Trai - Parts 1

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Wednesday, 09 April 2008 22:44

{jcomments on}Trai sat alone at the worn table, a jug of watered down mead sitting in front of him. The inn was busy, traders and artisans mixed with rogues and the odd mercenary. All the tables were full, some with jovial businessmen and traders, their purses bulging from a prosperous day, while others sat in silence or spoke in whispers their foreheads nearly touching. Trai ignored everything around him, both hand clasping his mead, elbows on the table, he stared into his drink. Or at least that’s the impression he wanted to give. Since he had come down from his room earlier, making sure he was the first one to arrive, he’d watched and observed everyone who entered the smokey bar. To the casual observer he was just another patron enjoying his own company, his shoulders hunched as he slouched in his seat.

Glancing up from under his eyebrows, Trai watched the three men sitting directly in front of him, beside the open fire, its glowing coals casting a orange sheen over the three men. All of them were well above average size; the one closest to the fire was more of a brute than a man. His thick eyebrows loamed over small pig like eyes, thick lips wrapped around the hind quarter of roast boar he was consuming with great gusto, the splattered grease sticking to his long matted hair, as he listen intently to his two companions, his bovine eyes flicking from one to the other.

The other two men were deep in conversation, ignoring the caveman sitting with them, the man on the left puffed away on a cheap hand rolled cigar, the smoke hanging over their table in a blue cloud, the cloud danced every time the inn door was opened. Both men’s faces were weather worn, their features twisted from numerous violent encounters. These were fighting men, not mercenaries, but brawler. Probably muscle for who ever could pay their price. Trai had seen their kind a million times, but it wasn’t their trade that interested him, but what they would be doing later, they were the key to a lock he’d been trying to open for the last two weeks.

Trai felt something press against his leg; he reached down until his hand felt the soft fine hair of the inns resident cat. He could feel the animal start purring as he scratched the fur under it neck. Since Trai had arrived the cat had spent ever night and most days sleeping at the end of his bed. He didn’t mind, you could truth animals, they reacted on instinct not selfish desire based on pride or greed. The cat suddenly trotted off, smelling the joint the Brute was eating at the next table. Trai looked up once again at the table in front of him, straight into the eyes of the man on the left. Trai instantly dropped his eyes back to the table, damn, the cat had broken his concentration, or he would have notice the men had stopped talking.

“What the…..” yelled the brute kicking out from the table, reaching down with his thick hairy fingered hand he grabbed hold of something and with a yank he lifted a squirming ball of fur into the air. Holding the animal above his head the brute said “ I hate cats, furry little bleeders” The muscles in his forearm started to tense, the cat gave out a high pitched screech, the room went silent as the patrons turned to see what the noise was. The cats screech ended abruptly as the brute snapped its neck. Someone gasped. Dropping the limp dead creature to the floor, the brute turned to his two companions, a big satisfied smile on his face. Both men grinned back, some how pleased by this act of savagery.
The air of the once busserling bar was now tense, no one dared move or make a sound for fear of attracting the three men’s attention. A sob came from the bar, as the Land Lady, Mortain stood with her hands over her mouth, tears running down her face.

Trai had felt the heat building up in his stomach the second the cat had screeched and as the poor animals neck had snapped, the heat had busted into his chest like molten lava. There were not outward signs of the rage burning inside of Trai, as the deep rumble of his voice broke the silence. “You shouldn’t have done that” he said all thoughts of why he was here forgotten.

The three men turned to face Trai, the smiles gone from their faces. The man who’s eyes had met Trai’s moments before said “And why is that, what’s some flee bitten mange to you” The other two men looked at each other smirking, pleased by their friends comments.

Trai placed his hands on the corners of the table and started to raise slowly, the Brute instantly sprung to his feet, “His mine lads” he grunted, the join of meat forgotten on the table, he clicked his knuckles in anticipation, as he gleefully watched Trai Stand. The grin started to fade from his face, as Trai unwound himself from the table, all 6 foot 9 inches. None of the three thugs had realized how big Trai was, due to the way he had pushed his legs under the table and hunkered down. Standing nearly 6 inches taller than the brute, who was the largest of the three men, Trai loamed over them, his massive shoulders now pushed back, his shirt hanging from huge chest muscles. Trai looked down at this forearms as he methodically rolled back his shirt sleeves. A large puckered scar ran across his sword arm, surrounded by lesser scars, scars only a swordsman would have, but his sword was in his room, out of reach and at this moment out of mind, he wanted to beat the brute with his fists, to feel his hands around the animal killer’s throat as his neck snapped. Outwardly calm, Trai fought to control his anger; he knew once the rage took over, he would go into a battle fury and kill all three men. Having finished rolling back his sleeves, Trai pulled his dark shoulder length hair back into a warriors pony tail, holding the hair in place with one hand, he reached inside his leather waist coat pocket with the other and pulled out a silver clasp in the shape of a anvil. Everyone knew only a Master swordsman owned one of these, or a thief and all those in the room knew Trai was not the latter.

The brute stood mouth open as stared up at Trai, then realizing he couldn’t back down without loosing face, he yelled out, jumping over the table at Trai. A blade appeared in the pig eyed mans hand, 6 inches of steel gleaming in the fire light, as it cut through the smoke. Trai’s left hand shot out, grabbing the brute’s wrist, the blade stopping less than an inch from Trai’s face. Trai flicked his wrist, twisting his opponents arm back, the brutes shoulder popped from the socket audibly, everyone in the inn flinched. Trai’s right hand clicked the clasp in place, then grabbed the brute by the throat. With a grunt Trai lifted the man into the air, his feet dangling uselessly beneath him. The other two men sprung to their feet, the man on the left flicked his cigar to the floor as each of them pulled sharp gutting knifes from their belts. Trai hurled the gasping brute at the men; the full weight of their semi conscious friend hitting them full in the chest sending them tumbling back and into the large open fire place. The two of them screamed as they fought to push the brute off of them as the flames burnt through their clothes and nipped at their flesh. Trai briefly stood watching the two men as they squirmed and burnt, before stepping forward and grabbing them by their shirt fronts and pulling them from the now scattered coals. He dropped the men to the floor, as they quickly started patting at the lit and smoldering parts of their clothing. Standing over the two men, Trai felt the rage ebb away inside him, as he watched the two men comically check themselves for further damage. Happy they were no longer on fire both men looked up at Trai, the fire was now burning in their eyes. The men never looked away from Trai, as they painfully tried to stand.

“Stop” shouted a voice, everyone in the inn, including Trai and the two men turned their heads simultaneously to the source of the voice. A figure stood in the door way, the door held open with one hand. Clothed from head to foot in black, the clocked and hooded figure snapped out. “Stokes, Fain, enough, pick up Bota and go get his arm fixed” The two burnt and disheveled men look at each other, before bending down and picking up the now unconscious body of the brute called Bota. As they heaved the prostrate body of Bota towards the door, he groaned in oblivion agony as his useless arm bounced off the inn floor. The singed men glared at Trai as they passed him, the malevolence clear in their eyes. Trai’s looked away from them dismissively.

As the beaten men left the inn carrying the groaning Bota, the man in black walked across to the upturned table formally occupied by the three thugs. Setting the table right the figure gestured to Trai to sit on one of the seats. Shrugging Trai sat down. Everyone in the inn realizing the fun was over returned to what they were doing, but all of them were casting sly glances at Trai.
The dark clad figure sat on the chair across from Trai. “We have things to discuss I feel” said the man, his face obscured by the hood, only two piecing blue eyes were visible. This was going to be an interest conversation though Trai, he had seen a hooded cloak like the one the man wore once before.

Trai watched the thin spindle like finders that extended, snake like, from the white, age stained hands that rested on the table in front of him. The dark man had for what seemed an age, been staring straight at Trai, his piecing blue eyes never leaving his face. “You wanted to speak” asked Trai in a matter of fact manner. Taking a deep audible breath the shrouded figure leaned forward.
“You are a man of exceptional ability it would appear my young friend, you dispatched my………..helpers with easy…….tell me. Why should I not kill you where you sit for this insult”? The mans voice was high pitched almost effeminate; Trai raised an eye brow in amusement. “You could kill me, that easily” said Trai, his tone one of disbelief. Sitting back in his chair, the man raised his index finger and made a circle in the air. Trai’s eyes followed the finger as it formed the circle; still smiling he looked up into the darkness where the man’s feature lay hidden..

As the finger lay once more upon the table, Trai felt a heavy weight suddenly press down upon him, at first he did not resist, but slowly the weight increased pushing him into his chair, frowning Trai tried to lift his arm, but the limb didn’t respond, it felt as if someone was sitting on him, his frown changed to a scowl of anger, he tensed every muscle in an attempt to fight against the steadily increasing pressure, but in was no good. He looked down at his frozen limbs, searching for the source of the force which prevented him from moving, his head snapped back, as if pulled, so that he stared directly at man seated opposite him. His whole body was now immobilized, only his eyes had free will. “You see, I am not without power, simply because I am not physically able to defeat you does not mean I am at your mercy……quite the opposite, as I am sure you will agree” his voice full of patronizing mirth, the man leaned forward until his face nearly touched Trai’s. “My name is Reaper, remember it, for it is the name of your new master” foul, warm breath filled Trai’s nostrils, a sent of death emitted by the man’s body. The weight pressing down on Trai was now so great, he was having difficulty breathing. Sitting back into his sit the man called Reaper watched Trai as his lips started to turn blue; beads of sweat were appearing on Trai’s brow, stars flickering at the periphery of his vision. Just as Trai’s face started to turn pale the Reaper’s index figure once again etched a circle in the air. With a gasp Trai fell forward onto the table, sucking in great lung fulls of air. The others who occupied the inn were casting nervous glanced in the direction of the two men, some stood hastily picking up hats and clocks, eager to leave.

Trai lifted his head slowly his mind a blur, fingers digging into the soft wood of the table. Leaning back Trai lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Sorcery, he though, but he was not oblivious to the nature of the dark arts. Despite not having the gift for the use of the arcane, he was not a novice when it came to the workings of sorcery. He had spent many a day as a child learning the intricacies of the four planes, flesh, spirit, birth and death. Each of them was equal to the other, but each was different, like the use of sword, lance, spear and axe. All were powerful, but they all had their own strengths…. and weaknesses. He also knew that Reaper was using Flesh, the ability to control the body of another. Thinking quickly he tried to remember what he had been taught all those years ago by Helix, his Sorcery master. Flesh was the power over the body of another; Spirit was the ability to control another’s mind. Birth was the skill of healing and giving life, while Death, the darkest of the four, was the ability to control the dead and summon forth those who had not passed into either Sanctuary or purgatory. All four of the mystic skills were frowned upon, but Death had been outlawed in all the free states for over a hundred years and was punishable by soul casting, the entrapment of a mans soul in a glass urn, while his body slowly rotted in front of him. They said this drove the man’s soul mad, so that it screamed endless for the rest of time, or until released from the urn, hence the reason why when someone died their ashes were allowed to be scattered by the wind once they had been cremated.
There was one over thing Trai had been taught, the skill of blocking, only a handful of people knew how, but they could bloke the use of any of the four plane sorcery’s used directly upon them. Not knowing of Reapers knowledge of the flesh, Trai had not been ready, this would not happen again.

Trai knew Reaper could be the key to his search, if he played his cards right he might lead him straight to the man he was looking for. “What is it you want from me” said Trai, the colour having returned to his face.
“Obedience” purred Reaper.
Trai sat back in his seat, he let his eyes wander around the room, anywhere but into the eyes of Reaper, if he saw Trai eyes, he would see the defiance and anger that burned within them. He wanted Reaper to think him beaten and compliant.
“I think my little lesson as had the correct effect, now we shall move on to more urgent matters”. The arrogance in Reapers voice washed over Trai with every syllable.

“My three ….what did I call them….oh Yes, Helpers…were to perform a task for me tonight, while they were the best I had, I think you are more…..capable”, leaning towards Trai, Reaper lowered his voice to a whisper “Therefore you will go to the Bell way Gambling Hall, there you will see the Primary for the city of Galak…….you will kill him”

“ummmph, and how exactly am I to do that, the Primary is surrounded by guards” muttered Trai, his thoughts racing, the Primary, he was the most powerful man in the city, appointed by the King of Fellvale himself. Why did Reaper want him dead?
Reaper sat silently his displeasure apparent. “When the Primary has finished gambling he always visits the young ladies on the second floor, at this time he only has two body guards near him, both situated outside the room, dispatch the guards and kill the Primary” “If it’s that easy why do you need me” Reapers stare bored into Trai, as he leaned even closer to Trai.
“The guards are First Legion, you need to kill them quickly, so as not to warn the Primary, the second there is any hint of a threat, the Primary will break a Warning ward, and this will bring every guard for miles running to his aid. The Primary is also a first class swordsman, so you need to kill him quick”
Trai stroked his chin, as if thinking deeply; he knew what the answer would be to his next question. “And how do I get away once the Primary is dead, I’m sure he will have a Life ward on him” Trai could feel Reaper grin, even though he still couldn’t see his face. “That my young friend is your problem”.
Trai crossed his arms in front of him, he was looking for a lead to the man he was searching for, but if he was dead how was he to kill this man, the man who had taken the person he had loved more than anything in the world.
Pushing his chair from the table, the Reaper made to leave. As if as an after though he turned leaning down and whispered in Trai ear, the foul breath once more filling his nose. “oh and don’t think about running once I leave, you will be watched and no matter where you go I will find you……….and kill you” Reaper said with glee. Trai expected Reaper enjoyed that idea. He won’t give him the satisfaction.

Once Reaper had left, Trai returned to his room. As closed he the room door he looked at the end of the bed. He felt his heart twitch at the thought of the cat, he hadn’t realized how fond of the animal he had become, but in his stomach a heat simmered. He would kill the brute when the opportunity arose, he’d make him scream, before he snapped his neck.
With a sigh he laid on his straw stuffed bed, he had a couple of hours before he would have to go to the Bell Way. Closing his eyes he tried not to think of the cat. He’d always had a soft spot for animals.

As he drifted into a doze, unfazed by the events of the evening, he though of the man he was looking for, he had no idea who he was or what he looked like, but someone had given the order. There was always one person who made the decisions .He knew he would find him eventually and when that day came he would be able to lay his ghosts to rest, or at least the ghost of his murdered sister.

The cold waves of the Deadmar Sea crashed against the black volcanic rocks at the base of the Citadel. The green sea weed marked the line of the tide, barely 5 meter’s from where the White marble blocks of the great fortress that rose into the sky. With walls over forty meters high, the Citadel looked out across the sea, its marble surface shone and glistened with the spray from the breaking waves. No windows or doors broke the smooth surface of the wall, just a single balcony placed at the exact centre. The Fortress over looked the city of Traimar to its left. The sun rose each morning over the city below, setting behind the Fortress each evening, silhouetting the stronghold as the golden orb wrapped its arms around the marble, as if to say good night. Those who visited the Citadel of White Peak had to walk up to the white walls, before following the path along its length, to enter on the landward facing side. A great gate of carved marble sat against the perfect square of White Peak, for other than the single balcony on the seaward facing side, there were no windows or doors. All the light for the building was gained from the roof, a single perfectly formed sheet of glass. At the centre of the roof a hollow shaft ran through the middle of the building, open to the elements. The inside of the shaft was also made from glass; allowing the light from above to flow into the fortress, lighting all the different levels with natural sunlight. At the bottom of the shaft was a pool where the rain water gathered, this pool was also a natural spring, rising up from deep below the surface. The great Stone wheel which sat at the base of the castle turned by the ebb and flow of the tides powered the bellow pump built inside the pool. Pipes ran from this natural water source to all the necessary rooms in White Peak and out to the furnace in the woods which generated the hot water for the steam rooms, giving the fortress an endless supply of clean water, both hot and cold. Small vents were placed cleverly in the internal walls to allow the air to circulate, as the two meter thick walls of White Peak were hollow; two inches of space existed to allow air to circulate from the caverns below, sucking the stale air out as the tide receded and blowing in fresh air when the tide came in.

White peak had stood since time immemorial, no one knew who or what had built the great structure, but nothing else like it existed anywhere else in the know world. Peoples from all over the Western realm journeyed just to see White Peak, to run hands over the still perfect marble walls and stare in amazement at the high Battlements and carved Great Gate. The town of Traimar, below, thrived and prospered during the summer months from the endless ship loads of curious visitors who came to the Island of Ironmark, named after its main export dug from the mountains that sat majestically at the centre of the isle. Situated far to the north of the Western Realms the island was all but inaccessible during the winter months, as the ice bergs came down from the bitter north and the snow turned the hills and mountains the colour of White Peak.

Trai and his sister Heleana stood upon the single balcony staring out at the white capped waves as the cold wind whipped at their woolen cloaks. Trai looked down at his younger sister, her dark black hair flowing out behind her in the wind, cheeks rosy from the cold. Heleana was only a year young than Trai, who at ten years old already stood nearly a foot taller than his petite sibling. Sensing his gaze, Heleana looked up into Trai’s green eyes. “What are you thinking Trai” asked Heleana, her soft voice barely audible over the wind. “Nothing….just wondering when you will get tired of standing here, so I can go in and get warm” he said, pretending to shiver extravagantly.
Heleana giggled, the sound made Trai beam, he loved to hear his sister laugh. It was a sound he hadn’t heard for some months. Heleana had gotten sick at the start of the winter, her small frame had shivered and convulsed from a fever.
“You go in, I’m fine out here on my own” said Heleana turning back to watch the sea. “What” said Trai in mock horror, “and leave you here, alone, where some roguish pirate could scale the wall and steal you away….never” he said, throwing his shoulders back and lifting his chin into the air, attempting to look brave and heroic.
Heleana giggled again hitting him on the side playfully. Sighing Heleana’s face went from a smile to a thoughtful frown as she looked down at the marble floor of the balcony.
“Trai you can’t be with me always, the fever has left me and my strength is returning, the physicians say I will be my old self again soon”
Trai scowled, the physicians were next to useless with their stupid ideas of curses and evil spirits that were swimming around in her blood. Forcing a smile, Trai swept Heleana up into his arms, hugging her tightly. “And until then” he said “I will be your guardian”
Trai carried his sister into the only slightly warmer sitting room that lead to the Balcony and put her down on one of the soft sheep’s wool stuffed chairs. He added more wood to the fire, stoking it with the iron poker that lent against the black granite fire place. Trai walked back to the balcony, closing the heavy wooden doors and latching them. He seated himself opposite his sister, pulling his feet up he sat crossed legged on the comfortable chair.
“Tell me about the roguish pirate who is going to miraculously climb the walls to get me”
Asked Heleana eagerly. She loved Trai’s stories.
“Hummmm” he said rubbing his chin, “let me see” the two of them settled in for the afternoon, as Trai started his tall tale.

For the next two years the two of them settled into the routine of court, the excitement of summer and slow boredom of the cold winter months, they sat with their parents, King Trai the VIII and their emotional, but cold mother Queen Perasis. They watched as their father issued edicts and passed judgments on those who committed crimes or had grievances with their fellows. They watched their mother run around frantically, waving her hands in the air in exasperation as she organized banquets and state visits. They all knew Gwen the house hold matron with her huge chest and steel grey hair, did all the work, but the hard done by matron let all the credit go to her mother when the event went off with out a hitch. “Keeps her happy” the matron would say waging her finger at the two of them as they laughed at their mother’s wailings. Along with the two nurse maids, Beth and Morwen, Gwen had brought the two children up, their parents to busy with other things to give the children the attention they required. It wasn’t that they didn’t love the two children or at least the king loved them, he dotted on them; their happiest memories were those few occasions he was able to have some time alone with them, his great bellowing laugh echoing off the marble walls. Heleana had been fascinated by his white beard and long braided hair, pulling on them until the old King had winced. Their mother was a different story, always the disciplinarian. She had treating them sternly when in their presents, she was not unkind, just aloof and distant. Trai felt she blamed them for something they had done. It was only years later, that the old king had explained to Trai how his mother hated the island and its cold winters. She had been born far to the south in the warm climate of the western continent, her marriage to the King arranged as part of an agreement between Ironmark and Kingdom of the Fellvale.

Trai the VIII had explained how beautiful the Queen had been when she had arrived, full of life and vigor, he had quickly fallen in love with his vibrant young bride, but he also knew he would never have her love in return and slowly over the years she had become quite and distant, spending her time with the other ladies of the court. They have not shared a bed since the birth of Heleana, but the old King had stayed faithfully, still loving his Queen despite the fact that he knew she blamed him for having to live on the island, far from the high society, as she called it of her homeland. Trai had wonder after at how his father had always seemed so content, loved by his subjects he was a fair and just man, but all the time he had been rejected by his wife who he come to love so dearly.

When Trai turned twelve his life changed dramatically, gone were the days spent with his sister, playing and making a nuisance of themselves. Now he had tutors for every possible subject that could be imagined, from dinning manners to sword play. His father had brought in the best scholars and teachers from across the Western continent. Trai spent what felt like every waking hour training and studying, but he had found he had a talent for the sword and a thirst for knowledge, but he missed his sister and worried about her endlessly, Trai had been with her virtually very second of every day since she was born, he’d even moved into the small bedchamber next to hers when she had the fever.

As the weeks and months pasted, Trai saw his sister less and less, as each night after a full day of weapons practice and book work, he would walk back to his room weary to the bone, thinking only of his bed. But he would not sleep until he had looked in on his sister, her small figure sleeping soundly in her bed.
“Good night little one” he would say each night, before falling exhausted into his own bed.

As Trai training continued, his instructors started to push him harder and harder, especially his sword master, the lithe like Cranheart. With blooming moustaches cascading down his narrow face, his bold head reflecting the sun, Cranheart would order Trai to repeat the seven arms of swordsmanship until he knew them by heart, correcting the smallest error in each of the forty nine moves. “Repeat after me young Trai the seven arms” Cranheart would say, his clipped tone, broaching no argument”
“Move, Sweep, block, parry, strike, counter, kill” Trai would repeat the seven arms over and over, before Cranheart would pick one and order him to start the seven moves in question. At the end of each day Trai would ask Cranheart when he would be able to fight an opponent. “Soon” Cranheart would reply, grinning behind Trai’s back as he walked away.

By the time Trai was fourteen he could complete all forty nines moves in one smooth dance like motion, with no visible break when he switched between the seven arms. Trai enjoyed the practice sessions, his body having long since burnt off any puppy fat. Now he was lean, but his continued growth in a vertical direction meant he appeared thin, he had yet to fill out, but Cranheart and the other weapons masters all knew that Trai was destined to be a big man; he was already a hairs breath short of six feet tall.

Then one morning Trai had turned up at the weapons yard to find ten large soldiers of the kings personal guard standing with Cranheart, they all turned and grinned at him as he entered, each was armed with a wooden short sword.
Trai met Cranheart stare. “Warm up Trai” ordered Cranheart. Trai wondered at the tone of sword masters voice, he sounded almost concerned.

Trai stepped into the combat ring, swishing his wooden sword back and forth. “Upon my command engage” shouted Cranheart. A Burly looking soldier moved into the ring, a wicked grin on his face, the other nine soldiers were whispering to each other, casting furtive glances in Trai’s direction. One made a slicing action with his thumb across his throat, the others laughed. “Silence” snapped Cranheart. The remaining soldiers complied immediately, shuffling there feet guilty like scolded children.
“Engage” came the command from Cranheart. Trai took up a defensive “move” stance ready to evade his opponents attack. The burly Soldier walked towards Trai, confidence oozed from him, Trai took an instant dislike to the man as he sneered at Trai. “Ready for a beating boy, Mastons going to whip you good” The man called Maston lunged forward in an attacking “Strike” move, his wooden sword sweeping down, all his weight on his front foot. Trai slightly crouching and balanced equally on both feet, stepped to his left, swinging his body out of reach of the savage blow. The man had intended to brain him, Trai though, he chanced a quick look in Cranhearts direction, expecting the master to rebuke Marston, but Cranheart stood casually stroking his large moustaches. Looking quickly back at Marston, Trai just saw the wooden sword as it flew towards him in an overhand “strike”, still in a defensive “move” stance Trai, ducked and rolled to his left, but not before the sword clipped off the top of his head, Trai came to his feet and staggering slightly, stars flickered across his vision. Blinking Trai tried to focus, Marston was closing in, his wooden sword lowered, its blunt end aimed at Trai’s stomach. Marston thrust forward, the sword was wooden, but it would do serious damage if it connected. Trai instinctively stepped to his left again, the blunt end caught his linen shirt, tearing in open, the force of Marston attacked carried him past Trai, his head level with Trai’s chest. Trai switched quickly to a “counter” position, his weight on his left foot, he swung down his sword hitting the back of Marstons head, before reversing the swing to pull out of the blow ensuring he wasn’t of balance. Marston grunted loudly as he slammed into the ground unconscious. A small line of blood wept from the already forming bruise across the back of Marstons head. Groaning the man didn’t move.

Panting heavy, his head still light, Trai looked up to see Cranheart walking towards him. Reaching down, Cranheart placed a hand on Marstons neck. “he’ll live” said Cranheart as his mouth formed into a grin “have a hell of a headache tomorrow though” placing a hand on Trai shoulder he guided him to where the other soldiers stood. They all looked at him as if for the first time, grudging looks of respect on some faces, others looking him up and down as if he were a piece of meat at auction. “Wash your face” said Cranheart “then get ready for the next one” Trai looked at Cranheart in disbelief, before slowly walking back to his starting point.

For the following weeks Trai fought what seemed like every soldier in the army, some were efficient, other vicious, but he held his own against most. At first Trai had been bruised and battered each night from multiple strikes, but as time passed these hits became less and less. The soldiers were starting to treat him with respect, and were soon trying to avoid his blows, rather than to hit him.

By the time Trai turned sixteen, he was by far the best swordsman on the Island, and even Master Cranheart had given up trying to beat Trai. He continued with the sparing rounds simply for the exercise and to try different adaptations of the seven arms. Of all the weapons classes he attended, the sword was by far the best; he had struggled with the clumsy attacked of the axe, and the simplicity of the lance and spear. Only the bow had interested him, but he only used it for hunting it had felt dishonorable to kill a man when you couldn’t see his face, Cranheart hadn’t helped. “A coward uses a bow, when a sword is at hand”, Cranheart had always said. “Honor first boy, live with it in your heart and all men shall see it; you are a prince, an example. Always remember this”. Trai had always remembered it and always would; it had prevented him from playing outside the Citadel with the other boys, and stopped him from making friends. Even now when he trained with the soldiers, there was a deference which prevented him from joining them afterwards, he had sat in the training yard listening to them laugh and joke, shouting jovial insults at each other. He had yearned to join them, but he knew he couldn’t. He had always known he was different, he was to be a king one day and a king had responsibilities, as did a prince.

His only true friend had been his sister and aged fourteen she had gone to Delmare on the western coast to be educated at the High king’s court. He missed Heleana, even though they had spent virtually no time together since he had started his lessons, just brief hugs and fleeting conversations as they had passed in corridors or been seated at a banquet. Every night when he had looked in on her and said goodnight to her sleeping figure, he had hoped she would be awake. To chat and dream as they had as children, but each night she had been asleep, oblivious to his presents.

“Your lessons are complete” panted Cranheart, as he and Trai spared.
“What” replied Trai, dropping his guard? Cranheart thrust forward having to reach up to target Trai heart, with his standard issue short sword, Trai parried the attack casually, knocking Cranheart’s sword to his right, with a flick of his wrist Trai’s sword smacked Cranhearts knuckles. With a yell the sword master dropped his sword rubbing his injured hand vigorously. “What” repeated Trai.
Cranheart gave Trai a dark look, as he rubbed his hand.
“Oh sorry, didn’t mean to hit you that hard, you comment distracted me” grinned Trai.
“I’m sure it did” the master mumbled “I said your lessons are complete……all the master have agreed there is little more you can be taught, even though I’m sure they don’t get their knuckles rapped just to prove the point”
Trai stood, stunned by the masters comments, as the aggrieved swordsman walked away muttering.
“Come on then” said Cranheart, turning back to Trai, his bruised hand forgotten.
“Where are we going” said Trai as he jogged to where Cranheart stood.
“My quarters” said Cranheart as they walked side by side
“There’s something I want to show you and something I have to give you, even though you don’t deserve it” his moustaches twitching as he rubbed his sore hand again.

The two of them entered Cranhearts room; Trai ducked under the frame so as not to hit his head, something he had been doing a lot of recently. He looked around at the sparse decor. Other than his bed, two chairs and a battered old table the only things of note in the room where an old traveling chest and a magnificent tapestry on the wall over the fire.
“What’s this” asked Trai, walking across to the tapestry.
“Last time I checked it was a tapestry” said Cranheart sarcastically, still smarting from the rap he’d taken to the knuckles.
“A tapestry of what” enquired Trai, the sarcasm lost on him, as his eyes followed intricate detail of the weave. The image was one of cavalry charging into a square of pike men, horses were rearing as the long pikes torn through them, Cavalry men suspended in the air, as they fell from wounded mounts. The stitch work was beautiful, Trai could see the men’s faces showed the finest detail. Even a scar was visible on the cheek of one of the fallen figures.
“Battle of two rivers” said Cranheart sadly.
Hearing the sadness in the mans voice, Trai turned to look at him. “You were there” asked Trai in an amazed tone.
“Yes” replied Cranheart “but we’re not here to talk about me”.
Trai looked at Cranheart, he guessed his teacher was probably in his middle years and while the Trai had always looked upon Cranheart as his tutor and advisor he realized he had selfishly never wondered about the man and what his life had been like before they met. Cranheart had always kept their relationship one of pupil and master, but the old warrior had grown fond of the prince over the last few years, the boy had a good nature, inquisitive and probing, always ready and eager to learn more. He’d know after only a few weeks that Trai would eventually become a better swordsman than he, but the prince hadn’t been tested in true combat and Cranheart knew, that would be when Trai understood what it meant to wield a sword. The first time he took a life.

Still gazing at the tapestry Trai said. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”
Cranheart smiled at Trai’s back, as he eased himself into one of the chairs, he knew most men coming up to there passing would have been interested in what he had to give them, but Trai was different.
“You” replied Cranheart, absently fiddling with his moustache.
“Me” replied Trai innocently, “what about me”.
“You are the heir to Ironmark, not only the biggest supplier of iron in the know world, but also the guardian of the northern pass” stated Cranheart seriously.
“I know” Trai’s tone was exasperated. “I wish every minute of every day, that I wasn’t, and then I could travel and experience all the things the masters have taught me”
“Oh don’t get me wrong” said Trai, holding both hands up defensively.
“I know I have been blessed in many ways, I have had access to knowledge and wisdom most people don’t even know exists. Its just so………”
“Lonely” finished Cranheart
“Yes” replied Trai, shocked at the Cranhearts understanding.
“Your not the first prince I have instructed Trai”, but you are the best he though to himself.
“I am no longer your sword master, soon I will be leaving for another position, as I have said you have learnt everything and more, that the various masters could teach.”
Leaving, Trai, hadn’t though about his masters leaving, especially Cranheart.
“But what will I do with my days, I have very few duties and Heleana is away, who will I speak to, I ……..” Trai stopped speaking. He looked at Cranheart, his eyes almost pleading.
“The king will decide what you are to do; he will probably want you get involved in matters of state, ready for when your time as king starts, as for Heleana…..”
Cranheart smiled. “She is due in on a ship tomorrow”
Trai started at Cranheart in shocked amazement.
“Tomorrow” stammered Trai, his original concerns forgotten.
“In case you had forgotten, the day after the morrow is your passing”
Trai stood a look of astonishment on his face. Heleana coming home. Trai started to pace the floor.
“What will I wear when I meet her at the dock…..do you think she has changed”
“She will have definitely changed Trai, of that I am sure”
Trai slumped into the remaining chairs. Cranheart waited patiently as he watched Trai, he knew the boy had missed his sister, also knew how close they were. He just hoped for Trai sake she hadn’t changed too much and that she missed him as much as he missed her.
“Trai” said Cranheart softly. “Trai”.
Trai looked up as if seeing Cranheart for the first time. As if realizing where he was, Trai looked apologetically at Cranheart.
“Sorry…it’s just been so long” sitting back in the chair Trai gave Cranheart his full attention. Cranheart patted Trai on the knee “I know, but we need to talk”
Trai apologized again before Cranheart continued.
“Trai, there is one thing you must remember at all times…….” Trai’s eyes followed Cranhearts lips as he spoke, the mans serious tone drove all though of his sister temporarily from his mind as he focused on Cranhearts words.
“Every nation in the western Realm, lusts after Ironmark” Trai nodded, he knew this. Shaking his head Cranheart, leaned closer to Trai.
“What I mean is, every nation WANTS Ironmark and they will use whatever means necessary to get it, short of all out war”
Trai understood what Cranheart was saying, it was a warning, but of what?
“You have had to spend virtually your whole life either in the White Peak, or at the barracks, this is because your father feared for your safety”
Trai stared back at Cranheart blankly; he could see he wasn’t getting through to the prince. “If you and your sister were to die, the line would end”
Trai pondered Cranhearts words, he wasn’t slow, far from it, but what Cranheart was saying, didn’t bear thinking about. All the years he had been prevented from visiting the town or leaving White Peak he hadn’t once questioned why, as a child there had been so much to do in the Citadel and his parents almost never went out of the Citadel either, just for the summer fair. Why had he never questioned this, everything he knew and loved were here inside the great white walls? All his dreams of adventure and fabulous journeys to the far reaches of the realm and he’d never even had the urge to visit the city below. He had simply accepted.

Trai sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, deep in though. Cranheart sat watching him. After a few minutes of silence, Trai looked up, meeting Cranhearts gaze. The old Warrior saw the again the child he had first tutored.
“Why have I never questioned this” ask Trai his voice confused and uncertain.
“Duty…..” stated Cranheart.
“From the very first breath you took, you have been taught by your parents and nurses, through to you masters. Duty first, you have always been told “you are a prince and this is how you should act”, you have never questioned because you always follow rules, you understand why they exist.”

The two men passed the rest of the evening talking of places Cranheart had visited, Trai sat in rapture, all the years he’d missed, he could have been listening to his former masters stories. Former master, it still hadn’t sunk in that Cranheart and the other masters were leaving, as far as he was concerned they would always been his master, even old uppity Gill, his language master, with his annoying way of elongating every word, his hand waving under his chin as if speeding the words along. Trai sat quietly listening to Cranheart who was thoroughly enjoying reminiscing about the past, Trai smiled as he though of the silly tall tales he used to tell his sister. Oh it would be good to see his sister again, probably all grown up; his heart beat faster with excitement, he knew tonight would drag on, as he lay sleepless waiting for the morrow.
Cranheart realized the prince was no longer listening as he gazed at the old warriors feet a small smile on his face.

Probably thinking about his sisters return thought Cranheart, as his words trailed off. After a moment or two, Trai realized Cranheart had stopped talking and was watching him.
“Sorry” apologized the prince, guiltily.
“Don’t worry time you were off anyway, I need to pack”
They both looked around the room, before bursting in to laughter.
Still chuckling Trai stood, thrusting his hand out to Cranheart. Taken slightly aback, he clasped the young prince’s hand firmly.
“May all your voyages be good ones” said the prince.
Cranheart smiled, but did not reply, he would miss the young prince.

Trai lay on his bed in the small room next to what had been his sister’s room. He realized he could only just remember his sister’s face, had it really been three years. He thought fondly of the little girl he adored so much. Of when she had the fever and the long nights sitting up with her, while the nurse slept in the chair at the end of the bed. Of the stories he had made up of monsters and hero’s and how she had sat avidly listening to his ever word. Giggling at the funny bits and oh’ing when the monsters made an appearance.
Despite his worries about not being able to fall asleep it wasn’t long before Trai drift off, dreaming of monster and great journeys across wild oceans, his sister by his side.

The sun light streamed into his room down the Sun tower. Rubbing salt incrusted eyes, he blinked as the night. Heleana he remembered, jumping out of bed he raced fully clothed from the previous evening, straight to the royal steam room, peeling clothes off as he ran, a disgruntled man servant desperately trying to keep us, fresh clothes bundled under one arm, as his free hand tried to scope up the Princes discard attire.
Opening the door as he stripped, Trai slowed his run to a careful hop, as he negotiated his way over the wet tiles of the steam room floor. As his small clothes hit he floor, Trai dropped to his haunches lowered himself into the hot waters generated by the great furnace situated in the woods to the fortresses right, the hot water pumped continuously via copper pipes to the various steam rooms around the White Peak.
The disgruntled man servant trotted into the room, dropping the clean clothes onto the first available chair and the old clothes in a pile at his feet, before bending over hands on knees in an attempt to get his breath.
Scrubbing frantically with a battered soap stick, Trai cleaned himself as quickly as possible. “Sire…….Sire” pleaded the servant.
“Hum” said Trai suddenly startled by the voice coming from behind him, looking over his now broad shoulder, he saw the servant standing, the discarded clothes sitting in a pile at his feet, looking flushed at Trai. Trai had dispensed with servants at the earliest possibility, royalty or not he was perfectly capable of looking after himself and as soon as he was old enough he had found other duties for those assigned to him. Strangely he have never wondered how his dirty clothes always ended up back in his cupboards, freshly cleaned or new sheets got on his bed. He was therefore surprised to see the man standing in the room.
“Sorry, didn’t see you there, what can I do for you”
“Sire, your sister’s ship is not due until midday” all the servants and workers at the White Peak knew of Trai’s love for his sister. Not a one between them would ever speak ill of either Heleana or Trai.
“Oh thank you” said Trai, he carried on looking straight at the servant, who eventually got the idea and left with a nod.

Looking at the soap stick in his hand Trai once again started to scrub. What was he to do until midday? With a sigh he continued cleaning until he almost gleamed. Stepping out of the hot water Trai dried himself before putting on the fresh clothes the servant had left.
Trai wander through White Peak searching for Cranheart, he hadn’t been in his rooms or at the barracks and everyone he asked responded in the negative. Trai up to the top floor and lay on one the benches gazing up out of the glass roof of the Citadel watching the clouds drift endlessly by, after less than a hour Trai couldn’t sit still any longer, climbing the stairs that lead to the battlements which ringed the great glass roof, Trai paced up and down the seaward side, stopping every few steps to look out of sea in hope seeing his sisters ship. The warm southerly winds caressed his skin, the sun warming his side alternately as he continued pacing. Stopping and looking out to sea, he thought he saw a sail on the horizon, squinting he tried to focus on the spot he was sure he’d seen the sail, slowly the pinpoint that sat upon the seam between sea and sky grow, until he could clearly identify the outline of a vessel. Heleana’s ship was the only one expected today, please let it be her he thought. He glanced down at the harbor below; people were going about their business as usual, weren’t they excited he though to himself Heleana was coming home. He laughed out loud, before leaning over the battlements.
“Heleana is coming home” he shouted from the battlements
People below looked up at the figure shouting, shielding their eyes from the glare of the sun off of the marble walls.

Trai watched as the ship slowly entered the harbor, he could barely contain himself, but as the ship dropped anchor and a small boat was lowered over the side, he raced from the battlements and down the stairs to the glass roof, before heading toward the next set of stair at the end of the level. He would meet her at the great gate he decided.
Heart racing he ran through the halls and corridors, people dodged the prince as he swept through, all of them were smiling, and they knew why he was so happy.

Heleana was coming home.

Trai shifted his weight from foot to foot, as he impatient awaited Heleana, he leaned around the Great Gate, his right hand placed upon the head of a marble dragon to keep his balance. “Where is she” he moaned to himself. The sound of laughter carried on the wind made him lean further out in the hope of seeing his sister.
The soldiers and servants lined up behind him in orderly lines, their uniforms freshly pressed, smiled at his eagerness to see his sibling.
Stretching as far as he could, his neck straining, Trai turned his head in an effort to listen for the laughter he had heard. He could just make out the sound of a carriage wheel in need of oiling, as it creaked along the path that ran parallel with White Peak. Rocking back on to his heels, Trai turned to face the waiting reception, the soldier’s heads snapped forward, all of them coming to attention, but the maids continued to watch Trai, giggling behind their hands.
“Silence” echoed the voice of the Royal advisor, Franklin. The maids quickly dropped their eyes, studying the interesting Cobble stones that had suddenly appeared between their feet. Franklin strode between the two ranks, stopping every now and again to straighten the gold lapel on a soldier or to pull straight a white jacket which didn’t meet his standard of acceptability. Satisfied all present were ready for the arrival, Franklin walked up to Trai, standing by his elbow.
“Remember Sire, you sisters guests are mostly of equal rank to yourself and must be treated with due respect and courtesy” said Franklin, his chest thrust our and chin held high, he did not look at Trai as he spoke.
“uppphum” Franklin cleared his throat.
“upppphum” repeat the advisor. Trai turned to Franklin, who was now rubbing his nose with his index finger. Raising one bushy eye repeatedly, indicating towards Trai’s chest, while frantically pointing with the finger he was rubbing his nose with.
“What?” said the Prince looking down at his gold trimmed White tunic, the black hammer of Ironmark sitting proudly on a field of red, embossed upon his chest.
“Oh” Trai quickly buttoned up his gaping Tunic and pulling the offending clothing straight for good measure.
“Do you think she will have changed much Franklin” asked the concerned Prince. “I would not know Sire, but I believe young girls do have a tendency of changing into young women” Trai looked down at the diminutive adviser, the few whispery white hairs that remained on his head, clung on for dear life as the wind pressed them to his bald pate, before sweeping them up and making them dance on end.
“You’re probably right” said Trai seriously.
Franklin’s left eyebrow shot up at the comment, as a smirk threatening to appear at side of the old mans mouth.

The voices of the arriving party and marching boots could now be heard clearly over the squeaking carriage.
Trai’s stomachs tossed and turned, torn between excitement and nervousness. Seven fully armed men of the Kings own marched through the Great Gate, preceded by a cloud of dust thrown up by their heavy boots. The soldiers marched up to Franklin and Trai, their movements perfectly in time. Stamping their feet they came to attention before the two men.
“Kings own reporting Sir” yelled the squad leader, his chin proudly tilted upwards. He looked up at Trai, who winked at the old veteran. A smile started to form on the soldier’s face, before he remembered where he was and who he was addressing.
“Thank you squad leader” answered Franklin.
Trai looked over the heads of the soldiers in front of him, scanning the face of every woman who entered, earnestly searching for Heleana, every time he saw black hair his heart jumped, but every woman who had entered was garbed in the attire of a servant of hand maid.

“Sir” replied the squad leader crisply. The soldiers split into two groups and moved to either side of the two waiting men, before turning smartly and facing their opposite number.
Those who entered after the soldiers gathered against the walls of the enclosed court yard.
Trai looked from one to another, hand maids, servants, baggage carriers, advisors, the usual retinue of a royal party.
Trai and Franklin looked at one another. Confused they were both wondering the same thing “where are they”.
Laughter could be heard coming from out side the gate. As one both men started towards the Great Gate. As they walked through the shadow of the gate, the laughter got louder, female giggles were mixed with deep male guffaws of amusement. Shielding their eyes from the brightness of the sun, Trai and Franklin stopped, looking around for the source of the merriment. Looking to their right they could see the second squad of soldiers who had covered the rear of the party facing outwards their back to the laughter which was coming from around the side of the great gate. Walking towards the corner of the mighty entrance the two men were met by a scene of three young women and two young men, running their hands over the intricate carvings of the ornate gate.
“Look, this one is a woman, but she has no arms or legs” said one of the young women gleefully.
“She’s wearing a full length cloak Saray” laughed one of the young men looking over the women called Saray shoulder.
In quick succession each of them pointed out different characters and figures that decorated the surface of the Great Gate, but Trai was oblivious to the chatter of the five. He was looking, open mouthed, at the dark haired women who stood apart from the group. The women was smiling as she watched her companions discover the many sculptures that covered the gate, sculptures she had spent many a happy hour drawing as a child. As if knowing she was being watched, she turned meeting Trai stare. At the sight of him her eyes lit up.

“Trai” she yelled as she started to run towards him, her arms open wide. Trai just stood, still open mouthed as the young women through her arms around his waist and burying her face into stomach.
“Trai, you’re so tall” she said looking up at him.
“Heleana” stammered Trai.
“Of course” replied Heleana
Trai’s face burst into a huge grin. Reaching down he put both hands under her arms and lifted her into the air, before pulling her to his chest and hugging her tightly.
They held each other until a polite “uppphmp” from Franklin reminded them where they were. Trai lowered Heleana to the ground gently.
As her feet touched the ground Heleana, her eyes never leaving Trai’s, stuck out her arm, index finger pointing.
“These are my friends” she said.
Trai turned towards her five forgotten companions.
“My apologies” said Trai.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my sister”
Taking hold of Trai’s hand Heleana lead him to the group.
“This is Saray; she is the second daughter of the King of Fellvale, which means we are related, as the king is mothers elder brother” stated Helaena happily.
“He’s so big Heleana, you never said he was a colossus” intoned Saray with a girly giggle at the end of the statement as it was punctuation mark. Saray’s hand was repeatedly brushing at a non existence strand of hair, hair that must have taken hours to perfect, as not a single one of the sun bleached blonde hairs was out of play. Pretty thought Trai bowing his head politely.
“Charmed” said Trai. Saray giggled again, her lashes fluttering over her big round eyes, looking away as if embarrassed. Need to watch this one thought Trai, trying not to stare at her ample bosom. Moving past Saray, who was once again staring up a Trai, watching him as if he were some mythical creature, Heleana introduced the two remaining women simultaneously.
“And these are Sulmana and Rymur, sisters from the Ryman Empire, daughters of Empress Alendra” Both women nodded theirs head in acknowledgement, their hands held out, palms up.
Trai returned gesture.
Both women looked at one another; before repeating the apparent greeting again. Neither had looked Trai in the eye during the introduction
“Their nice, but they don’t say much, by the way don’t do the hand think again, it’s a female gesture, Ill show the male response later” said Heleana her voice full of mirth, she placed a hand over her mouth to stem a giggle. Trai wonder what on earth was so funny. Regaining her composure Heleana moved towards to the two men, who had stood back during the introduction.

Looking at the two of them, Trai found himself instinctively gauging each man. The one on the right was quite tall, just over six foot, his blonde hair hung down over his face, obscuring one of his eyes, but his hair had been cut short at the back of his head and trimmed clear of his ears. His face was narrow, but his features strong. A sharp nose sat above a small but full mouth, his dark brown eyes were unblinking, and his skin was tanned, his nose slightly peeling, revealing the secret of a normal fair complexion. Trai realized the man was also gauging him as he approached. The man’s hands were gloved hiding from Trai the stories they could tell.
“A mans hands will tell your more than his eyes” Cranheart had always said and had taught Trai how to decipher their tale.
The man to the left was unremarkable, disheveled mousy brown hair sat a top a round face, with a small round nose and two small brown eyes. He was slightly stooped and carried more weight than was advisable. The only word Trai could think of to describe him was round.

“This is Halgorn, third son of King Mortain, of Oakwood”. Said Heleana gesturing to sharp nosed man on the right, Trai held out his hand in greeting, Halgorn stared at the hand for a moment, just long enough to border on impolite, before firmly grasping Trai’s out stretched limb. “Pleasure, I’m sure” said Halgorn, his tone saying it was everything but. Trai knew he wasn’t going to like this man, as he released his hand.
Heleana placed a hand on Trai’s arm and turned him to face the other man.
“This is Hobard” Heleana said his name with such fondness that Trai felt himself looking down at his sister, a small pang of jealousy nibbled at his insides for a brief second.
“He is the second son of King Mortain”
Hobard put out his hand out to Trai and smiled up at the towering Prince. The moment Hobard smiled his whole façade charged. His almost cubby face glowed with intelligence and good humour, Trai found himself smiling back instantly liking the man.

“Sire” said Franklin from just behind him Trai.
“The king and queen will be waiting in the main hall shortly to greet the guests”
“Of course…..urrr…Franklin can you escort our guests to their rooms so they can change” said Trai thinking fast.
Franklin turned to the five royal persons requesting respectfully that they follow him to their quarters. As the advisor spoke, Trai took Heleana’s hand and held her back.
“Trai, I must go with our guest” complained Heleana.
“One moment before we have to go, when can speak, I want to hear about everything your seen and done” Trai begged.
Looking past his arm, Heleana waved the others on.
“I’ll follow shortly” she shouted to them
“Looking up at her older brother, she smiled affectionately at him.
“Soon, after the banquet, but first I must see that the others are properly settled in, and I need to get ready to see mother and father”
He released her hand reluctantly, as she walked towards the entrance of the Great Gate, followed by three members of the Kings own, The squad leader and the remaining men stood a respectful distant away, waiting for Trai.

Trai, his head bowed, sulked, he had waited so long to see his sister and now he must wait even long. Realizing he was being petulant he made to follow.
“I’ve missed you terribly brother of mine” Trai looked up to see Heleana had stopped and was watching him, the three soldiers looking everywhere but at the two of them.
“And I‘ve missed you to, more than you’ll ever know” his heart lifted by her words, he watched her run through the Great Gate, her skirts gathered up against the dust, before following slowly after.

From the bushes that lined the pathway to White Peak, two shadowy figures watched the last of the soldiers enter the gate, before turning their attention to a rickety hay wagon that trundled up the dusty path, the old man astride the wagon dozing as the two horses trudged along the well worn route. As the wagon pasted, both men rose from there place of concealment, lithely mounting the wagon and hiding beneath the hay. Roused by the movement of the men hiding behind him the old man yawned looking down at the path way.
“Probably a rock” he though absently, as he scratched at his beard. The wagon passed though the Great Gate, waved on by the two Guards who had known the old man since they were boys. As he came into the enclosed court yard, the old man dismounted, taking up the guide rope he lead the horses towards the stable doors. As he unhitched the wagon he called to the stable hand that stood by the doors watching.
“Come on boy, open the doors and give me a hand”
With a sigh the boy pushed open the big double doors, latching them to the inside walls so they didn’t swing shut.

The old man and the boy spun the wagon round reversing it into the stables. As the wagon entered the dark dusty store house they felt the back spring up. They both looked around their respective sides of the wagon looking for the cause of the disruption, with nothing obvious in sight; they looked at each other and shrugged.

Picking up his fork the boy started to unload the wagon as the old man leaned against one of the large wheels puffing on his pipe.
From the back of the store room two sets of eyes watched the boy finish his task and set down his fork, the boy pushed closed the two big doors flicking the flimsy catch into place. He helped the old man hitch the horses again before waving good bye and heading off to the kitchen to see if he could get some lemon cakes off one of the cooks.

The two men settled down in the hay, their nose and mouths covered by rags to prevent them from coughing in the dusty air. They would need their sleep for tonight blue blood would be spilt.

Trai wandered down one of the many corridors within White Peak towards his small room, thinking about how his sister had changed. Physical she had changed little, she was still slight of build and stood only just over five foot, her face now that of a women rather than a child, cheek bones defined, lips fuller. But it was the way she carried herself that was the most obvious change, elegant and graceful, full of confidence.
He arrived at the door to his room, the light wood panels surrounded a large central circle of frosted glass. Pushing the door open, Trai removed the tight fitting tunic and undid the top two buttons of his cotton shirt. Throwing the tunic absently onto the hard backed chair he used when at his writing desk. Trai sat on the over stuffed sofa below a huge tapestry that covered the far wall of the room. He rested his elbows on his knees his chin upped in both hands, he felt exhausted, the excitement of his sister returning had taken its toll, the constant emotional swings of the day sapping his mental strength.
Looking up, Trai realized there was a long package lying on his bed, a small note next to it. Standing he walked across to pick up the note, his curiosity grew as he read the words written inside.

The gift I said I had, but never got to give you. I do not give it lightly or with out thought Cranheart

Smiling he picked up the long brown paper wrapped gift. Trai wondered where Cranheart was, he still hadn’t left, as all the masters were to leave together on a ship bound for the City of StormDwell, on the northern most coast of western continent, tomorrow.

Carefully he unwound the brown paper, whatever was inside it was hard, but not particularly heavy. As he removed the paper from one end, the light from the circular glass window in the door reflected off of metal. The careful removal of the paper became secondary, as Trai tore at the flimsy wrapping, as the paper drifted down to the wool rugs scattered over the floor, a hilt became visible. A round metal pommel, the hammer insignia of Ironmark worked beautifully into center revealed itself, tearing the remaining paper away, Trai’s eyes followed the line of the hilt. Leather strapping covered the ten inch shaft, overlapping perfectly. Running his fingers over the hilt, he marveled at the softness of the leather, the cross beam guard was of treated oak and carved into the form of two dragons, their wings pressed close to their bodies as if asleep. Both dragons’ wing tips and claws were coated in what looked like silver, small metal discs made up the scales of exquisitely crafted creatures, each discs resting atop the one below it. The dragons bodies flowed the length of the cross beam, until they met in the middle, their tails entwined.

The five foot blade shone in the light, the steel blemish free and pure. Trai was stunned by the lightness and balance the sword offered as he swept the blade back and forth through the air. Sitting down on the bed, Trai marveled at the gift Cranheart had given him. Studying the blade closely, he could tell it was not new, small nicks could just be seen scarring the dragons scales and the blade had wet stone marks where it had been sharpened. As he squinted to make out the small marks on the dragons, he noticed something was etched into the swords blade. Leaning closer he read aloud. “The wielder of this sword must know, the blade with you will always grow, but if your soul is not of light, with this blade you can not fight”
Strange thought Trai, puzzling over the inscription, probably just a fanciful rhyme made up by the blacksmith he concluded. He would thank Cranheart tomorrow when he departed for Stormdwell, Trai was sure his old master would be there, he was not looking forward to all the farewells and strangely he was a bit concerned about leaving White Peak for the first time to go to docks. He still wondered at the eighteen years he had spent in White Peak, without once visiting the city below. His introspection was broken by a knock on his door. Standing he took the few steps to the rooms entrance, opening the door he saw the servant who had tried to keep up with him earlier as he had gone to the steam room.
Bowing his head the servant said
“Sire, the King and Queen are making their way to the main hall”
Looking down at himself Trai realized he was still not changed, his white britches and cotton shirt covered in dust and sweat respectively. Looking up he saw the servant reach down and produce a pile of clean clothes from the chair outside the door. A very large pair of newly polished boots sat astride the pile.
“Thank you …..er”
“Grimson Sire”
“Ah yes Grimson” replied Trai, embarrassed he had not know the mans name.
Taking the clothes Trai undressed quickly, dropping the soil garments to the floor, Grimson recovered them quietly as Trai pulled on the fresh attire. Tying up the polished boots Trai stood arms out stretched.
“How do I look Grimson” asked Trai, his humour returning at the thought of seeing his sister at the banquet.
“Splendid Sire” replied Grimson tilting his head back so he could look Trai up and down.
The black britches complemented the silver embroidery which ran the length of the blue shirt’s sleeves and ended in open cuffs bedecked with even more of the silver thread.

Holding the door open, Grimson bowed his head as Trai walked through the doorway and strode off in the direction of the main hall. Grimson closed the door as he left the room, turning he saw Trai had stopped half way down the corridor and was smiling back in his direction. “Thank you Grimson” said Trai sincerely.
Losing his normal dower expression, Grimson smiled back.
“An honour Sire” and he meant it, in all his years at White Peak, no one had ever thanked him, and to be honest he though he wasn’t even sure anyone, other than the other servants, had even noticed he was there.

With a slight wave of his hand Trai acknowledged Grimson’s reply before continuing towards the Main Hall. Grimson heading in the opposite direction started to whistle uncharacteristically. “Fine young Prince we have there” though Grimson to himself. He felt in exceptional good humour, he might even go down to inn where the servants congregated of an evenings and have a couple of jugs of mead. Still whistling Grimson carried on towards to laundry, the Princes dirty clothes in his arms.

Trai entered the Main Hall through one of the lesser entrances so as not to draw attention to himself. Which at six foot nine was not easy? As he stepped over the freshold, the various merchant’s, traders and lesser nobles seated at the lower tables started to stand acknowledging him with “Sire” or a polite smile. Moving carefully past the tables he nodded at those who offered greeting, smiling at all those who met his eye.

As he approached the main table, which sat on a raised diasis at the end of the hall so it was visible to all, Trai’s saw faces he recognized, seated just below and to the left of the royal table sat his old masters, they watched him approach, some with looks of pride, others with fondness. Without hesitation he made a bee line in their direction, just as the royal chamberlain stepped through the main entrance.
“Their royal majesties King Trai the VIII and Queen Perasis” chairs scrapped across the floor as the hall rose together. Ducking down so as not to be seen above the crowd, Trai changed direction again and headed for the head table.
He sprung up the steps in one bound and made for the empty chair next to where his parents would sit. He pulled his chair out and dropped into it just as the King and Queen walked up the steps on the other side of the dias.
Looking right he saw Heleana sitting on the other side of the two slightly larger chairs kept vacant for his mother and Father. Heleana wiggled her fingers in a waved greeting. Trai smiled back. As his parents approached Trai looked to his left, straight into the eyes of Saray who was seated next to him, his heart sank, while she was extremely attractive, Trai could not see the conversation flowing and knew it would be a long evening. Trai nodded a greeting to Saray before quickly looking the other way. His father was holding his mothers chair as she seated herself.
“Late as usual Trai” intoned his mother as she smiled at the standing gathering.
He winced inside, he hadn’t seen his mother for sometime due to his now completed studies and he should have know her first words to him would be cutting.

As the King sat next his wife, the Chamberlain indicated for the other guests to be seated. The scrap of chairs and whispered words followed as each of those at the lesser tables sat down and continued interrupted conversations.
As soon as he was seated the king leaned towards Heleana, Trai could see that despite the required public decorum, the King was very pleased to see his daughter. Trai noticed his fathers hand disappear under the table and clasp Heleana tiny hand in his. As the two of them spoke, Heleana looking up loving at her father, Trai’s mother sat in silence next to him, picking at the fair on offer.

Saray was chatting away to the two Ryman princesses; or rather she spoke at them, unaware that neither of them was paying a blind bit of notice as they ate the food laid before them. Halgorn with his strange hair cut was deep in conversation with Hobard, the two princes waving untouched pieces of meat at each other as if to reinforce the points they were trying to make. Looking down at the table where his former masters sat, Trai could just make out the elusive Cranheart who was digging into a large piece of pink beef. Trai would have loved to have sat with his masters right now, especially Cranheart, he wanted to thank him for the sword and ask him about the cryptic inscription on the blade. But he new this was out of the question. Trai’s wishful thinking was broken as he heard his father speak his name.

“Trai” said the king again, leaning forward to see past his wife who was still busy pushing food around her plate.
“Father” replied Trai
“Are you looking forward to your passing tomorrow” asked the King
With all the excitement of his sister returning Trai had forgotten about his passing.
At the age of eighteen every boy, be he fisher, farmer or Prince under went the passing. It was a simple ceremony where the boys ancestors where quoted right up to the current generation and the father of the boy acknowledged publicly his sons birth right and the trade his son would enter into to, or in Trai’s case he was declared as rightful heir to the Throne of Ironmark.
“Yes father, very much” Trai wasn’t too bothered about the ceremony, unlike the other boys nothing would change for him, over than his new title of Prince in waiting.
“I remember my passing as if it were yesterday” said the King staring into space. With a sigh he started to recite the story they had all heard at least once.

Trai pretended to listen intently as his father told the story, this time with a little bit more colour and verve that the last time it had been told. Trai leaned forward to see Heleana. She sat watching her father intently, hanging on his every word. She always had loved a story whether it was good or bad. Looking past his sister he noticed Halgorn and Hobard where both staring at him, hobard looked away upon realizing Trai had noticed, but Halgorn continued to stare a look of contempt on his face, until Hobard nudged him and mumbling something under his breath.

Trai dismissed the two men out of hand, before settling in to an evening of boredom. When the final course had been served and the plates cleared away, the King had stood his voice full of affection as he spoke of the glad return of his daughter and offered flowery welcomes to each of Heleana’s companions, speaking at length about the greatness of each of their countries and the wonderful relationship they all shared. Trai notice that Halgorn had smiled deceitfully at this part of the speech and rolled his eyes for all present to see. Trai had felt angry at the man’s disrespectful attitude to his father and made a mental note to speak with the man at the earliest opportunity, as the time dragged on Trai constantly deflected attempts by Saray to engage him in conversation and other than the occasional smile in his sisters direction, the evening was uneventful. Trai noticed some of the lesser guests were starting to leave and taking this as signal to flee he yawned extravagantly, stretching his arms over his head.
He heard his mother tut.
“If everyone with excuse me, I think its time I retired for the evening”, Trai thanked each of those present at the table for their company, including Halgorn who ignored him complete, before bowing to his mother and father and wishing them a good night. As he did so he was looked imploringly at Heleana, gesturing with his eyes for her to follow. Shaking her head very slightly, she dropped her hand to her side so the others couldn’t see her wave him away.

Disappointed Trai offered a final good night before making his way to his room.
Trai placed the sword from Cranheart on the floor next the bed before throwing his full length onto the down filled mattress, placing one arm behind his head he stared at the marble ceiling, still disappointed by Heleana’s rejection to come and speak with him. He though again of Halgorns arrogance and insult he had given, what had he done to Halgorn to make the man so obviously dislike him, with this though still running through his mind he dozed off.

He was awoken by a gentle knock on the door; sitting upright and yawning he answered the knock.
“Come in”, a small hand appeared around the side of the door, quickly followed by his sister’s face.
“Can I come in” she whispered.
Jumping up Trai rushed to the door opening the rest of the way.
“Of course” he said as she entered. Heleana smiled up at him.
“I still can’t believe how big you are now” she said walking across to the overstuffed chair under the tapestry.
Sitting down she watched Trai he sat on the edge of the bed.
“So tell me” she said eagerly “what have you been doing while I’ve been away”
Trai started telling her of his training and all the different things he’d learnt, languages, history, geography, weapons training, music……
“Music” she giggled, don’t tell me you sing now.
Trai blushed looking down at the floor between his feet.
“A little” he said
Heleana burst into laughter, her small voice filling the room.
Trai smiled threatened to split his face, as he grinned at his sister, it had been so long since he’d heard her laughter.
“Enough about me tell me what you’ve been doing”, they spoke until the small hours as Heleana spoke of the cities he had visited and the people she’d met.
“Oh Trai, you would love it” she said to him, not noticing the sad look on his face as she told him of the last three years. He wished he had been with her and seen what she had seen.
Heleana yawned behind her hand.
“You’re tired” he said concern in his voice. “You should go to bed, it’s been a long day and it’s getting later, we can talk more in the morning”
Heleana stood still yawning, Trai opened the door for her, but instead of leaving she wrapped her arms around him hugging him tight.
“I’ve missed you so much Trai”
Trai returned the hug, the love for his sister threatening to burst his chest.
Releasing him, she stood on her tip toes in an attempt to kiss his cheek.
“Crouch down you big lug”, she said affectingly, unable to reach him.
Bending down Trai received her kiss; his heart ached as her lips touched his cheek.
“Shall we have breakfast together in the morning, we can sit out on the balcony like we used to” Heleana asked
“Great idea” responded Trai as he watched her leave the room, she smiled at him one last time before disappearing down the corridor.
Trai closed the door, he was sure he had never been happier that he was right now.
Realizing how tired he was Trai lowered himself onto the bed, closing his eyes; he sighed once and fell asleep a small smile on his lips.

The two cloaked men hid silently behind the old bales of hays, motionless they watched, tensing every time someone entered the store room to collect hay for one of the horses or to retrieve one the myriad of tools that lined the far wall. As the day passed they each took turns to doze, resting as much as they could for the coming nights work.

As the light faded they listened to the servants and yard workers as they talked about to evening banquet. The fact that none of them were invited, didn’t diminish there enthusiasm for coming evenings feast. The maids discussed what the ladies would be wearing and how there hair would be set, the men discussed the food they could smell roasting away in the cook house. The same smells taunted and teased the two hidden men, their stomachs rumbling as the breeze from the Great gate whipped up the various aromas and blew them into the store room through the gaps in the wood fronted room. The servants also discussed the five guests who had accompanied Heleana, it appeared by unanimous consent that Prince Halgorn was disliked by all, his arrogance and quick temper was not conducive to making friends.

As the light faded both men checked the tools of their trade and stretched stiff limps in preparation. Neither had spoken to the other since their arrival, discussion was not required; they knew what they had to do and how they were going to do it.

As the servants started to more back and forth from the main hall to the cook house, carrying armloads of dirty crockery, the men knew the time was close, moving almost with out sound, the two men moved to either side of the doors. With a matter of minutes the old latch clicked and the two doors opened outwards. Two young labourers strolled into the barn, oblivious to the men hiding in the shadows. One of the two men was holding a lantern, the candle inside flickered and spluttered in the dust air. Setting the lantern down on the ground, careful to keep it clear of the tinder dry hay, the men walked to the fresh hay that stood stacked near the front of the store house. As they bend to pick up a bail, the two cloaked men struck. Two steel blades flashed in the lantern lit as the two labourers were pulled upright; the steel blades plunged between their ribs, slicing their hearts in two and silencing them. The two assassins dragged the two dying labourers back to the place they themselves had been hiding most of the day. As they lay the bodies carefully on the old hay, one of the assassins looked down into the face of his victim. The young labourer’s eyes were glazing as he looked up into the eyes of his killer. The assassin grinned as he saw the terror in the young mans eyes. Reaching out with his hand he closed the terror filled eyes; he wanted the dying mans last image to be the face of his killer.

Patiently the two assassins stripped the now dead men and changed into their clothes. They left their own clothes lying next to the two corpses, but they folded their cloaks and carried them with them, they would need them later.

Walking casually out of the store room the two killers made their way through the servants clearing the main hall and with out hesitation they made their way up the made flight of stairs to the first floor. The two men weaved their way thought White peak, its maze of corridors and rooms offered them not problems, they had long ago memorized the internal layout of White Peak. Very little light came through the central glass chamber at night, but the corridors were lined with candle lit lanterns which cast pools of light that shone from the polished marble walls and ceiling, giving unbroken illumination through out White Peak. The two men moved through the citadel unchallenged, they smiled greetings at those who met their eye or nodded politely to any who greeted them. Both the men walked purposefully, so any who thought it out of place for two stable labourers to be walking the corridors at this time of night carrying cloaks on their arms, did not even give them a second look. Finally they reached their destination, the Royal steam room. One of the men pushed to the door slightly ajar, checking no one was using the room, with a nod to his companion they both entered. Walking past the open bath its waters now cooling for the night, the men entered one of the private cubicles at the back of the room, reserved for those of a more modest nature. Changing out of the stable clothes the men dressed again in their cloaks.

They sat motionless on the small bench in the cubicle, neither spoke, each was lost in his own thoughts as time ticked slowly by, preparing themselves for the task at hand. With no discernable signal both men stood and simultaneously moving towards the door, one of the two placed his hands on the door handle and slowly opened the door so it was just slightly ajar, looking out he checked the corridor, the left was clear, but to the right a night lighter was changing a candle in one of the lanterns. He waited until the man had moved down the corridor out of sight before opening the door. Quietly they moved towards the royal quarters. Both men strained their hearing, listening for the slightest noise. They knew two guards were placed at either end of the Royal corridor, but out of sight each other due to the way corridors curved around the central cone. Both men advanced slowly, until they could hear the soft tread of the guards as the patrolled the corridor. Moving to the centre of the corridor both assassins drew the knifes that had slain the young labourers with earlier; tossing the blades in the air they reversed their grip so they held the blade rather than the hilt. They could hear the two guards chatting as the approached, crouching down on one knee they waited.

The two guards came into view less then fifteen paces from the crouched assassins, as the guards looked up, the two men through the knifes they whistle through the air, before burying themselves in the throats of the doomed guards, without pause the two assassins rushed towards the dying men, as they stood suspend, looks of shock on their faces, one of the guards reached up gripping the handle of the knife. He pulled, but the lodged blade did not move, the guards swayed, as they started to tip forward. Their killers caught them as they slumped forward, dead. As they lowered the bodies to the floor one of the guard’s hands fell open, the silver coin he had been flicking in the air only moments before fell to the ground, landing side first the coin clinked loudly in the silent corridor, the coin rolled across the marble until it ran into the leg of a stand resting against the wall, a figurine of a dancing lady balanced on its polished surface.

Both the assassins froze. For nearly a minute they waited listening for any sound that someone had been awoken by the noise. Satisfied no one would walk around the corner and discover them, they pulled their knifes from the dead men’s throats, wiping the blades on the guards uniforms to clean away the blood. Standing they moved down the corridor, both men’s hearts were beating fast as adrenaline flowed through their veins. They stopped just short of two adjacent doors, ducking under the glazed glass one of the assassins crawled on his hands and knees past the two doors until he could stand safely to the side of the furthest door. With a nod they placed their hand on the round door knobs and started to turn.

Trai woke from his dream of far away lands and mythically monster. The light from the lanterns in the corridor partially lit the room, he wondered what had woken him, turning onto his side, his back to the wall, he was about to close his eyes and go back to sleep when one of the shadows in the corner of the room moved, squinting in the poor light he tried to make out what it had been, convincing himself he had imagined it he, he took a deep breath preparing to go to sleep. The shadow moved again, this time it spread across the back wall towards the tapestry that hung there, his mind groggy from sleep he watched the shadow as it moved slowly across the wall. Realization clawed its way through his clouded mind, someone was opening the door. Suddenly awake, Trai lay as still as possible, trying to keep his breathing steady. Trai rolled over onto his belly letting arm fall limply to the side of the bed, the shadow stopped. Grunting Trai shuffled as if making himself comfortable, before letting his breath once again become steady and shallow. The shadow didn’t move. Trai’s fingers were resting on the leather bound hilt of his sword. After what seemed a life time the shadow once more continued its journey towards the tapestry. As he watched it through half closed eyes, the shadow was replaced by the outline of a figure, Trai watched as the figure approached. He saw the figure raise its arm over its head, something held in its hand, as the hand swept down Trai grab the hilt of the sword and sat bolt up right the sword sliced through the air. A grunt of pain and the sword was pushed back at Trai, but his arm held firm, his grip locked around the hilt. A hooded face stared at Trai, silhouetted by the light from the doorway, looking down Trai saw his sword had impaled the man, who growled at Trai through gritted teeth. The man swung his arm at Trai, who watched as a steel knife whizzed past his face, the length of the sword combined with Trai’s reach meant the assassin could not reach him impaled on the sword, the man’s head dropped seeing a target he could reach. The assassin slashed at Trai’s forearm, the razor sharp blade opened a great gash in the unprotected flesh, with a gasp of pain Trai twisted his wrist, the blade spun ninety degrees, with out a sound the impaled mans head shot up, blood trickled from the hood onto the white sheets of the bed and the man released his final breath and slump forward. Trai’s heart raced as he reached out, gripping the dead man by the throat he lowered him to the floor, his boots slapping as they struck the ground.

Climbing out from under the sheets, dressed only in his smalls, Trai placed a bare foot on the man stomach and pulled his gift from Cranheart from the man’s chest. He held the sword up, watching as the dead man’s blood ran down the blade. Why would anyone want to kill him, he suddenly remembered his conversation with Cranheart. Heleana his mind screamed, running from the room he slipped in the pool of blood that was forming on the floor around the body. He grabbed the corner of the door to stop himself falling. Sliding into the corridor he saw Heleana’s door was open, with a primeval scream of rage he burst into her room.

The scene that met Trai as he rushed into the room sent a dagger through his heart, Heleana stood in the middle of her room, a cloaked figure loamed over her, both Heleana hands were wrapped around the wrist of the man’s left hand as he held her by her hair. A knife identical to the one that had just slash Trai forearm was held against Heleana breast. The man was looking straight at Trai, an evil grin on his face.

Without thought Trai rushed at the man, but instead of defending himself, the assassin pulled back his hand and drove his blade up just below Heleana breast. Heleana gasped her mouth falling open in shocked surprise. Trai’s attack stutter as he watched Heleana’s killer release her hair, the limp figure of his sister fell to the floor, the knife protruding from her tiny body. The assassin was still grinning as Trai’s sword decapitated him, his body toppling face first to lie next to the still form of Heleana. Trai dropped to his knees next to his sister, carefully he lifted her cradling her head in his arm, he could here distant footfalls of running men. Tears of anguish poured down Trai face, his great chest heaved with every sob.
“Heleana “he whispered
“Heleana” her eyes flickered open.
“It’s cold Trai” she said between short gasps as she struggled for air.
“Heleana” he sobbed, “Don’t die, please don’t die”
Trai felt the presence of others in the room, but he paid them no heed.
A great hand had gripped his heart and was squeezing it until the pain was unbearable.
Leaning down Trai placed his cheek against the softness of her hair, his tears ran through the fine strands.
Heleana reach up and wiped at his tears with her tiny hand.
“Don’t cry Trai” her shallow gasps were coming further and further apart.
“Say good night to me one last time Trai”she said as single tear ran down her cheek, she tried to look up at his face, but the darkness was spreading across her vision.
“You heard me” said Trai softly.
“I stayed awake each night to hear you say it”
Trai stroked her cheek as he whispered in her ear.
“Good night little one”
Heleana smiled, and with one last gasp she died.
The great hand ripped and tore at his insides, his mind went blank and lifting his head he unleashed a mighty roar of anguish and despair.

Trai sat holding his sisters body, gently rocking from side to side. He could hear voices around him, hands pulling at his shoulder, but he wouldn’t let go. His eyes red and swollen from crying, Trai eventually stood holding the pathetically small body of his sister in his arms. He slowly walked across to her bed, laying her down gently; he slid his arms out from under her and fell to his knee at her side, her fragile little hand cupped in his.

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