Beneath Catseye To The Rescue

To The Rescue
by Patricia I. Williams

To the Rescue

Harsh wind battered the highest crags of the Citadel’s dark mountains, shredding the mist that usually kept the towering gates from the naked eye when viewed from the first checkpoint at the bottom of the pass. It moaned and whistled through the decorative iron arches all along the steep road to the apex. Worn by time and the elements, the wall prevented falls from the tunneled roadway into the deep ravines and crevices that light rarely touched and no man ever ventured. The capricious gales protected the entrance to Daear, but without the wall everyone, friend or foe, would be plucked from the road and smashed on the rocks below.

The icy eddies stirred the flames guttering in the metal fishnet bowls of the castle torches. The light from these ancient five-foot scones embedded in the vast walls reflected little off the company of stygian clad warriors and the damp blocks of aged metal and grey stone. Their armor was dull, absorbing the low light, with plain helms topped by flowing topknots culled from the feathered tails of their mounts. The soldiers were silent, the thrum of the wind a sort of meditative background to their intensity of purpose. A few of them swayed, caught in the rhythm of the chill breeze as they waited.

The equerry stood by, a critical eye on the dozen apprentice squires, who saddled and packed the victuals and bedding onto the broad backs of the Pegasors. This intent group of boys and girls hoped to one-day ride as one of the Queen’s Cadre and an error in preparation when warriors would most likely see battle was not to be tolerated, nor the shame endured. They strained and grimaced, pulling the cinches tight and using all their weight to shift the recalcitrant animals so they would not be crushed between them. Pegasors had sharp claws hidden in their wide, feathered paws and fangs that slashed if one was too slow. Even their mane and tail feathers could lash out and leave fine lines of blood on the unsuspecting.

One of the tests was to be fleet of foot and observant. Too many scars could very well prevent advancement into weapons training and an ignoble return to civilian life. Rough blew jackets protected them from the high wind and mittens from the same material covered palms, but left the fingers free to detect wrinkles in the finer woven saddle blew and the leather bridles and cinches. The majority had their hair shorn to the scalp, a mark of pride for those seeking the arduous won status of the Cadre and to discourage hiding any wounds from the trainers. Many had a scar on cheek and body from the edge of the Pegasor’s ire. Talon had won his war name the night he tamed his mount, coming away unmarred from a severe contest with the stallion he now rode.

Her self’s personal guardian, Talon stood off to one side, his height and breath of shoulder lost within the deep shadows of the towering walls. Occasionally the flames reflected his hazy silver blue eyes, which thick black lashes usually hid from view unless he wished it. He appeared blind at certain moments. Many Palace Healers debated how he could see through the mist-shrouded pupils and why the aberration occurred. They were never allowed to examine or test his vision. He always reacted coldly even at the suggestion. One of the lads shivered and ducked behind the bulk of the war stallion, fearing less the unsettled temperament of the animal compared to the chilling blank gaze of the Queen’s Own.

Like the deceased King, Talon was taller than average and large boned, with a muscled physique that marked his family lines as nearly pure human. It was said he was devoid of any magics, and the court had been surprised when the King had approved his appointment as guardian to his only child. Many wondered if he was some bastard relative or worse, some new horror bred for an arcane purpose. He did not have written family lines and never spoke of his life before coming to the castle requesting service. Of course, proof could never be found for the numerous speculations. The majority of the royal court considered him dangerous and ill mannered. Many had never heard his voice and few risked his attention for one reason or the other. He wore an unadorned golden ribbon in his black braid. It had been given to him on Presentation Day by the then five-year-old princess held in her doting father’s arms. It was frayed with age and delicate, but the guardian took great care, entwining it each morning with his own hands through the black ones of the Cadre, each one blooded denoting his rotations of service. The night before Talon had gone after the Pegasor stallion and won his name and permanent place in the Cadre. It had been a triple celebration. All other tokens of valor lay in the man’s trunks, only worn at demand of the sovereign on Festival days, his braid vibrant with jewel encrusted red and silver edged black ribbons.

Now Talon was morose. That set the tone for the other nineteen grim faced warriors sliding swords into scabbards and bows with arrows to their backs. A number double checked rigging that supported the sharp edged lances on the saddles. The warriors would assuredly discover what delayed the emissaries from King Fredric, which should have arrived two days ago. Their Queen had stirred from her inner apartments to command them recover her future husband and his entourage. They would not fail. The civilians of both lands hungered for respite.

The wide golden topaz eyes of the Finder twins sparkled when their hypnotic gaze captured someone. Their heads were high, noses searching the wind for scent even before they could leave the high cliff walls of home. Auburn hair defied braiding and ribbons, curling away from confinement on its own. Confirming their status as having more blood of the indigenous ones who occupied these lands before the humans arrived. The hip length filaments quested about their shoulders in constant motion owing to their excitement. The pair’s skin was unmarred by blemish of any kind except for a light tan due to their outdoor life. The closer the blood the more quickly healed was a truism that the more human fighters could appreciate. The fine boned young men fairly shimmered with their magical gift, leaving one of the women to place herself between them and the working squires less the children become distracted by the allure that magic ability seem to have for the more susceptible.

QuickStep’s blond hair was tightly braided with the single black ribbon worn by a new Cadre admission and one jeweled golden one, a gift from the two she would now forever guard with her life. Her eyes were brown and she was not quite as head blind to magic as many believed, but that was a secret between her and the ones she protected. The twins were the only overtly gifted in the Cadre, rare indeed to find such there, as the stronger the magic usually the more delicate the physicality. But these men were deadly accurate with stiletto and arrows. It was rumored their hair choked the life from enemies at will. They were called Strike and Shadow. People were repelled as much as they were attracted to the twins. The Finders were always fending off marriage contractors seeking to add their bloodlines to families seeking better position in the hierarchy of the ruling class. Even though Cadre members never left until they died, and never contracted so a child could be held hostage.

Finally the youngsters surged away from the Pegasors and lined up before the equerry. The old warrior limped past them, his staff held in a tight fist, to check each mount with his own gnarled hands and still sharp brown eyes. He was dressed in the same dull armor minus helm, his braid heavy with jewel-encrusted red and black silver edged ribbons. The faded red ribbons were his badges of honor for he had served the royal families from the time of the King Idris, close to one hundred rotations ago. He lay down his arms after MeekBlade was laid to rest. He wore a kingdom’s ransom of precious stones in his grey streaked earth brown hair. StraightBow was still recovering from wounds received in that last battle against Fredric’s rabble. She, who he loved as a daughter, had entwined the new ribbons into his hair as the Healers struggled to save his life. They remained, stained with the blood of her father and her own minor wounds. Each of the Cadre bowed as he passed them, for StraightBow was still formidable, even though he strode without weapons and bandages could be seen at the edges of his breastplate. Few, with or without gifts, had been so long lived.

He stepped away from the prancing mares and single stallion, giving Talon a quick nod. All was in readiness.

The children ran off to pack away the unused items and clean the Cadre quarters in preparation for their return. Their exit abruptly ceased when the distant wrought iron doors onto the terrace opened. The Queen passed among them with her surprising soldier’s stride, several of her attending women hurrying to keep up with her. The spires of her crown flickered, casting light about her person. Frothing waves of the pale ice blue gown floated about her ankles, the exact color of her Chosen’s eyes. Her self‘s five Cadre bodyguards moved silently in the shadows at the edge of her radiance, prepared to strike with lethal response to any perceived threat. She was sending her guardian away from the palace. All of them would die to protect her in his stead.

She smiled at the children. They smiled in return under her shimmering topaz gaze. Her ash brown hair was pulled back at the nap of her neck and braided as her Cadres. The hip length braid bore the freshly blooded ribbons of the recently rededicated troop. Stones of various colors decorated the ribbons, a tradition her father began but now including gifts from each surviving member to honor her bravery and command during the last battle. The Cadre christened her BrightLance on the field and she refused to use her birth name from that moment. She would not soon forget the sacrifice of the twelve and would honor them always.

The court was appalled at her refusal to forgo the ribbons, no matter the occasion, as was proper for a young maiden. She honored her father’s legacy in all ways and took pride in the Cadres devotion. She carried a jeweled short lance with crystal like blades embedded in the shaft, in lieu of the staff her father had always carried at court. It was the same one she used with deadly efficiency the day her father died. The new decorations deceived the eye of civilians. The Cadre would make sure their Queen could protect herself at all times. The jeweled hilt of the concealed knife pressed against her thigh was attached to a wicked barbed blade. Her dress had been designed to make the reach for it swift and sure.

StraightBow’s staff struck the stone parquet and the children ran off to their duties, released from the enchantment of seeing the Queen close enough to touch. Her waiting women held back at the last, uneasy at the presence of the warriors and their fierce mounts. The soft pastels and bright summer hues of their gowns were illuminated by the Queen’s crown, a vibrant bouquet shimmering within the dark. The six women, varying in age from a rosy cheeked twelve summers to grey haired matrons in the winter of their life, accompanied the Queen when she would see the squad of men and women off, regardless of the hour. They rarely had the opportunity to observe her interaction with Talon and the court was always desperate from gossip about the mysterious man.

Members of the two squads snapped to attention. The Pegasors huffed at the rainbows shimmering before their eyes. Talon stepped forward and went to one knee. BrightLance stroked the shorter ebony curls that were springing up, quite stealthily, from the head of her Chosen to curl around her fingers. His opaque gaze lifted to rest upon her face and her smile lightened his heart as it always did. He knew she shared all that he felt, all that he was and totally accepted him as she had from the day he walked at her father’s side during his interview to join the squires.

He still remembered the whip thin tiny girl, three summers old, that toddled out from beneath a flowering bush to frighten her father. Only to collapse in giggles when the King dropped to his knees begging to be spared with much arm waving and pleas for mercy. The King had lifted her up. Then she noticed the grim child standing to the side and two steps behind the King. Shimmering gold enraptured the boy. “Mine!” Riayn shouted so loud her father startled and almost dropped her. “Mine”, she insisted and flung herself through the air and into Talon’s arms. She would not be removed. The King called the trainers immediately. The boy’s head was shorn right there in the garden. To his secret shame Talon wept after it was done, an agony he did not truly understand until rotations later, meeting the most revered Gifted ones at court.

Talon slept at the foot of Princess Riayn’s bed. He endured the periodic shaving of his head and learned to live with the constant pain. He was drilled by the most talented and brutal of the Cadre. He dare not fail any test because he was the destined protector, the one a Gifted needed to survive, the one who would serve her for all his days. It was a heavy burden for an orphaned boy who had only seen twelve summers and was also too intimidated by his surroundings to ask the questions which would have spared him rotations of pain.

The reasons for Talon’ pain lay within a near lethal symbiotic relationship which began so long ago much of the truth is shrouded in legend. A few human scientists realized the Llyncu were genetically compatible and could ensure the survival of the human population on their new poisonous world and perhaps stave off the predator’s own extinction. The human military units and their colonists landed unprepared for the very real dangers previous automated survey missions were never accurate enough to detect. The new planet was already populated, with deadly predators and rarely observed intelligences whose eerie shimmering gaze called many a human to a prolonged agonizing death in their coils. Unable to hunt the creatures successfully and with no hope of assistance from their distant command, the humans eventually won through fear and revenge to communicate and the Llyncu understood well enough to forge a shaky peace. To ensure something of themselves remained into the future of their tragically altered world, Llyncu gave up their DNA to be entwined with the invaders. The horrors produced in the labs those first days were destroyed and no records kept. The truth was buried by time and forgotten in Daear, except within the halls of The Cidital’s sovereign and the training halls of Healers and scientists. Only the legends remained for the general populace, romantic drivel to entertain folks in the taverns. But the separatists remembered and avoided the demons if they could.

Now Talon would bring home the enemy prince who would bond with his Queen and sire descendants to rule jointly over Daear and Haven, that is if the treacherous haint did not attempt to kill her bringing war once again to the miles high cliffs of Daear.

“Spare yourself worry beloved. I will be quite safe. I fear this prince may have met with misfortune and his father would cast the blame at our gates. It is said that Fredric does not regard the life of his own bloodlines with any higher esteem than one of the Gifted. Do this for the sake of us all.”

BrightLance caressed his strong face and watched his eyes roll back and his breath release with an almost silent moan. As always her touch soothed him past meditation and created a deep pleasure that vibrated his bones. Rotations of endurance prevented Talon from crying aloud. He would not be unmanned before his charges for pain or pleasure. Her touch communicated her affection and devotion, released his worries and left him serene in spirit and satiated in body. In all his rotations here, Talon had graced no one’s bed.

“I am yours to command my Queen. We will not return with empty hands.” Talon deep voice rumbled too low for any of the women to make out his words. He stood and kissed each hand before they stroked over his shoulders and chest and the Queen stepped away.

Talon put on his helm, checked his weapons once again and climbed into the saddle. The stallion roared in anticipation of the hunt and fought Talon’ hold on the reins. He was kept to a walk down the winding terraced parquet to the guard stations below the Citadel. The remainder of the troop fell in line behind him. QuickStep held a guiding strap threaded through the bridle rings of Strike and Shadow’s Pegasors, to keep them from racing ahead. The twins were so very eager the men riding on each side assisted to keep them pinned, avoiding the pleading fiery eyes that would enthrall them. The twins loved a hunt of any kind and were not above using their powers of persuasion to flee into the dark.

The Queen was a distant glittering beacon framed in an arch as the troop quit the last metal wrapped gate at the bottom of the road. They traveled very quickly and were soon lost in the barren rock. Their mounts leaping over boulders as there was no trail to the lower elevations. Eventually they passed beneath the ragged drifting llygredd vines, bare during the winter of the deadly spines that poisoned ‘pure’ or hybrid to various degrees. The vines hovered above them in clusters, sometimes whirling about in the capricious wind. The Pegasor’s nimbly avoided stepping on fallen desiccated remnants of the barbed spines even in the dark. They produced a horrid odor if crushed underfoot. During the summer new spines covered the yellow airborne vines preventing invaders from braving the highlands. The spines were sensitive to vibrations and always injected any living creature blundering into their territory.

The troop did not make first camp until well into the evening of the following dawn. They had entered the twisted version of the old earth pine forest. It was full of bramble firs, warped pine trees and various deadly foliage of one kind or another. None of the large serpents common to the forest trespassed on their camp. The presence of the twins caused them flee the area.

***

Farrell shivered violently even pressed into the wet needles and debris of the forest floor by the warm heavy body of his guardian. Lucan had warned him that any sound would bring their hunters down on them and Farrell would not be granted a quick death. Lucan’s body armor bruised him but the man’s distaste was the worst, battering at Farrell’s empathy and causing his own self-loathing to rise until he was nauseous. Crippled by fear, Farrell could hardly remember the joy he experienced those first days of anticipation when father announced he would allow the protector to return after so many rotations. He had dreamed of the boy who tried to save him from Mason and the guards for so long. Only to meet a man hardened by shame and war. Convinced that Farrell was some how unclean.

The revelation that his protector loathe the sight of him tumbled Farrell into his deepest despair. He was unresisting when dressed in tattered blew and pushed into an open wagon to leave the estate grounds for the first time. He saw nothing. The first growth of his dark red hair was covered in a cowl that also shielded the soldiers that comprised the escort. He understood from Mason that he was being given as Consort to a demon! Mason laughed and jeered about the deal that would supposedly unite the kingdoms and end the war. The war Fredric, and his father before him, pursued until their country was riven with empty homesteads and impoverished villages. Farrell did not understand how this could be since his father always said the demons must be destroyed. His brother insisted this Queen thing would not keep any agreement when she saw the weak and useless specimen that was insult and provocation rolled into one. Farrell was completely confused at the words by that time. He continued to shiver. He had peeked at the grim blond haired warrior that rode next to the wagon and remembered the one short-lived day of joy he had experienced in all his twenty summers.

Escaping his drab quarters, the eight-summers-old Farrell had been wandering alone in the kitchen garden when the fair-haired youth had stumbled across him. Lucan was the gardener’s apprentice-son walking about to acquaint himself with his new workplace. When he saw the frightened child cowering at his feet, he spoke softly and attempted to ease his fear, thinking he was the child of one of the other servants.

Hours later Lucan was found holding Farrell securely and refusing to leave his side. Then soldiers had come with Farrell’s older brother Mason. They snatched the young boy from Lucan’s arms and made him watch as they beat the youth to bloody rags for bewitching the apprentice with his cursed yellow eyes. It was rotations later that Farrell was told Lucan had been shipped off to the forest borders and made a soldier, fighting the vile magic users that lived beyond the mountains. Vile magic like the kind everyone said he inherited from the duplicitous ‘pure’ woman the King had taken as second wife. None in her family were aware that in the distant past their ancestors had been subjected to the first gene therapy attempts at mixing human and Llyncu.

When his son was born undersized with shimmering topaz eyes and stirring auburn hair, Fredric lost control and killed his wife on the birthing bed before he could be dragged down. His advisers convinced him that tainted or not, killing the boy child might make his numerous other sons worry for their own fate and turn against him. For once, he paid attention. Fredric had six children by his now barren first wife, prior to the birth of the tainted one. Five hard fighting sons and a daughter he gave in marriage to the second most powerful man in his kingdom. Discomforting his greedy supporters, who thought one of them would have her.

To retaliate for the blow to his pride and the vow to keep Haven free from taint, Fredric personally saw to the extermination of his dead wife’s family. Her father died by slow torture after Fredric made him watch the public execution of his four other adult children and their families. All were completely free of demon powers. The tainted child was given into the care of indifferent and fearful nurses in hopes of its demise. But against all odds Farrell survived to adulthood. He was kept in isolation, an object of ridicule and no little fear. His caregivers kept him blindfolded until he was old enough to keep his hypnotic gaze on the stones at his feet. When he had his first haircut, he raged and fought back for the first time, the pain beyond bearing. As punishment ever after, his hair was kept shorn to his scalp. So he grew delicate in body, startling at every shadow. Unbeknownst to anyone, powerful magical abilities were quelled by shock and ongoing terror.

***

Lucan had ridden with an itch between his shoulder blades that could not be ignored ever since this mission began. The escort to take the boy to Daear was really quite inadequate for the brigand ridden trails through the forest and the battlefields. So many of Haven’s soldiers still lay rotting in the sun. Scavengers, both human and coiled still roamed the destruction and Lucan feared their group would be attacked for the clothes they wore and their meager supplies. The country had faired worse than usual after another war effort. Frigid temperatures arrived early and the meager crops had been lost. The people were starving while the so called king harassed them for victuals to keep his soldier’s tables heavy laden.

The day word spread that MeekBlade had fallen, hope had spurred a renewed effort on the part of the exhausted troops. They went out on the field the next morning expecting to beat the defenders back to the gates of the Citadel. The sight of a screaming virago on the back of a Pegasor, spearing warriors with a vengeance stunned everyone. She was flanked by the surviving complement of grim Cadre carrying the banner of their new Queen, who absolutely refused to leave the field until Fredric’s army was in full retreat. The soldiers of Daear rallied under her banner and some said the Cadre chased the fleeing army into the pitch, slaughtering all they came upon. Lucan discounted those tales from terrified men. No one had chased him into that awful pitch as he attempted to assist any wounded back to safety. More often than not he could only put them out of their misery. Otherwise, their deaths would have been drawn out as they would receive little care and starved to death. From all he had heard the devotion of the Cadre to the ruler of Daear superseded any blood lust they might have for chasing wounded men in the pitch where a sensible man could expect ambush.

Lucan suspected with deserved paranoia why he had been called back to escort the boy into the enemy’s realm. Surely they would both be killed by the mad woman the mountain people had put on their throne. Their arrival would be a mockery and an insult that would surely start another war effort. The slight figure in ragged clothes and llyncas frayed cloak had remained curled into a knot in the bottom of the wagon. Occasionally Lucan would ride close and look over the edge of the wagon side, but the knot would be drawn tighter, the head covered by crossed arms.

From what he had seen the boy had lead a miserable existence, appearing starved and frightened of every stir of breeze and jingle of harness. Lucan rode alongside for a while whispering urgent instructions and prayed the fearful bundle would react if it became necessary to flee on horseback. Days later, the other men continued to avoid the prince with obvious loathing. Lucan dished up a bowl of traveler stew and pushed the food into the trembling hands with this foot. He was curious about the appearance of the boy, but the remembered trauma of that first day and rotations of rough treatment had reinforced the uncomfortable need to protect with nausea and fear sweat. He wondered if he could get past it to see the boy safely delivered. He could not eat anything and lay down on his bedroll, avoiding wrapping up in his blanket in case he needed his sword. At full pitch Lucan remained awake listening to every sound and the stirrings of the men lying around him.

They finally left the stench and horror of the killing fields taking the wagon road through the forest. What conversation there was dwindled away under the press of low hanging branches and deeply shadowed recesses where brigands could easily hide. Eventually the men surrounded the wagon, pulling together for mutual protection. Lucan slipped his sword free when the hair on the back of his neck stirred. The party traveled another mile before the gang of robbers attacked, yelling and brandishing their weapons. Lucan held his place beside the boy, hacking and clubbing anyone attempting to climb inside the open wagon. The other six men slashed and crushed skulls, but were hard pressed as the ragged gang was motivated by desperation. Two men were dragged from their saddles. Dead before the others could kill sufficient numbers to make the meager spoils not worth the continued effort of the wild eyed starving men.

Lucan refused to allow the others to give chase aware the brigands could easily take down a man in the thick undergrowth. This caused more grumbling and resentment that the upstart from the borders would think to command them. After all their commission was to see him dead along with the quivering rag in the wagon. Why wait until they were on Daear lands and then have to travel back through the forest again to get home?

By unspoken agreement the remaining four turned their mounts back to the wagon, telegraphing their ill intent. Lucan wasted no time reaching into the wagon and snatching the bag of bones from the wagon bed, flinging it across his saddle. He spun away, raced down the bend in the road, leaping the shallow ditch and plunging into the forest. Arrows embedded themselves into brush and trees at this back. He had not gone far before realizing the horse could not travel further though the dense foliage and tangled trees. Cursing under his breath, Lucan threw himself from the saddle, dragging the terrified prince with him. He dragged the body into the woods. The only remaining weapons were his sword and the blades he always secreted on his person. Somewhere behind him the abandoned horse whinnied. The sounds of the animal thrashing in agony could be heard along with the loud hissing of one of the larger forest predators who could not pass up such an opportunity. He hoped the noise covered his retreat into the undergrowth. Sometime later he went to ground beneath a huge old fallen pine, pushing the shuddering form into the loam of the forest floor. Now he had vicious beasts to fear as well as the foolish men who attacked him too soon to attain their goal. At least there were only a few desiccated Mathru husks tangled in the dead pine’s branches.

The pursuers cursed and struggled in the woods, the ire of their King not to be trifled with if they returned without proof of the duo’s demise. When the sounds of their frantic passage faded from the immediate vicinity, Lucan snatched his charge from the loam and dragged him further in the direction of the Citadel. He had no choice. There was no succor to be found anywhere except beyond the peaks of its gates. He moved swiftly, only going to ground again when the light completely faded, plunging the forest in an impenetrable pitch. Made more so by heavy rain clouds that obscured CatsEye and the scant stars. The next four days were a misery of continuous rain and chilly winds, heralding another early winter of desperation. At least the stench of the dead no longer plagued him.

***

Pegasors did not like rain. They made their feelings about the weather clear to their riders with swiping fangs and a stubborn resistance to every command, until Talon lost his temper and clouted his stallion on its snarling mouth. The man growled as his grip on the reins twisted the muscled neck around and forced it into the mud. The tableau held for many long minutes. His threat to take a whip to the beast was met with flatten ears and hissing, but Talon would not relent one bit of pressure. He jerked the wide head up and forced the beast to look him in the eye. It was not long before the Pegasor’s eyes rolled away. Talon was the dominant and it would not do for the stallion to forget it. The mares settled immediately and the troop continued on the muddy road, the stallion forging ahead growling all the while, his face plastered with muddy leaves.

The troop had been searching for two days on and off the forest road, hoping for some relief from the rain so the twins could pick up the scent of their quarry. Even now they scouted ahead, lost to sight except for their guardian and the escort, their task doubled as the twins quested all over for sign.

Nightfall once again found them all frustrated in their search. The Pegasors were sheltered beneath a stand of thick bramble firs and the troop made due with another cold camp. Wrapped in heavy blew throws, they shared smoked meat, journey bread and Mead from their medic’s stores.

The Mead was not the honeyed drink of old earth, since there was no such thing as honey on all of Nadredd. It was distilled from gwaed, toxic substances and venoms, by the hand of the one sitting on the throne. Many surmised it was some kind of narcotic or magic potion, addicting the Cadre and insuring their loyalty. In actual fact it inured them from most poisons. Fresh gwaed was deadly to humans and Gifted as well.

One of the first tests for a young squire was surviving their first taste of Mead without vomiting their stomach lining. There was a standing automatic death sentence for anyone even suspected of tampering with the brew. To be found in the wing housing the sovereign’s laboratory was to be killed on the spot. It was placed directly into the hands of the Cadre medics and was forbidden for even a king to drink, that is before MeekBlade. It was the Cadres job to protect the sovereign or fall in the effort and the king’s to provide the means, be it the purest metals from the southern FreeSoul domains and Mead. As MeekBlade and Bright Lance had been the first Cadres ever to sit on the throne the purity of the Mead was a certainty before ever being passed to the rank and file to consume.

Talisman checked each member for signs of illness due to the weather and made sure everyone ate a complete meal. The twins were settled on a portable cot in a tent. Although physically stronger than many so Gifted, no one took any chances with their well-being, to their amusement and expectation as their right. Talisman urged second helpings and cosseted everyone like a mother. He was teased about his obsessive worry over cold water. Were they not Cadre, the strongest of the strong? His face heated before their amusement, but their teasing finally caused him to settle and consume his own meal. Water beaded in the many ribboned braids on the medic’s head, all gathered into a topknot. His dark burnished complexion marked him as a former member of the FreeSouls. He was the first of his people to ever depart for such a role in the demon’s society. His family disowned him for the betrayal. A very few FreeSouls had surprisingly been Chosen, over the centuries, but no FreeSoul had ever entered Cadre service.

Talisman was nicknamed Romeo by his fellow Cadre for his devastating smile and its effect on the general female population. His dark brown eyes always sparkled with humor and affection. Women flocked around him. Lucky for them, Talisman had the heart of a baby in their regard. He was considered the good luck charm of the troop for his upbeat manner and his ability to sooth the hurt from minor wounds with his touch.

His people were descendants of ship’s crew and colonists from Africa, the Far and Middle East, Island nations and the dissident Americas. They fled the military rule which dominated the first rotations as humans scrabbled for survival on Nadredd. These colonist were sick of the constant warfare of Earth and had hoped for a better life. The discovery of those first efforts implemented without their consent to affect their genetics caused many to flee government control once more. The military attempted to capture them in the beginning but eventually left them to be hunted by the Llyncu. The attacks tapered off as Llyncu died off in the wild.

Twenty five rotations later, the first generation of successful hybrids were being raised in Daear. FreeSouls were mining, living and surviving the harsh seemingly barren, mountain range to the south.

Now Healers and scientists of Stara freely exchanged knowledge with Daear. The Citadel did not claim them, but the relationship between their Senators and the throne was diplomatic even at its most frigid as the centuries passed.

Sticker settled next to Talisman, her big muscled body nudging him over until he almost toppled off the fallen log. He punched her in the shoulder and she beamed at him, enamored as most by his charisma.

Sticker was nearly as big as Talon. Had crushed the neck of enemies with her bare hands. Another of the most prized of the Queen’s Cadre, her blond hair was already streaked with white and laugh lines marked her eyes and mouth. Sticker was another of jolly temperament and could find a joke in any circumstance, to the consternation of civilians expecting a woman to be less crude than men. She wore her ribbons of honor all the time The braided hair thick with red and black until it was a club of significant weight. In bar brawls Sticker had used that swinging bar of hair to strike the first blow, breaking more than a few jaws. Many of the Cadre shared her blew. It was no surprise to find more than one trooper sleeping curled next to her warm body in barracks or field. She reserved her favors for none. Loved each member of the Cadre with a single minded devotion that rivaled her loyalty to the ruler of their lands. She had no wish for the burden of command, but nurtured each new recruit through their first tough rotations.

Her blue eyes marked her as exotic in a land where even blondes were usually brown eyed. Refusing rank always insured the conniving courtiers had to lower their stuck up selves to find her favor, thinking big equaled dumb. Sticker was good at playing dumb. So it was many found their plotting undermined without ever connecting Sticker to their misfortune.

Sticker drank twice the rations in Mead and soup, nothing unusual for her. She dragged the protesting Talisman next to her body and slung her heavy arm around his shoulders, hugging him until he squeaked. Everyone around them grinned. Talisman, though not as tall as the woman beside him, was no little man. He wiggled in her grip until he planted a kiss on her cold lips and was dragged off into the dark to have his worry treated. He would be too exhausted to drive them crazy come dawn.

Some of the others settled together until their turn on guard. Two or three finding Sticker and Talisman beneath the trees. QuickStep spent part of the night with her teeth clenched on the cot struts while the twins assailed her body with coils, mouth and hands. The agonizing pleasure continued until she passed out. Talon heard her barely suppressed moans and ached for the touch of the Queen’s hand. He turned his thoughts to the missing men and rejected the sleep his body demanded. The steady drip of rain on the fallen oak’s leaves and bramble needles lulled most of the hard riding troop to sleep. However, each rotation of guards disturbed them all.

Dawn took them off the road once more only to return as the rain finally ended. They realized the entourage had not even arrived within their territory and sped along the muddy track. Five more dawnings found them once again camped without fire, the only sounds a few of the Pegasors feasting on a dearhart that roamed too near. Two dawns past, a chill wind began whipping through the trees and brought with it the odor of death. They were appalled that the opposing nation had not removed their soldiers for immolation. CatsEye would glow this night over acres of rotting corpses. Sometimes the enhanced senses of the crossbreeds could be a curse.

***

Talon lept from his bedroll, sword drawn, to find QuickStep racing into the trees behind the fleeing twins. The remaining forest creatures fled when an odd ululating wail split the silence.

“Four to me,” Talon yelled and took off after them. Talisman and Fewfingers led the exodus, almost knocked aside as Raze and Brace sped passed them leaving the others to break camp and follow. Even if there were opponents about, the sound the twins were making would surely have them wetting their breeches by now. QuickStep had broken trail for them so they had little difficulty crashing through the underbrush in time to find the woman with her sword at the throat of an armored man with his own sword held en garde. He would not give ground even though the twins warbled and their hair entwined itself around the body of their Chosen. It did not take long to see he was frightened almost witless by the gold lit coiling strands. Peering into the dark, Talon managed to see a dark shape bundled at his feet.

“Hold QuickStep, Hold! Raze stand down!”

Both women lowered their swords on his order and Talon stepped forward.

“We are the Queen’s Cadre. We seek news of King Fredric’s son Prince Farrell, and the men riding with him.”

The man’s eyes watered and he shook with bitter laughter.

“I am the escort and your prince is here.” He nudged the bundle of rags at his feet and the twins hissed in anger and their stilettos appeared.

“Pain and starvation Talon, pain!” The twins raged in unison and QuickStep immediately went to one knee and eased the quivering mass into her arms. There was only an anguished cry and Farrell went limp in her arms. It was no problem for the woman to bare the weight of what seemed to be a skeleton.

“The king’s escort is hunting us. They cannot give up or he will kill them if they do not have proof of our demise. He has starved the boy and . . . ”

“Enough”, Talon waved him to silence. “We will take care of you both and return to the Citadel. It will be up to our Queen . . . ”

“Talon, he is Gifted! They have kept his hair shorn Talon. How has he survived?” The Queen’s Chosen grimaced at that pronouncement, remembering his own rotations of torturous pain under the clippers.

“QuickStep you and Talisman stay and care for him best you may. Strike, Shadow can you track them?” The twins heads went up and they spun about attempting to catch the wind driven scent.

“They are very near Talon. They hear you crash through woods, hide now. Hide near. We go Talon, we go now?” Their bright golden eyes began to glow, even though their commander was immune to their hypnotic gaze, or so it seemed.

He considered the swaying twins, their unbound hair now lifted into the wind questing for the exact location of the enemy. The ultra-fine strands were highlighted by the deepening glow of their own eyes. The other man watched them in horrified fascination, never seeing their like before, only the tales told around the campfires and taverns. They truly were the embodiment of everything he was taught to fear.

“Go with stealth brothers, and take no chances. I would not lose you and QuickStep to these traitorous filth. Raze . . . ”

Before he finished speaking they were all lost in the darkness. He saw QuickStep twitch in their direction, but held to her assignment. Talisman was already administering some type of inoculation and inserting an IV.

At that moment the remaining Cadre arrived, immediately setting up a new camp and pitching two tents. Talisman and QuickStep moved the young man into one, the medic requesting soup be heated and a cup of Pegasor blood be drawn right away. Brace and FewFingers guarded the perimeter of Prince Farrell’s tent.

Sticker had been busy and the place for a good size campfire had already been prepared. Two of the men went among the trees and nicked the vein of one of the mares, drawing down the vitamin rich fluid that sustained Cadre in times of dire straits. Others quickly set up another tent a little ways out for the twins return. A successful hunt meant they would not tolerate anyone near their personal space for the remainder of the night. Everyone was busy and Lucan settled quickly by the fire his numb trembling hands held over the flames.

“Don’t worry boy. We will have you both set to rights in no time.”

The big woman gave him a wink and he watched her break open black bags and quickly mix dried meat, vegetables and noodles with water in a pot. Another man placed a metal grill over the lowering flames and hurried off to some other errand.

“Hurry boys, the poor soul needs blood while it is hot you know.”

“On our way Sticker. Here you go Tal. Is he going to make it? Sure we can pitch the torches for you, no problem.”

Men hurried from the tent and unpacked metal rods topped with a round globe from a bag, driving them into the ground at the entrance to the tent. One pulled a stick from the fire and quickly ignited the globes.

“There is oil trapped inside the ball. It burns until you smother it.”

“I have never seen anything like that.”

“It ain’t magic boy, takes no conjuring to build a torch. We get some soup in you and set you right. You are a good bit. I might have something you can wear or Talon may.”

Lucan looked to the tent where the dark haired commander stood, his eyes looking into the forest where he sent the odd twins to search. He could see the one called Tal and the younger blonde woman working over the prince, coaxing him to sip water. Then, with a bit more struggle, convince him to drink from the ceramic vessel filled with the blood of one of their strange Pegasors. He felt nauseous as he watched the boy finally taste, then finish the two disparate liquids. Tal came out again and searched through another canvas bag. He removed blankets and what could have been garments. The tent flap closed. After a little time Tal emerged with the prince’s old clothes.

“Burn this stinking filth,” he said to Sticker, “I would not shelter the worst of my enemies in such rags.”

He cast a baleful glance in Lucan’s direction and the blonde almost reached for his sword.

“How could you treat a Gifted One in such a way? Are you not the Chosen, what the coiling death were you thinking.”

“Stand down Tal and return to your patient. He needs your attention more than you need to vent your ire.”

The medic snorted and stomped off back to the tent. Talon sat down by the fire. His troop had encircled the camp, their ears tuned for the sounds of the twins successful hunt.

“Tell me your tale, that I will not find it necessary to cause that poor boy more pain by killing you.”

Lucan stared into those opaque eyes and shuddered.

“I . . . do not understand what you mean. I am not a . . . a . . . chosen. I do not understand what you mean.”

Talon stared back for a long time. Sticker passed tea to her charge and got up to find him some dry clothes.

“Talon can I look through your things for clothes?”

He seemed to consider for another interminable time and then nodded. Sticker searched around into another saddlebag. She returned to the fire with warm blew shirts and trousers in Cadre black. She sat down adding more vegetables to the pot.

“Stop sitting there shivering boy. Get out of those wet clothes now!”

Lucan jumped to his feet at the command tone before he realized it. He flushed in embarrassment. Then his move away from the fire was countered by the sudden appearance of Talon’s sword.

“Until we leave this forest remain ever at my side. Tell me again why you should continue to live.”

Lucan knew such frustration he began to yell.

“I do not know what you mean. I keep saying that! I was sent away to become a killer for the king instead of the gardener like my father all because I found that boy in the kitchen garden! They beat him. They beat me for touching him and dragged him away. But I did not die in the fights against your kind. He did not die though it appears they did all they could to make it happen! I do not understand what you expect me to do. What could I do against men with swords when I had never touched a sword in my life! I can not help you. I can not touch him. I . . . I . . . ”

He turned away and staggered into the bush to fall to the ground stricken with vomiting, losing what little tea he had managed to ingest.

Talon picked up the fallen clothes and stood over the stricken man. He waited until his illness abated.

“You and the prince have been wronged beyond bearing and I do not know if the breach can be healed. To the Citadel you will go and we will see what my Queen and the Gifted at court have to say. Ease off, I will not burden you again. Put on the clothes and try to rest, we move out at first light.”

Shaking and unable to articulate the latent pain that had flared to agonizing life within his center, Lucan clutched the clothes to his chest and struggled into them. Talon walked away from the shaken soldier and went to the tent to check on his new charge. Suddenly a wail went up in the dark forest. The Pegasors answered it with roars and hisses. The ululation frightened Lucan white. QuickStep rushed from the tent and took off into the forest, making a loud wailing imitation of the sound. A prolonged agonized screaming from one of the wretches that wanted to kill him added a horrible accompaniment.

Four of the guards returned to the fire and got cups of now simmering soup and drank some black arcane liquid poured by the big woman at the fire. Tal emerged from the tent and admonished her.

“Sticker do not pour too much. I swear you think Mead is nothing but beer for you to ingest for pleasure. Stay your hand from the medkit or I will report you to the BareBlade.”

The woman snorted.

“Report me and your nights will be a lot colder Tal-is-man.” She snagged him around the waist and tumbled him into her lap, kissing him soundly, to the delight of the other men gathered.

The cries rising from the forest drew closer and the threesome breezed into camp. The twins hair reached Talon first, twining about this face and threading through his hair. Contact was made with the finer strands that those outside the Cadre were unaware he had. The wavering strands caressed and withdrew. The twins dragged QuickStep away to further initiate her into new pleasures of oneness with a Gifted. A moment later Raze appeared in the firelight her armor obscured from the blood of one who would kill no longer. Her teeth were bared in a macabre grin heightened by the smears on her face, as she showed the commander her bloodied short blade. Talon face was grim as he acknowledged her kill before returning to the fire. Raze disappeared again into the trees to clean the blood from her body and armor.

“Fredric’s killers are no more. They suffered for their plans to torture him to death. Understand this Lucan of Haven, the joining of Llyncu and human is respected in Daear. The Gifted are highly prized and in the past men have fought over the right to join their families to a Gifted line. Our Queen’s mother was from such a family and although weak in body her powers of mind were a great boon to our people. The poor spies your king sent just after our MeekBlade sat on the throne were apprehended because she dreamed of their entrance into our lands. Together Caron and MeekBlade ruled our people with wisdom and we prospered. We will continue, as a joined people, for as long as CatsEye commands the sky. And BrightLance will rule until her true death if I must put down who ever or whatever stands in her way.”

Lucan swore and drew away from the bright fire that flashed when Talon heavy lashes lifted from silver orbs.

“Enough intimidation, leave the boy be Talon.”

Sticker shoved her Captain aside and wrapped the trembling blonde in a heavy blew cloak and dragged him closer to the fire, settling him on the ground beside her. Before Talon could say anything else, she pressed a cup of soup into Lucan’s hands and made him sip. Her muscled arm wrapped snug around his shoulders. Talon sighed heavily. The man had been though much and he was not being fair. It was obvious Lucan had been kept in ignorance and abused most of his life. A gardener’s son, who can imagine one with such a spirit forced to kill. In Daear, those of gentle spirit nurtured the land and fauna or healed the sick. They were defended with much zeal as the survival of all depended on their abilities to wrest sustenance from the dangerous world. Lucan knelt at the fireside and faced the downcast man.

“I beg pardon Chosen of Farrell. I have been rude to one sorely tried. I ask forgiveness.” He lowered his head waiting for the judgment. Lucan gaped at him, not quite understanding that the formidable warrior was apologizing. Sticker hugged him against her side and said.

“The ornery Pegasor is asking forgiveness, boy. Say accepted or call him out and settle it with swords!”

“What, are you all mad? Is everyone around me insane? Enough, enough I’m so tired of killing!” His rising voice edged into hysteria. Sticker plucked him off the ground and cradled him, murmuring and crooning as he struggled until exhaustion finally won out. He lay boneless staring up into the woman’s face that rocked like his own mother long ago. She had died all alone and starving after his father had died on a battlefield, conscripted into service by the fool who claimed a non-existent throne.

Tears came at the thought and Sticker cuddled him to her armored breast. He was destined to spend the night cradled in her protective arms and in the following weeks, she would become his ever present protector. Talisman dug around in his kit and came up with a hypodermic and injected a sedative so Lucan would rest through the night. He had been strained beyond bearing for many rotations and had reached the end of his ability to cope.

“He needs respite from the fighting Talon and a chance to recover from all he has suffered. His mind might not survive much more.” The medic helped Sticker snug him in more blankets and they both settled him against her side to rest. Fewfingers stirred the soup pot and dished up bowls that he carried to the guards and made sure the twins and QuickStep had their share, which he left at the entrance to their tent. He ignored the whimpers and moans and hurried away. The twins were at their most dangerous and territorial after a hunt. They had been known to lash out at Cadre members before their guardian had arrived to sooth the aggression and fear that rode them. No one wanted to irritate them into thinking the Chosen was threatened.

Fewfingers settled down to his own meal, smirking as Talisman wiggled down in the blankets along Sticker’s other side. He wondered if the silly man was jealous. Fat lot of good it would do him. Sticker was big on comfort, thank the forebearer’s. Nearly all of the Cadre had benefited from the pleasure and safety her body afforded them. He reached and lifted the cup of Mead, drinking it down in two quick swallows. He watched his glum Captain staring into the flames, feeling bad about scaring the boy worse than he already was.

“Come Chosen, you should sleep. You have not rested these many days.”

“He is correct Talon. You are no good to us if you are not rested to protect these two,” Talisman interjected from the depth of his blankets.

“Fine I will sleep, but . . . ”

“Never you mind. Farrell will not awaken before the sun is high. Both of them need the rest.”

Sighing, which made Fewfingers grin, the Queen’s Own snatched up his blew and settled grumpily by the fire. One more sigh escaped before he gave up the struggle to remain awake. The grey haired officer gathered his blew and settled down against his Captain’s back. He wrapped his right arm over the big man’s waist and snugged him into his body, his leather wrapped scarred hand holding Talon close. The sleeping man sighed again and rolled over onto Fewfingers’s chest.

Talon was fanatical about his duty and it took a lot to get him down to rest. Brace and TauntBow, crawled over and settled around him, knowing sometime in the night Talon would be wrapped around them all, finding comfort in the pile he had denied himself for too many days. He was a loner compared to the others in the troop. Only taking comfort in the field and then only when wounded or exhausted.

Brace was fairly new to the troop, but had developed a case of hero worship that survived the passing rotations. Brace had not hesitated to plant himself at Talon’s back during his first skirmish and beat back every man which attempted to strike down the Queen’s Own. It had become his permanent place and name. Strands of his light brown hair eased from its braid to twine with Talon’s during the dark. He had been shocked to hear that Talon spent his youth with his hair shorn. No child with coils, powers or no, was required to cut their hair as youth in training. It was a horrible distraction of constant pain. That fact made Talon nearly invincible to Brace’s eyes.

The light of dawn rose behind murky clouds and drizzle. Giving the exhausted troop the excuse to burrow deeper into their blankets and share a few extra hours of body heat. Talisman was as reluctant as anyone else to leave Sticker’s blankets, but his patients needed tending. The prince slept restlessly, disturbed by nightmares and the ongoing pain of his shorn head. Lucan slept like a stone and Talisman knew someone would have to carry both their charges. Riding was out of the question. He checked his stores and grimaced over the depletion of Mead. He rationed the remaining powder into packets concealed beneath his armor, leaving only enough for each warrior to have one cup. Sticker would just have to cope, or there would not be enough to see them home. She would be contrite, but it would still be gone. She was irritating beyond bearing sometimes, but he loved her like no other woman.

Cadre did not marry, but mated among themselves until death broke the pairing or the lovers drifted into the arms of another. They were too suspicious of motivations to trust outsiders with their sovereign’s life. Children were not an option. They could be hostages. Many men and women of the Cadre were sterilized on acceptance into the troop if they had civilian family members to carry on the family bloodlines.

Talisman reminded himself to check TauntBow over before riding out. The bowman’s brown eyes were a little bleary and Tal knew for all his bluster a cold was coming on. TauntBow was a very even tempered man until he caught a cold, then he whined like a child. The medic worried that TauntBow’s susceptibility could mean more serious problems in his later winter rotations. He mixed a tea that the warrior would drink if Tal had to get Sticker to sit on him.

Talisman’s grandfather had seen the archives and told his medics in training that no cure existed for the irritating disease. People were rarely ill due to cancers or neurological diseases, almost always falling prey to the flora or fauna of Nadredd. Death following swiftly if a Healer was not practically in their back pocket. Finally satisfied with his preparations for the dawn, the medic went to stir up the fire, boil the water for tea and warm the Mead. He would be heartily sick of soup by the time he got home.

The dark guard came in and began packing up the camp. The sleeping troop rolled out, tended their dawning abulations and drank down the ration. Some exchanged places with the dark guards. The others fed dried meat to their mounts and loaded the packs before saddling up. The relieved men ate dried fruit and bread to break their fast. Everyone else would eat as they rode.

Talon tended his stallion, the troop scattering to give him space as the snarling, fang gnashing beast reminded them why Pegasors were feared. In the end his heaving and clawing availed him nothing. He stood trembling with ire as the Commander saddled him. Finally they moved out, Lucan snug and still asleep in the arms of Sticker. The prince in a hammock rocking gently between the twin’s Pegasors. He was hooked to more than one IV and the sedative kept him oblivious. Talon occasionally rode back from the head of the column to gaze at the youth. Appalled at his condition, Talon wondered how his Queen’s ire would be expressed. Fredric hoped to murder the boy and blame Drear. Would they go to war over this? Talon’s heavy sigh did not go unnoticed by the twins. Their thought reflected his own, except where he was weary, they were anticipating, predator’s to their very souls.

QuickStep’s mount circled the twins and their charge, her eyes continuously scanning the forest for danger. Her body was sated almost more than she could stand. Really she would rather be sleeping. But her Gifted were focused on easing the young man’s pain and not their surroundings. She would rather die than allow them to come to harm. Her heart swelled with love immediately drawing the attention of the twins. She gave them an embarrassed smile and rode on. Their hair gently caressed the boy’s stubble, communicating comfort and pleasure, sensations never before experienced and rather frightening even in his unconscious state. Farrell realized he was helpless. Once more his fate was in the hands of more powerful beings. He did not care any longer.

When the rain began to fall again, the twins covered the prince with another blanket and propped him higher in the sling so he would not think he was drowning. Talon did not wish to stop right away. His anxiousness to get back to Daear, communicated itself to beast and troop. They all wanted to camp away from the stench and the threat of Fredric sending troops when his men did not return.

It was very late into the second dawn, before the troop made camp again. They moved with their usual efficiency. Once the prince and his protector were settled into the tent, everyone gathered around the fire. The twins had made a dash into the woods and returned with a dearhart, which was dressed very quickly and now roasted over the fire. Talon gave the liver and heart to his stallion. Brace sat at his back allowing the exhausted commander to rest against him. Talon had spent as much time on the back trail as the others, making sure they weren’t being tracked. They dared not assume there were no more men in the field. Sticker sliced the meat onto the platters for each man and they ate with relish. The twins soaked up the appreciation of the troop for the change in diet.

Their questing hair darted around caressing hair and faces, the contact more exact communication than mere words for them. The racial memory of killing humans was ever present, but the ancestry passed down by their parents, had prevented anything more than temper tantrums in the past. Now that they had QuickStep, the predator was soothed even more. Possession of a Chosen was the nearest thing to fulfilling the urge to consume. They tortured their protector, true enough, but with unbearable pleasure. It was fulfilling in a way they could have never explained. It was consuming but not.

The overall atmosphere of the campers lightened the closer they drew to the ragged peaks of home. The remainder of the journey passed without incident. Talisman kept the prince and Lucan sedated the entire way. Talon sent Raze ahead to warn the Queen. This would not be a welcoming with feast and music, but a desperate bid to heal mind, bodies and a fractured bond. The first two possible, the latter would be a miracle.

Raze was smallest in stature among the Cadre, but she made up for it with a viciousness that never found release except in battle. Her sword arms was heavily muscled and she was even handed. Her head was shorn except for the thick black braid she wore chignon. She wore it thus and used one of her own lethal small blades to keep her pate devoid of any hair. No one knew how much pain she may feel, if any. There had never been sign of gifts in all the rotations she rode for the Cadre. She loved close work and her opponents died cut to ribbons or hacked in two. The last thing they saw was the pitiless black orbs of their killer and her scarred visage. She was as Talon, sharing her blankets with no one except in the field. In her case, only when someone was fatally wounded, which was rarer still, as Cadre fought to the death more often than not.

Speculation spread like wildfire though the palace as the checkpoints reported Raze rushing through reserving her report for the Queen alone.

When the troop arrived at the first security checkpoint, they were relieved to see additional guards were on duty and all the torches along the summit ablaze. They wasted no time in conversation other than to warn the men to be wary of spies daring this close because the young prince had not been killed but rescued. Talisman’s raced away to see that the preparations made to care for the prince and his damaged protector were in place to his satisfaction. He would also make sure the squires were on hand to assist the tired troop settling in for the night. Before his own head rested on a pillow the Healer will have run himself ragged in his concern for everyone’s well-being.

Talon rode at the head of the troop when they arrived on the terrace. The Queen stepped out immediately to hear the news. Talon wanted to admonish her for remaining awake so late in the night, but he was really too tired and she was no longer a child. She flung herself across the parquet into his arms. He hugged her close and assured her all the troop were returning unscathed. She held his wrist in one small hand as he escorted her to the twins who had dismounted to check on the little prince. They rolled the blankets back so the Queen could look upon her future husband. She had been told, but it was not the same as seeing for herself. A hiss escaped her lips and muscles locked. Her anger swept like a wave over the troop. Some placed hands on their weapons in response. The twins hissed back and their hair lifted searching for prey. She shivered and spoke softly to the agitated hunters. BrightLance began to hum a wordless tune that settled everyone much to their collective surprise. Talisman hurried through the gate directing Caregivers and troops laden with care baskets to place the prince and the befuddled Lucan into for transport. They were headed for quarters in the Queens tower of the palace. He assured Talon that a fresh posting of guards had just come on duty to see to the Queen’s protection and watch over the patients and the doctors the Queen had assigned to treat them.

“You will not spend the night standing before my door protecting me from men too ill to walk let along attempt to attack me. I have complete trust in all the Cadre. I will rest well as will all of you in your beds!”

She reiterated her statement with a stern eye at Talon and the twins.

“If the prince has any problems the Healers cannot handle I will certainly send someone to bring Strike and Shadow to assist. All of you have done well to save two lives. It is time you took your rest. Don’t make me order you to do what is common sense.”

Talon’s felt admonished, which he was. He managed to maintain his dignity, so the blush did not manifest on his face.

“As you will it my Queen.”

Bright Lance smiled at the exasperated Chosen. Small fingers caressed his cheek and sent reassurance and pride to her ever vigilant protector. She felt his worry fade and tense muscles relaxed even further under her hand, as it should be.

“We will speak of events tomorrow four bells before last meal. Reports should be available by then from the Healers as well. For now rest well and I do mean just that.”

BrightLance gifted them with one of her dazzling smiles, spun away to catch up to the retreating Cadre and their charges. Her voice floated back to them taking Talisman to task for not heading off to bed. They listened to her cajoling until her voice faded from the most attentive ears.

Shaking off the minor enthrallment, the troop gave up their tired mounts to squires rushing onto the terrace with StraightBow keeping a wary eye from the shadows. Talon’s troop left them to it, walking with weary steps into the palace proper and headed in mass along the wide corridor to their barracks. Behind them the squires hustled the deceptively docile Pegasors onto the freight elevators that would drop them off at the terraced corral and barn four floors below.

The stone floor and walls gradually gave way to gleaming metal in a straight on hallway. It lead to access hatches to the sovereign’s apartments and the palace proper. Four of the Cadre were on guard duty in the surrounding dark unseen to the untrained eye. The returning troops made a sharp right turn here and at the end of a short corridor walked down a ramp that formed a very tight spiraled walkway down. There were no scones in the walls for lighting. The Cadre traversed the ramp in total darkness regardless the time of dawn or dark. It was a well-known saying among the people that if a Cadre member did not express extreme paranoia at all times, they were surely an imposter. No assassin had yet to penetrate the Palace and certainly not the Cadre’s personal quarters.

The rooms were carved out of the mountain below the sovereign’s apartments. Wide portals hallowed out of the mountainside opened onto the green vistas of Daear’s terraced city and its gardens. The wide valley contained the city’s other institutions and the community grids, where much of the farming and animal husbandry was conducted alongside homes, shops and taverns. Cavernous greenhouses were filled with enhanced vitals that the people still did not allow the soil of Daear to nurture. Barns with reinforced flooring housed the enhanced horses of the Diligence Calvary alongside other outbuildings for the cattle, the domesticated dearharts experiment and muskies. Beyond the city could be seen smaller self-contained communities and the keeps of the Barons. It was a colorful scene in a drab world.

After days of hunting in enemy territory, more than one of the troop paused to look out on the haven they fought so hard to maintain. Talon’ eyes were refreshed by the sight and he lingered until Brace pulled him away to seek the comforts of the steam baths and bed. Besides the barracks and hygiene facilities, there were the offices of the General and Captains; meeting rooms, training facilities and the medic center. After much needed sleep everyone would be debriefed before going to report to the Queen and hear what updates may be had on the refugees health.

***

Baron Vidor entered the conference hall, his gaze over the expansive room noting the fireplaces that encircled the room all alight. The oil globes flame cast further light to combat the chilling effect of grey metal. He was grateful for it as the days had turned quite cold and the partial metal walls seemed to radiate the cold in his direction. Bright colorful holographic pictures of stars, Origin Earth, and galaxies were placed above the mantels of each fireplace, adding another impression of warmth to the room. His old bones appreciated the warmth so he shook the heavy burgundy, woolen cloak from broad shoulders and handed it off to the cadet to put it away. He smoothed the grey sweater, knitted in a long tunic style down over burgundy wool slacks and was very thankful for the ‘long johns’ beneath them. The fact no one but the Cadre was permitted to wear weapons in the Queen’s presence relieved him of heavy sword and scabbard. The attendant graced him with a sweet smile and introduced herself as Mila, before returning to her duties. Cadets in the Queen’s compartments wore a variation of the ancient ship’s crew uniform, black woolen shirt and pants with the hems tucked into calf length flat heeled boots. An imaginative image of the Milky Way galaxy was embroidered near their left shoulder. The symbol had been favored by King MeekBlade and his daughter did not appear to want it change it. Besides, the cadets attire brought to mind the Cadre and Vidor feared the brooding color would become a new fashion at court. He was not a flamboyant dresser by any means, but everyone running around in black would be very depressing he thought.

The Baron’s expression darkened, considering their King had fallen in battle and put his untried daughter on the throne. Then again, perhaps that description was no longer apt because discounting their field units were outnumbered, at least in bodies, Daear had once again emerged victorious. The ‘little girl’ leading her Cadre to break the enemy front line and killing everyone who came within reach of her spear stunned more than the enemy. She struck true and often to the horror of the Barons and foot soldiers.

Stirred by her vicious cursing of the enemy, the Diligence Calvary rushed in to reinforced the Cadre assault by breaking the right flank of the enemy. They were led by Baron Colwyn and his brothers Gavin and Nardo. Drunkard he might be but not many shared the sheer ferocity of Nardo. Why he had not been killed was a mystery to many for he fought with no regard for caution, usually drunk off his head.

They left Renfrew to the left flank, but were surprised when half his company, led by his sons appeared in the midst of the enemy like a geyser erupting. The screams of Fredric’s soldiers jellied the bowels of their fellows as blood rained down upon the unscathed and sent them running in confusion. The wily baron struck. The panicked soldiers were crushed between him and his exultant sons, their coils snapping necks and sword flashing in the sunlight as they laughed.

Baron Renfrew was Gifted and although his wife was one of Vidor’s own non gifted granddaughters, he bred true. The three boys she bore were powerful. They appeared bred for war and nothing pleased the young ones more than to follow their father onto the field. The Baron was proud of the covert forays his sons had successfully completed for King MeekBlade and his predecessor. No one was sure how it was done. Renfrew’s own gift eluded everyone and he distracted the curious with haughty demeanor, flirting, and an insane smile.

Two of the hellions had already sired children, while the heir continued to entertain many but marry none. Out of all of the Barons, Renfrew was the most secure Gifted, politically. He was favored by the populace because he brought their fantasies of romantic love between Llyncu and human to life and was a generous employer. The nobility had hoped the Gifted one would take other wives, spreading his genes more, but he favored his ‘pure’ wife. It was not custom to limit one’s self to a single wife or husband when alliances were the currency that kept the government afloat. The old man believed his granddaughter was Chosen even if it went unacknowledged. Whichever, love or Chosen, Vidor was grateful for her sake as she was doted on, protected fiercely and now was caring for the middle son Rhys’ triplets. Once again the negotiators were anxious hoping at least this second son would remarry. However since the death of his wife in childbirth, Rhys entertained no one, focusing his attention on leaving carnage in his wake on the battlefield.

With a relieved sigh Vidor sat down at the metal table, resting against the back of the metal seat. These furnishings were said to be part of the original ship that housed the now Queen’s apartments. He thought it was so because the floor beneath their feet was metal deck plating and the table and chairs were bolted in place. Vidor noted two of the chairs at the table were draped in the bloodied estate flags of Baron Kane and his half-brother Baronet Glasius. Their betrayal had cost the people dearly and pushed Daear into this unwanted war. Vidor remained exhausted from the fighting. Honestly he was too old to be slogging on foot and fighting hand to hand. But Baron Caddock, for all his ability in a fight, had no head for strategy and Meinrads’ surly attitude made for obstinance at the worst possible times. The foot soldier’s commanders had taken the brunt of it, so someone had to step in. Although still slim as in his youth, the iron grey hair and lines around deep brown eyes only hinted at his true age. StraightBow was his younger brother and they both had seen many Kings take the throne.

Although considered ‘pure’ human, Vidor had been able to make advantageous marriages, out living even his Gifted wives. His keep teemed with his descendants and successful marriages had been made within the FreeSouls Alliance, the wandering Searchers and a few of the lessor ‘nobility’. His get married for love, and it had paid off in support for Daear bolstered by sometimes tenuous familial connections since a few of his grandchildren had married even further afield into the Rovers and Coastal Dwellers.

After such a decisive victory and the successful rescue of young Prince Farrell, the old man hoped that Fredric’s pursuit of eliminating Daear’s supposed threat would come to an end. The Daear were tired of the constant state of warfare since Fredric ruled in Haven. At least most of them were. He discounted Renfrew and his own great grandsons from that equation with a rueful smile lighting his face.

Mila appeared at his shoulder, begging his pardon as she placed a flagon of steamed cider before him. He thanked her profusely until she blushed before taking a grateful sip from the hot, mildly alcoholic beverage that warmed him to the core. He watched her place full pitchers over the hot plates in the table to keep the beverage steaming. She hurried away and returned with platters of fragrant meat pies and warmed damp towels which she placed in a recess of the table to keep them moist. Once the Queen arrived no cadets would be allowed in the conference room until she retired.

He didn’t bother turning to see the next personage enter the room. Caddock gave the girl a loud hearty greeting and made his way to the table. He gave the usual grunt, in greeting Vidor, poured some cider and settled at the middle of the table.

“The wind is like knives today. I would rather be still in my blankets than sitting in all these damn meetings.”

“I drank to that. My bones are too old for fighting all day, traveling day and night, and trying to placate my madhouse family.”

“There is that.”

Caddock laughed and scratched at his windblown hair. Even his heavy brown beard was ruffled. It took more than a few tugs and twists to straighten the woolen navy blue tunic he wore with black slacks and scuffed black boots threaded with leather strings. Vidor thought it would have been an easier process if he would just remove the empty scabbard from his waist, but he did not say anything, just smiled. Sometimes Caddock was as scatter brained as a child.

“There are times I do not envy you old man. You have an army all yelling at once for your attention and some of them are still in nappies!”

The two men laughed together. There was no doubt about it. It took brandishing his sword and swearing, to get control of the rabble that descended on the palace the day after word went out the fighters had returned. He sent his children and grands that were designated to confirm his survival packing off home with a few good swats on the ass to boot! They were old enough to know better.

“It was good to rest eyes upon them, but they were never a quiet lot. I thought the headache would kill me and the coddling! Rosyn actually wanted to sit by my bed and fluff my pillows all night. I could not get her out of here with the rest of them. She insists on taking care of me as if my wits went with my last winter celebration. I left her scalding the hide off our cook for serving my steak too rare.”

Vidor could not help but smile though. His Rosyn truly took good care of her grandfather. If only some young man had come along and captured her fancy. Between her constant attention to his every waking moment, her midwifery and herding the multitude of children that occupied the estate, Rosyn insisted she did not have time to entertain any husbands, Gifted or otherwise. Vidor had finally quit pestering her, resigned to being harassed to the end of his days.

Baron Caddock found it all very amusing. His get were all at his estate with his heir Brice running things while he rode off to war. He had not been able to bear risking any of his precious sons. Although they were trained to fight he forbade them unless he fell.

They were still laughing, trading stories about their families, when the door was opened again.

A harried looking young man rushed into the room burdened with a flimsy box and stylus to take a seat across from Caddock. Baronet Celyn was just nineteen. He had not gone to the front lines, but his face was already lined with care and grief.

“How are you faring lad? Are your mother and brother’s wife recovering?”, Caddock inquired.

“Thank you for your concern sir. Mother was prepared strangely enough. She says she knew

Stone and Taffye would not return this time just as she knew father would not return. When word came, her tears were already dry. Taking care of Marietta is her focus now. It is near her time but, but mother does not think she will survive long after the baby comes.”

Baron Vidor reached across the table and grasped the slim shoulder in commiseration.

“I will speak to my Rosyn, she can travel with you and assist your mother if she will have her.”

“Yes lad, if you need assistance you only have to say and mine will do whatever we can. These are the times when we all must support each other. No need to face your struggles alone. We are all willing and are able to assist.” Caddock reached across the table a gave the young man’s wrist a firm grip as well.

Celyn attempted to contain his emotions, but could only nod and fight back his tears. Baron Vidor poured another flagon of cider and bid the young man to drink.

“Give yourself time to breath son. I know it seems like the world is climbing on your shoulders now, but we will help. Take your time.”

The older men left him to himself for a while to settle and contemplated their own good fortune. They ignored his quick swipe at watering eyes, leaving the sleeve of his russet tunic damp and his blue/grey eyes red rimmed. He busied himself organizing paperwork from the small brown satchel he had carried in over his shoulder. While he waited for the meeting to begin, he might as well address some of his family’s estate matters. If he wrote down what he intended to do perhaps he would not miss anything and regret it later. There was just so much.

Baroness Tesni and Branwen entered the room together, chatting and snickering like two young girls paying no attention to the men around the table. Branwen’s waist length auburn tresses were entwined with Tesni’s short curly brown hair even though the little Baroness was head blind to any magic whatsoever. Only after giving into complete hilarity did the two women wipe their eyes and, still snorting, make their way to the table.

The older men could not help but watch in fascination as Branwen’s coils slipped free of her friends hair. Perhaps the illusion of communication was comforting to the Gifted one.

“Forgive our manners gentlemen. Branwen just received the most ludicrous marriage proposal. I . . . ”

Tesni gave way to laughter again. Her cheeks were quite rosy and brown eyes were alight with humor. She remembered that her cloak was still around her shoulders and apologized to the young lady waiting patiently to put it away. She gave her arms a brisk rubbing to discard the chill her pine green woolen gown did not quite prevent. She had only returned to the palace in time for the meeting and met Branwen along the way.

“Why would that officious little excuse for a man think I would want to give up my independence to listen to him moan and whine about the injustices of his lot?”

Baroness Branwen settled into the chair next to Vidor, reaching over and giving Celyn’s arm a squeeze. Her best friend Tesni was still caught up in laughter and just managed to fall into the chair between Vidor and Caddock.

“Well it wasn’t actually a marriage proposal. It was more of an invitation to contract.”

Tesni was once again laughing her head off.

“ Oh my,” she gasped, “ it was not the proposal that set me off. It was the look on your face.”

Branwen glared at her best friend, but could not hold it and dissolved into laughter again.

“I expect he will not be so forward in the future. I am very pleased with my life as it is. I certainly do not have time to be pregnant and fulfill my duties, especially in the current situation.”

Baroness Branwen’s comment brought the hilarity to an momentary end reminding everyone about the reasons for this new meeting of the leaders of their people. Because she had very powerful telekinesis, Branwen taught at the University to help others hone their ability. Her classes were only one week a term because she had to see to running her estate and staying in contact with her children, who also needed her training. She did not find spending time at court odious as gifted were very social by design.

Her second husband had given her a great responsibility and Vidor and Caddock was enough old fashioned to think it was ill done of him to run off with the Searchers and explore while leaving Branwen to raise his heir, run the estate and keep up the political affiliations necessary to hold the barony. Never the less they also could not discount the fact that Branwen was thriving on the challenge. Right at this moment Branwen looked refreshed and ready for what came. Her cheeks were flushed and that one bright topaz eye sparkling, overshadowing the brown one. She was exceptionally slim and lacked height as did Tesni, although she had an inch or two over her friend. At first impression many believed her no more than a child. Then she would open her mouth and they would be dissuaded. She wore a dull brown woolen gown and boots, which Caddock thought did nothing for her looks at all. Branwen would be considered plain of face by anyone, but the sheer power she processed made her a popular target of the alliance negotiators for marriage or contract. As far as she was concerned her part had been done with three husbands and a child for each.

Caddock was on the mark and served the ladies a flagon each of cider. After a few sips the question of who had offered Branwen a contract returned. It was certainly not done to accost any woman in public about such matters. If a family had not the money for a negotiator, then the most senior member of the house approached the senior of the house in question. Considering Branwen’s status, she could be hostile enough to demand recompense for the embarrassment. Whoever this idiot was, he had been saved by sheer luck. Even Branwen’s current husband in residence could take up

retaliation if she wished it. Although both of the old men could not imagine First Accountant Toru

taking up arms. Branwen immediately starting laughing again. She loved Toru very much, but surely he would talk the miscreant to death before raising a sword!

“I will tell him over dinner tonight. If he is offended I will remind him the annoyance is already embarrassed in front of Tesni.”

“And just what do you mean by that? I am no gossip Brainy!”

Once again the men were laughing at the glare ‘Brainy’ shot across the table.

“Do not insist on using that accursed name you brat. Beside how else will I get my revenge if you do not whisper in someone’s ear so it will be all over the court before first meal?”

“Oh. Well when you put it that way.” A big grin of pure devilment lit up Tesni’s face.

“It is a deal. Just remember you owe me a favor now.” Brown curls bounced around her face as she nodded her head vigorously causing her friend to roll her eyes.

“Yes, yes favor acknowledged.”

“So are you two going to tell us who it was? The suspense you know.” Caddock attempted to give them a pleading look, which everyone found humorous.

“Would you believe that odious Quartermaster was lurking in the hallway when I came out of the refresher near the old ship galley? I thought I was being smart to get in there for an early breakfast, especially since the palace guards are the only ones that use it. If Tesni hadn’t appeared I might not have been able to avoid putting him through a wall. Imagine trying to have babies just to advance you status? I do not think he has even seen any of his children since they were born!”

Branwen’s statement had raised her ire once more and her hair lifted and wafted around her shoulders. She shook herself and the locks settled gently on the shoulders of the oblivious Celyn and Vidor’s arm, massaging gently. No one missed the boy relaxing back against his chair as the lady’s coils slipped into his own auburn hair. But he continued to scribble away, intent on his flimsy.

“Folant has long since lost all propriety in his quest for a higher station. In the past his family has always been proud of their duty to the Ship and the Captains. I know for a fact he has lost the one child he was counting on to barter for marriage. Young Kayin has been accepted into Cadre training.”

Vidor volunteered that bit of gossip with a rueful expression on his face. It was not his want to gossip at any time, except about his prolific family of course.

“No reason to be shamed Vidor. It is common knowledge that the latest squire is exceptionally talented and can communicate with the Pegasors and the Diligence Calvary mounts. I have already asked the Commander to allow the boy time off for extensive gene mapping. There have been very few beast communicators over the centuries. We would be foolish to ignore this opportunity to discover what family lines came together to create this affect. Veterinarians in Animal Husbandry are also requesting time with the young man to see if he can obtain information that could give some insight into the more difficult afflictions that plague our cattle, particularly those huge ox beast the Rovers use.”

Baroness Tesni ceased speaking before she got carried away. She was a geneticist, as had her family members had been through the centuries. The great reveal had appalled her as it had many of her fellows, but attempting to reverse what is, would hasten the demise of civilization as they knew it. She worked tirelessly for better health and viability of offspring, rather than attempting to go back to before the ships touched down on Nadredd.

“Well if it makes those beast the Cadre ride more tractable I say let him pass with flying colors. It is a shame that even allies have to avoid injury when they are around.”, Caddock grumbled. It was well known he hated the Pegasors, since one took a bite out of him during a moment of devilment in his youth. Vidor hid his grin behind his hand and then refilled everyone’s flagon.

There was tumble of voices at the entrance and the group turned as one to welcome the newcomers.

Baron Renfrew and his heir Haul bustled through the door, nodded to Mila and rushed the table. They wore sleeveless tunics of pale green with black slacks and boots. Renfrew’s boys were as immune to the cold as their father was. It was unusual to see any of them in heavy clothing unless it was complete battle armor. Renfrew sketched a bow at the company with the usual crazy grin on his face. His topaz eyes were bright with a maniacal glint. Haul matched his father’s grin and flung his arms around great grandfather Vidor, giving him a squeeze.

“You look well GG. I am starving. Do we have food yet?” Haul laughed as his great grand squirmed in his hold. The seasoned warrior took great joy in needling Vidor, and his long unbound hair wrapped around the old man’s shoulders and slipped into his hair. His voice dropped to a whisper as he continued to hug him.

“Your injuries are healing well sir?”

“ Not to worry yourself you little heathen. I was barely in bed a day before I had to chase the herd out of the castle.” Vidor reached up and buried one hand in Haul’s pale strawberry blonde hair, scratching his scalp and laughing more when the man began to purr in his ear.

“Arr! Stop doing that you sneaky old devil.” Haul pulled away his face going crimson.

“First rule of tactics. If it is not broken do not repair it. Now sit yourself down and fill that gut so we can at least hear what everyone has do say without your stomach interrupting.” Vidor’s grin was teasing. Haul slid in the sit next to Caddock and filled a plate with pies and set to. He moaned in the throes of orgasmic delight, only to be startled from his meal when everyone at the table laughed long and loud. He at least had the grace to blush to the roots of his hair when he realized why, which caused another round of laughter.

Renfrew didn’t speak. The abundant auburn hair dancing around his body brushed lightly over everyone at the table before he sat next to Celyn. He filled his own plate and flagon to quell his hunger. There was no time to break fast in their rush to get back to the palace from their trip to the family seat. Trahaearn was feeding in one of the many galleys placed throughout the palace. He was not required to attend such staff meetings being the younger son. Besides, all he desired was to be aimed at the enemy. He could care less about the rest.

As the edge wore off their hunger Renfrew and Haul’s hair settled and braided itself in a loose rope over their shoulders. Gossip was passed along to the newcomers. Haul laughed loudly at Folant’s audacity, considering Branwen outranked him and could now retaliate. He also wondered if he could convince some of the Cadre to allow him to train with them on occasion and his father stated if it ever came about he better not forget the rest of the family. They shared a momentary connection when they gazed across the table at each other, that raised the hair on everyone’s neck. The tableau was broken when the next arrivals came into the room.

Baronet Macsen came in nearly buried in a synthetic fur lined, muskie coat that had a hood covering the bright ruby red hair. Mila was quick to assist, ridding him of the heavy drape and rushed away. The current Commander of Disturbance Investigations was wearing a thick woolen sweater tunic similar to Vidor’s in white. His slacks were black and heavy muskie and the knee high boots he wore were faux fur lined, the shaggy tops cuffed. Macsen was very fair. His eyes were a luminous topaz with long thick eyelashes, that captivated everyone. He was well within his fifty winters with four wives at home, one only recently wed. He had four gifted children even though two of his wives were supposedly without magic and were from the merchant class instead of nobility. He always joked he would never be without clothing or food on the table since their parents were milliners and bakers. He wore a white scarf, binding his long hair at his back, and thick black dearhart gloves covered his hands beneath the sleeves of the sweater to his elbows. He smiled and greeted everyone with a handshake. Macsen was post-cognitive by touch. He needed to refrain from too much skin on skin contact with those outside of his family in order to function coherently.

As a child he spent many rotations in the University while scientist and teachers struggled to teach him to survive his acute sensibility without plunging into madness. Now he had another year and half as the director of the crime detection unit of Daear before he could return full time to his family and revel in being able to touch safe minds and motives. Macsen took his seat by Haul. The young Gifted was very soothing to be around and Macsen enjoyed his wild sense of humor. Mila came in after he was seated and tucked a thick blew around his shoulders. He gave her a beaming smile that left her blushing and sprinting from the room. There was much teasing about being the biggest flirt in the city and the atmosphere lightened even more.

Baron Colwyn strolled in next with his brother Nardo. The latter wobbled and swayed his way to the table, goblet already in hand, drunk off his head as usual. He sat next to Renfrew and ignored everyone as was typical. Colwyn offered up his own gruff hallo and sat next to Macsen.

Colwyn’s younger brother Nardo had inherited his barony from his mother’s cousin. It was well known gossip fodder that Nardo got it because the cousin thought he was not gifted despite the eyes. Cowyn’s middle brother, Gavin, had the typical auburn hair, but all three of them had very unusual eyes, topaz with a black ring around the outside of the iris. Colwyn and Gavin had already fathered gifted children. Gavin’s children driving everyone to distraction with their tendency to start fires when upset. Nardo was never sober enough to notice anyone unless it was to demand more drink. No one could even remember it being said he was other than celibate. The two black haired brothers could have passed for twins if Colwyn did not have a full beard streaked with grey. Nardo wore a goatee and mustache. They were both dressed in golden brown tunic, slacks and brown boots.

Baron Meinrad came in, perpetual sneer more intense as he attempted to get away from gesticulating Baronet Folant. The ill-tempered noble finally turned and snapped at the man, causing him to gulp in astonishment and look like a gaping fish. Mila appeared to take Meinrads’ cloak and the embarrassed Folant cast his ire upon the young lady. Which refocused the attention of Meinrad onto him again. The personages at the table viewed the entire incident in silence because it was well known Meinrads’ tongue was a razor sharp blade which he used with no regard to station, sex or intention. What surprised the table was the Baron then turning to the young lady and bowing over her hand leaving a small kiss on her knuckles. For the third or maybe fourth time that day Cadet Mila’s face was rosy. She nodded in grateful confusion and fled. Folant, affronted or more likely embarrassed, disappeared at the same moment into the corridor. Grins were hard to hide when Meinrads’ face heated, realizing everyone was paying close attention. He scowled even worse and took his seat at the table pouring cider and frowned into the cup. His face rather matched his crimson tunic.

“I do not see why correcting that ill-mannered lout’s behavior is the subject of such attention.”, he growled. His pale yellow eyes stood out like lamps against the tanned skin and sun bleached light brown hair.

“Perhaps you are already casting about for your next wife Meinsy.” Tensi could not help but tease. It was like breathing for her.

“Well if I am, rest assured it will never be you.”

Tensi, Macsen and Haul lit the room with laughter once more.

“Rest assured. I will jump off the Queen’s highest tower if that dawn ever arrives.”

“Never fear, I will be happy to push you.”

Even Celyn snorted at that snide remark. Before things could escalate to more amusement, Folant returned with the last member of the contingent, Baroness Pandrau, Chief of Security for the palace and all who occupy it with the exception of the sovereign.

She had the dark patina common within the FreeSouls, however her curly dark hair was worn mid back and she was able to communicate fully with all gifted. She was tall, with wide shoulders but slim torso and hips. She wore slacks at all times. For the meeting she wore the palace guard’s standard uniform, a light blue tunic with the Milky Way galaxy logo. The slacks and flat heeled calf boots matched.

As was typical of the nobility there was no obvious sign of her rank in the guards. She held the authority, but outside of Daear, no one would be able to tell that at a glance. It was enough that the gifted could not be hidden without singling out the leaders with badges of office. She gave a nod to the table as a whole, only pausing at Celyn who was back to recording whatever information had him so engrossed. She glanced at Branwen, who gave her a nod. Her coils was still threaded into the young man’s hair, so Pandrau knew he was being watched over. There was many grieving in the palace and the city since the last battle and her people were keeping an eye out for despairing survivors seeking more severe releases from their pain. The city’s healers remained on high alert.

With one last glance over the room, she walked around the table and sat next to Meinrad. It was the least she could do to keep the peace during this meeting. Mila returned topping off the pitchers, replacing the emptied platters of pies and checking to make sure the damp towels were remaining warm and moist.

“The Queen is on her way down. Is there anything else you require Captains?”

Vidor took a survey of the room and responded.

“You have been exceptionally attentive to us today Cadet Mila. We thank you for your courtesy and patience.”

“It is my pleasure to serve Captain. If you have further need of me, only advise the Queen I will be allowed to return. May your efforts insure peace for our people.” She bowed to everyone and departed.

Everyone stood and stretched, walked back and forth to get their circulation going again. Meetings didn’t last very long. BrightLance surprised everyone, once again, by continuing to be blunt and plain speaking. They would handle business and be gone. It was the gathering that took time. With so many wounded and others doing double duty it was a miracle everyone did show up today.

Folant walked in and went directly to a seat one over from Colwyn, after tugging his lightweight tan brocade coat tighter around him. The glitter of the metallic thread woven though out the garment pleased him greatly. It was full length and Folant believed it flattered his looks and lent an air of importance at meetings like this. He would not sit across from Meinrad, who turned his nose up like something smelled disgusting. Folant was sure Tesni had told everyone in the room of his approach to Branwen so he was hard put to keep from cringing in mortification.

Since she was the leader of her family he didn’t see any reason why she should take offense about his contractual request. The Baron was wandering the wastelands instead of minding his estate and left her in charge. Who else should he speak to? Certainly not that nondescript husband number three, who spent all day questioning how much money the Quartermaster unit was spending. As if he would embezzle money from the Crown or allow his workers to get away with such a thing.

You would think he was the gifted one the way he strolled around poking into everyone’s affairs. It was really unforgivable that he had to put up with such nonsense.

Folant sniffed, his hands fluttered for a moment torn between stroking his goatee or making sure his swept back, brown greying hair was still in place.

Celyn peeked at him and hid his grimace behind his hand. Honestly the man was so stuck up. He was a quartermaster, which was an important job, but it was not the same as risking his life in battle as all these men had done at one time or another. He felt choked up again and wanted only for this to be over so he could return to his quarters and the privacy he desperately needed. Branwen increased her caresses, and comforting suggestions slipped into the young man’s thoughts and he once again relaxed.

A chime rang softly indicating the Queen was actually coming in. Everyone came to attention and turned to face the metallic hatch in the back of the room. With a hiss the door slide to one side and BareBlade in all his menacing glory walked into the room and swept the interior with his piercing gaze. Behind him the five armored Cadre on guard duty entered the room and immediately shifted into position around the area as the lighting dimmed and shadows filled the perimeter of the room.

Talon entered next his tall broad body in sharp contrast to BareBlade and the guards. Today his ‘blind’ eyes swept the room for his own satisfaction. It was only a moment and the Queen stepped from behind him. With a smile that dazzled the unwary, she nodded to everyone and took the seat at the head of the table. She sat within Talon’s shadow as he stood behind her chair, those baleful eyes once again hidden. Everyone settled themselves giving the young monarch their full attention.

The nobility could not help but look upon her with some bewilderment, even now. BrightLance was willowy, beautiful and every measure of refinement. Although the long sleeved gown was wool, it had been dyed a spruce shade of green, trimmed at the hem with embroidered prancing Pegasors. The heavy braid displayed over her shoulder showcased three black ribbons, one silver edged. A single golden one, representing her Chosen was entwined with them. The memory of her on the battlefield still disconcerted some of them. BareBlade was very sorry he missed her first foray into combat. After all MeekBlade had given him the personal assignment to train her in all things Cadre and as many of his own personal skills of stealth that she could master. MeekBlade himself, never knew the extent of her capabilities. The King had not wanted to know. He only witnessed her sword practice and the taming of her Pegasor. BareBlade knew from reports that she did them all proud and because of her family’s devotion to the Cadre, his people would be devoted to her. The squires were already enamored and that set well with him.

Folant fidgeted even more since the General of the Cadre sat next to him.

BareBlade inspired weak knees and racing heart. Macsen’s people used his name during interrogations for the really hard heads that needed to be cracked. He was a stocky individual, shorter than even the average pure and the bright red hair of his youth did not contain one coil. The long Cadre braid was thick with ribbons and the colors stood out against the snow white hair he sported now. That and the abundance of scar tissue across chest and left shoulder, were the only indication of him not being a young man.

He went without shirt or armor the majority of days and his preferred short sword was openly displayed in a scabbard belted at the waist of his black dearhart hide pants. Knives were strapped to each thigh and carried in his boots. His eyes were an ordinary brown, but he also had a topaz ring around one pupil fueling speculation that his lack of magic was a lie. He had petitioned for admittance to the Cadre at twelve summers, rose through the ranks and been General for nearly thirty winters.

The ‘Captains” suspected him of many things outside of Cadre business. But the unsubstantiated speculation that BareBlade may be able to teleport anywhere he wanted kept accusations quiet.

“Good Morn Captains. I will not hold you very long. My information regards Prince Farrell’s prognosis and BareBlade has a report we all need to consider what our response should be. As you know the prince has suffered long term abuse and our Healers were shocked he was even alive. They are still supplying his body with required nutrients intravenously, although he is now eating broth and soft breads in very small portions multiple times a day. His mental condition is precarious. Dr. Payton states he is extremely empathic and feelings of pity or revulsion make him even more withdrawn. Ferrell has come to grips with the fact that being in the hands of monsters, is not the death sentence he has been conditioned to think it would be. The best of the ‘Infirmary’ psychologist staff have been getting him to express artistically his experiences at the hands of his odious family. Farrell is shocking them with his candid depictions. You may be surprised to learn that although his hair has been shorn to his scalp since early childhood, it is very heavily coiled and they are completely receptive. Strike and Shadow continue to visit and the prince is slowly adjusting to communication and sensations of comfort he has never experienced before. We have shown him pictographs that he can use to communicate since he is still not comfortable with vocalizing his needs. I must say the twins have exhibited endless patience with the young man.

Farrell has not been educated in any real sense. He is essentially illiterate, so we must fore go any formal training until his physical and mental health are proved stable. I realize we cannot put off a public appearance forever, but the longer we wait the closer we will be to having someone reasonably cognizant. I was thinking of exhibiting, with Farrell’s permission of course, some of his more forthcoming paintings to let the people of Daear understand his plight as well as what they would have to endure at the hands of Fredric’s pseudo government. I am very aware of the poison that maniac spews infecting segments of our own society. I will not allow it to push us into civil war. We stand as one people, we will fall as one people.”

Vidor listened closely to the report and knew he could not avoid expressing his thought. The young man’s presence could be used to ferment trouble in their own lands if not handled properly.

“When do the Healers believe the young man may have other visitors beyond the medical staff and Strike and Shadow? No offense my Queen, but those two are not the most compassionate duo to be around. Surely the young man must see that all of us live in comradery less he think his confinement is less than truthful.”

“A very important point Captain. The hope is once his overall condition have improved he will be more receptive to investigating the world around him. He needs to have some control over his own body. Now he is still helpless as a babe. They are hopeful before the next clear sighting of Cat’s Eye this will be possible. They cannot place him in a stabilizer. As you know that technology works best on open wounds. Using the device would probably be too much of a shock for his weak system and kill him. Even if we could use it for such long term damage, it would delay his mental recovery. The consensus is his mind and body must keep a pace with each other to insure we prevent despair and physical setbacks. Prince Farrell must realize that he has found security, a home where he will not be shunned but embraced by all our people.”

“Will it be possible for any of us to visit with him? I think a few well timed comments when certain ears are paying attention could start the process. At this moment the Court knows nothing and speculation could do more damage than not.”

“I see no reason not to see that done. I have visited, of course, speaking to him when he is aware, but oft times I just talk to his slumbering form. Dr. Payton believes he can hear during those times he is asleep at least subconsciously. Do any of you have a spare moment to be added to rotation?”

Haul snorted as he looked around the table.

“Sire and I can not. The boy would have a heart attack. I think Strike and Shadow already gave him the fright of his life. He must find out we are more than warriors. Tensi should go and Celyn. Not to add to your time here lad, but a visit or two before you began your journey would give you information to pass on to the other Baronets. It would be best if honest truth was passed on. The people are expecting a wedding and an end of strife. We hope to give them that. But we must not present a falsehood only for them to discover the Queen’s consort may be rotations away or never, able to assist her rule. We were expecting one ‘pure’ consort blind to all magic, not a Gifted broken by torture. Our people need to know that the Gifted are being born in Haven and possibly being hidden because of the fate of the Prince. Fredric’s people may fear us, but if they were free from his tyranny, the Gifted would have an alternative to living with hate.”

Haul’s anger stirred the hair on everyone’s neck and most of them shifted in their seats wanting their weapons to hand. In moments they felt the Queen’s power stir around them and a calm settled in, easing the tension. Renfrew gave his Queen a long look beneath his lashes. So the enigma had more abilities to be revealed. Perhaps everyday would bring new insight into her skills and power.

“I concur. I will be looking into his genetic makeup anyway, once the report has been received from the Infirmary. A visit would add to the overall picture.” Tensi concluded.

“Ah, Tensi so cold hearted. The poor lad is more than a scientific curiosity. For shame!”

Baroness Branwen looked incensed as she admonished her friend.

Tensi did have the grace to blush.

“My apologies your Grace and everyone. I did not mean to sound like Prince Farrell’s welfare was of little concern. He may technically have family among us and I could find out if they would be receptive in getting to know him no matter the connection may be distant. His young Protector Lucan did report that the entire family of his mother was executed by Fredric. I hope to discover some remnants of them here.”

“I understand Baroness Tensi. I had not contemplated the prince having family here in Daear. Even the smallest possibility may assist his recovery. Baronet Celyn are you willing to delay your journey long enough to visit Prince Farrell? I know your duties are extensive now and would not delay if it stresses your family.”

“Thank you my Queen. If at all possible I would like to leave at the fifth dawning.”

Celyn had already planned to depart on that dawn. He was very nervous advising the Queen of that fact considering she was asking him personally to see her future husband. It would behoove him to remain as long as she required, but his concern for his mother and sister in law could not be ignored either.

“Never fear I will see you well on your way by the fifth dawning. I am sure the Healers can arrange a visit before that dawn.”

Celyn nodded. He was relieved. He did not know his Queen well enough to be aware of what could offend her or not. He wished heatedly for this meeting to end so he could retire to his quarters. He had spent too much time close to tears and hearing the horror this man, no older than himself had gone through was not assisting his composure.

“I am not doing anything more than showing my face so the Court does not think me dead, again. I can spend time with the lad if you will it.” Vidor thought it would be a good respite from his personal boredom. Even if it was just to sit by the sleeping boy and read to him. Of course, Vidor could reminisce about his own past adventures.

“I also will attend if it is your desire my Queen. Let me know when it most efficacious for my attendance and I will work it into my schedule. I have enough subordinates to cover for me for this short amount of time away.” Baroness Pandrau volunteered.

“Thank you Baroness. I appreciate your assistance with Prince Farrell’s recovery.” BrightLance bestowed one of her dazzling smiles in the direction of the palace Chief of Security. Pandrau was thankful for her complexion as her face heated under that smile.

“I think we should all eventually rotate in the schedule to visit. Not only will Farrell see that more females than the Queen holds authority here, but realize that our people are not segregated by our genetic makeup. I am sure the lies he has heard over his lifetime made us monsters. The more differences he sees in the beginning, the sooner he can accept the wider scope of the world. Fredric loves his people ignorant and superstitious. We will need much patience to deal with both these orphans.”

Caddock’s heart truly ached for the poor boy. The baron was considered a soft hearted man by most who knew him. He had wept openly at the deceased King’s bedside. Everyone knew his children and wives were cosseted and fiercely protected. He was the Chosen of one of his Gifted wives which increased his desire to protect them. It was a source of amazement that Caddock could leave her side to ride into battle. His rationale was preventing the enemy from ever breaching the gates of his estate by killing them beyond the Gates of Daear.

“The Chosen Lucan has been released from medical and is resting in the Cadre’s barracks. Sticker has been his constant companion, as is her way, until he is feeling more secure about his safety. She has taken him on short forays into the terraced gardens. He refuses to touch his weapons and keeps within her sight at all times when not sleeping. I fully intend to turn him over to the palace gardeners when he is no longer afraid to walk among us. Perhaps his spirit will eventually be healed. But I have no intention of having him pressed into any kind of service, not even as Chosen of Prince Farrell. For both of them, the very thought of being in the same room brings on anxiety attacks and nausea. The mere thought of Shadow and Strike leave Lucan almost catatonic in terror. We may never be able to resolve this injustice. But we will give them as much peace and isolation as we can, so they will not feel threatened.”

There were sighs and nods in agreement on this decision. Both men were too fragile and would be for many rotations. They were beyond the current equations in the ongoing efforts to avert further warfare.

“General please present your report.”

“Your Grace,” BareBlade acknowledged the Queen, then turned his attention to the reason he accompanied her.

“We have received reports which confirm the situation in Fredric’s domain is close to dissolving his so called kingdom. I think starvation will be the normal circumstances for those outside of his personal estate. He has indeed stripped the the land of everything to support his troops. Even the FreeSouls are reporting incursions and they are far from Fredric’s borders through one of the longest mountain passes. The Senate has sent emissaries with emergency relief. Some of them have been attacked by brigands and even the people receiving the supplies are hard put to keep them from brigands and Fredric’s men. So far he has not had any of his obvious troops raid into the mountains, but the FreeSouls have increased border guards armed with the old ship blasters.”

At this statement the Captain’s expressions were grim and Renfrew and Haul were hard pressed to keep the anticipatory grins from their faces.

“It must be very serious if the FreeSouls are arming their guards beyond swords and bow. It is not the usual procedure for them. We cannot afford to have the FreeSouls invaded. They will resist but their main focus has always been academic and social welfare. They do not have strategists to helm an attack force.” Renfrew’s surprising baritone rumbled into the room. “We are aware they are resistant to us involving ourselves in their affairs, however aid in this matter should at least be offered. If the pass is mined that would prevent incursions and loss of life for the FreeSouls. They cannot afford to lose their people to save those who have allowed Fredric to drive them into ruin.”

“With the Queens’s endorsement we have advised the Senate that military aid is available, however the FreeSouls must live with the decision they make in that regard. I am loath to recall our troops who have had no time to warm their own beds after this latest battle. However our own border guards along the demarcation line with the FreeSouls should have their weapon caches increased as a precaution. It may look badly of us from the FreeSoul’s point of view.”

BareBlades’ actual thoughts were, ‘to the Coils with what the FreeSoul’s thought about a buildup on their borders’. For two centuries the relationship between the two settlements had been nothing less than amiable. The only bone of contention had always been the open house policy of the FreeSoul’s. It was only during this latest summer of hostilities that they limited who could travel through the pass into their lands from Haven. The ongoing hostilities had become serious war instead of skirmishes, and the FreeSoul’s wished to prevent being caught between the two forces. Peace was the preference.

The FreeSoul’s had no wish to return to the days when ‘the ships’ and the colonists fought against each other. They made peace with the human hybrids in Daear and knew that the occasional influx of ‘new’ blood from all their other neighbors kept their own people healthy. FreeSoul’s lived long and thrived. The only manifestation of ‘gifts’ were the rare Chosen. And the even more rare, Seers that appeared once or twice a century.

Vidor rolled his eyes at BareBlade’s not quite subtle sarcasm.

“Just as we cannot force them to accept our assistance, they cannot protest us solidifying our own borders. If they protest we have amble proof of the damage subversive elements have done our people. We have foiled two assassination plots that had Captains from our own council working with Fredric’s hatemongers. It is no stretch to know they would have reported on the FreeSouls as well. I know many of their people hold the same views toward us, but they prefer their isolation to bloodshed. I would not have them doing more than attempting to stop the starvation of the citizens. Their active support, lending weapons and scientific knowledge would be ill for us.”

“We cannot afford to lose the FreeSouls as a passive ally. The gene pool would not be diversified enough with them eliminated through war.” As always Tensi’s thoughts were on the larger picture of a healthy fertile population.

“Let us not forget that although considered few in number, the Gifted of Daear level out the other’s ability to cause too much attrition. To put it bluntly, if threatened we know the predator in all of us will awaken. I personally do not want to know what I would become if I had to fight at the gates of my estate to protect my family.” The Baron Caddock scowled as he spoke and his ire stirred the more sensitive of the Gifted in the room.

Everyone shifted uneasily at Caddock’s pronouncement. Colwyn was nodding in agreement for although he and his brothers were considered weakly gifted with little overt abilities, the Baron was not unaware of the lust for carnage that rode his spirit when he fought. There had been occasions where those thought without talents would express such powers when under duress. It was enough that he was wary of Nardo’s possible talents erupting during battle, though no evidence existed of there being any.

Baron Vidor poured himself another cider and drank deeply. He really did not need the news of possible trouble with the FreeSouls.

“Put fear into the spies by having a troop of Cadre show up along the borders. The FreeSouls will not be happy once it is reported, but the troop will catch us a few infiltrators. The others will retreat. Fredric cannot support any serious forays into our territory with his own people desperate and weak. In the mean time we reinforce our garrisons with blasters and use some of the infrared detectors in the less traveled passes. We only need to put eight additional men per garrison to constantly monitor those detectors once installed. They would have been rotated in as regular replacements at the beginning of summer anyway. A few months early will not be a problem and the extra numbers will not be noted if the Cadre makes enough noise.”

“Noise,” BareBlades laughed. “You want the Cadre to make noise. I will have to retrain my people after rotations of bashing them in the head to be quiet. But I do not have a problem with that idea. It will be good stealth practice to have them install the detectors under cover of night and ride roaring Pegasors up and down the passes during the day scaring away Fredric’s rabble.”

“It is not a bad idea at all. I consider it a very low key response to the situation. My first inclination was to volunteer my sons and I to check some of the not often used trails over the mountains. I do realize that too many Gifted appearing on the borders would panic the FreeSouls. Sadly I must restrain myself and attend to the dull business of estate management,” Renfrew’s maniacal grin widened. “Unless something unexpected occurs and the Cadre could use our assistance?”

BareBlade scowled, but he could not hold it long and finally matched Renfrew’s grin.

“Have no doubt, if ‘something’ unusual happens I will not hesitate to press you into service sir.”

“Good good. I would not desire to be remiss in the duties to Queen and country.”

It was BrightLance that snorted at Renfrew’s comment. Before anyone else would think it was ill mannered for him to speak in such sarcastic tone.

“I am very aware sir that what most consider odious and dangerous business, skulking around in ill-reputed locals is your great joy. Especially if there is someone for you to fight. I promise if I discover any reason for you to flit about the land uncovering illicit activities, I will rush a message to you immediately.

All this was said with the Queen’s winning smile, however Renfrew received the serious promise behind it leaving him to expect just such a missive to keep him busy.

“My Queen. I am your servant in all things and I thank you from the bottom of my hearts.”

BrightLance blushed and laughed.

“Renfrew you and your sons must be the only people in Daear that cheer when I say go risk you necks.”

“Here, here my Queen. Just point me,” Haul saluted with a laugh and toasted BrightLance before upending his flagon in a long series of swallows.

“This is all the information we have for now. I am pleased we have a consensus on how to address the situation. I look forward to seeing you during your visits to Farrell. Thank you Captains.”

The Captains rose as one and bowed to the Queen. The meeting had come to a prosperous conclusion. It was rare that there was not some bone of contention over tactics. The common thought was the betrayal at their own table and the subsequent battles had momentarily quelled the contentiousness with which the monarchs often had to contend with.

BareBlade was the first to depart, followed by two of the shadowed guards. The Queen followed with Talon covering her back. The remaining guards stood watch until the Captains were assisted into their cloaks by the returned Mila and ushered from the room. Mila sealed the hatch and the guards followed her out into the Queens domain. The trio took up their places in the dark halls below her quarters.

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