The executioner's axe fell in one fluid motion.  A hush spread across the mass of people.  Young children crept amongst the legs of their elders, searching for the smallest of glimpses of the Step of Justice.  Old men, scarce able to see, reclined on wooden chairs, listening for the tell-tale sound of a severed head landing on the cobbled ground.  The nobility, in all their finery, stood above the rable, though just as eager to hear the proclaimation.  All stood as one and watched the Lord of Justice stride toward the body of the slain.  The executioner stood silent, masked, and calm.  
     The Lord of Justice scanned the crowd, looking for nothing in particular.  He flung his black cloak back, showing his impressive red mailed shirt and golden belt.  The pagentry of the moment accepted by all.  He knelt down and paused a moment to look into the sightless eyes of the corpsehead.  His red gauntleted hand reached down and grasped a clump of oily black hair.  He stood, with his arm outstretched and looked about him again, this time with a scowl only those who stood to judge others could wear.  He raised his arm high, blood dripped down the guantlet
     "Into the Dark, a traitor's life must go," he bellowed.  "For the Empire, For our People, a man's life has been given, a man's life has been taken."  He turned quickly and flung the head over the eastern wall to fall hundreds of feet into the sea.  As if on cue the crowd burst into cheering and dancing.  Haradodann was the last of the rebel chiefs to be taken.  In one fell swoop of an axe the war had ended.  Music burst from the crowd.  The high lilt of the reed flute and the rhythmic struming of stringed werrl sent the crowd's cheering ever higher.
     The Lord of Justice shook his head at the spectacle about him.  A lone island of sanity in a violent sea crazed blood lust.  He turned to the executioner, "See to it the body is buried in secret.  I'll not have the corpse desecrated like the last time."  The executioner merely noded and set off to work.  
    "Well done, Lord Nezen," someone called.  He turned to look upon a toothless begger.  Nezen scowled and strode off quickly.
     Myvar watched him go and closed her eyes.  She knew the pain Lord Nezen, the Lord of Justice, felt and she knew the elation the crowd exuded.  It felt odd to her to feel both sides of emotion at the same time.  The Cult of the Old One taught her well.  She opened her eyes and peered around.  The crowd seethed with a hungry pulse.  'This one death will not quell this hunger,' she thought.  A tremour of unease swept through her stomach.  She did not know what it meant, but she knew the days ahead would be bleak indeed.

  It was four months earlier when Myvar first met Haradodann.  She was a different person.  A lot had happened between then and now, and she knew a lot was yet to come.
  Four months ago she had been visiting the grave of her cousin, Nolwan, who had been lost in battle with the rebel chiefs.  While kneeling at Nolwan's marker, she heard voices coming over a nearby hill.  She had thought she was alone, so the sounds of other people quite surprised her.  Curious, she crept up the hill and along a row of trees till she could spot the source of the noise.  Myvar counted three men digging in the earth.
  "Quickly now," urged the tallest of the the strange men.  They were dressed in attire matching neither peasants nor nobility.  Having never left the city before, Myvar could not identify the origin of their garments, but she was sure her father, The Lord of Justice, would know them.
  "I'm digging as fast as I can," grumbled the stout figure.  As they dug, Myvar inched closer to see better.  The tallest man had unkempt black hair, broad shoulders, and powerful arms.  He had an alertness about him that the other two did not share.
  The stout one also had broad shoulders, but his hair was thin and tied back in a tail.  Although not as well built as his tall companion, he did not appear to lag in the digging.
  Lastly was a teenage boy.  His shovel worked twice as fast as the others, but half as effectively.  His sandy blonde hair was long and kept much of his face hidden.  Myvar found her attention repeatedly returning to the tall man.
  "There!" grunted the tall one as he tossed his shovel aside.  "Quick, Lovarr, help me pull him out," he commanded.
  "Blasted Imperials," growled the stout man, apparently called Lovarr.  "Wish they would burn their dead like civilized people.  Chief Vodd deserves better."
  While dragging a headless corpse from the ground, the tallest responded, "They do it to keep our souls trapped in the earth."
  "Why do they bury their own people then, Haradodann?" asked the boy.
  "I don't know," Haradodann replied.  "Perhaps they worship the ground gods.  The Old One can tell us when we return."
  As the three men began to wrap their prize in empty grain sacks, Myvar fretted over what to do.  Here she was, alone in the cemetary with three members of their sworn enemy, the Hill Tribes of Szo.  She could run and hopefully find a city guard before the men escaped, or follow them.
  Myvar glanced back towards the grave marker of her cousin.  Determination set in.  She would find out where and how these men were sneaking into the city, and hoped an opportunity to expose them would present itself.

     Haradodann and Lovarr lifted the body with a graceful ease, showing reverence for their fallen comrade.  
     "Boy," Haradodann snapped, when he noticed the young lad watching them.  "Best keep your eyes to our surroundings.  If we be caught in this stone city we'll grow a might shorter."  That seemed to spur the young boy into action.  He crept off in front of them with a short sword for protection.  It's blade covered in mud to reflect no flash of moonlight.
     Myvar could feel her stomach tighten as she crept after them.  Fear and excitment mingled, making her feel like wretching and laughing at the same time.  She watched as the three intruders stole across the cemetary and reach the eastern wall.  Haradodann motioned and Lovarr and the boy jumped to the top of the wall and lifted the body to them.  In an instant, the two were gone.  Haradodann went to jump up, but then suddenly turned around to peer back.  Myvar could have screamed for it felt as though he looked right at her.  But, slowly her turned back to the wall, and with cat-like skill he lept up and pulled himself over the wall.
   Myvar rushed to where they had been.  She stopped breathing to better listen to what they were doing, but heard nothing.  When would it be safe to follow, she wondered.  Panic gripped her then.  Caught between following and her own safety Myvar fretted over her next move.  She stepped back and forth, hands shaking and looking around for someone to tell her what to do.  There was no one else.  She slumped against the wall and felt like crying.  "Pull yourself together," she whispered harshly to herself.  With an effort, she pushed herself off the wall and looked at it.  She took a deep breath and planted her foot to jump up.  She stepped on something, which threw her off balance and she almost fell to the ground.  Myvar knelt and felt around in the darkness and retrieved what she had stepped upon.
     It was metal, that much she could tell right away.  But it was warm, so one of the intruders had dropped it.  Most likely it fell when they jumped up.  She held it up so the moon light could fall upon and reveal it more.  She flecked mud off and turned it over, unable to define it.  After a few moments, she cursed herself.  The others were getting away.  She put the item into her pocket and climbed up the wall.  On the other side she was greeted with silence.  Fear of a different kind rooted itself, fear of failure.  She quickly looked around and took the most probably avenue of escape; one that lead away from more populated areas of the city.  She clenched her fists and set off.

     The gloom of early morning still hung over the city as Myvar ran down deserted back alleys.  Soon she heard grunts and shuffling of feet.  She stopped before turning a corner and peered around it.  The moon shown down lighting the way ahead in a soft pale colour.  Her heart beat faster as she saw the three wild men and their load scuffled down another alley.  She was about to step around, when Haradodann stuck his head out.  She ducked back and held her breath.  She was sure he looked the other way first and so gave her enough time to duck out of sight.  
     It was minutes before she could bring the courage to look again.  Nothing.  She rushed to the second alley and waited, listening.  Again nothing.  The alley was narrow and dark.  The buildings around it seemed to suck up all light.  She stepped into the darkness and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust.  This was not going to be easy.  She stumbled forward, her hands reaching out could touch both sides.  The rough wooden walls helped with her balance in the blackness.  The sound of her footfalls echoed off the walls.  Myvar felt certain everyone in the city knew where she was.
     She kicked something and fell.  She managed to stifle a scream and gropped into her pocket.  The metal object had dug itself into her hip.  She could feel the warm trickle of blood seeping from the wound.  The wound was only minor, but it hurt far more than she would have liked.  She got up again and began her walk, when suddenly a door open and flooded yellow torch light into the alley.  Blinded, Myvar staggered and would have fallen except for the two pairs of hands that dragged her out of the alley.  She opened her mouth to scream, but a hairy hand covered it and muted any noise from her throat.
     The door closed behind her with a thud and Myvar felt doom creep up from her bowels.  She panicked and began to thrash wildly.  The hands held her firm, and moved her only to dump her onto the stone flooring.  Finally, her she opened her eyes and the bright blurs around her took shape.  Haradodann loomed before her.  His eyes a cold blue.
     "I had almost given up hope that you would arrive," his voice deep.  "Now we can go."

     "Do you know who I am?" Myvar found her voice.
     "You are the daughter of justice," Haradodann replied.  "You are meant to come with us."
     "'You shall seek one, and return with two.  Events will flow, you cannot undo.'  That is what the wise mother said," Lovarr eyes shone with the brilliance of faith.
     "I won't go with you," Myvar found the courage to look Haradodann in the eyes.  "I will..." Darkness.
     Strange visions paraded themselves in her mind.  Blurs and half seen events.  Motions and bumps.  Finally, she came to and found a rather large welt on the left side of her face.  Lovarr apparently had finished discussing the matter and struck her.  It hurt as she gingerly fingered the tender area.  She bit her lower lip to stop from crying.  She was the daughter of the Lord of Justice after all.  She was made of sterner stuff than these savages.  Suddenly, she felt eyes upon her.  Haradodann tossed her a hard piece of bread and a fatty chuck of some kind of meat.
     "You'd best eat.  We have a long way to go."  Myvar devoured them, almost without chewing.  "I've never seen a lowlander eat like that before.  I'm surprised you didn't ask for cutlery."  Lovarr and the boy laughed as they packed up their belongings into a small wagon.  Myvar could hear the buzz of the bloodflies around Vodd's body.
     "You won't get very far," Myvar blurted, keeping note where Lovarr stood.  "It is a long way to your western mountain strongholds and the roads will be searched."
     "If we were heading west, then yes, I would agree.  But we are heading south," Haradodann replied.
     "No," Myvar's eyes opened wide in fear.  "You take me to the slaver port!"  This time she did cry, fear overwhelming her.
     "You lowlanders do not understand us at all.  When we war amongst ourselves and a warrior from another tribe is captured, we do not sell him as property.  He is given a choice.  Join us or die.  If the former, our numbers swell, if the latter, we offer him a feast and he is killed with honour.  His body burned so he may be with the old one."  Haradodann opened his mouth as if to say more, but thought against it.
     "How is it you can speak as educated as you do?" Myvar asked.  The other two barely spoke at all and if they did it was in their own tongue.  Why did they speak the common tongue in the grave yard?  She had so many questions, but fear of Lovarr's fist kept them in check.
     "I was educated amongst your kind.  My father sought peace between our peoples.  But no peace can come of ignorance.  So he sent me.  It was a hard ten years, but when done I returned home.  My report did not give him the peace he wanted.  You lowlanders will push us up to the spines of the white mountains and see us die, even though we..."  Haradodann shook his head.  "You'd best rest.  Our destination lies many, many leagues.  I would not see you dead before we get there," he spat the last words out.

     For several days Myvar kept silent, watching and learning about her captors as they kept on a southerly course.  Lovarr favoured his right leg, and whenever anyone happened to cross their path he would always have is hand on the hilt of his sword.  His eyes gave way his suspicious nature.  Of Haradodann Myvar was less sure.  His beard grew longer and thick with each passing day.  He caught her looking at him several times, and merely nodded at her.  Nothing escaped his notice, or so it seemed.  The boy, she still did not know his name and Haradodann and Lovarr never used anything other than 'boy' to address him, was curious about everything, gawking and staring at anything that drew his attention.
     "This is the first time teh boy has left his home isn't it?" Myvar asked Haradodann.
     "Yes this is true."
     "Why do you call him 'boy'?  Surely, he has a name?" Myvar asked.
     Haradodann regarded her for a moment before answering.  "He is my sister's boy and does not yet have a name.  He hasn't earned it yet."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Our ways seem odd to you, as yours do us.  Before a person can be named, be they male or female, they must have done something exceptional to earn it.  Some people get a name late in life like Lovarr's brother Jacanadir.  His name mans 'father of ten sons.  He was 46 when he was so named.  Some people never get a name.  They are called 'man,' or 'woman' for the rest of their days.  They are called the undistiguished and my sister fears her youngest son will be called so.  She begged me more than any brother could bare to take him with us."  Haradodann explained.  "So he is here now.  And still has yet to distiguish himself.  He is new to this world, and determined and hopefully those two parts will not bake together his death."
     "What deed did you perform to get 'Haradodann?'" Myvar asked.
     "I killed a giant boar with only a dagger," Haradodann replied matter-of-factly.  "My name mean's 'Boar's Bane' in your tongue."  Haradodann regarded Myvar closely as if looking for a sparkle of recognition.  
     "Stupid girl," Lovarr spat, his voice thickly accented.  "Haradodann only eight at the time."  He waited a moment and shook his head.  "We call you lowlander's 'boars.'  You smell like boar, are greedy like boar and even look like boar."
     "Does that mean," Myvar looked back to Haradodann with newly found eyes.
     "Yes," Haradodann replied.  "I am the one who has united the tribes.  I am the one they follow.  Lovarr here is chieftain of his own powerful tribe, the Moon tribe.  His name means 'Heart' for he is fierce in battle and cuts out the hearts of his fallen enemies.  Many a lowlander has found his chest ripped open."  Myvar looked to Lovarr and the man smiled and his eyes blazed.
     "Where are you taking me?" Myvar asked.
     "Thirteen days it has taken you to ask that question," Haradodann replied.  "Are all you lowlander's this timmid?  No, of course not.  We are taking you to the Reigna Odargh.  The spring of life, where all the tribes emerged eons past.  The old one has asked for you.  And we follow the old one's wishes."

     "Hey, what have we here?" The man's voice pulled Myvar back from her reverie.  She stood again at the Step of Justice.  Except now the crowds were gone.  She could not tell how long she stood there in her memories, but being brought back in the now was always disorienting.  "Have you got a tongue?"
     Myvar regarded the man before her.  He wore old boiled leather and a black hooded cloak.  His boots had holes in them and his leggings looked ready to split.  His dagger however, looked clean and sharp.  "I do have a tongue, and it is quite sharp."  She threw back her grey-green cloak, revealing the dark green mail beneath.  Her light green short sword sung sweetly as she drew it forth from its scabbard.  "Would you like to converse, or would you rather flee?"
     The man slowly backed away and then turned and fled.  Myvar watched him disappear into the shadows and then strode over to the precipice.  The waves of the great eastern sea crashed mightily against the rocks below.  From this distance above the waves could scarce be heard.  Myvar looked down.  Haradodann's head tumbled in the waves below somewhere, food for the fish.
    A lot had happened since Haradodann first entered her life.  She took a deep breath and sheathed her sword.  She had tried in vain to get her father to release Haradodann.  Even though her words were true, and she had convinced her father of them, he could not deny his duty.  As loath as he was, Lord Nezen did as he was ordered and a great man had died needlessly.  Myvar turned on her heal and strode away.

     "She follows the old one," the man said.
     "Yes she does.  You're lucky she didn't gut you like a pig right then and there," the other replied.  "You take too many risks."
     "Ha!  You only live once," the man chuckled.
     "As you say my lord, but it is I who would have to explain to your lord father how his son was killed," the other snorted again.
     "Death comes to us all, Daryan.  And a good many it will embrace before we're through."

  Lord Nezen looked up from his plate of chicken and set down the greasy leg he had been holding.  "Daughter," he acknowledged as she entered the dining area.  Myvar strode confidently to the opposite end of the table and sat.  The table was too large for just the two of them, but on such a solemn occasion, the Lord of Justice did not feel like hosting company.
  "Father," Myvar returned coolly.
  A servant rushed in and placed an elegantly filled plate before Myvar and scurried away to fetch her a goblet of mulled wine.  Not a word was said before the servant had presented the beverage and fled in silence.
  Nezen had not taken his eyes off his daughter.  She was a new woman.  Stronger, more confident, and with an edge of danger.  He did not favour how she gained this inner strength, but he could not deny it was more fitting than her character just half a year ago.  The one thing he could not stand though, was her wearing the Old One's colours.  She his daughter, the House of Gutrin, First to the Emperor.  Brandishing arms of the sworn enemy was intolerable.
  Luckily the masses figured it for an affront to the rebel clans, not the empire.
  "You should not be wearing such colours," he growled.
  "You should not be supporting a villian," Myvar replied.
  Nezen swept his plate off the table in anger.  "Saints take you, woman!  You are in no position to preach to me!"
  Myvar dabbed her mouth with a napkin.  The gesture was an eloquent ghost of who she was.  She slammed it into the wood of the table with a concealed knife.  A statement of who she had become.  "Look to thine own moral compass.  Blame not your actions upon me."
  "You dare quote that heretic to me!" shouted Nezen.
  Myvar snapped ferociously.  "Perhaps you'd prefer someone closer to home.  There is no more vile treachery than a dog refusing its master."  The Emperor had used that line to describe the rebels' stubbornness to yield to his authority.  Only at the moment, it more appropriately fit her father's lack of will to stand against the will of the Emperor.
  Lord Nezen's eyes widened at the verbal assault.  He sat down, stunned.  "Leave me," he muttered and looked down to regard his hands.  Before the people, he stood proud and carried his authority in his posture.  Now, at his table, his own conscience coupled with his daughter's fire, had broken him down.  Myvar stared.  Part of her wanted to console her father.  Part of her wanted to hurt him more.  Instead she did as he requested and left the room.

     Nezen sat at the table, unmoving, for a long time.  He did not even notice his servant clearing the table so deep was he in thought.  He knew in his heart Myvar was correct.  The tribal clans and their mountainous realm had never truly been a part of the Empire, but that did not stop the emperor from annexing those lands and making all who reside there his subjects, willing or no.  The 'Righteous Decree' started a war that had lasted for seven years.  Many had died in that time, on both sides.
     The differences in the two sides could not have been more dramatic.  The tribes fought a guerilla style to the empire's disciplined ranks, favoured light armour and speed, while the armoured knights of the empire trampled the earth.  The most important difference, and one that Nezen felt closest and most fiercely, the tribes followed the Old One, while years of immigration had brought many gods to the Empire.  The Old One, to whom his daughter swore allegiance, was once worshoped throughout the land, but no more.
     "Myvar what have you done," Nezen whispered sadly.  There were minor temples to the Old One throughtout the Empire and a larger one in the capital city.  They all opposed the war, crying about the sacrilige done to sacred lands in the mountains.  The emperor shrugged them off as inconsequential.  That was before the raids of the remaining rebels.  "Soon the Emperor will lose his patience."
     "My Lord," a voice called out.  Nezen looked up to see the Emperor's high steward approach in soft leather shoes and elaborate overcoat of the richest silks.  "The Emperor has a decree."  He turned and strode out.  
     A feeling of fear and trepidation filled Nezen's stomach.  He followed after the steward and crossed the court yard, through the inner bailey and up into the grand audiance chamber of the Emperor.  The room could seat 500 at a time.  Of late though, it rarely saw that number.  The Emperor sat perched on his throne.  An elaborate chair made of gold and precious metals, it took 10 strong men to lift it.  The Emperor himself looked as regal as ever.  A rich petticoat of the rarest of silks in the colour of the realm; magenta.  His hair was dark and thick, his goatee of similar colour.  His eyebrows were bushy, but as well groomed as the rest of him.  His high cheekbones and well shaped chin lent credence to his title as the Angel Emperor.
     "Ah, Nezen, my lord of justice.  How good of you to come."  He motioned Nezen to sit down on the table just below the throne.  "I have a decree, which must needs be entered into law immidiately."
     "As you wish my Emperor," Nezen uttered the words in a monotone, not really paying attention.
     "This Old One and his followers aid the rebels who still raid my realm.  The Old One's followers deprive my subjects of their just livelihoods and spit upon our laws and order."  the Emperor paused a moment.  "This will be difficult, but it must be done."  He paused again to judge Nezen closely.  "I, henceforth, decree the Old One to be Illegal in the realm."
     "What?" Nezen snapped his focus to the emperor.  "How can you make a god illegal?"
     "I am the Emperor.  My will is god here!" The Emperor cursed.  "Anyone caught wearing the colours of the Old One, worshoping the Old One or meeting for such shall have their lives forefeit!  I will not have my realm be tainted by this subversive threat."  He motioned to the steward who strode over with the parchment containing the edict.  "Sign and lead the crusade my Lord of Justice."  The steward set the parchment down in front of Nezen and held out the quill...

  Although his mind was in turmoil, racing through hundreds of possible scenarios brought about by this law, he adopted a mask of indifference.  He was, after all, in the presence of the one man who could order his title, family fortune, or his life forfeit for any transgression.  "Of course, my emperor," Nezen replied and idly grasped the quill.  As he put pen to paper, the Emperor smiled in satisfaction.  "There," said Nezen once he had signed the document, "it is done."  He laid the quill on the sheet and slid it back to the stewart.
  "Excellent," commented the emperor.  "You will of course take every measure to enforce this edict."
  "Of course, my emperor," Nezen repeated.
  The Emperor nodded.  "Very well, you may leave us," he said.  As Lord Nezen stood and turned to leave, the emperor added, "Oh, there is one more thing my Lord of Justice."  Nezen swivelled back to face the emperor as he continued, "We watched the execution from the balcony here.  It was a splendid sentiment you spoke at the beheading -- 'Into the dark a traitor's life must go'.  Most ingenious.  Did you write that yourself?"
  "I believe, my emperor," interrupted the stewart, before Nezen could answer, "that was a quote from the late Emperor Hawken, as he executed the villian that killed his first-born."
  "Ah yes, indeed, most appropriate.  My Lord of Justice, your first-born, her name is Myvar I recall."
  "Yes, my emperor," agreed Nezen.
  "We should look after our first-born.  Teach them, guide them," then the emperor locked eyes intently with Nezen before finishing, "keep them from falling into the dark."
  A chill ran through the Lord of Justice's body.  "Of course, my emperor," he said and left.

     Nezen walked out of the inner bailey with no destination in mind.  His thoughts continued to race and every time came to the same conclusion.  As much as he hated it, he had to speak to Myvar, had to warn her.  He knew it would not be easy.  He passed a sentry on the battlements and ordered the outer bailey portculis to be opened.  He strode quickly over the drawbridge separating the Emeperor's palace from the rest of the city.  The sounds of night life surrounded him.  Whores, beggers, merchants, taverns and inns all lent to the cacaphony of sound.
     He paid no attention to it at all, but then suddenly became aware of where his feet were guiding him.  He had made for his daughter's dwelling.  It took him some time to reach it as it lay on the other side of the city, by the Old One Temple, a building he knew he would have to order destroyed in the morning.  He found himself outside her door, hesitant.  He summoned his courage and went to knock.  The door opened before his hand touched the wood.
     "I know," Myvar nodded, sadness in her eyes and an anger too.  She motioned him in.  "Haradodann knew this would come.  I have seen it too."
     "Did you know earlier?" Nezen asked, a bit taken back by her knowledge.
     "Yes, in the waters of the seer."
     "Don't..." Nezen snapped, he was going to say '...give me that rubbish..." but he fell silent.  Instead he said, "Why?"
     "I tried to explain it to you.  Killing Haradodann has sent us into an unavoidable series of events.  We none of us know what will happen, but rest assured, the realm may not be long for this world."  Myvar turned and poured a second cup of tea for her father.  She offered it to him and he accepted.
     "I know now I cannot ask you to cast aside this Old One," he sipped the tea and nodded.  It was a blend of mountain berries and wisdom root.  If only he could gain wisdom from it.  "I will be ordered to..." he paused.
     "Destroy the temple and root out all rebels?" Myvar finished.  "I know."
     "You can't stay here any longer.  You must leave.  Tell as many as you can and go before the sun hits the palace on the morrow."  He set down his cup and put his hands on her shoulders to look her directly into the eyes.  He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came.
     "Would you throw my head into the eastern sea?" Myvar asked calmly.  "Yes, you are your master's dog aren't you."  Myvar shrugged away.  "Leave.  You've a busy schedule to keep tomorrow.  Best not anger the Angel Emperor."  Nezen left, shaken and wondering if he would ever see his daughter again.

     "Did you know she was a relation to the redoubtable Lord of Justice, Daryan?" the young man asked.  Both lurked amoungst the shadows of the alley accross from Myvar's simple abode.  They watched Nezen come and go and there was no mistaking the Lord of Justice.
     "No my lord, I did not.  Does this change things?" the older man asked.
     "God no.  Now we just need to be careful."
     "Careful for you is considered reckless in others," Daryan commented.
     "Wet-nurse," the younger man joked.  He turned serious for a moment.  "I still cannot believe she is the key.  A 20 year old wench."
     "A wench who's learned well the sword trade.  Whatever may be said of them those mountain people know how to fight," the older man offered as he stroked an old scar on his right cheek.  "This will not be easy."
     "If this was going to be easy I wouldn't bother," the younger man chirped.  The arrogance in his voice clear and unmistakable.
     "Whether easy or no, your father wills it."
     "Shhhh, the door opens," the younger whispered quickly.
     Myvar stepped out of her darkened home and peered around.  She looked directly at the where the two men were standing, stopped a moment then she started walking away.
     "Come lets go," the young man ordered.
     "She knows we're here," Daryan grabbed the other's arm.  "She looked into my eyes."
     "You don't beleive those waterseer stories do you?" he snorted a chuckle.  "Let's go before we lose her."  He stalked off after Myvar.  Daryan waited a moment, shaking his head, he followed his young lord.

    

     Daryan soon caught up to his young lord master and together they stalked after Myvar.  A frown deepened on Daryan's face and his stomach knotted slightly with increasing unease.  Several times he opened his mouth to whisper caution to the young lord, but he clamped his lips shut and strode on.  It was not his place to question his lord, merely to follow.  A couple of times they needed to duck back and hide in the shadows as Myvar stopped for apparently no reason.  These wierd actions of hers did little to dispel Daryan's apprehension.  Suddenly, it dawned on him where she might be heading.  "She is going to the nest of the old one worshipers," Daryan whispered as they stood waiting for her to resume her travel.
     "What of it?" the young lord replied, flippant as usual.  "If any get in our way, we'll deal with them."
     "Your lord father admonished any killing.  Killing would bring undue attention upon ourselves, and to him eventually," Daryan cautioned.
     "Wet nurse," the young man replied and Daryan could almost see the haughty grin he wore.  Daryan glanced at the young lord who looked back to Myvar.  "Hey?  Where'd she go?  Damnit!  We lost her and all due to your whining."  The young man was about to burst forth from their position in the shadows when Daryan forced him to the wall.
     "You've much to learn my lord.  I never took my eyes off of her.  Be quiet and watch," Daryan admonished as harshly as he dared.  After what seemed like an age, Myvar stepped back out into the main path and into moon light.
     "That sly b****," the young lord chuckled again.
     "I would do the same if I knew I was being followed.  Besides, I know this part of the city.  That particular alley has no other exit." Daryan watched Myvar.  It seemed to him she looked right at him again.
     "She doesn't know we're here.  And how do you know this part of town?  This is the old one hovel." the young man questioned.
     "A good soldier knows the landscape about him.  I... I explored the city when your father came here." Daryan hoped his young master would buy the lie.
     "A tactical man as ever.  There she goes again."
     Daryan found himself following the young man's lead again.  This time, the unease in his stomach had turned to outright anxiety.  He knew where she was leading them, but he could not tell the pup.  If he did other questions would surely arise.  Questions which would be best left unasked.

     They turned a corner, passed under an arched walkway, and stopped for a moment, listening in the dark.  They could hear Myvar's tread down the narrow dark alley.  The young man started for the ally and Daryan pulled him back.  "I... I don't think we should go that way."
     "What are you so nervous about?  Come on lets go."
     "Gevend, we should be careful here.  The emperor's power is not so strong in this quarter of the city.  Even the city guard fear to tread here after dark, especially..." Daryan fell silent, fearing he'd said too much.
     "Especially what?" Gevend asked.
     "Especially since this is the first dark moon of the year." Daryan replied and paused.  "This is the holiest time for worship of the old one."
     "I do not believe in this old one, or our gods.  And I shant fear following a wench down a darkened alley way." Gevend turned the corner and strode into the dark.
     Daryan drew his sword, cursed silently to himself, and followed after.  They had walked for several moments and suddenly on both sides of the alley way, shutters crashed open and they were flooded with torchlight.  Their vision blurred, Daryan and Gevend covered their eyes.  Nothing was said for a moment and all they heard was the torches hissing and snapping.
     "What cause do you have to follow me?" a woman's voice broke the eerie silence.
    "Whom do I address?" Daryan asked, stalling for time.  His vision slowly recovered.
     "You know perfectly well who I am.  The question is who are you?"
     Daryan saw that Gevend had also drawn his sword, but so had men and women standing in front and behind them.  Strange people in the dark green garb of the old one worshipers.  Daryan looked up at the open windows of the buildings on either side.  Women and men stood with crossbows and long bows notched and ready to loose.  "Damn," Daryan spat as he sheathed his sword.  Gevend however, had a look of fury upon his face.

    Gevend waggled his sword slightly and Daryan could see the young lord tense, ready for combat.
     "You'll have half a dozen arrows in your chest and back before you even reach me," Myvar spoke softly.  Gevend looked up for the first time, then back at Daryan.  He sheathed his sword in disgust.  "Now, who might you be?" Myvar asked again.
     "I am Daryan, House Captain of Lord Pemlion," Daryan answered gruffly.
     "I know who you are," Myvar replied.  She looked back to Gevend.  "This then is either Gevend or Travend.  Which are you, the heir or the second born?"
     "I am Gevend Pemlion," he answered brusquely.
     "You may go," Myvar commanded.  Gevend frowned, but turned to go and Daryan followed behind.  "But not you Daryan.  We've business with you."