilty in all their years," laughed Adrianth.

"Ah, but Adrianth, if you were not a knight, how ever would you get the women to flock to you?" mocked Gwenhwyfar, and Adrianth playfully tugged a strand of her hair.

"Watch out Gwennie, I'm still bigger than you are," he warned, using one of Gwenhwyfar's old taunts from when all of Athidry's sons were still diminutive in stature.

"You remind me of the days when Artagel wore a sword that was heavier than he was," chimed in Samuel, and the four shared a laugh. Few now knew that Artagel wasn't always a deadly swordsman.

"Dear brothers," said Artagel in a mock-noble voice, "if I may take your leave so that Gwenhwyfar may see what I have brought back from my travels?"

"You have our leave, oh wondrous sibling," smiled Adrianth, and the four laughed again.

"It's just not the same without our instructors present to hear us mocking them," sighed Gwenhwyfar.

"Never was," said Samuel. "I shall see you all later then, perhaps at the evening meal. Goodbye!"

"Yes, at the evening meal," returned Adrianth, and they both turned a corner in the corridor.

"Where are we headed to, Artagel?" asked Gwenhwyfar. "I hope we won't run into my sisters, as I doubt we could discuss anything of true importance when they are near."

"I doubt that we shall see your sisters in the stables. Rosevita never ventures outside of her room, and Mickayla . . ."

"Has probably been found by Adrianth in the gardens," completed Gwenhwyfar, and Artagel nodded.

"We are free to speak then, though I doubt it will be long before I am found by the masses," sighed Artagel.

"They treat you like a god because they fear you, I'm sure you know that," replied Gwenhwyfar.

"Yes, I know. And the fastest way to be rid of the women is to mention my brother. That sends the lot of them scurrying off towards the gardens."

"I am not surprised. Most women in this kingdom would love to marry into your family. You're in favor with my father," pointed out Gwenhwyfar.

"And hopefully, in favor with you."

"You are so certain that I am the heir to the throne," said the princess with a sigh. "I am not."

"It has all but been announced. Your mother beams with pride every time that you speak. She praised you numerous times in the conference. Your father thinks very highly of you as well, as is evident because he is allowing you to accompany me. The only reason why one of your sisters would be named is if you do not come back from this journey. It is as simple as that."

"I hope that you are right," said Gwenhwyfar.

"Forgive my saying this, as it involves your sisters, but I highly doubt that anyone in the kingdom would want Seanna in the hands of either of them. Mickayla cares little if at all about the well being of this country, and Rosevita is barely in touch with reality. It would not bode well if either were named as heir."

"You are forgiven for saying that, for I think it quite often myself," replied Gwenhwyfar. "They are my sisters, and I love them unconditionally, but everyone has their imperfections, I suppose."

"Even a fearless warrior with a stomach of iron," laughed Artagel. "I still find the absurdity of that something to laugh at. In a few years they'll be saying that I cannot be killed by arrow nor sword, and that I ride with God's favor."

"Do you notice the way they look at you sometimes? As if the slightest glance could work you into a rage? They walk on glass around you."

"They needn't," sighed Artagel.

"Sometimes I think that I should tell them about . . ."

"You wouldn't!" cried Artagel, stopping in the middle of the corridor.

"Why shouldn't I? Perhaps they wouldn't be on edge when around you," replied Gwenhwyfar with a mischievous smile.

"It would compromise my merit as a swordsman. People would challenge me because they would think less of me, just as they did when I was but a boy, just out of training. Too many people die that way."

"I have no pity for the witless idiots who challenge swordsmen just to hurt the honor of another," replied Gwenhwyfar with a scowl. "Anyhow, you know perfectly well that I would never do such a thing. Your fear of heights will never be mentioned by me."

"Gwennie!" cried Artagel, looking around to see that no one had heard them. Gwenhwyfar burst into laughter. She doubted anyone had spoken of it out loud since they were little children playing in the gardens of the castle.

"Alright, alright," replied the princess, choking back her laughter. "That's the last time I'll say it, I promise."

"I hope it is," said Artagel with a small smile. "Come on now, we're almost at the stables. I'll tell you of my travels when we get there."

~*~*~*~

"I find it odd," said King Antonius, rising from his seat, "that you would support Gwenhwyfar going on this mission. You are usually wholeheartedly against anything of the sort."

"I suppose it is a bit out of character for me, but even I know that Gwenhwyfar must do something to prove her merit to Seanna, and to justify our overlooking the order in which our daughters were born," said Queen Persephone.

"And, you were right when you said that she is probably the only person right for this journey. The rest may be gifted with strength, nobility, or magic, but she is the only one loyal and selfless enough to volunteer herself."

"Besides Artagel," completed the queen.

"Artagel is something, is he not?" asked Antonius, taking a brief glance in the mirror, and adjusting the ringlet of gold he wore upon his head.

"He reminds me of you when you were young," sighed the queen. "Of course, your hair was red, but he does bear a resemblance to you in character."

"Perhaps he does. Unfortunately though, my hair is no longer red, and has instead turned the color of snow in the wintertime," replied the king, running a hand through his hair. "I am getting too old for this."

"As am I," said Persephone softly. "I thought I would never step down from the throne at my own free will, but it seems that I thought incorrectly. I only hope that we will be able to do so after the problem with Cauthien has been solved."

"I am afraid, I must confess, that this situation that we are currently presented with could turn into a war. Cauthien knows that we are trying to stop her, and so she will be bent on conquering Harvestia before we can reach her. King Octavius, King Jacques, and I have been discussing a plan to send out a small band of 20 or so men each for the preliminary defense of Harvestia."

"Only sixty men? What will a country that refuses to protect itself do with only sixty men?" asked Queen Persephone with a shrug. "You will have to send larger portions of your army later on. Why not send them in larger groups for protection? Cauthien would easily be rid of sixty men. If you were to send more, even though they might not make it all the way to Harvestia for their original purpose, there is more of a chance that Artagel and Gwenhwyfar will reach Cauthien in time."

"Why must you always be right?" asked King Antonius with a sigh. Time may have worn on both of us, but it seems like some things never change."

"Now, darling, is not the time to be reminiscent," said the queen gently, and the king laughed.

"I am afraid that I will have much time for that in the castle. Persephone, I am too weak to accompany my army all the way across Dydion. Harvestia is too far away, and I am in no condition to be in a war. My time is over. When Gwenhwyfar returns, I will step down from the throne," said Antonius.

"The people will see this and wonder what has come of you," said the queen, looking more than a little surprised. "And, it is tradition in Seanna that no unwed heir takes the throne. Would you be the end of two customs at once?"

"What must be, must be. If you have any other ideas, I'd love for you to speak your mind," replied Antonius, seating himself again.

"Perhaps it is time. This is the first time I have not had an idea to contradict yours," replied Queen Persephone glumly.

"Your first idea has helped Gwenhwyfar in this situation however, albeit indirectly. If she succeeds in overthrowing Cauthien, there will be no question of her ability to rule alone. I find myself less worried of Gwenhwyfar than I am of Rosevita and Mickayla. They are in danger as well. If Cauthien were to succeed, they must be kept alive and well, as they would be the only remaining members of the royal family," said King Antonius, silently calculating that if Cauthien were to succeed, it would mean that he, his wife, and Gwenhwyfar would all be slain.

"I hope that it does not come to that," said Queen Persephone, understanding the hidden meaning in her husband's words.

"Only Cauthien does," replied the king with a nod.

For a few moments, there was silence. Queen Persephone stood up and crossed the room to stand at the narrow window. While observing the activity in the castle common below, she said,

"I see Rosevita below."

"In the common?" inquired the king, standing and joining his wife by the window.

"Yes. I sent her on a mission of her very own today," replied the queen with an amused smile.

"I'm sure that she took to it quite poorly," commented Antonius with a short laugh. "It's quite intriguing how I no longer expect anything spectacular from my two older daughters. It is safer that way. They cannot disappoint me."

"Well then, perhaps it is time for a surprise," replied Persephone. "You see, I told her that, since she has read and reread every book in her chambers countless times, that perhaps she would like to go to the castle library to find a few new ones to take back to her chambers. She seemed very enthusiastic about it."

"Ah, I see. Now my dear, would you explain what she is doing in the common?" asked King Antonius.

"That's the amusing part. I don't know. Perhaps she got lost?"

"In her very own castle? Impossible!"

"I doubt it would be as difficult as it sounds. After all, Caer Dathyl is rather large, and she is rarely outside of her chambers. She confines herself to those few rooms, and the main corridor which leads to the throne room. I suspect she hasn't been past the throne room since she was a little girl," replied the queen.

"Hm. Food for thought, I suppose. Do you feel we should send someone after her to show her the way?" asked Antonius.

"No. She should already know her way around, and if not then she must learn," responded the queen with a sigh.

"Did you send Mickayla out on a mission as well?" inquired the king.

"No, there was really no need. I doubted I had to help her stay occupied. All I had to do was give her leave to go to the gardens. The young people occupy themselves out there."

"Of course, I should have known," said the king, crossing to the other side of the chambers to look out the window facing the gardens. Persephone joined him.

The gardens had, and always would be the only place in Caer Dathyl where the children of those who worked in the castle could gather. The younger children could be found in the orchards climbing trees, or playing games in the mazes of bushes that were found everywhere in the gardens. Older children gathered on the patios, and spent much time in the stables, riding the many different horses that were kept there out along the shore when their mothers gave them leave. The eldest, of course, were the single Lords and Ladies, who gathered in the garden beneath Rosevita's balcony, and spent their time flirting and gossiping and (rarely) discussing matters that concerned Seanna.

"Do you see her?" asked Persephone after a moment.

"I feel a dash guilty about watching her like we are," said King Antonius.

"Don't, I do it all the time," said the queen with a smile, her green eyes twinkling.

"Would you take a look at that? She's in a group of ladies surrounding Adrianth and one of his companions," said the king.

"As usual," commented Persephone.

"Do you think she takes a liking to him?" asked Antonius

"Her to him? No, I highly doubt it. Him to her? It's blatantly obvious."

"You make sport out of watching the gardens, it seems," said the king with a smile.

"I spent much time in the gardens once long ago. It's the closest I'll ever get now," replied Persephone a bit remorsefully. "Youth is such a precious thing."

"Indeed," sighed Antonius.

Another silence followed as they watched the young men and women laugh and enjoy themselves below.

"I wonder," said Persephone slowly after the long silence, "where Gwenhwyfar is."

~*~*~*~

"Where did you go first?" asked Gwenhwyfar, following Artagel down an aisle in the stables.

"I was in Aegon at first for a few months before I traveled up to Narn through Harvestia. Although the Harvestians do not openly welcome men of war as I suppose I am, they are not hostile towards anyone. It is a route I preferred over the deserts of Lyndos. It is usually northerners like myself that are used for sacrifices to their war-god," snorted Artagel, coming upon a bed of straw on the far end of the aisle.

"Shall we have a seat?" asked Gwenhwyfar, reaching the pile of straw. She tucked her skirts under her, and seated herself. Artagel dropped down next to her. He reclined on the bed of straw so that he was facing the ceiling. Gwenhwyfar mimicked his actions so that they were lying next to one another.

"Shall I continue?" he asked after a minute.

"Surely," encouraged Gwenhwyfar with a smile, rolling over on one side and propping herself up on one elbow so that she could look down upon Artagel.

"Where shall I begin?"

"What did you do in Aegon?" asked Gwenhwyfar.

"Well, I was hired by a man who wishes to remain anonymous for a little ‘job'. It turned out to be more than a little, and I personally feel that what I did far exceeded the pay he gave me," sighed Artagel.

"And what is this mysterious mission you were sent on?"

"I was hired to be the end of Lord Zeusius bar Aulare di Aegon. Lord Zeusius, I suppose one could say, was causing the Aegon monarchy much trouble," said Artagel with a small smile. "Now you can guess who hired me."

"The King of Aegon?" asked Gwenhwyfar.

"Close enough. The heir to the throne, Prince Sanglant, was my taskmaster. He left me very specific instructions. I was to penetrate Lord Zeusius' elite circle of allies. This, I tell you now, was no easy task. Gaining the trust of a man that I despised proved to be extremely difficult. Eventually, however, he confided in me and let me into his little clique."

"And what did this accomplish for you when Prince Sanglant wanted him slain?" questioned Gwenhwyfar, but Artagel picked up a finger to hush her.

"After this my task was simpler. From then on I took every opportunity that was presented to me to irritate Lord Zeusius. The purpose of this? He would wish to be rid of me instead of the other way around. And so, not knowing who I was, he challenged me to a duel," said Artagel, letting his eyes drift shut as he told his story.

"Which means, of course, you were traveling under one of your many aliases," said Gwenhwyfar with an excited smile. She always loved to hear about the part in each story when the man Artagel was facing found out who he really was.

"Indeed. The duel was set at dawn. My choice, so that Zeusius would be fatigued, thereby eliminating any chance that he had in the first place. I have learned that I can still duel on very little to no sleep. The hour was no trouble for me," said Artagel, sliding one arm up and underneath his head.

"And?" asked Gwenhwyfar, turning again so that she was on her stomach.

"And so we dueled. I'll admit, he was a fairly good swordsman but the hour of the morning was what defeated him, not I."

"Did he ever find out who it was that he had faced?" asked Gwenhwyfar excitedly.

"If you must know, dear Gwennie, I told him just before he drew his last breath. I had almost forgotten, as it is not quite necessary, but I knew that you love it so when that is the conclusion to my stories," he said with a broad smile.

"And what did his companions say?" asked Gwenhwyfar excitedly.

"They looked on in horror, of course. And they all knew that I had been hired. By whom? They are far too obtuse to guess correctly. This time I was surprised as none tried to attack me in an act of blind stupidity. Usually there are one or two ‘heroes' who try to take down Artagel of the Iron Stomach in a few awkward blows," said Artagel with a laugh.

"How did that start, anyway?" questioned Gwenhwyfar, and Artagel shrugged and let his eyes drift open. The same icy blue eyes that many a man had stared into in his final moments in this world.

"Although they use it to describe me as fearless," said Artagel with a roll of his eyes, "I suspect that is not how it came to be."

"I believe that it is because you can kill a man without a second thought," said Gwenhwyfar with a slight sigh. "Not many people can."

"I'll be the first to admit that I had the worst nightmares when I was younger. I suppose that is why I can operate on a minimal amount of rest - I never slept at night. After a while though," Artagel shrugged, "it stopped bothering me. I am not standing victorious above innocent people in their final moments. The people whom I slay are monsters, Gwennie. They are beasts of men who kill innocents for sport and not out of necessity. I have never murdered a civilian, or one who had nothing to do with my cause. I am hired to take out all the cruel, malicious men in the world, and let whatever gods may be decide their fate."

"I never questioned your intentions, Artagel. I merely hypothesized as to how your nickname came to be," said Gwennie with a reassuring smile.

"I'm glad you hold me in such high regard. Not many people do."

"How could I not?" asked Gwenhwyfar. "You are he very best of the few true friends that I have."

"That means much to me, it truly does. I am looking forward to having company on the journey that lies ahead of us. Although I fear for your safety as any would, my heart is glad that you are my companion and not any of the knights that were present at the conference."

"My heart is glad as well. Now, perhaps we should discontinue our current discussion of the impending doom, and instead discuss your adventures in Narn?" suggested Gwenhwyfar, and Artagel laughed.

"You never tire of stories like these, do you? I'll have you know that you too will be a source of hidden nobility in the days to come - imagine! The heir to the throne of Seanna herself out on the warpath. Those who find out your true identity will be astounded," said Artagel with a grin. "Come to think of it, I would like to see such a revealing of identity from a different perspective. It would be nice to be a spectator for a change."

"This said from a man who is always in the thick of the battle," returned Gwenhwyfar with a sigh. "I doubt I should ever tire from watching such a display."

"I take that as a hint."

"A hint it was indeed," replied Gwennie, rolling over yet again to lie on her back and listen to the story.

"In which case," said Artagel, clearing his throat. "The journey to Narn was difficult at best. Although I was traveling through the lowlands of Aegon and then the meadowlands of Harvestia, the worst and longest part of the journey was through the mountains to Caer Dunada, where Narn's king and queen reside."

"Keep going," murmured Gwenhwyfar, closing her eyes to picture what Artagel so skillfully described.

"The last leg of the journey was by far the most arduous. It was winter then, and blizzards would come upon the mountains quickly and without warning. If I had been caught in one, it would have been the end of me. By some miracle, I managed to reach civilization before the last blizzard hit, and took shelter from the storm in a small local tavern. When the weather cleared, I proceeded towards Caer Dunada, where I was met by the king's right hand man. He informed me that there was a Babylonian swordsman wreaking havoc among the nobles."

"A Babylonian swordsman? In Narn?" asked Gwenhwyfar, opening her eyes and furrowing her brow.

"Indeed. Quite an odd sight I assure you, but that's just what he was."

"Why was he such a menace to the nobles and the knights?" questioned Gwenhwyfar, leaning back into the pile of straw.

"Narnians are well known for their gambling. This swordsman was accused of cheating by one of the Narnian nobles who was betting against him. The way they sort out accusations of that sort is though a duel. Unfortunately, this noble was slain not knowing that the man he challenged was far more skilled in the art than he was. Many a knight and noble challenged the Babylonian after this, each hoping to avenge the man before him's death. This had continued for over a month, the Babylonian challenging a new man each day. The Babylonian was always victorious."

"Some men are idiots," said Gwenhwyfar with a roll of her eyes. "Why would anyone challenge a man so skilled in his craft? Even if they did not know he was a swordsman, surely they could see his talent?"

"That's what I said. Apparently by the end of the first week there was a considerable prize for this man's head. And there isn't much a man won't do for gold. Shall I continue?"

"Yes, certainly," replied Gwenhwyfar with a small sigh of content.

"I challenged the swordsman, of course, as I had been hired to do. I had assumed the identity of a Narnian knight. Unfortunately, I had to wait for a whole week before I would have the opportunity to duel, as a few men had challenged him before me. I spent the next six days watching him and carefully analyzing his maneuvers. On the seventh it was my turn, we were to duel at noon. Because of the six days I had to watch him fight, it was much easier to defeat him than it would have been had we dueled as soon as I had arrived. I won, as is obvious because I am here beside you as we speak. He asked my name - I told him as I ran him through. It was quite a dramatic end to such a short tale. From that day on, whenever I walked into the local tavern half the customers would leave, and when I spoke with any other, their voice would shake with fear."

"It must be an interesting feeling, to have such power over human emotions," commented Gwenhwyfar, knowing full well that Artagel hated the way he was treated - almost as if he were a god that could be upset by the slightest bat of an eye.

"I despise the way I am welcomed by people when they know who I am. The men quiver with fear when I walk by, and whisper praises when they think I cannot hear them. The women have no shame around me; they walk up to me and offer themselves to me in such a frank tone of voice I can barely believe what I am hearing. Sometimes Gwennie, sometimes I wish that I wasn't a hired sword. That I had a home, and a family like Samuel. Like Siath will have."

"Like Siath?" questioned Gwenhwyfar.

"Yes. He is betrothed. I overheard him and my father speaking about it. They do not wish to tell me just yet, for they know what a lonely man I am," said Artagel with a forced laugh.

"You told me once that you fear a cage, just as I do. You fear being trapped in a home with a wife and family, not free to go anywhere. How would you support your family? You asked me once. Has this changed?" asked Gwennie.

"Changed? No. Not at all. I still fear such a cage. But I have no companionship when I am away, and away I am almost all the time. Seanna is my birthplace, but I am rarely here. For the precious few days I spend here, I find that I am homesick far more often than I should be."

"That is true," said Gwenhwyfar sadly. "You had just returned from your last journey, we had sat out here on this same pile of straw by the stables, and then a few days later I awoke to find that you had left again. You were away for a year."

"Many things change in a year," completed Artagel. It was what Gwenhwyfar had always said to him when he came back from traveling. "Of all the things I lose when I travel, I believe I miss you the most."

"What about your family?" asked Gwenhwyfar, smiling at the compliment.

"Outside of my family, of course. It would not be fair to compare you to them," replied Artagel with a grin.

"Of course," said Gwenhwyfar.

"Now, would you like for me to show you one of the many tokens of appreciation I have collected over the past year?" asked Artagel, standing and brushing the straw off of his clothing.

"Most certainly," responded Gwenhwyfar as Artagel took her hand and pulled her to her feet. He led her to one of the stalls in the aisle. He leaned over the waist high gate, clicked his tongue a few times and called,

"Jewels? Come on out boy."

Gwenhwyfar gasped when a dragon's head emerged next to Artagel. She moved closer to get a better look.

The dragon was green in color with a silver stripe down its right side. It had a plume of spikes atop its head, small sharp teeth, and wings that spanned four times the width of its body. The dragon had powerful hind and front legs, and a long serpent-like body and tail.

"It's . . ." began Gwenhwyfar, searching for an appropriate word for the beast.

"It's a baby dragon - because they can fly they are more useful to Narnians than horses would be. They're extremely rare in Seanna, and so this gift is far more valuable here than it is in Narn. Full grown dragons are usually used as the protectors of castles and fortresses. Only baby dragons are the right size to use as a mount. They come in varied colors, though almost all of them have a silver stripe down their right side. None of the spikes you see on it's body could harm you because the dragon is but a babe. I couldn't say the same for a full grown dragon though," said Artagel, petting Jewels' snout.

"It won't bite?" asked Gwenhwyfar.

"Of course not, they're trained not to. I assure you he's as gentle as I am," said Artagel with a grin.

"Then I suppose I shouldn't anger him?" questioned Gwenhwyfar with a shrug.

"I was serious. If you give him a good reason to, he will bite you. Don't pester him, injure him, etcetera, etcetera, so on and so forth. I doubt I have to lecture you on this, so I'll cease my chattering now."

"You're right, I'm pretty sure I understand what you mean," said Gwenhwyfar with a laugh.

"Gwennie, this was a present from the king of Narn to me, and I'm going to give him to you. I always bring something interesting home for you, and I think I've thought up quite an original gift this time," said Artagel.

"You're giving him to me?" asked Gwenhwyfar, whirling to face Artagel. Jewels picked up on her surprised tone of voice and made a small squeaking noise.

"Yes, of course. Who else would I bring home such a present for?" he asked with a bright smile.

"Oh thank you Artagel," said Gwenhwyfar, throwing her arms about his neck.

"You're quite welcome," replied Artagel with a laugh.

"Now," said Gwenhwyfar stepping back towards the dragon, "shall you come with me on a ride? I should love to ride him."

"Certainly. I shall be back in a moment, allow me to fetch my horse," he said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

After he had turned the corner into another aisle, Gwenhwyfar turned to Jewels and said,

"I can guarantee you, my new little friend, that he is the greatest man you'll ever come across in your lifetime."

~*~*~*~

"The rules of court, my dear princess, are quite different throughout Dydion," said Adrianth, savoring the fact that Mickayla bar Antonius di Seanna herself had her arm looped through his own.

"That's odd," said Mickayla, inclining her head, "I had always thought they were similar to the Seannan court."

"Ah, but it is not so," replied Adrianth.

"How is it different in Aegon?" inquired Mickayla, looking southward as if she could see the neighboring country if she tried.

"Women do not have such a prominent role in Aegon's society. Although they are valued as dancers and musicians, and certainly as wives, crossing their husbands could make for a miserable life on their part. Although a man may only take one wife, it is not uncommon for him to divorce her and find another more to his liking. A divorced woman, however," said Adrianth with a sigh, "never remarries. A man would never ask for her hand after another had turned her down."

"That's simply awful!" cried Mickayla.

"Yes, I agree. But when one thinks of Babylon and Lyndos, Aegon is a woman's paradise," sighed Adrianth, drawing Mickayla slightly closer to him.

"What goes on then, in Babylon and Lyndos?"

"In Lyndos, women are to be seen and not heard. Although men are, as in Aegon, only allowed one wife, it is not uncommon for them to take a concubine only a few short months after their marriage. Every time a woman speaks when she is not spoken to, or shows disrespect towards a man, she is given ten lashes by her husband, her father, or another official. Divorce is uncommon in Lyndos. If a woman is found in bed with another lover, or if her husband tires of her, her feet and hands are tied together and she is left in the desert to die of starvation or thirst."

"I should hate to live in Lyndos," said Mickayla with a shudder.

"As would I," said Adrianth, solely for the purpose of agreeing with the princess.

"Tell me then Adrianth, what is it like in Babylonia?" asked Mickayla with a bat of an eyelash.

"Babylonia is by far the worst. Men may have as many wives as they want. When they tire of one, she may be sold for a price to a trader - these men, the traders, make a living off of selling women as mistresses to the nobles in Babylonia's larger cities. If a woman speaks out against her husband, father, or another man, her throat is slit by the one she spoke to. If on their wedding night a man discovers that his bride is not a virgin, she will be beaten, most likely to her death. In Babylonia, any gift born to a woman is a gift wasted," said Adrianth with a sigh. "I should never like to visit there."

"Neither should I," said Mickayla, open-mouthed in horror. "Tell me that not all countries other than Seanna do this to their women!"

"Not all do," soothed Adrianth. "Harvestia worships the Mother Goddess, and priestesses are among the more powerful people in their country. Harvestia has a very peaceful nature, the men and women love and respect one another. Divorce is quite uncommon, for there are not any political marriages. However, this does weaken their country. Harvestians refuse to bear arms, which could be the reason for their downfall someday."

"A woman ruled culture?" question Mickayla with a laugh. "That is an extreme, certainly."

"Yes, it proves to be the complete opposite of Babylon."

"I should like for you to tell me about Narn now," said Mickayla, pausing briefly to pick an apple from a branch that arched over their heads.

"Narn," said Adrianth with a smile. "They are similar to us in that there are quite a few political marriages, and that women are given allowance to rule counties and duchies. There is one main difference, and that is that after three years in marriage, if the woman has borne no child, she may divorce her husband. In Seanna, for a woman to take that sort of initiative, she must find a lover who would fight her husband to the death in order to free herself."

"You are a very well learned man, Adrianth," said Mickayla with a flirtatious smile.

"You and I were instructed in matters of culture such as this together, do you not remember?" asked Adrianth with a sigh.

"I do remember the lessons, but they did not interest me. Why would a princess have to know such things? Even if father were to name me as heir I would have an advisor to deal with all of those matters. A ruler is just the face of government," said Mickayla with a giggle. "Besides, I know that I am not to be named. Gwenhwyfar interests herself with the stuff of men. Father is proud of her for that."

"But you are the firstborn," said Adrianth, not knowing why he was arguing this point with the princess. He wasn't the only man glad that Gwenhwyfar would be named as heir sometime in the future. Mickayla was a wonderful woman, she was beautiful and kind, and every now and then could utter an intelligible statement. Adrianth did find himself attracted to her, but he couldn't understand why she didn't care.

"Come Adrianth, shall we get back to the courtyard? We have been wandering in the orchards far too long for my liking."

Adrianth stood with a sigh. She may not have been as deserving of respect as her younger sister was, but she always got what she wanted.

~*~*~*~

"Well?" asked Artagel as they rode through the grassy hills surrounding the castle. Gwenhwyfar was astride Jewels' back, riding without a saddle. Although most Narnians used saddles on their dragons, Artagel had known that the princess would have no trouble with Jewels. The dragon, just like any person in Seanna, was more than willing to do her bidding, just to see her happy.

"Oh Artagel! It's wonderful! I don't think I should ever tire of him. He's simply magnificent, and so gentle!"

"I'm glad you like him so. He certainly enjoys your company. In a year or two he'll be strong enough to fly with you on his back," said Artagel with a grin, giving his horse a nudge so that it kept pace with the dragon.

"Fly?" she asked, her eyes shining.

"Yes, fly. I can't say that I've ever done it myself, but I have seen others in Narn astride the backs of their dragons as they flew from mountaintop to mountaintop. It is much quicker than descending one mountain and climbing up the other, is it not?"

"Oh yes, I imagine it would be, but I never thought that I would have a mount that could fly!" she said excitedly.

"Or one such as the unicorn, a beast of magic. They are incredible to behold as well. The people of Aegon use them as their mounts, and when I was there last year, I myself rode one."

"I should like to do that as well, though I don't think that I will ever tire of Jewels."

"When we look around us it does make us wonder why Seannans use horses. The only other country that uses the horse is Harvestia. Both Babylonia and Lyndos use desert animals."

"Yes, and I never understood why Babylonia did. Half of their land is covered with forest," said Gwenhwyfar with a shrug.

"When crossing the forest, they travel on foot. The outskirts, that is. The innermost part of the forest is . . . a place that I would not want to cross, even if I were being pursued by priests and a band of Lyndos' fiercest warriors, calling for a human sacrifice," said Artagel with a shudder, thinking about either the former or the later. Which? Gwenhwyfar wasn't quite sure.

"Many dark creatures dwell there, it has been said. That might be where Cauthien is. I have done some thinking about such a thing, and it would make sense if she were in that forest."

"If that is true then we have a very long journey ahead of us. We are meeting the rest of the company on the island of Portus. Going to the Babylonian forest without passing into Lyndos would prove to be a very difficult exercise. I believe you are right though, she's either in Babylonia or Lyndos," said Artagel with a sigh.

"Hm, a cause for celebration," she said dryly.

"One thing I don't want is going through Babylonia with you. You must know enough of how they treat women to pray that your disguise - whatever it may be - is a good one," Artagel said, lifting his head to look up at the sky.

"Hopefully I'll fool the lot of them. I've already thought up a name for myself. I think that I shall be a magi, you will introduce me as Magian Rafael bar Geraden di Seanna. They'll not guess my identity unless you call me by my true name," replied Gwenhwyfar, patting Jewels on the head.

"A magi? It just might work," Artagel mused, recalling that Gwenhwyfar was quite skilled in the arts of the magi. "Of course, one best pray that Cauthien doesn't get wind of it."

"Still a fate preferred to being sold as a mistress in Babylonia," replied Gwenhwyfar, "or learning of your untimely death caused by Cauthien on the roads to Portus."

"Ah yes, loyalty and friendship. Both virtues and yet . . ."

"Such a thing that could see both of our bodies lying by the roadside. Quite true Artagel, but two heads always were and always will be better than one."

"Still I worry," he sighed.

"And yet still you should be glad that you will have companionship on the road this time. Such a thing is rare for you Artagel, do not shun what you have finally attained."

"I do not shun such a thing," protested Artagel, "but I do fear that if the time comes I may not be enough to protect you. You can protect yourself, but . . ."

"Do not think of such things, Artagel. When we are in danger, both of us will do all that we can. And if one of us doesn't make it, then we must know that Cauthien was greater than we were, and that there wasn't anything we could have said or done that would have changed the outcome of our story. It seems as though we are playing a game with her, does it not? It's the last round, the last draw. The stakes are higher this time, it's all or nothing. There is no in between. And if I die, then I die serving my country as best as I can, just as any true leader would. I do not regret this decision, and I do not wish to put any more weight on your shoulders," said Gwenhwyfar gravely.

"You are brave Gwennie, perhaps braver than all the men in Seanna. Not even the promise of the throne would entice them to trade places with you. Siath used to say that you are the sort of princess who those fairy stories are written about, and now is just one of the many times I've found myself agreeing with him. And if we succeed, I shall see to it myself that all the bards are bent on the task of writing your tale."

"Such praise my sisters would love to be the object of," mused Gwenhwyfar, immediately associating fairy stories with Rosevita. Jealousy was not a virtue, she had decided long ago.

"Mickayla needs no more men following her. She already has Adrianth," said Artagel, though he knew of whom Gwenhwyfar was speaking.

"I pity Rosevita," said Gwenhwyfar after a moment.

"She brought everything about herself. I know that you blame yourself in part. She was the youngest, she was the center of the kingdom's attention until you began your lessons. She withdrew into herself, it seems, but it wasn't your fault. She's not strong, Gwenhwyfar. Wasn't then, and isn't now. Do not think of yourself as the heart of Rosevita's misery," said Artagel, sorrowful that such a good heart would be made to feel guilt by her own sisters, whether they did it purposely or not.

"How many times have we had this conversation?" she asked with a sigh.

"Too many," he replied, then straightened as he saw a small group riding down towards them.

"Do you recognize them Artagel?" asked Gwenhwyfar, squinting into the late afternoon sunlight.

"I was going to ask you the very same thing. I cannot quite make out their features," he admitted, his hand falling to his sword.

"Announce yourselves," called Gwenhwyfar, "you are in the company of Gwenhwyfar bar Antonius di Seanna."

"Milady Gwenhwyfar! It is I, Sir Liere bar Valery di Seanna. I ride with two companions," cried one of the figures in the distance.

Gwenhwyfar turned quickly to see Artagel cringe when the man announced his title, and watched him just long enough to see his eyes harden and grow cold as his features seemed to turn to stone. Such was the transformation in one's features when once catches sight of an all-but-sworn enemy.

"You may approach," she said, knowing that she could not order one of her father's most faithful to keep his distance.

"Who is your companion Princess?" inquired Sir Liere as he and the two men riding with him let their horses canter towards her. He pulled his horse to an abrupt halt when he came close enough so that the shadows disappeared from Artagel's face.

"Lord Artagel, what a . . . surprise," said Liere, searching for an appropriate word to describe their change meeting and thinking of several that might cost him his head. The swordsman was vicious when it came to the princess, that was certain.

"Indeed," replied Artagel sardonically.

"And Princess Gwenhwyfar, you are stunning as always, a sight for sore eyes, milady," continued Liere, not caring to mask his affections for the princess.

"Thank you Liere," said Gwenhwyfar, not unused to the attention. Though the knight was handsome and brave, and though somewhere in there was a good heart, Gwenhwyfar had been one of the unfortunate women to have been alone in his presence. It was never a good thing, she had discovered. She hadn't seen Liere in a few months, but promised herself that if he tried any more tricks, she'd tell her father about every time he had wronged her.

"Perhaps you shall reconsider my offer Gwenhwyfar?" asked Liere, referring to his offer of marriage.

"I shan't, Liere. By now you must know that I am to leave in only a few days. Even when I return it cannot be. Let it rest."

"Yes, I have heard about the journey, that is my reason for coming. I shall ask your father if I may accompany you," said Liere with a smile, reveling in the fact that Artagel's mask of stone had broken, shock showing clearly in his eyes.

"Two from Seanna have already been selected Liere, I doubt that the king would allow you to accompany us," said Artagel in carefully measured tones, his mask of stone present yet again, his face showing no emotion.

"Perhaps then I would go in your place, Lord Artagel?" inquired Liere, using Artagel's title in mock respect.

"I would forbid it," growled Gwenhwyfar. Jewels sensed her anger, and let out a loud hiss.

"Then perhaps in your place princess, to ensure that you would remain safe," he smiled, but didn't fool Gwenhwyfar for an instant. Pretty words couldn't blind her, she saw his true intentions as if they had been lain out in front of her.

"We are through toying with you Liere. I suggest that you and your two companions make haste on your road to the castle. The princess and I will ride out here for a while yet. But before you leave our presence, I am going to give you a warning. As long as I am in the princess' company, my duty is to protect her. From where I stand, you are a threat to her well being. This is the first and the last time I will tell you this - if you try anything Liere, anything at all, I will put an immediate end to your pathetic existence. Am I well understood?" said Artagel, his eyes narrowing at the knight.

"Of course Lord Artagel," said Liere lightly, motioning for his two silent companions to follow him towards the castle. With a smile and a wink at Gwenhwyfar, the three turned and rode off into the distance.

Once they were out of earshot, Gwenhwyfar turned to Artagel and said,

"He's looking for trouble Artagel, I can sense it."

"He's always looking for trouble."

"Pond scum," spat Gwenhwyfar, unable to control her anger towards the knight. "Pond scum," she repeated, out of lack of another description for Liere.

"What has made you hate him so, Gwennie?" asked Artagel. Although he had been engaged in a bitter rivalry with Liere for many years, he had never known Gwenhwyfar to dislike him so intensely.

"Many reasons, you shall see why soon enough," she murmured.

"He hasn't mistreated you, has he? I'd ride after him and run him through," threatened Artagel, shaking his fist at the castle on the edge of the horizon.

"Don't Artagel, I can handle him. Just . . . don't leave me alone with him, please," she said, her eyes giving away all that had ever transpired between the knight and herself.

"I never will Gwennie," said Artagel, taking her hand and holding it tightly, attempting to comfort her the same way he'd been doing since they were small children. Some things never change, this they knew.

"I won't allow my father to let him accompany us," she stammered, wiping at her eyes with her free hand.

"He won't," Artagel reassured her. "I don't quite know what I'm going to do yet, but he won't be coming with us. I'll think of something. You just wait Gwennie, you just wait."

~*~*~*~

"Good evening father," Gwenhwyfar called, walking into her father's sitting room.

"Good evening Gwenhwyfar," returned the king, standing to greet his daughter. "Artagel will be here in a few minutes, but first I must discuss something with you."

"What would that be?" asked Gwenhwyfar, furrowing her brow.

"You have knowledge of Sir Liere's arrival, do you not?" asked King Antonius, wondering why his daughter flinched at the mention of his name.

"Yes, I saw him as he was riding in," she replied evenly.

"Then you must know that he has offered to either accompany you and Artagel, or go on the quest in your place," stated Antonius, and he knew this to be true when he saw the look of disgust in his daughter's eyes.

"I would never allow for him to go in stead of Artagel or I," stated Gwenhwyfar icily, "nor would I be pleased if you decided to have him accompany us. Both Artagel and I have butted heads with him in the past, and I would rather not count him as another difficulty in a mission which is already close to impossible."

"Gwenhwyfar, I . . ."

"Do not make your decision based upon your unwillingness to let me, as your daughter, accompany Artagel. The choice is yours, ultimately, but if you decision favors Liere, neither Artagel nor I will be very pleased," sighed the princess, seating herself.

"What has Liere done to make you despise him? I know of the troubles that he and Artagel have had, but I never knew you to dislike him so," said Antonius, slightly worried.

"Artagel and Liere hate each other because they have been competing with one another since they were but little children. They argue with one another whenever possible, always compare achievements, and for the past god-knows-how-long, have been struggling over me. Liere wants me as his wife, Artagel doesn't want Liere to have me. When Liere was knighted, he hoped to forever place himself above Artagel by marrying me. When I turned him down, and when Artagel triumphed over him in the Games a few years back, he turned into a bitter and vengeful man. He is not the same boy that you knew him as. He has changed since the early days of his knighthood."

"You didn't quite answer my question, Gwenhwyfar," said the king, but Gwenhwyfar was saved from answering by a knock at the door.

"Announce yourself," said the king.

"Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna," said a voice on the other side of the door.

"Come in, Artagel," replied Gwenhwyfar.

The door swung open, and Artagel stepped inside, his sword making a soft thud against the doorframe as he entered. Taking notice to his scowl, the king asked,

"Artagel my boy, what's troubling you?"

"Nothing of importance, King Antonius," replied Artagel, but his gruff tone of voice wasn't lost on Gwenhwyfar, and she had an idea of what could have vexed him so.

"It is something Artagel, you cannot fool me," sighed the king, knowing that Artagel's angry glare was decidedly directed towards him.

"Why, my liege? Why break the agreement you had with Narn and Aegon, allowing Sir Liere to come with us?" demanded Artagel, barely restraining himself from pounding his fist on a nearby end table.

"You what?!?" cried Gwenhwyfar, turning to face her father.

"Hush, hush. It had to be done, he is one of my most faithful knights, and he would aid you very much as you try to protect Gwenhwyfar, Artagel," said the king, quietly but firm in his decision.

"You cannot do this to Gwenhwyfar," Artagel cried angrily, and Antonius rose to level himself with the young swordsman.

"You cannot tell me what I can and cannot do!"

"You do not know what your ‘most faithful' knight has done in the past. It would be naive to think that he has not swept the unpleasantries under the carpet. You would have to do much prying to see the person who he really is, and what constant rivalry with friends and neighbors has done to him," interjected Gwenhwyfar, and King Antonius turned his attention to her.

"What has he done?" he demanded.

"What have you done by not having my audience before making such a decision?" replied Gwenhwyfar, dodging her father's question through the use of another question.

"What has he done to you?" shouted the king, turning red in the face.

"All you have ever told me when I have spoken out against Liere is that I must have mistaken his intentions. There was no mistake last time father, no mistake at all. But I'll be damned if you care! At least Athidry's sons believe me!" she cried, bursting into tears.

"Gwennie," began Artagel, knowing how her words had stung her father.

"Gwennie nothing," she said darkly, "we ride tomorrow, and if Liere isn't ready by then, so be it. His loss."

Gwenhwyfar stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" moaned Antonius, slumping back into his chair, placing his head in his hands. "Why didn't you tell me that a man I had trusted has done such a thing to my daughter? Why didn't she tell me?"

"Because you wouldn't have believed me, my liege. Liere and I have been at each other's throats for years. Who would have listened if I were to make such an accusation?" shrugged Artagel. "I figured that if Gwenhwyfar didn't tell you, then it isn't my business to."

"I wish I could turn back the hands of time and deny Liere the permission to accompany you but . . ."

"What is done is done, you are correct. I'd best be going now, as we are riding tomorrow," said Artagel grimly. "A record this is, I shall be riding out of Caer Dathyl less than a day after I rode in."

"Good luck Artagel, though I shall see you tomorrow, I shall wish it on you today as well," sighed the king.

"Goodnight, King Antonius," replied Artagel, exiting the king's sitting room and shutting the door behind him.

He knew he had to find Gwenhwyfar, she wasn't in the best of moods, but he needed to tell her how the rest of the ‘conference' had fared, though before Gwennie had left it seemed more like a yelling match. For a moment he stood motionless, deep in thought as he ran Gwennie's favorite spots in the castle over and over in his mind. He finally decided that she'd be in the stables, on the same pallet of straw they'd sat on earlier that day.

Artagel walked across the castle, greeting and exchanging brief formalities with most of the people he encountered. When he had finally reached ground level, it seemed as though he had been caught up with the lives of everyone in all of Seanna whom he had ever met in his lifetime. He sighed angrily, knowing it had taken him far too long to walk down only a few floors. He paused outside the stable doors as he heard a loud crash come from inside. Odd that was, not many were ever found in the stables after dark, save the horses. Artagel's heart nearly dropped through his boots when he heard the scream that followed.

He unsheathed his sword and kicked open the door, not out of necessity but more for effect. Presentation and appearance was key, something his father had taught him long ago.

Of course, his father never taught him what to do when there weren't any people in the stables. Artagel looked around, not seeing anyone. He walked up and down each aisle, waiting for someone to spring out from a stall on either side. He passed Jewels, who was whining and scratching at the stall door.

"Something's wrong," murmured Artagel, continuing towards the straw pallet at the end of the isle. No one lay there.

Artagel sheathed his sword and bent down, placing his hand on the straw pallet. He was hardly surprised when he found that it was warm, as if someone had been sitting on it only a few minutes before. The question was, where was this person now, and who was with them? Artagel heard a dull thud come from above his head, and that was when it clicked. The hayloft.

"Of course! The hayloft," whispered Artagel through his teeth, unsheathing his sword yet again, and quickly but quietly ascending the stairs around the corner from the straw pallet. He couldn't believe what he saw.

It was Liere. He had known it all along, somewhere in his mind, that it would be Liere. With one hand he was holding both of Gwenhwyfar's wrists, and the other was muffling any screams she was trying to make. Artagel almost lost his evening meal at the sight of it. He boiled over with anger when he saw Liere push Gwenhwyfar down onto the floor. The look on her face hurt Artagel just as a knife would pierce his heart. He may have been too weak to stop Liere as a boy, but times had changed.

"Don't you dare," spat Artagel, and Liere whirled around so briskly he almost seated himself.

"Artagel!" cried Liere, white as a ghost.

"I warned you," growled the young lord, his eyes filled with rage.

"It was innocent, it was . . . I swear . . . I didn't mean to," stuttered Liere, trying to thing of a falsehood that would keep Artagel back.

"Tell that to God!" Artagel bellowed, running him through with one swift motion of his blade. "Or to Hades, whom you will undoubtedly see first," he added, pulling his sword from Liere as the knight drew his dying breath.

Gwenhwyfar stood motionless, watching Artagel intently, never having seen him in such a rage in all her years. This was what they spoke of. His words were ice, his eyes fire. His reputation had not been formed on a fancy. And he had just killed a man.

"Come on, let's get out of here," he said finally, sheathing his sword.

"But what about . . ." said Gwenhwyfar, pointing towards Liere's body.

"They'll know it was me. The stableboy can clean it up and add a tally to the list," smirked Artagel.

Artagel and Gwenhwyfar walked in silence back through the stables. When they reached the door that lead back to the castle, Artagel paused. He turned to face Gwenhwyfar.

"I'm sorry," he said sheepishly, running a hand through his short cropped blonde hair.

"For what, stopping Liere from . . . however far he planned to take that?" asked Gwenhwyfar with a shudder.

"Of course not, but for . . . losing control like that," sighed Artagel.

"You did what you had to, Artagel. Now I have a different view on your reputation, but it hasn't changed my opinion about you," said Gwenhwyfar with a shrug.

"You're the first," sighed Artagel.

"I can't imagine taking the life of another without being angered beyond the capacity for rational thought," shrugged Gwenhwyfar, and Artagel laughed.

"That says something about my profession," he said, "forget having a quick sword, disposition has more to do with being a swordsman than many know."

"And you my friend, are one of the best," she said with a smile as she walked through the doorway and into the castle. What she had said to Artagel was how she really felt. She didn't hate, or dislike him, or even think of him differently. She just understood him, and imagined that there was a lot more to learn in the days and weeks to come.

~*~*~*~

Gwenhwyfar yawned and rolled over. She could swear someone was calling her name, but perhaps it was just her imagination. She pulled the covers up to her neck with one hand, and sighed as she settled down on her side.

"Gwennie," whined Siath impatiently, "wake up already!"

"She isn't awake yet? She's set to leave in an hour!" called a voice from the door. Siath spun around to see Mickayla in the doorway.

"No, she isn't," Siath shrugged. "Some things never change."

"Gwenhwyfar," said Mickayla impatiently, walking to her sister's bedside. "Gwenhwyfar," she repeated, shaking her arm.

Gwenhwyfar's eyes drifted open and she looked up passively at her sister. Her gaze drifted to Siath, and finally to the doorway where her mother now stood. As she remembered the events of the coming day, her eyes widened and she sat up in bed.

"I've overslept again, have I not?" she sighed. "How much longer do I have?"

"About an hour," replied Siath with a smile.

"The entire city is gathered at the gates of the castle to see you off," said Queen Persephone from the doorway. "I suggest you rise, but I'm afraid that you won't have anything to eat until you are on the road."

"I had figured as much. Is Artagel ready?"

"You know Artagel," said Siath with a shrug. "The sentries were complaining this morning. He was on the roof at the crack of dawn and gave them quite a fright."

"Good old Artagel," laughed Persephone. "I shall see you shortly, Gwenhwyfar. I must go collect your father."

"In an hour, mother," smiled Gwenhwyfar, throwing the covers back and shivering. She sprinted to an armchair on the other side of the room on which the clothing she would wear had been lain out.

"May I have your leave?" Siath asked the two princesses. Mickayla nodded, but Siath waited until Gwenhwyfar responded before he exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

Gwenhwyfar pulled her nightgown over her head, tossing it to her right. She snatched a long cotton cloth off of the chair, wrapping her chest so that her gender would be hidden from those who looked upon her. After this she pulled on a pair of stockings and Siath's old riding breeches, which were dark brown in color. The over shirt was off-white and far too big, for it was Artagel's, but when she tucked the bottom into her breeches she wasn't as dwarfed by its size. The belt was brown, it was hers, and so it fit her well. She wore a deep blue Magi's cloak which she had borrowed from one of the Magi in the castle. Gwenhwyfar knew that she would be grateful for the fur lined cloak when winter came. She fastened her sword and sheath onto her belt, and picked up a dagger from a nearby table top. Gritting her teeth, she cut her fiery red mane short, the long tresses falling to the cold stone floor around her. She placed the dagger with the jeweled hilt in her belt as she bent over. She ran her hand through the hair on the floor, but knew that it was one of the many things she would have to do without. Gwenhwyfar brought her other hand up to the short locks that barely reached her jaw. She couldn't bring herself to look in the mirror. She quickly pulled on an old pair of black boots, and opened the door to her chambers.

"I cannot believe you are going through with this," said Mickayla from behind her, speaking at last.

"It must be done. No one else would accompany Artagel," replied Gwenhwyfar, not turning.

"Sir Liere made the offer," said Mickayla with a knowing smile.

"Liere has made many offers to members of our family in his lifetime," growled Gwenhwyfar.

"Why does he not go in your place?" questioned Mickayla.

"He is dead," the younger princess replied bluntly, blue green eyes turning cold with hatred.

"You must grieve his death, after he gave you such an acceptable offer of marriage," said Mickayla with a shrug. It was no secret that she thought herself to be the only of Antonius' three daughters capable of being loved by a man. Rosevita, she thought, was unattractive, and though Gwenhwyfar was beautiful, she still had that light dusting of freckles across her nose. No man of the courtyard would court a woman with such an imperfection, she believed.

"I would not grieve his death for all the wonders in the world," snapped Gwenhwyfar angrily, knowing what her sister was getting at. The competition she insisted on was childish.

"He was murdered, was he not?" asked Mickayla with a casual shrug.

"Yes indeed."

"And by whom?" questioned Mickayla, thinking that her sister had committed the crime.

"By none other than your love interest this week," spat the younger princess, knowing fair well that Mickayla had her eye on Artagel the night before in the banquet hall.

"Such can be expected from a swordsman," said Mickayla with a smile, ignoring Gwenhwyfar's remark.

Gwenhwyfar boiled over with rage. It was surprising to her when she realized that she was jealous. But how could she be jealous of Mickayla's affections for Artagel? It was simple, this she knew. Gwenhwyfar and Artagel could be found together ever since they were old enough to walk. Mickayla was spiteful enough on her bad days to snatch a friendship such as that one away on a moment's notice. Perhaps it was not the whole reason, but it was the better part of it.

"Do not make my last hour in Caer Dathyl a trial," growled Gwenhwyfar, pulling a pack she had made the night before onto her back and storming out of the room, slamming the door in her sister's face.

"She vexes me," mumbled Gwenhwyfar angrily as she sped through the halls, looking for one of Artagel's brothers.

Gwenhwyfar didn't slow her pace as she rounded a sharp bend in the corridor, and went barreling straight into someone walking the other way. Unfortunately, momentum and size was on the other's side as Gwenhwyfar was knocked backwards and onto the seat of her breeches.

"Oh Gwennie, I'm sorry!" cried Samuel, extending his hand to her, allowing the princess to pull herself up.

"That's alright, Samuel. Do you know where Artagel is?" she asked, seeing that he had no companion.

"He is probably down in the stables, but I was going to ask you the very same question. Since I suspect that you just awoke, I shall take it upon myself to tell you that, although your father did not have the time to plan a banquet, you will partake in a farewell ceremony.

"A farewell ceremony?" asked Gwenhwyfar, arching an eyebrow as they began heading for the throne room.

"Yes, and I have been sent to fetch the two of you so that your mother and father can bestow good wishes upon you. Not too formal, I suspect."

"Good," murmured the princess, "I hope that the word doesn't get around that I travel in disguise."

"I would think that your father would prevent such a rumor," said Samuel with a sigh. "He is deeply grieved that you volunteered yourself for this Gwennie. He knows that it must be done, but he would rather give his right arm than his youngest daughter."

"It is like you said, he knows it must be done. Better me than Liere, with the knight going nothing ever would have gotten done, he and Artagel hate each other. You know that," replied the princess.

"Do you not know that he is . . ."

"Dead? I saw him killed, Samuel."

"It was Artagel, then," mused the knight.

"You thought it would be anyone else? If no one heard the commotion, then who but your brother could be responsible for killing a man so quickly and efficiently?"

"Are you angry with him, Gwennie?" asked Samuel, furrowing his brow.

"No, not at all. But I have fear that I will not be able to do such a thing when the time comes," replied the princess with a sigh.

"You will Gwennie, trust me with this."

"I hope that you're right," she said with a wry smile as she came upon the doors leading to the throne room.

Most of the nobles of the court lined the room, leaving space only for a path that lead to where her parents' thrones were. A hush fell over those assembled when the herald announced her presence. Gwenhwyfar walked down the aisle, not raising her eyes to see the ornate tapestries and cathedral-like windows lining the walls, not looking at the beautiful clothing that adorned the lords and ladies of the castle, not taking in all the sights that had mystified her as a child, would continue to capture her attention for the rest of her life.

Gwenhwyfar reached the clearing at her father's feet, and knelt. He smiled down at his daughter and rose.

"Princess Gwenhwyfar bar Antonius di Seanna, why have you come here today?" he asked, as was tradition.

"I have come to ask your leave, King Antonius," she replied formally.

"You ask my leave for what?"

"To accompany Lord Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna on his quest, a quest to see Cauthien de Vivance dead, a quest for Seanna." Gwenhwyfar had not rehearsed this speech, but it came out just as she had hoped. The assembled audience burst into cheers.

"To a Quest for Seanna!" cried Lord Athidry, pumping his fist in the air.

"To a Quest for Seanna!" repeated all those assembled with one voice.

"Rise, daughter," said Antonius, once those assembled had quieted enough so that he could hear himself talking.

Gwenhwyfar stood with her chin up, unable to restrain a smile. She heard the herald call the attention of all those present, but she dared not turn her back on her father while he commanded her attention, knowing full well of the code of etiquette that had been in place since the country was founded.

"Lords and Ladies, may I present the greatest swordsman ever to live, the noblest man in all of Dydion, Lord Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna!" the herald cried, his voice echoing all throughout the room as he stood on the balcony to the right of King Antonius.

Artagel walked down the aisle and knelt next to Gwenhwyfar. He was dressed in his traveling clothes, but his cape was a fine one of fur lined velvet, scarlet in color. His family's coat of arms was embroidered in gold; doubtless he had another cloak in the bag he carried for when he wished to conceal his identity.

"Rise, Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna," said King Antonius.

"Late again, Artagel?" murmured Gwenhwyfar.

"As always," the swordsman said, returning the princess' grin.

"These two who stand before me will partake in a perilous quest. They volunteer themselves with nothing to gain and all to lose, for a love of their country and a love of their fellow Dydions. I knew not how to describe such a journey until the very heir to my throne asked for my leave to go on this voyage. And so I say now, that Lord Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna, and my very daughter Princess Gwenhwyfar bar Antonius di Seanna, will be going on a quest not for renown and glory, not for personal gain of any sort, but a Quest for Seanna!" cried King Antonius, standing and descending the few steps in front of his throne.

"Let it be known," continued Queen Persephone as the king embraced his daughter and his advisor's son, "that these heroes of Seanna leave with our best wishes and blessings. May God help them in their quest!"

Cries of "here, here" were heard from those assembled as Artagel and Gwenhwyfar turned and walked side by side down the aisle.

"Have you said all of your goodbyes? Because from here we go straight to the stables," Artagel said as they walked into the corridor.

"Yes, last night, after we parted I bade farewell to Rosevita and Mickayla, as well as all of your brothers. I could not find your father though, unfortunately."

"He does not like to say goodbye, he thinks that it is a bad omen," sighed Artagel. "I shall miss them, as I always do. I wish that we had gotten to say our farewells this time."

"You will see him again Artagel, whether in this life or the next," replied Gwenhwyfar, knowing how grim her statement sounded.

"The second part is exactly what I'm afraid of." Artagel glanced out one of the narrow windows to his right.

"Something out there intrigues you?" questioned Gwenhwyfar, wondering at his expression.

"It looks as though all of those living in Caer Dathyl and in the surrounding area have gathered to see us off," replied the swordsman as they descended the last staircase in the castle.

"Almost there," whispered Gwenhwyfar as they emerged into a corridor; at the end of which was the door to the stables.

"Almost," echoed Artagel as they slowed their pace slightly.

"I pity you Artagel, leaving again after only a day."

"I pity you as well, leaving home for the very first time," sighed Artagel, stopping as he came upon the door to the stables.

"To Portus," Gwenhwyfar said, reaching for the doorknob.

"Portus it is," replied Artagel, stepping through the doorway after the princess and closing it behind him. He couldn't bear to look back.

~*~*~*~

"I assume they have real beds in Portus," mumbled Gwenhwyfar just loud enough so that Artagel could make out her words.

"We really didn't travel all that far today, Gwenhwyfar. The crowd assembled to see us off slowed our progress significantly," replied Artagel with a smile as the princess rubbed her back and lay down on her bedroll, wincing as she stretched her already sore muscles.

"I think you've rubbed my suffering in my face enough times today for me to be ashamed, thank you very much," retorted Gwenhwyfar, rolling onto her side.

"When we were children we used to go out and ride all day . . ."

"When we were children I rode a pony at a quarter of the pace we rode today. Sitting on a horse all day causes me no grief. Riding at a gallop from dawn until dusk on an empty stomach is another matter entirely."

"It is official then, you aren't a changeling; Rosevita and Mickayla really are related to you by blood," said Artagel with a laugh as Gwenhwyfar threw a pebble in the general direction of his bedroll.

"Artagel, you would have had to carry them from noon until now, they would have fainted with exhaustion halfway through," sighed Gwenhwyfar, shutting her eyes. The day had been draining, and the banter wasn't doing much for her, to speak the truth.

"You did well today, Gwennie. Get some rest, I promise you'll get used to it soon enough," said Artagel, the tone of his voice changing as he too shut his eyes.

"Goodnight, Artagel."

"Goodnight, Gwenhwyfar."

~*~*~*~

"I wonder where they are now," murmured Rosevita, looking out over the emerald green Seannan plains she loved with all her heart.

Her hands tightly gripped the stone railing of the balcony as she leaned over, and by the moonlight she was just able to make out the silhouette of a lone figure in the courtyards below her. It was a he, and whoever this man was, he was staring intently in the direction Artagel and Gwenhwyfar had gone this morning. She would know. She had watched them go from this very balcony, unable to bring herself to part company with her sister in the stables. That, assuming she knew where exactly the stables were. She stared at the man for a long time before finally coming to the conclusion that it was Athidry.

Where were they now indeed. Off on an adventure that Rosevita would have sold her very soul to be a part of. She was so proud of her little sister, so proud and loved her so very much, but still couldn't keep jealousy from nursing hatred in her heart. She didn't hate her sisters, couldn't hate her sisters. But she hated their luck, and hated their beauty. She hated being in the throne room, in the company of such perfection, knowing that the public eye was scrutinizing her appearance and dismissing her as soon as she made her presence known.

Above all she hated her life, her existence. She was lonely, a princess with a self imposed punishment, destined to be shut up in her rooms until the end of her days. She had a curse of her own, one that couldn't be broken by the kiss of her true love. Only she could learn to love herself, and unfortunately it seemed beyond her to perform such a task. She had seen the way the world had treated her, and instead of becoming cold and cynical, she had retreated into her own fantasy. All her life people had scorned her, ignored her, thrust her sisters into the limelight and allowed only Rosevita a small, dark corner. How could she love herself when no one else could find it in her heart to love her in return? She smiled sadly when she realized she knew Gwenhwyfar's answer to that question. Because her little sister was probably right. How could anyone love her if she couldn't love herself?

The man in the courtyard knelt down in silent prayer, his face bent up towards the heavens. Rosevita found herself moved by his faith in the powers that be. If only she could have faith. In her god, in herself. Compelled by this last wish, she knelt as well, even with the knowledge that after a few minutes the marble floor of her balcony would begin to bruise her knees. She looked up to the stars, and whispered a few words, a few wishes about the safety of her sister, her friend, and her country. She didn't think to include herself.

A few minutes later Rosevita rose, gently rubbing her aching knees, stepped through the doorway to her balcony, and entered the bedchamber. She seated herself in an armchair she favored for reading, but couldn't help herself, found herself tempted to look back up at the stars. The same stars that her sister was undoubtedly gazing at that same evening. God be with you, Gwenhwyfar.

~*~*~*~

Siath sighed sadly. He hadn't even gotten the chance to tell Artagel of his betrothal to Anna. Not that the lack of a discussion serious enough to mention the news was atypical; his brother was Artagel of the Iron Stomach, after all. When they were children they always had time to discuss matters of importance. But Artagel had been a man for much of Siath's childhood. Indeed, he could remember many lazy summer days spent pretending he was with Artagel out on one of his famous adventures. He recalled the first day he had ever asked Artagel just what it was that he did with a smile. Artagel had practically coined the line ‘not all wanderers are lost' in Seanna, all thanks to the rather well rehearsed definition of his occupation.

But it didn't stop the hurt. Siath had understood for as long as he could remember that one day Artagel might go on one of his adventures and not come back. But this! Cauthien was a death sentence, Siath knew. And then, he also knew that Artagel had always been noble in every sense of the word. Artagel had known that even if he never came near to defeating Cauthien, he might force her eye to wander long enough to allow their army to triumph over Lyndos and Babylonia. Without a doubt and any bias based on their relation to one another, Siath considered Artagel the greatest man he had ever met.

But then, there was the matter he had been sent to clean up this morning, one of Artagel's only visible faults: his temper. The body of Sir Liere bar Valery di Seanna had been found in the hay loft of the stables early this morning by the stableboy, and the swordsmanship evident pointed its finger straight at Siath's eldest brother. It wasn't as though Siath doubted it, Liere and Artagel had been sworn against one another for what seemed like forever; Gwenhwyfar had only been a part of their latest feud. For a man who carried a lethal weapon wherever he went, a temper was certainly not a virtue. Artagel knew this, of course, and he hated his easily aggravated temper with all of his heart, but taking the time to manage anger just isn't an option when one is engaged in a duel. Siath's brother was a lucky man; even when his temper was raging he never lost control, despite what he always said. He may have acted irrationally on occasion and often in a lethal fashion, but punishment from Artagel was always deserved.

Siath wondered if he would ever see his brother again. He had been numb with shock when King Antonius had spoken of Cauthien de Vivance, but the numbness had worn away when he realized that his dearest friend and eldest brother would be going on this suicide mission. He still found it hard to believe that the king and queen had allowed Gwenhwyfar to accompany Artagel. But then, they knew that the heir to the throne, however important her role in Seanna may be, was the only likely choice for a companion. Gwennie and Artagel were closer than Siath ever thought possible. Their faith in one another would strengthen the group of six immensely. The princess would be the only one of the six that had training in the arts of the magi; this was a great advantage even if her skills were limited to healing and working with the elements.

It was a pity that Gwenhwyfar and Artagel had left so soon, else they would have discovered who their companions would be. Two knights would be representing Narn; Sir Vladimir bar Kragan di Narn though bitter and vengeful was devoted to his country, and Sir Grevier bar Lebbick di Narn who was as loyal and determined as any other. Siath had cringed when he heard the names of those from Aegon; he had known immediately that there would be friction between Artagel and Prince Sanglant bar Octavius di Aegon. It was no secret that they hadn't parted last on the best of terms, and it was a well known fact that Sanglant would have had Artagel killed if it wouldn't have caused Seanna to declare war. For some reason, Siath believed that the attempt on Artagel's life wouldn't have been successful. His brother did not enjoy sleep very much, they could not have caught him unawares.

But that was another matter. The fact was that Artagel despised Sanglant just as he had despised Liere. This did not bode well for the future. Siath did not fear for the life or safety of his brother; it was widely known that Artagel's skill in the art of fencing far surpassed that of Prince Sanglant. However, he did fear for the unity of the six. The quarrels that would ensue from those two men traveling together could end the mission before it began. And though Sanglant's companion Lord Constantine bar Alexander di Aegon was not the smartest of men, he would prove to be loyal to his Prince. Siath hoped with all his might that Artagel might keep his temper under strict control, and that Prince Sanglant would not let words spoken in haste or in anger bruise his pride. Perhaps then they would be able to defeat Cauthien de Vivance. Siath certainly hoped that they would.

~*~*~*~

"What shadow hangs over you, Artagel? You have not been yourself today," said Gwenhwyfar, riding evenly beside the swordsman.

"It is nothing," dismissed Artagel, not taking his eyes away from the horizon.

"You cannot fool me. Something troubles you, and I shall not rest until I hear all of it," the princess paused, "it is Liere, isn't it?"

"Correct," said the lord in nearly a whisper, his eyes sad.

"He wasn't a good man, Artagel. His actions were terrible and wrong, his punishment was deserved."

"Yes, perhaps punishment was deserved, but death? Two nights past I took the life of a man, a living being. He will never laugh, never cry, never live again. How is that justice?" asked Artagel, the weight of his actions bearing down on him.

"He deserved to die," growled Gwenhwyfar.

"Did he? Do not be so eager to deal out punishment and death. How could a mere mortal judge who is deserving of life or not? There are many, surely, who are the embodiment of evil. To assign punishment to them is not a burden, for they should never walk Dydion free to corrupt and violate innocents. And there are those who are as close to being a god as a mortal can be; those who touch the lives of others just through a fleeting glance. But people such as these are rare. Our world does not come in black and white, in fact most people fall into that grey area. I am one of such people. The truth that all must understand in order to live in this world is that there is good in all evil, and evil in all good."

"How can you say that you are not . . ." began Gwenhwyfar, puzzled over her companion's statement referring to himself.

"Perhaps my actions were done with good intent, perhaps I am loyal to and serve what is just and right in this world, but it does not change the fact that my profession is to kill. I am a swordsman, an assassin, a hired soldier. This is what talent god has blessed me with, this is what I must do to live. I have killed enough men in these first years of my life to send a hundred men to Hades. I am no saint," said Artagel sadly, not taking his eyes from the horizon.

"The men you kill are monsters, Artagel. You have said as much yourself. That is what makes such an act acceptable," replied Gwenhwyfar.

"Acceptable, yes, but not right."

"Necessary," interjected Gwenhwyfar, "for the betterment of our society."

"Perhaps."

"You know it," she said, exasperated. "You are quite a puzzle, dear Artagel. You have not only the skills and the means, but also the ability to slay a man without a backward glance. You know that these men are devils of men, even though many may well fall into that grey area that you spoke of. And yet you spend hours pondering the moral righteousness of your actions? Leave these musings to a philosopher, Artagel. By wondering about such things it will only hurt your heart."

"You are right, but I cannot seem to stop myself," he said with a shrug. Gwenhwyfar was certainly correct. This was what he did, what he would do for the better part of his life, should he live past Cauthien de Vivance. It never gave him any trouble, any nightmares, until he was in a particularly reflective mood. It was then that he would always question himself, and his life. For some reason, though each time he thought about it he had a different outlook on life (more experience, better training, or an awful hangover), he always came up with the same answer. Or someone would spell it out for him.

"You are Lord Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna of the Iron Stomach, are you not? Your deeds in life all add up to a greater good, just as the men you have slain's deeds have accounted for a greater evil. Do not spend your days feeling guilt over the death of another, for you were most likely defending an innocent, or stopping a terrible plot. After all, it is time for you to play hero," grinned the princess.

"‘Hero' is the most despicable word in the common tongue," said Artagel, finally turning when his companion burst into gales of laughter.

"You will never accept the fact that you are the true hero of so many in Seanna and the rest of Dydion," sighed Gwenhwyfar.

"Truly Gwenhwyfar? Name one soul who would claim me as such."

"Your family Artagel, above the rest. And all of Seanna, for being so bold as to volunteer yourself for such a quest."

"The word martyr comes to mind," responded Artagel dryly.

"Let's hope it does not come to that."

"Indeed. Now continue, this list interests me . . . sort of."

"Well, allow time for thought. There are certainly all of the clergymen in Canterbury; you just happened to be on hand when country bandits attempted to empty the church's coffers," stated Gwennie with a smile.

"I'll give you that one," grumbled Artagel, unable to restrain the temptation to smile back at the princess.

"And the stable hands the next town over, for your nocturnal wanderings led you into the hayloft where you put out a fire that had started when one of the horses had kicked over a lantern."

"Which had nothing to do with my sword," Artagel pointed out.

"Until the next day, when you singlehandedly defeated a band of rogues from Babylonia," Gwenhwyfar reminded him, and Artagel raised his hands in defeat.

"I give in," he sighed, knowing that she was right. He had helped more than he had hurt, and not always using his blade.

"I hate your particularly thoughtful moments," Gwenhwyfar said with a nod, signifying that she had triumphed over her companion.

"Unfortunately, thinking is something that I seem to do a lot of," replied Artagel.

"Indeed, which is why you no longer travel alone."

"I had thought for a few moments back in your father's sitting room that I would be forced to," he responded with a sigh. "It would have been lonely, I confess, such a journey without a companion. If these should be my last days, at least they will be bright."

"Optimism? Who are you and what have you done with Artagel?" joked Gwenhwyfar, and Artagel joined in her laughter.

"I'll be back to my good old self in no time, never fear," he said with a grin. It seemed as though he was well known for his realistic (and often pessimistic) assessments of various situations.

The two of them fell silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Gwenhwyfar looked around her at the rolling hills of Seanna and sighed happily. In her mind, this was the most beautiful place in the world. She couldn't wait to see what Portus would look like to her as an adult. The last time she had set foot on the island was when she was a little girl.

She had gone with her father back then; she had pleaded with him until he had agreed to have her along. The islands Portus and Ithacus were both a part of Seanna, its only protection against fleets coming from the Octavian Ocean. Portus' capital city had been grand, she remembered, but it did not compare with Evandrial, the beautiful white city which spread out for miles around Caer Dathyl. She would sorely miss her home, the pride that so moved her when she looked from her balcony, facing towards the east, towards the valley and the white city. It was Rosevita's balcony which faced west, towards Seanna's green hills.

No, Portus could never compare to her home, but it was still awe inspiring. From Adaivral, Duke Uriel bar Alessan di Seanna ruled. He was Lord Athidry's younger brother, and a close friend of King Antonius. The duke was a good man, and the people he governed were pleased with his generosity and grace. She had met him for the first time when she went to Portus, and numerous times thereafter when he had come to Caer Dathyl. She was looking forward to seeing him again, this time to meet his family. The company would meet in Adaivral, or so she had been told. They would be the first to arrive, though she expected that the rest of the company would not be too long, as they had left before Gwenhwyfar and Artagel. These musings had left a smile on her face. She had been so deep in thought that she didn't see Artagel stop his horse abruptly. He hissed at her, bringing her back into reality, and she turned around.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I don't know, a noise, something's not right," he replied, mixing a few different thoughts together into one statement.

"What do you mean?" she whispered back, dropping her voice uneasily.

"Shhhhh."

Sure enough, Gwenhwyfar could hear the rhythmic thud of hooves on the path in front of them. She tried, but found herself unable to count how many riders it was. All she was certain of was that the faint clank of weaponry was one that could very well be a great threat to their livelihood.

"How many?" she whispered, eyes darting between the road and Artagel.

"Six, maybe seven," he responded, hand slipping to the pommel of his sword. His eyes were locked on the road ahead of them, waiting for whomever these people were to ride over the hill.

"If they are bandits, they will attack us," said Gwenhwyfar nervously.

"Of course, their number might well be four times ours," he responded. "Draw your sword slowly, so that it does not ring."

Gwenhwyfar obeyed his command, and they sat alert in their saddles, waiting anxiously. She motioned for Artagel to move back a few feet, so that they were not fighting uphill. She glanced at her companion, and he began to speak rapidly and in a low voice.

"They are not knights, nor friendly travelers. I hear no wagon cart, nor the telltale sound of armor. I do hear the sound of coins in their saddlebags, and I figure that they are taking great pains to travel quietly, as to take anyone they meet by surprise. If there are as many as six, there will be one definite leader among them. He will not fight until the end. Stay away from him, Gwennie, whoever he is, dueling with him will not be an enjoyable task."

"You do not think I could handle him?" asked Gwenhwyfar. She had been trained by some of Seanna's best.

"No," he answered quite frankly. "You have not the experience."

Needless to say Gwenhwyfar's pride was slightly scratched by the comment, but it mattered not with the danger at hand. The hoof beats grew louder, and louder still until finally six riders appeared at the top of the hill. Upon seeing Gwenhwyfar and Artagel, one of the men shouted, and all six men rushed upon them. Out of the corner of her eye, Gwenhwyfar saw a seventh man hang back.

Artagel drew his sword with the practiced ease that only a swordsman could possess. He parried the careless attack of the bandit closest to him, and ducked to avoid the arc of another. A quick swipe of his blade unsaddled a third, and before any of the three still surrounding him knew what had happened, one was missing his sword, and another had been run through. One bandit slid out of his saddle to find his treasured weapon, the other living one was stunned, but not enough to so resist Artagel's quick attack. The young lord tested this one's strength and capabilities, and found him quite able to parry a few basic defensive attacks. He was a bandit, however, and without the element of surprise, his skills were useless. He was down within the minute.

Gwenhwyfar handled her blade well, though it seemed as though she was mostly on the defensive with two burly men after her. The others had feared her cloak, she suspected, for she was obviously the smaller and weaker opponent when she and Artagel were compared. These two bandits were intelligent enough to realize that if they kept their attacks coming, she wouldn't be able to concentrate hard enough to cast a spell. Gwenhwyfar finally found her chance when one of the other bandit's swords sailed through the air, narrowly missing one of the two that she was dueling with. Unable to bring herself to use her blade in a fatal manner, she cut clean through his stirrups and pushed him off of his horse with the flat of her blade. She was barely able to lift it back up to parry an attack from the other in time; she thanked her lucky stars when she stopped the bandit's longsword just inches from her face. She found herself engaged in a draining duel as Artagel felled the last of his opponents.

The seventh bandit, the leader, drew his sword. The jeweled hilt allowed Artagel to infer that he had lifted it off of an unsuspecting noble. Artagel couldn't help but smirk at the sight; the sword was, in all likelihood, worth more than the capture of the bandits. Artagel fiddled with a leather strap at his leg, not taking his eyes off of the seventh bandit and his sword. His shield came free in his hand, and as Artagel rode forward, he delivered a well timed blow to the head of the bandit on foot. His horse, battle trained, leapt over the body of one of the bandits.

"You fight well, traveler, but not well enough," began the bandit as the swordsman neared. Artagel made a mental note to make sure he ate those words later on.

"Is that so?" Artagel grinned, taking a brief moment to examine his bloodied blade.

"Who are you?" he asked suddenly, urging his horse to take one step back as he caught sight of the crest on the shield.

"You are not in the place to ask for favors," responded Artagel darkly, lowering his blade and pointing it in the direction of the bandit's midsection. He recognized the accent and the dress of this man, and he was most definitely not Seannan.

"I hope you do not value your companion's life, for it seems as though it is about to end," said the bandit, and Artagel glanced quickly over his shoulder, to see Gwenhwyfar struggling with a man nearly twice her size.

"Lyndosian," Artagel turned, "begone! It is your chance. It is your only chance."

"You label me as if it is a bad thing," replied the bandit with a taunting smile.

"You disagree with that truth?" Artagel questioned with a shrug.

"I take pride in my kind," the Lyndosian hissed.

"I take pride in killing your kind," spat Artagel, his eyes ablaze.

The bandit lunged, and Artagel parried easily. He would not allow the Lyndosian to have the advantage. As quickly as one could blink, Artagel had taken the offensive, swinging his blade in arc after deadly arc. The bandit found himself barely able to keep up, wondered what that crest meant, who this man was. For the first time in his life he was frightened, frigtened of this nameless Seannan. He could not meet his gaze. Could it be?

The jeweled blade flew from the Lyndosian's hand, and in the bat of an eye Artagel was holding his own sword against the bandit's neck. The swordsman was vaguely aware that the princess had triumphed over the other bandit and was cautiously watching from a few feet behind him.

"Before I die, give me the honor of knowing the name of the man who defeated me," the bandit whispered, closing his eyes.

"You deserve no honor," Artagel snarled, pulling his blade tighter against the Lyndosian's throat. This man was evil. A born and bred killer. Merciless. A monster of a man, the type Artagel was hired to slay.

"I will not beg," stated the bandit firmly. Even with a sword against his neck, he was able to put together one coherent thought; he realized what the crest meant. "You are royalty."

"Nay, Lyndosian, I am not royalty. I am Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna, and by my father's name I swear that in serving Cauthien de Vivance there is no honor in this death that you have found!" Artagel cried, beheading the bandit in one smooth stroke of his blade. Gwenhwyfar hid her eyes and turned away as she saw Artagel's blade strike; she had seen all she needed. The look on the man's face when he had heard Artagel's name was all that she had ever pictured. Even in the furthest reaches of the desert, even the hired hands of Cauthien de Vivance knew of Artagel.

The swordsman was breathing heavily. His shield weighed down his left arm, his right had already wiped and sheathed his sword. Artagel looked around him to see bodies of the other bandits strewn about the roadside, marring the beautiful Seannan countryside. Gwenhwyfar was staring at her blade. She had killed three men.

"You did what you must," Artagel reminded her softly, echoing her words from before.

"I know," she responded, sheathing her blade. "It is not as glorious as I had pictured it, and yet I feel as if . . ."

"As if you have passed a test?"

"Yes," she replied.

"I told him my name," said Artagel, flashing his one of a kind grin.

"Indeed you did," said Gwenhwyfar, glad for his ability to lighten her mood.

"And how does it compare to your dreams of adventure?" he teased.

"Oh Artagel, at this rate you'll have me believing that all my dreams can come true," she sighed with a smile. Artagel looked up at the road ahead of them, the road that would lead them to Portus, and beyond.

"Don't be surprised, Gwennie, if they do."

~*~*~*~

"You are a very fortunate man, I would die a thousand times over to be in your place," said the captain, surveying the smooth waters of the Seannan channel.

"You would die a thousand times over if you were in my place," the prince pointed out, raising an eyebrow and gripping the banister with a gloved hand. A quick glance at his companion, Lord Constantine bar Alexander di Aegon, told Sanglant that the leather forearm guards were more important to the lord than life itself. He was always polishing the damn things. Trophy armor! The guards were undoubtedly Babylonian in origin.

"I do know a few things about fencing, my liege," said the Seannan captain with a smile and a wink. It was only then that Prince Sanglant saw that the captain wore a sword.

"The people of Seanna are very bold, tell me captain, from where does this audacity arise?" asked the prince, gazing down at his own apparel. He wore one of the best suits of leather armor in Aegon, doubtless he appeared to be an impressive figure at first glance.

"It occurs naturally, I believe, though we do tend to take after our national heroes," smiled the captain, obviously referring to the swordsman Artagel.

"Understandable," replied the prince, looking at the horizon.

Artagel and he had never been the greatest of friends. Often times, Sanglant found himself almost envious of the swordsman. His skill in combat was unmatched, even by Sanglant himself. When Artagel had wandered into Aegon in the past year and made himself available to be hired, Sanglant had become his taskmaster, ordering him to take out a threat to King Octavius' throne. Since that day, the friction between himself and Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna had only grown. Sanglant himself could not have defeated this threat in combat, and though he admired Artagel, his jealousy would not allow for a friendship.

They were different men, from different places. Artagel delighted in helping and serving others for sometimes no fee. Sanglant was born to be served. Their views on everything were as different as night and day. He was certain that they could discuss everything under the sun and still find nothing to agree upon. Seannan culture was relaxed and informal, the lives of the Seannan people were spent learning, loving, and having themselves a grand time. Seannan pride was stronger than any other country could claim. They would live and die for their families and their country; there was not a selfish bone in any one of their bodies. Through their eyes, all of the human race was equal.

The people of Aegon were different. Their quarrels with neighbors had made them a hardened race, often bitter and vengeful. Their lives were based on strict order, each task performed was one to sustain livelihood, or protect their nation. They scorned the woman-ruled Harvestia for their ideals, and refused to accept that Seanna still had the upper hand in military, wizardry, architecture, the arts, the sciences, and craftsmanship. Aegon hated being second best. Although Narnans were harsh people, fierce fighters, deeply rooted in tradition, they were able to form an alliance with Seanna, one that had lasted for centuries. The people of Aegon did not, and could not do such a thing.

Prince Sanglant was very uncomfortable standing with this captain who had no fear of his position, his name, or his sword. The man who sailed this ship did not respect him, because he did not deem Sanglant worthy of it. Aegon was driven by respect and fear of authority, but in Seanna nothing held true. The captain and all of his crew members had stared him down, looked at him as an equal. He refused to cower. He was too prideful for such an action. It was his right, Sanglant believed, to command others. It greatly irked him that no one on this boat, in this country for that matter, would heed him.

"You have heard the rumor, have you not?" asked the captain suddenly, taking his eyes off of the waters.

"Which rumor would this be?" inquired Sanglant, barely able to resist the urge to roll his eyes. The only way to keep his pride intact was to treat others as inferiors.

"That Artagel of the Iron Stomach and Magian Rafael are to be the two of the six representing Seanna?"

"No," said Sanglant suddenly, though he was not surprised. "No, this I had not heard."

"He is a good man, Artagel bar Athidry di Seanna," said the captain.

"Do not speak of the hearts of men unless you know them," retorted Sanglant, rather vexed by the mention of the Seannan swordsman.

"I do," replied the captain with a smirk. "His sword alone slew half a crew of pirates that had wandered into the channel. Saved my boat, my cargo, and my life. He's Seanna's hero, that man."

"Wonderful," replied Sanglant, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Land ahead, land ahead! The white city draws near!" cried one of the sailors, scrambling up the mast.

"Have you ever been to Evandrial, Prince Sanglant?" asked the captain, his voice overflowing with pride.

"I cannot say that I have," replied the prince, gazing off into the distance at the gleaming white walls of Seanna's capital.

"They will give you a hero's welcome when you arrive. King Antonius and Queen Persephone will make sure that you have all that your heart desires while you stay in Caer Dathyl. Perhaps you will even be so fortunate as to speak with the three princesses. Your heart should be glad, Prince of Aegon. You are about to see the most breathtaking place in all of Dydion."

"Seannan pride," scoffed the prince, trying hard not to compare the white towers that shone against the backdrop of the deep blue sky with the dark grey squat additions of his own Fortress Ionia.

"It is lovely," whispered Lord Constantine, beholding Seanna's castle for the very first time.

"Oh save it," snapped Sanglant, turning his back on the city and stalking into the cabin below the deck.

"What's in his breeches?" asked the first mate, sidestepping to avoid Sanglant on his way to report to the captain.

"Such a humbug," muttered the captain, shaking his head and looking back up at Evandrial. "Be glad that he isn't the heir to our throne."

~*~*~*~

The dragon plodded along methodically. Occasionally it would look to its right or left to examine the countryside passing them by, but more often than not it stared straight ahead, in the same direction its rider was looking. It was the way to Portus, to Adaivral.

Sir Vladimir bar Kragan di Narn pulled his fur lined cloak tightly about him. Although it was only early fall, snow covered the ground on Narn's northernmost borders. They had left Caer Dunada about a week before, he and Sir Grevier bar Lebbick di Narn, and had a week before they would reach Portus. They had stayed the night in the costal city Heilklein, and it was only because of the innkeeper's predilection for gossip had Sir Vladimir discovered the names of his companions.

His thoughts turned to them each in turn. The man he rode with was loyal and determined, even if he had little to no first hand experience with other parts of Dydion. Grevier had spent most of his life as a knight of King Jacques' round table, and in times of peace as there had been up until quite recently, these knights had very little to do, save sit around and play cards in some of the better known taverns along the coastline.

Vladimir grinned fiercely when he thought of the young Seannan swordsman he would meet in the days to come. Artagel and he had gotten along quite well the last time they had seen one another, a few years back though it was. Artagel's name had been quite common even back then, and the efficiency with which he disguised himself and how he dueled had always impressed the Narnan knight. He looked forward to seeing Artagel again, and meeting his companion, a Magian whose name he had never heard before.

The men from Aegon were a different story. Vladimir had met Lord Constantine on business he had attended to in the south, and the man had the mind power of a child. He was a skilled fighter, a formidable axe-wielding opponent, but he feared the use of magic and other supernatural forces as a child would fear the monsters under their bed. It would certainly be amusing if and when Cauthien decided to play little tricks on them.

It was Prince Sanglant that Vladimir was more worried over. He was a haughty man, caught up in his own self-righteousness, and aside from that capable of envying anyone or anything. He, with the traditional Aegon mentality, could not tolerate being second in command or second best. He was unable to function in an environment with others who were his equal physically, emotionally, and psychologically. Knowing full well about where he and Artagel stood with one another, he wondered if the two could manage to pull together on a quest of such importance.

"Vladimir," began Grevier, urging his dragon to a run beside the elder knight's.

"What," snapped Vladimir, slightly irked that he train of thought had been derailed.

"If you want to continue this westerly course, we shall have to take flight soon. I can see the next good ledge for landing off in the distance," Grevier reported, patting his mount lightly on the head. His companion was known for being bitter, and preferring solitude to companionship, but Grevier had ceased fearing his wrath throughout the course of the past week. Sir Vladimir would never act upon his anger when with an ally.

"You're right," sighed Vladimir, "let's just get this over with."

Vladimir was the only Narnan Grevier had ever met who did not like soaring from mountaintop to mountaintop. Vladimir was slow to trust anything, let alone a beast such as a dragon, and when perched precariously atop a young dragon's back hundreds of feet in the air, needless to say, he was not at his best. Grevier said a few words of encouragement to his sky blue mount, and the dragon increased his pace to a sprint, until he leapt off the side of the path, stretching his wings wide and gliding towards the next white peak in view.

The older knight urged his mount on as well, keeping sight of his companion only because he could see the sun reflect off of the silver stripe down the side of the blue dragon's scales. Vladimir felt his own charcoal colored dragon take flight, and he closed his eyes, hunching forward and curling his fists. His mantra for this quest, or so it seemed, would be that ‘humans were not meant to fly'. But, as always, he landed safely and looked up to see Sir Grevier smiling at him knowingly.

"Not a word, not a breath, not even a hint to another living soul about this," Vladimir warned him, and Grevier nodded.

"Of course," he responded, but was unable to stop the smile that continued to creep across his face.

"Go sit on a dragon's tooth," scowled the elder knight, and Grevier laughed.

"You don't mean that," he admonished.

"What did I do to deserve a companion like you?" sighed Vladimir, though Grevier knew that his comment was all in fun.

"Based on the kind of man I am, wouldn't the world like to know?" he grinned.

"You just wait, Grevier. One day, when you least expect it . . ."

The two men laughed. At least there were still able to share something so simple as a smile in times so dark. Times that grew darker by the day. They were on a suicide mission, the six who were headed for Portus on that day. A mission that had been designed to take Cauthien de Vivance's eye off of the final mustering of the forces of Seanna, Aegon, and Narn for just a short while. They were not expected to survive. But then, neither were the free people of Dydion.

~*~*~*~

"It's just a scratch," Gwenhwyfar insisted, wrapping a strip of cloth around her forearm.

"You shouldn't have even gotten cut," said Artagel with a shake of his head, standing and walking away from the fire.

"What do you mean, ‘shouldn't have gotten cut'? That Lyndosian was easily twice my size!" cried Gwenhwyfar, holding her arms out for emphasis.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I was just thinking that you should have been better prepared for skirmishes when you left the castle," said Artagel with a laugh.

"Well, no matter, it's not bleeding too much," she added. "Stings like hell, though."

"I'll bet it does," came Artagel's voice from behind her, though it was dark enough that she couldn't see him when he was not standing in the firelight.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to find you some protection for your arms," replied Artagel. Gwenhwyfar heard a dull thud come from his general direction.

"You're not taking it off of the Lyndosian!" cried Gwenhwyfar in disbelief.

"I can't conjure up a pair of wrist guards out of thin air," he replied. "Besides, these are desert made, they're finer than mine."

"Off a dead man?" Gwenhwyfar shuddered.

"You'll get used to the idea," responded the swordsman as Gwenhwyfar saw the leather guards drop next to her, one after the other.

"Nice aim," she said, nearly fearful of touching them.

"I know," he responded with a grin as he walked into the firelight.

"Who ever would have known a swordsman could be so modest!"

"Well, that's me . . . modest . . ."

"Hmph! About as modest as a Lyndosian," retorted the princess, finally deciding to snatch the guards of the ground. She slid them onto her forearms and pulled the straps that tightened them.

"Those aren't the guards of a mere bandit, though I suppose that he did not expect me to know that," said Artagel absently.

"He would have lifted them off of their original owner," Gwenhwyfar reminded him.

"I don't think he would have had the chance," replied Artagel darkly. "Those guards are worn only by the Lyndosian Valdyzya, the strictest fighting force in all of Dydion. They can survive in the harshest of climates, and take many years to train for battle. Cauthien will not be pleased."

"I have heard of the Valdyzya, enough to know that Cauthien having their allegiance is deadly. She is power hungry; she will stop at nothing to get what she wishes," murmured Gwenhwyfar more to herself than to Artagel.

"It still amazes me that a sorceress can be so corrupted by greed."

"She's only a mortal," Gwenhwyfar reminded him. "Born with a great gift, yes. But mortal. She is just as weak as you or I. Though she wields a great power through her magic, she is nothing without the forces that Lyndos and Babylonia provide. We can defeat her, Artagel, if we catch her unaware," responded the princess.

"There are ways, dark ways that she can prolong her life indefinitely," stated Artagel, seating himself across from Gwenhwyfar.

"I do not wish to think of that," she responded, shuddering at the very thought.

It was the magic of old, the most powerful kind. Any other child wouldn't dream of such undertaking, but Cauthien had been born with the gift of magic. She was the first in generations to exhibit such prowess naturally; she was able to skip most lessons required when one went into the field of magic. Cauthien had been the subject of much discussion, Gwenhwyfar remembered, when she herself went through training. It was clear that Artagel remembered the lesson the old wizard had taught them on the magics of the ancients. One with the power that Cauthien had would be able to shift their entire soul into that of an animal, amulet, or sword. Though any of those three worked equally as well as the others, the only known record of such a shift had been in dragons, a particular breed of dragon at that. Over time it came to be known as the Black Line. These animals were formidable; they were driven by cruelty and malice just as the sorcerers who shifted their souls were. If Cauthien had done such a thing, then her physical body was immune to sword, arrow, or poison. To kill her would be to kill an enormous, angry, fire breathing dragon of the Black Line. If creatures like that still existed in Dydion, then the times were darker than Gwenhwyfar had ever imagined.

"Dragons can live for hundreds of years, she'd live until the dragon passed on, taking her soul with it," whispered Artagel.

"The Black Line had the potential to live for thousands, if they had not been slain first," Gwenhwyfar responded.

"And even then when the dragon was dying a new one could be found to keep her soul," he added. "I hadn't thought of this before, and now that it comes to mind I realize that I would prefer that we not add dragon-slaying to this job description."

"I second that, Artagel. A dragon of the Black Line is an evil that has been unknown in Dydion for many centuries. I hope with all my heart that it will stay that way."

"There are many things which have been unknown in Dydion for centuries, not all of them are dark. Honestly, I'd rather think of those," said the swordsman, looking up at the sky.

"Elves, once," she replied with a sigh.

"And the water folk, off the shores of Aegon in the Terranian Ocean."

"History which has become myth, myth which has become legend," stated Gwenhwyfar sadly, quoting one of their tutor's words.

A silence fell over the two, their thoughts turning to life back at the castle when they were young. They fondly remembered the days that they would spend in the fields and climbing trees in the orchards, pretending that they were out on a mission to destroy evil and save the world. Adrianth and Artagel had enjoyed these games the most, and even though Gwenhwyfar was three years younger than Artagel (and a girl, at that), her enthusiasm and wonderful ideas for characters and plots made her an invaluable addition to their games. They remembered the times when they were a few years older, and all the times Gwenhwyfar would whisper a spell and cause a gust of wind to blow through the historian's room during a lesson, causing all of his neatly stacked papers to take flight. It amused them that he never figured out what the source of all that trouble was.

"We should get some sleep," said Artagel softly, looking up to see the moon beginning its westerly course across the sky.

"How long until we reach Portus?" asked Gwenhwyfar, standing up and glancing around the campfire to locate the saddlebags they had taken off of her horse when they stopped for the night.

"About five days," responded the swordsman. He opened his pack and drew out a large blanket which he lay on the ground. He lay down, wrapped his cloak around him, and rested his head on his pack.

"Not too long," Gwenhwyfar said with a yawn. She mimicked Artagel's actions, tossing and turning until she found a comfortable spot on her blanket.

"Enjoy it now, Gwennie, while it's warm. Because I assure you, traveling loses all of its appeal when the winter winds begin to blow."

"Give me something to look forward to, why don't you," she remarked. "Goodnight Artagel."

The princess waited for a response for a minute or two, but after hearing only silence, she sat up and glanced across the campfire at her companion's form. She smiled when she realized that he was already sleeping. Gwenhwyfar lay back down and closed her eyes as another thought came to her.

"Artagel, pray to the lord above that you don't snore," she murmured before falling asleep herself.

~*~*~*~

"No . . . don't . . . please . . . no!"

Artagel woke with a start. He was already standing in a ready position with his sword unsheathed when he realized that Gwenhwyfar was still asleep, tossing and turning from the effects of a bad dream. He dropped his sword on the blanket he had been sleeping on just minutes before, and glanced up at the sky. It was time to get on the road anyway, the sun was beginning to rise. Artagel took a few steps and knelt at Gwenhwyfar's side. He knew what had caused her nightmares.

"Shhhhh, Gwennie, it's alright," he said, grabbing hold of one her wildly flailing arms as it nearly hit him in the face.

"No . . ." she whimpered, a tear running down her cheek.

"Gwenhwyfar, wake up," he pleaded.

"Artagel?" she asked quietly, her body going limp and her eyes opening.

"It's okay, it's me. You had a nightmare, that's all," he said, pushing her hair away from her face.

"But it wasn't just a nightmare."

"You saw it . . . yesterday . . . all over again?" he asked, shifting off of his knees and sitting next to her.

"Down to the last gruesome detail," sighed the princess, resting her head on Artagel's leg. "Did you ever have nightmares?"

"I told you once that I used to avoid sleep altogether, knowing that with sleep came the dreams. I rarely have them now, but it will be a long while before you will be so fortunate as I," he replied.

"They say that you never truly know a person until you walk in their shoes. If this is true, then we know one another better than we know ourselves."

"I wouldn't argue with that, Gwennie. We go way back," stated the swordsman with a grin.

"I miss those days, when we were children. Ignorance is bliss."

"You will miss them far more in the days to come. And ignorance, dear Gwenhwyfar, is only bliss when you are not the heir to the throne of Seanna," Artagel replied, sliding her head back onto the blanket and standing up. "I am afraid that I will have to make you get up and face the world. The sun has risen, we should get moving."

"It's times like these that I long to be back in my bed in Caer Dathyl," she moaned, but obliged and stood up, teetering a bit before gaining her balance.

"Get some bread from your pack, we'll have to eat while riding," said Artagel, stifling laughter at the sight Gwenhwyfar presented this early in the morning.

"You may not say it out loud, but your eyes are laughing at me! I am no rooster Artagel, and god as my witness I will never get up before noon after we return to Evandrial," Gwenhwyfar said as she stuffed her blanket inside the pack she had used as a pillow.

"You will begin a royal custom, Gwennie, one that will be upheld for many years to come," he said, mounting his horse.

"Artagel, we are going to have to stop in a town for the night, we don't have much food left," she called, splitting their last loaf of bread into quarters.

"Are you sure?" he asked, walking his horse towards the spot on the ground where she was sitting. "The nearest farming village is Ehrine, I have been there once or twice in the past decade."

"How long until we reach there?" the princess questioned, handing him one of the quarters of bread, and taking the other for herself.

"Dusk, if we move fast."

"Then we must move fast, if we want our evening meal tonight," responded Gwenhwyfar, tying her pack onto her saddle and mounting with ease.

"Indeed. And we'll see what sort of news we can gather when we arrive. Just . . . don't forget that you are supposed to be a male magi."

"Ah yes, Geraden bar Rafael di Seanna. Do I look like a boy?" she asked, urging her horse into a quick trot.

"You look like a magi, and you carry a sword. Any feminine characteristics will be immediately disregarded. It's amazing what the mind can do," commented Artagel, leaning back to admire her cloak.

"Will you be recognized?" asked the princess, stopping when she saw the look she was getting from her companion. "I should have known."

"I have faith in you, Gwenhwyfar, I'm sure that you will learn," he laughed as his horse broke into a canter.

"You have a few things to learn too Artagel," she shouted, bending low over her own horse's neck and coaxing it into a run.

"What's that?" he called over his shoulder, surprised that with the head start he got, Gwenhwyfar was not even a full length behind him.

"That after all these years, I'm still the fastest rider in Seanna!" she cried, easily passing him by.

"Just because you won in the games a few years back doesn't mean you're still the fastest!" he called, unable to keep himself from smiling at the memory.

"Ah, but Artagel, I've been practicing!" was her final reply before she rode out of earshot. The swordsman grinned. Riding was yet another thing the youngest princess of Seanna had bested him in. But he wouldn't go down without a fight.

"One of these days, Gwennie, one of these days."

~*~*~*~

He could feel himself slowly slipping away. He had been riding as fast as his horse would go for days on end without allowing his weakened body a second of rest. His hand gripped the reigns of his horse hard enough to squeeze water out of a rock, the rhythmic sound of his horses' hooves hitting the ground kept him awake and aware, but still he felt himself beginning to fade.

The pain would have been unbearable for any other reason or cause. His whole body was throbbing, his shoulder bleeding uncontrollably, the poison slowly spreading throughout his body. He could feel it beginning to take effect, and there was nothing he could do about it. There was no antidote, no way to save his life. For some reason, he was strangely calm even though he stared death in the face. He had no choice in this matter, it was his duty. After those devils of men stole his home and his family, he had ridden. He was the only one to escape the bloodbath, and even then he wouldn't live for long. He remembered his mother's words with what would have been a smile if his face wasn't contorted with pain. He was accident prone, and had been cheating death for the better part of his life. It seemed as though death had finally caught up with him, but he wouldn't give in yet. He would cheat the inevitable one last time.

His horse thundered toward the white city. Evandrial was spoke of in his home town almost as a legend, and here he was beholding it in all of its splendor and glory. But it was the last place he wanted to be. This was the last mission he wanted to be sent on, for this purpose no less. But now it didn't matter. He had lost it all, and they would pay for taking it from him. Loyalties ran deep in Harvestia. They may not have an official fighting force, they may be deemed weak by countries surrounding them because they worshiped a goddess instead of a god, but they wouldn't be conquered without a fight. And they would never fight for the Lyndosians. They would be tortured and die before they'd fight for those devils who came from the sand. There was hope. He was at the gates of the white city. Seanna, Narn, and Aegon would help. They would win.

The gates swung open before his charging steed without a word spoken. They saw him, wearing Harvestia's colors, and the tunic of a messenger. They saw the Lyndosian arrows poking out of his shoulder. They knew that the black feathers meant he wouldn't live much longer. His horse ran, and ran, until it could go no further. At the walls of the castle itself he was, and he finally stopped his mad race. He was here. He was going to have his audience with the king.

Men rushed at him from every side, gently helping him down from his horse, shouting orders at one another. One ran to find the king and queen, another ran to bring the doctor, the last to find a scribe to document his words. He was carried into the castle, still in awe as he looked up at its white spiraling towers. He would die a happy man, if he could relate his whole tale to the king and queen before passing into the next world. Lazily he looked at the tapestries which decorated the castle walls as he was carried up a stairway and across the great Caer Dathyl. He was vaguely aware of being brought into a small room, and being set down gently on a bed, but he refused to lie down. He had to stay awake, had to resist the incredible urge to close his eyes and fade from this world.

Two Seannans, one old and one young, burst into the room. Their resemblance to one another led him to believe that they were father and son. The son knelt at his side and took his hand. In his eyes there was compassion. The boy knew the importance of what he had to say, but on his mind was only one thing.

"No one should die alone," the boy said softly, a tear running down his cheek.

"You have never seen a man die?" asked the Harvestian in the common tongue. The boy shook his head softly, and his father placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Siath, Athidry . . . thank god you are already here," cried Queen Persephone, entering the room in front of her husband. The Harvestian knew her immediately because of her crown.

Both Prince Sanglant and Lord Constantine entered within a few moments of each other, the prince bringing a blank scroll and quill with him. He sat at a nearby table, and prepared himself to write down all that the Harvestian said. Four of the most powerful men and women in all of Dydion were kneeling at the Harvestian's side, one holding his hand and the others offering their silent support.

"What news have you brought to us today?" asked King Antonius, using the same words he would if it were any other day, and any other king's messenger.

"We were attacked, my town. The Lyndosians slaughtered my family and everyone I had ever known. There were too many of them, they were too well trained. They were led by captains who were seemingly invincible . . ."

"The Valdyzya," murmured Athidry. "Continue."

"I was the only to escape, and I did not escape with my life. It is through my will to aid my home that I have made it this far, and I know I will never return. They move on towards our palace in Rosala. You must help, Aegon and Seanna. You must help or we will fall. We must unite . . ."

"We will fight for our freedom, this I promise you. We will fight with every ounce of our being. Dydion will not fall to evil," whispered Persephone.

"What is your name?" asked Siath, still holding the Harvestian's hand tightly.

"I am called Rodrigo bar Antony di Harvestia."

"Then, Rodrigo bar Antony di Harvestia, may the goddess greet you with open arms. In your memory, and in the memory of all those you have lost we will fight. And we will triumph," responded Siath. Rodrigo smiled the biggest smile his face would allow.

"I believe you, Seannan, for any who could see past my nationality, or my love for the goddess, and know me simply as a human, will be able to unite Dydion in the darkest hour."

Rodrigo's eyes shut, and he drew his last breath. Siath felt tears well up in his eyes and stream down his cheeks. He had not even known the Harvestian who had come to them that day, and yet Siath mourned his loss.

"He was a brave man," said Antonius, covering Rodrigo in the white sheet which had been folded at the foot of the bed. "If he was the only one to live from his town, then there are none left alive who knew him well enough to mourn his loss. But in his final hour, he has shown us his heart. Let none say that he wasn't a good man, for he has saved the lives of many Harvestians."

"Harvestia is a lost cause, my liege," said Sanglant. "The Lyndosians will easily overcome them, if they have the Valdyzya in their company. Forget about defending the weak, woman-ruled Harvestia. It is Aegon we should worry over."

"You have no concept of Harvestian customs and principles," roared Athidry, turning to face the man who his son hated so fiercely.

"I have been educated . . ." began the prince.

"Apparently, you have been educated by an incompetent tutor who was in favor with your father, for you, prince of Aegon, are arrogant and ignorant as any desert-born Lyndosian! The Harvestian sultan has adopted the policy of pacifism that began many generations ago in order to keep Harvestia out of the many quarrels that ensued when our own countries were taking shape. Because they were no threat, they were left alone. They may not have a strictly trained fighting force, just as their strength may lie in the arts and not in war, but their loyalties run deeper than either of us can comprehend. What Rodrigo did not tell you was that each Harvestian death resulted in two Lyndosian deaths. Every woman, every child can wield a weapon, even if it is a cooking pot or a broomstick. You scoff at Seannan pride, but it is an insurmountable weapon in combat. Harvestians have pride in their families, towns, and clans. It is the same exact principle, and the leaders of your country have an outright fear of Seanna in war."

"Fear of Seanna?" asked Sanglant, unsure of what to say though he knew it was true.

"Quite obviously, or you would have ordered my eldest son killed if you didn't fear my wrath and that of King Antonius," stated Athidry, folding his arms across his chest. "I still hold true to the fact that you should have ordered his death. You never would have caught him, and he probably would have slain a squadron of your men because they know not how to work together. Do not scoff at loyalty, pride, or love. It can move mountains."

"Enough!" cried Queen Persephone before Sanglant had the chance to reply. "Now, Prince Sanglant, I'm sure you are enlightened as to where Artagel's temper, sarcasm, and wit come from. Please remove yourself and your countryman from this room before you say something rash and wind up in a grave rather than written down in history as Aegon's greatest hero."

Sanglant stormed out of the room, muttering something about disrespect and slamming the door behind him. Lord Constantine stood up and followed him, quite used to these sort of confrontations between his prince and people of Seanna. This time, however, he opened the door before attempting to leave the room, and closed it gently behind him once he was through. It wasn't too difficult to follow his prince, the string of curses coming from his mouth were uttered just loud enough so that his trail through Caer Dathyl was evident. Constantine followed him all the way out into the courtyard, but was forced to double back when Sanglant decided to go up to his chambers instead.

Constantine realized, when Sanglant's door slammed nearly in his face, that his prince did not want any company. This discovery put him in a most adventurous mood, and he decided to go and see what was in the courtyard that had been most unappealing to Sanglant. He made his journey back down the stairwell and through the long corridor that led to the courtyard. The first thing he saw in the courtyard was the princess Mickayla and her attendants, but after looking around at all the faces present, he was able to identify one of Athidry's sons, Sir Adrianth. He figured that this was the most likely reason for his prince's self-inflicted isolation. As he was walking back through the halls, he passed by the last of Artagel's brothers, Sir Samuel, speaking with a man he didn't know.

"Sanglant will be the only obstacle in the way of the six," Samuel was saying. "He and Artagel never did get along very well."

"They hate each other," said the other man grimly.

"Yes, it is a pity that King Octavius had to choose his arrogant fool of a son to be one of the six. Family ties don't always help a cause," replied Samuel with a shake of his head.

Constantine followed them down the hallway as quietly as he could, hoping that his presence would be undetected. He knew that Sanglant would want to hear of these things that were being said about him in Caer Dathyl. The other man jumped in,

"Pity he's not a farmer's boy, then he would have been the disgrace of a village and not a threat to Dydion."

"And that suit of leather armor does nothing for him," said a new voice. It was decidedly feminine, and Constantine craned his neck to see who it was that spoke. He was slightly shocked once he realized that it was Princess Rosevita, one who most guests in Caer Dathyl never got the opportunity to lay eyes upon.

"It does protect him, slightly," said Samuel in response. "It is good to see you again Rosevita, as you are so rarely outside of your chambers."

"I am on my way to see my mother and father."

"The armor is of excellent quality though, princess, this you must understand," said the other man with a smile.

"I have seen a fair share of leather armor in my years, and I agree with you. But I also say that it is in excess. He is recognized nearly everywhere on this continent, he needs not flaunt his position so openly. It reflects on the sort of man he is, and this reflection is not a good one."

"I think the word you're looking for is vain," said Samuel dryly, and Rosevita nodded in agreement.

"Indeed, and I can think of many more that could be used to describe that man. I must take your leave now, we are nearing the throne room," she said, turning a corner.

Lord Constantine was shocked that such things would be said about his prince. He did not care to hear the rest of the conversation, and he hurried as quickly as his legs would carry him back down the corridor, up the stairwell and to Sanglant's door. He was about to knock on it when he realized that it would probably put his prince in a fouler mood to hear such things, and that he, as the messenger, would suffer the worst from his lord's temper.

After weighing his options in his mind, he decided not to tell his prince about the conversation he had overheard after all. What could be done anyway? It was just as the queen had said, a confrontation would get them nowhere. Besides, if the prince of Aegon were to inflict some sort of harm upon any members of Artagel's family, he would pay dearly, and most likely with his life. Even Constantine wasn't so naive to believe that his prince could take on Artagel in a duel. Perhaps, just this once, he would spare himself some grief by not setting off Sanglant on one of his tirades. It was a big step for Constantine, the very first time in his life he had kept information from his prince. And as he turned away from Sanglant's door to find some way to amuse himself for the rest of the afternoon, he realized that it was quite a smart thing to do.

~*~*~*~

"Vlad, I'm famished!" said Grevier, letting his dragon fall into step beside Vladimir.

"Don't call me Vlad," growled the elder knight. Grevier sighed. He was is one of his moods again, apparently.

"I see that's a privilege granted only to those in Bajer," mumbled Grevier.

"What was that?" snapped Vladimir.

"I was just wondering why you gave the barmaid back in Bajer no trouble when she used that term of endearment."

"It's none of your concern."

"Ah Vladdie, always the difficult one," sighed Grevier as his companion turned and seized his throat.

"I told you once, I told you again, it's Vladimir. Must I spell it for you?" snarled the knight waiting for his companion to shake his head no before releasing his grip.

They traveled in silence, each man wrapped up in his own thoughts. Grevier was especially mindful of his words towards his companion when he dropped the occasional hints of his hunger. He was largely ignored by Vladimir, who's thoughts were of a certain Narnan barmaid who lived back in the city of Bajer.

"Can we at least stop for the night?" asked the younger knight for the umpteenth time, hoping for a reaction this time.

"Only because I cannot bear your incessant whining," replied Vladimir after a moment, stopping and dismounting.

"I'm amazed, he relented," mumbled Grevier, joining his companion on the ground.

"This mumbling of yours is most irritating, Grevier, and before you do it again I might warn you that the words you say are not inaudible." The younger knight let out a grunt in response, and turned to his mount.

"Go now," he said to the dragon, "but be back before the sun rises."

Vladimir gave a wave at his dragon, and the creature tilted its head to one side as if it were bidding him good night, then turned and flew off with Grevier's mount.

If the younger knight would have been able to comprehend the sense of loss his companion felt every time he left Bajer, Vladimir might have been more inclined to speak his thoughts aloud. But Grevier had never been far outside of the capital city of Leifeson in the two and a quarter decades he had been walking on Narnan soil. While Grevier had his own chambers in Caer Dunada, Vladimir's only semi-permanent domicile was a room he rented regularly at the Dragon's Egg inn in Bajer. Being slightly superstitious by nature, he always requested that he be given the key to room number seven, as it was his lucky number. It was this curious habit that led him into conversation with one of the barmaids. Vladimir wasn't quite sure when or how, sometime between the moment he first spoke with her to the present, she had become the one and only living person to break through his icy exterior. Somehow, and for whatever reason, he had fallen in love with her. In Bajer he felt like a different person. Catalana gave some purpose to his life, and he had sworn to her that if he were to return from this mission, he would marry her and bring her back to Leifeson with him.

Vladimir looked out in the direction of Adaivral. Would he ever see his beloved again? Were these the last few days he would spend on Narnan soil? His heart was heavy as he set up camp. All these years she had remained true to him, telling him whenever he passed through Bajer that no man could ever replace him, even if that man be the king of Narn himself; she loved him with all her heart, and no man could tempt her to turn away from him. Vladimir sighed. If he felt incomplete without her by his side, he could only imagine the magnitude of the grief that would grip her if he did not return.

It was quite ironic that the day he had been told of Cauthien de Vivance was one of the few cloudless days Narn had seen that year. It hadn't been very long after the Babylonian swordsman had wrecked havoc among the Narnan nobles in Leifeson, mere days after Artagel of the Iron stomach had wandered through and effortlessly solved that potentially catastrophic problem. Vladimir had recognized Artagel because he had seen the swordsman's cloak the day he rode in. Being a bit of a traveler himself, it hadn't taken much thought for Vladimir to realize who the man was. After Artagel's easy victory, he had been notified of the shadow that was slowly creeping over Dydion, and even then he had been selfish, and refused repeatedly to join Sir Grevier on the quest.

It had taken a while for the king's advisor to gain audience with him, and even after he had presented the gruesome facts, Vladimir had still not been convinced of his importance on the journey. It was after he had refused to join Grevier for the umpteenth time that the advisor saw the need to give away confidential information in order to sway the knight's decision. What he heard surprised him. Despite the fact that it was well known that both Babylonia and Lyndos were giving Cauthien complete allegiance and control over their fighting forces, Vladimir had never thought that the Babylonian swordsman had come to Leifeson expressly to slay as many Narnan nobles as possible. In addition, he never would have guessed (as was determined by looking through the Babylonian's possessions after his death) that the reason behind the swordsman's madness was specifically to duel with and slay Vladimir. Why he was feared enough by Cauthien to sacrifice a swordsman was unknown to Vladimir, but it was the information which ultimately convinced him to join Grevier on his way to Portus to meet the other four. Finding out that Artagel was one of the six had lifted his spirits immeasurably, and Vladimir was quite eager to share his knowledge of the Babylonian swordsman with Artagel, to see what the Seannan made of it. He was also quite pleased that Artagel was bringing along a Magi, and hoped that with some amount of magic benefitting them, they would have a better chance of vanquishing Cauthien de Vivance.

Vladimir glanced over at Grevier, who was carefully removing a match from a tin he kept in his pack, and striking it over a small mound of twigs and strips of dry cloth he had collected. Uninterested in Grevier's endeavors, Vladimir pulled an extra cloak from his pack and spread it out on the frozen ground, hoping that it would allow his body to retain some warmth during the night. Without bidding his companion goodnight, and without a desire to taste whatever Grevier planned on cooking, Vladimir lay down, wrapped his cloak about him, and nodded off to sleep.