The sea is made of many waters, and one that contributes is the great River that flows from the many rolling valleys of the kingdom of Lorsia. Deep within the kingdom, King Hanor’s wide palace sits atop a low hill above the river’s banks, and here both streams and roads make their way. The western watershed threads among the foothills from the high snows of the Gerardels.

Here a girl hurriedly slid through a wooden gate and then paused, standing on the edge of the cobblestone road with her bare toes feeling the warmth it still held from the day’s sun.

A storm was blowing in under the first fresh darkness of coming night. Heavy oaks tossed and lashed their leafy branches as if trying to touch hands across the country road where they threw jagged black shadows. They stood in two rows, like gnarled sentinels, above the hedges and walls beyond, trunks topped with masses of foliage shifting and dancing in the rolicky breeze.

Fia breathed deep, her heart pounding from the recent run over the open field. Her lungs pulled in the scent of the rain to come, while the blustery wind pulled at wisps of the reddish-brown hair that slipped from her braid. Closing her eyes and tipping her nose upward, she could feel the thrill in the night air. But it was as if it belonged to somebody else… not her.

Behind her she heard the labored breathing of Jithra, three years younger, as she too reached the gate and climbed carefully through. After a hard run your reflexes are slower, your movements dulled, and Jithra, who would at any other time have been through the slats in an instant, now took two. Then she was beside her sister, her dark rampant curls like a homeless shadow in the night, as they stood sheltered from the moonlight by the oaks above.

The semi-darkness smoothed the flush on both their faces, showing them only as perfectly creamy ovals in the pale light that managed to stray here. Even the persistent freckles that always scattered themselves over the elder’s nose were thoroughly hidden … leaving her with a face the color of marble for once in her life.

The girls stood a moment refilling their lungs, with their toes feeling the excitement that went hand in hand with this road that ran up into the mountains and on into Othira. That kingdom had long been a friend and ally, though somewhat distanced by the dividing mountain range. But treachery had lately brought it to ruin and despair. The fighting was still raging there, and who knew what went on tonight at the far end of this very road?

 The next minute they dashed across with the wind at their heels, a stray leaf that had fallen early twirling along with them. They skirted the opposite hedge and scrambled over the nearby stone wall, landing on the other side with a soft thump.

The feel of the long cool grass against their feet was reassuring; now there was only a short sprint across the grazed turf and then they would be slipping over the gate of the barnyard, round to the garden, up the walk, and through the heavy oak door of the kitchen. And they’d be home before the rain fell.

As it would soon. The heavy storm scent was sweeping down from the Mountain.

Although the whole range of the Gerardels were equally responsible for the changes in the weather it always fell to their tallest peak to take the honor of it. Crystal Mountain, standing so tall that even now beside the road wall they could see her rising above the innumerable black-cloaked ridges, with her blanket of snow glinting in the moonlight like a regal queen of ancient times. She always wore that cape of shining white even when, as now, it had been a long summer.

Suddenly there was a lull in the gusting wind, and the girls’ quick ears caught the rolling staccato rhythm of hooves against the stone-paved road. The wind had blown the sounds away from them before, but they could now tell that the rider was quite near.

With one mind they sank like black cats into the dark shadow of the wall, where they could see… and not be seen. It was almost an instinct with them; the most exciting game in their rolling foothills, the game of stealth, was always only a moment away. Hide and seek from each other was a childish version; their favorite opponents were much more wary. The horse herds and flocks of goats made excellent stalking subjects, their quick senses a worthy challenge; but deer were the champions of adversaries.

And a rider in the night was always a thing best to let pass without seeing you, on pure principle if nothing else.

At the bend in the road a courier flew into sight beneath the tossing oaks, his horse’s charcoal hide hardly showing the moonbeams that did fall on him. Well-boned legs flashed in the darkness with a timeless rhythm that raced in your ears. The gray’s nostrils flared with his steady, powerful breathing; he was a fine example of a courier’s steed.

The rider was wrapped in his cloak, except where the corners had gotten away from him and whipped in the wind. A broad-brimmed courier’s hat was pulled well down over his forehead and the scarf that was part and parcel with it was wrapped around his face. It was a wild night and he knew there was no telling when he’d be riding in the middle of a storm.

As horse and rider thundered past, a moonbeam flashed upon the large front saddlebags, and the girls caught a glimpse of the cover flaps worked with his courier’s emblem. The three feathers of the Lorsian king.

He had come directly from the palace beside the river.

A cloud blotted across the moon and the oaks swayed even more violently, and a few ringing beats hung in the air as the courier vanished into the night.

Turning, the two girls hurried from the shadow and bolted across the turf, anxious to be safe within four walls. They scrambled over the pasture gate, and as they rounded the corner of the stable Fia stopped stock-still.

Jithra knocked into her.

“What?” Jithra hissed over her sister’s shoulder.

“I thought I heard something.”

The younger girl listened.

“Like what?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Fia shook her head.

The wind can do strange things, especially when a storm is coming in. It could catch away a sound made right beside you, or bring a noise from a distance away so sharply as if it was before you. So it was this night, and now again Fia heard what had first stopped her.

Coming clearly from the mountain road was the noise of another horse and rider. Their pace was a ground-covering long-trot. Fia knew instinctively that it was a traveler, steady beats of the horse’s hooves telling easily the horse was tired, but still had a swing to his pace, which would carry him to this night’s rest. Anxious to hear better the girls lifted their heads simultaneously, like dogs catching wind of a scent, but the hoof beats faded as the wind shifted.

“Coming down from the mountains,” the elder remarked, her mind sorting out the information. “Might be from Othira…” She let it trail off; there was really no telling.

“Could it be?” Excitement leapt into Jithra’s voice, and Fia knew what she was thinking.

Perhaps it was one of their brothers. It was possible, but her good sense told her that there were a number of other options.

Instantly Jithra darted around her sister and dashed down the path to Scelane Village, their original purpose forgotten.

“Jith-!” her sister began. If it were Evin or Arolin the girls would only find themselves afoot halfway down the lane, and walking back. Their long-absent brothers would surely come straight to the manor house.

Months ago a messenger had galloped up the road from the capital. That same day he had called for everyone to gather at noon in the great hall, and the Provost had read the proclamation that had been sent throughout Lorsia, formally acknowledging the events in Othira and asking all able-bodied men who would go of their own free will and lend aid to the neighboring kingdom, to rise and do so.

With mixed feelings of sadness and pride Fia, Jithra, and their family had said farewell to their two eldest brothers, who were eager to go and of an age for war. The younger boys had helped to ready the horses, and then watched dejectedly as the gallant adventurers cantered through the gates and rode out with others to aid Othira’s King Gregor.

Since then their families had heard little of the happenings of the war beyond the mountains, the secretive nature of it making it impossible for news to travel back often.

Now, Jithra was already beyond Fia’s words, so with a glance at the manor house standing comfortably near beneath the storm-tossed sky, the elder sister pelted after the younger.

She caught up with her almost as the messenger’s horse turned the corner, pounding up the side lane towards them. Immediately the girls ducked off the road and under a small tree at the same time, and huddled there as the gray drew near and then rushed past like a roll of drums.

“Jith, what if this isn’t Evin or Arolin?” Fia demanded.

Even in the dark she could tell Jithra flashed a smile at her.

“Then I’ll ask him if he has news of them.”

“What if the rider isn’t anyone we know?”

She shrugged as she scrambled up.

“We’ll see,” she tossed over her shoulder, eyes fixed ahead towards the village inn.

“Fool’s errand!” Fia muttered to herself, but joined her sister anyway. They neared the cluster of buildings that made up a small village of themselves, all part of Scelane Manor and home to many of the families that comprised the miniature society that all major holdings fostered. It was here that the rider would put up for the night if he were not acquainted in any way with the Provost’s family. If he were, he would come to the manor house, and they’d have had the walk for nothing. Fia shook her head at their own errant giddiness. As if they didn’t have better things to be doing than chasing after stray horsemen!

She sighed and hurried on.

The inn’s square roofline cut its bulk against the sky before them as the sound of the trotting rider could be heard on the lane. In a few more minutes he would be in the village street, and a stray glow from a window would light his face if the girls were lucky.

Judging by the sounds from within, the inn was not overly full tonight; the threatening storm had encouraged the nightly crowd of conversationalists to go home earlier than usual… but there was still a friendly assortment within its cheerful walls. The fire on the hearth was burning happily and mugs of ale warmed the hearts of the innkeeper’s guests and family, another day brought to a close and rain for the crops coming down from the mountain. It was a good life, here in Scelane Manor, nestled amongst the foothills.

The girls crept carefully up to the inn’s corner, and looked around to catch their first glimpse of the strange horseman, just as he became visible through the darkness at the far end of the street. They both held their breath as he passed the lighted windows, one by one, but his dark hood was drawn over his head and the two saw only shadows instead of his face.

He rode straight to the inn, the dark bay seeming to be a mind reader, the rider’s cues were so subtle. Jithra shifted tensely, certain they would get their chance now, when he would throw back his hood as he knocked on the door.

The sky above rumbled angrily as the rider swung down easily from his horse, the well-worn but well-made boot hardly striking a sound against the stone of the street. His movements seemed to speak of a long and arduous journey that had taken little toll on a hardened body, and Fia suddenly had no doubt but that he had come from the war. A gloved hand gathered the reins together, and the other stroked the velvet neck of his steed; a cross-country courser, that hardy, long-limbed strain of game-hearted mounts. Then he crossed to the door and rapped quickly several times.

Light fell glibly into the street as the innkeeper opened the door, but the dark hood remained on the rider’s head as the stable boy darted out and took the horse from him. The man spoke a few words to the boy, and then turned and stepped through the entrance, the door closing behind him.

“Well,” Fia said, as the horse and boy disappeared. “He doesn’t seem to be wanting any attention.”

“”He’s from over the mountain,” Jithra defended.

“Doesn’t matter.” Fia shrugged. “Well, we can ask tomorrow, perhaps.”

“I’ll ask inside now.” Jithra slid around the corner before Fia’s hand could close on her sleeve and stop her. She turned once she was in the light to look back, one eyebrow lifted.

“Aren’t you going to come?” she asked.

“No!” her sister replied adamantly as she shook her head. “I’m not going to disgrace myself by appearing out of the night like some homeless waif!”

The younger sister shrugged, and was through the inn door the next minute. The stable boy came round the other corner, whistling as he hurried along, and Fia shrank closer to the wall and its shadow. Then the boy closed the door behind him, and she was alone in the night, wishing futilely that she had hauled her sister away when she had the chance.

A daughter of the manor house, traipsing through the village in the night for no good reason! It would raise Mother’s eyebrows at the very least, and Fia had no wish to be on the receiving end of a “talking to.” Perhaps, she consoled herself, the villagers would not think too ill of Jithra, setting her rashness down to her youth. But Fia herself certainly wasn’t going to become involved.

But she did wonder what was going on.

Curiosity quickly won the brief internal debate, and she slipped around to the window with the best hearing point. All the Scelane youngsters knew these sorts of things from past experience, but by now she was getting old enough to be expected to start behaving better. Still, the window was handy.

“No, he went straight to his room.” The innkeeper’s voice was dimmed but not distorted. “He asked for his supper in his room, and right away.”

Then Fia could barely hear Jithra’s higher voice, her words rushing over themselves in a pleading low tone.

“But he’ll come down to eat breakfast?”

“No, I don’t think he will,” the innkeeper replied. “I’ve seen some like him, they’re bound somewhere fast and haven’t time to dawdle in the mornings. No, I didn’t get a look at his face, but he was no one either of us knows, I can tell you that.” The innkeeper’s voice changed in tone a bit. “Rather unusual fellow. Something strange about him, but I can’t really say what.” He paused. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, little maid?”

Well, that did it! Fia thought hotly. She hoped that taught her rash sister something, being told to go to bed by the village innkeeper!

But when Jithra appeared around the corner moments later she didn’t seem much fazed. She swung her arms in a circle and sighed.

“I guess it wasn’t someone we know…” she said lightly.

Fia dearly wanted to say, “I told you so,” but the night was far too stormy for senseless self-verification. Jithra probably never would learn to pay attention to her good advice, anyway. A clap of thunder sounded across the ridges and rolled away through the night.

“Come on,” she said disgustedly, and took off at a run for home.

As fast as they ran rain still poured down on them before they made it to the side gate of the garden, and the walk was slippery as they hurried towards the comforting bulk of the manor house. They headed around to the side door to the kitchen, where a warm stove was surely waiting. They could scrounge up something for supper by themselves at the very worst.

Thoroughly drenched, Fia pulled open the door, and they slipped inside.

“Where have you been?” Mother asked pointedly, the light from the lamp in her hand showing she was just going upstairs to bed.

“Well, Mother…” Fia began.

And here they were saved an explanation by Father’s voice from the head of the stairs. The light from Mother’s lamp flickered dimly around him up there, the soft shadows running through his chestnut beard and falling behind his stately figure, making him seem even more a product of legend than usual. His usually grave face was lit up and his eyes sparkled as he leaned over the banister, holding out the missive that the royal messenger had delivered.

“Merithin!” he said. “Do you think you can manage the family coming along with me to Tolsern within the fortnight? We’ve received a Special Invitation.”

Jithra gasped quietly and put a hand over her mouth, her dark eyes glancing eagerly at her sister in expectation. Their father was being formally recognized by the court for his excellence.

He had often been complimented on his good work on his yearly journey to the royal seat to present his report on his region. But to receive a Special Invitation! The entire family was requested to come along, and they would all live as guests of the king in the palace during their stay.

In this way the family of promising officers would be introduced to the hub of the nation, their children assessed, and if they made the right impression, they would be offered positions where they could grow to their potential. It all made perfect political sense, but Jithra saw only the glitter of a week at the palace.

The warm blue eyes of the provost’s wife didn’t blink.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she calmly replied, her tone masking the fact that between now and then she would be a veritable whirlwind of organizing, redesigning, planning, packing, and chiding her children to remember their manners… “Especially in front of the king!”

But tonight she simply told her daughters to eat their suppers and go to bed. They hurriedly complied, cleaning their plates and grinning at each other in excitement. They knew better than to chatter in the kitchen at so late an hour, and so waited until they whisked up the stairs, hung up their rain-wet clothes, and jumped into their beds. And then, carefully keeping their voices low so as not to wake their littlest sister, they whispered furiously about the news as they snuggled in.

“What will the king be like?” Jithra wondered. “And the princess, will we see much of her? Father has told us all about the palace, but to see it for ourselves would be…” she paused, “… just like an adventure!” she hissed excitedly.

“It probably won’t really turn out to be that adventurous, Jith,” Fia replied sensibly.

“Well, maybe it will.”

And then at last fresh air and exercise took their toll and Jithra fell deeply asleep, while the rain came down heavily outside the crisscrossed panes of the window.

Fia turned on her side and pulled the blanket better around her. She had always thought herself as unremarkable a young lady as could be found anywhere. From her hazel-ish eyes, which no one could quite agree on the color of, to the girl that was behind them.

She had never felt especially clever, and certainly was not bold or adventurous. More thoughtful than active, more pleasant than impassioned, she was often happy to go where others led. Even sometimes, (to her great chagrin,) Jithra, who was younger than she. And here Fia was supposed to be a steadying influence on the will-o’-the-wisp.

But suddenly now in the rain-filled night Fia yearned to know what it would be like to grow up in a far different place, to be a lord’s daughter, or even a fisherman’s child. She had never seen the palace, never seen the sea. There were so many things she only imagined. For, although her eager reading had brought the world into her head, it wasn’t the same as having it before her eyes. A strange restlessness filled her, and she wondered why. She had never felt this way before.

There were enough of her siblings, with the older ones moving well into marrying age and her younger ones still playmates, that she had always had someone to share the joys and sorrows of life with, and the years were full and busy with a sort of rhythm that seemed to make them slip away before anyone noticed, or cared.

Until now.

She thought about the thrill she had felt in the air earlier. Perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps, after all, that exciting promise was for her.

Then she slept.

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