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The fall of the Mithrean Empire was as swift and as brutal as an unearthly storm of evil could achieve.

When the alarm sounded, the inhabitants of the citadel of Deglaryl were already abandoning it and making for the woods and hills beyond the walls. Some days previously, the Emperor Barig against sound advice, had sent a delegation to seek a peaceful settlement with the invaders, but they never returned.

When the news of their capture and subsequent torture reached the Emperor, he made his family gather all the possessions they could carry and he ordered them to flee.

When the main body of the invading army reached the citadel, they found the streets strangely quiet and on the arrival of their leader Dretath, Deglaryl was raised to the ground. The emperor was never seen or heard of again.

To the people of the southern provinces, the news of the sacking of Deglaryl and the loss of their Emperor was a terrible omen; a tide of evil was sweeping away everything in its path. They decided to do what the Emperor should have done and hastily armed themselves.

From the citadel, the invaders moved south to confront the ill-prepared army. For the Mithreans, the ensuing battle was a terrible disaster and within a few days, the great Mithrean Empire was all but destroyed.

When Dretath’s army first rode into the Mithrean lands, the kingdoms to the south showed little interest. The flight of the Mithreans and their warnings of the nature of the approaching peril were mostly ignored.

For many generations the kingdoms had been at war with one another and being so engrossed with their own problems, they were unconcerned that Dretath might sometime cross the Strait of Lythbur or the great Sennen Share. Only Queen Phidia of Aricen was alerted. This was due to the exertions of the old man Vatik and the fact that most of the fleeing Mithreans had taken refuge in her realm.

An old man known as Vatik had appeared at her palace of Allindal shortly after the fall of the Empire. He had presented himself at her court to offer his services as an unofficial advisor. He had been recognised by some of the Mithrean exiles as having filled that capacity at the Emperor Barig’s court. The Queen took this as recommendation enough and accepted his proposal. His vast knowledge of the world was too valuable to ignore. She had learned, from the Emperor’s error, to listen to his counsel and she had come to depend upon his wisdom.

As soon as Dretath understood that many Mithreans had fled to Aricen, he sent Phidia a message declaring them to be his subjects and commanded her to return them. By placing those people under her protection, she had deprived him and must be considered his enemy. She might have been tempted to comply if Dretath’s emissary had shown more deference and respect and if the communication had been less peremptory.

From the moment of her denial, she had condemned her kingdom and her neighbours’ kingdoms and immediately began desperate preparations for the expected onslaught. By calling a council of war, the Queen hoped to open the kingdoms’ eyes to the looming storm. Enemies must become allies if they were to survive…

Queen Phidia sat alone in her audience chamber impatiently waiting for Vatik. She had dismissed her attendants when she had been informed of his imminent arrival at the palace. It had always his wont to go away for long periods, but she felt it was too bad of him to have been absent for so long, when she most needed his counsel.

A rumour had lately come to her ears that the Emperor Barig’s son Barigarth still lived.

She did not doubt that before the council ended, a few candidates would be presented to her. It was widely known that she had accompanied her father when he had once visited the Emperor.

She remembered that Barigarth was very young then and though she recalled that he had golden curls and the bluest of eyes, that description could fit any number of Mithrean blood.

She frowned with the effort of summoning recollections that had long grown dim and then thought she did remember having been charmed by the impudence of his infancy, into giving him a trifling gift. Now that life would have left its mark on him, she doubted the possibility of recognising the man from an impression of the child.

She was disturbed from her absorption when Vatik was at last admitted and she was most surprised when a young man followed him in.

The young Mithrean was tall and fair with the air of a nobleman. However, he had a physique moulded by action and hard living, his dress was rough and plain, and he had a lyre case strapped to his back. Although there was a cool hardness to his eyes, the line of his mouth held distinct signs of good humour and he was undeniably handsome.

‘Well Vatik? She greeted him reprovingly as he approached her, ‘What excuse do you have for me on this occasion, regarding your overlong absence this time?’

The old man bowed to her. ‘Majesty, I must apologise, but I wished to fulfil my promise to bring before you, the one from whom much of my intelligence is gathered. It is not a simple matter to discover the whereabouts of someone who makes it their business not to be found. Madam, may I present Baryte?’

The Queen inclined her head in acknowledgement as Baryte came forward and bowed.

‘So,’ She inquired, ‘Do you come because or in spite of Vatik?’

‘Your Majesty, it is always necessary to do things in spite of him. He is inclined to demand so much, that if I waited until he had done, I would never do anything at all.’

The Queen smiled impulsively. Still she asked sceptically, ‘So what has brought you? Have you been tempted by the latest rumours to try to convince me that you are the Emperor's son?’

The young man was clearly taken aback by the Queen's unexpected question. ‘No Ma’am. To claim kinship to the late Emperor is no ambition of mine. I would not be so unwise.’

‘Unwise? Why should it be so?’

‘Rumours, rumours.’ Vatik muttered darkly to himself. This rumour worried him. He had not instigated it, but he could surmise who had. Such a report could only be divisive and the fact that it was true made it all the more pernicious. Already there were discontented rumblings from a sizeable faction within the kingdoms. They did not want war. They wanted the Mithreans returned to their lands. They rejected the truth that conflict with the Ascendant was inevitable.

‘Madam,’ He continued, ‘I cannot deny the truth of these reports. Dretath must have long ago realised that Barigarth escaped him. He has squeezed every last mote of information out of those poor wretched souls who did not escape him. Why do you think he wanted the refugees back? It is obvious to him that Barig's heir is abroad somewhere in the Kingdoms.’

Phidia explicitly recalled the Ascendant's ultimatum. ‘If it is purely Barigarth that Dretath wants, then surely his sacrifice is but a small price.’

‘Ma’am’, Baryte said dryly, ‘Were the solution that simple, I assure you, it would have been made long go.’

Vatik cast an admonitory glance at the Mithrean. A sudden doubt of her commitment to her adamant repudiation of the Ascendant's will, made him wish to stay silent on the matter of Barigarth for the moment. Perturbation made him brusque. ‘Madam, if it has become your nature to succumb to such pressures so easily, then it is as well that his identity and whereabouts remains unknown. Besides, at present, it is not our concern. Baryte has reports of an important nature to bring to your attention.’

The Queen's instincts detected a hint of dissemblance. Vatik's reaction to his charge's statement and the fact that he was so keen to change the subject impressed itself on her and aroused a sense of foreboding. Her intuition also suggested that she was not trusted to be a party to some deeper agenda that he had in mind and it alarmed her. There was a mystery here that she was determined to look into, by whatever means. However, there were presently other matters that demanded her notice and she gave the young man sanction to begin.

Baryte removed a thickly rolled scroll from his belt and handed it to the Queen. ‘I will be brief as most of what has been discovered is detailed here. Time becomes precious and there is still much that needs to be accomplished.

‘Dretath is beginning to assemble his armies, though I am certain that he does not mean an imminent attack, for there are yet no holding encampments near the coasts.’

‘Why?’ The Queen was surprised. ‘Even though I am entirely thankful for this news, I would have thought it more judicious for adversaries to descend upon opponents before they were ready.’

‘Ma’am, do not let your hopes tempt you into imprudence.’ Baryte warned. ‘Why begin an immediate battle if you have ways to weaken your enemy before hand? Dretath has been sending out agents to do their work first. It is very likely that he will attempt to sabotage your Council. I understand that also it is his intention to make the general population think that only he can liberate them from the toil and drudgery of their mundane existences. He makes people believe that they will never truly prosper and become great without his intervention.’

‘How can this be? How can people not be aware of what became of those already trapped by his evil?’ The Queen was disquieted by how easily ignorance was deluded.

‘Blindness to corruption is a constant, Madam.’ Vatik said gravely. ‘The opportunity to have power over others, by whatever means, has and always will be beguiling to those who lack integrity and the judgement of their own weakness.’

The Queen's anxiety and frustration forced her to her feet. ‘What is to be done? How can we make the people see what is the truth? How can we counteract such misinformation and protect ourselves from its effects? To my mind, without Barig's heir to hand to lend more credence to our arguments and principle to our cause, total allegiance is impossible.’

Baryte slowly and reproachfully shook his head. ‘Ma’am, how could one man succeed where many could not?’

The Queen stared at him, guessing that he was being disingenuous now. ‘If that one were special enough. You cannot be aware of the excitement the rumours have generated.’

Vatik looked hard at the Queen. He had always been impressed by her ability to catch by a gesture or a word, something that lay beneath. He now suspected, even if she did not herself, that she was a falsehood diviner. Although such a talent would be useful at the council, at present it was dangerous. Baryte had given her some hint, albeit very slight that something was being concealed.

He guessed that she was endeavouring to use him to delve into their secrets.

He was pleased that the young man had stopped short of telling her that giving up Barigarth would make no difference to the Ascendant's purpose, it would just aid him in it. Baryte was learning well, but was not yet quite so adept at hiding what the Queen would have him betray.

It was imperative that the identity of Barigarth remain concealed. He was not inclined to trust the Queen with that confidence. Though she was unlikely to betray him, it was crucial that his movements remained free. She would be afraid for him to leave the safe confines of Allindal and he had no doubt that she would completely disbelieve the reasons why he must.

Vatik hoped he could satisfy her infernal curiosity. ‘Madam,’ he said with paternal censure, ‘Such excitement is to be expected. However, that does not mean what you might hope. Loyalties can alter as swiftly as clouds in the wind. You yourself remarked earlier that to sacrifice Barigarth would be a small consideration. I assure you it would be an infinitesimal one to the people of the kingdoms, for they would not hesitate to destroy him if they thought it would prevent hostilities.’

The Queen sat down again. She had nothing to say to refute Vatik's wisdom. She was disappointed, but not surprised that Vatik would not reveal his secret unless he had a good reason to do so. She must at the earliest opportunity, contrive to see the young man alone, but now she must attend to the pressing concern of Dretath’s agents. 'What then of those minds the Ascendant has already poisoned and how do we prevent it further?'

‘Ma’am’, Baryte answered, ‘I was going to appraise you on that point. The matter is being attended to, though its ultimate success is yet to be determined. Although Dretath has done well so far in keeping us guessing where his agents will next appear, our operatives have swiftly dealt with those they have found as well as those people who have been badly corrupted by his baneful doctrines.’

‘Indeed,’ Vatik said gravely. ‘It is unfortunate that some have had to be slain. However, a purge cannot be allowed to happen. We must take great care that we do not do Dretath’s work for him. Panic and suspicion would become rife. What could be a simpler target than a disaffected and disunited army?’

The Queen was struck by the genius that could arise from a malignant mind. ‘Indeed, to cause such confusion is a clever strategy. However, I have every confidence that my army will not descend into disorder.’ She then added proudly, 'It is the finest amongst the kingdoms!'

Vatik thoughtfully scratched the back of his head as he saw an opportunity to broach a ticklish subject, which he had avoided airing at the time when the council was proposed. It was vital that the event came about and although she might have been persuaded eventually, to accept his advice, he could not be sure, so he decided to present it done.

‘That entirely depends on how you define the word "fine", Madam.' He said cryptically. ‘If you mean it is the largest, most well equipped and best attired, then I can only agree. However, if you mean it is the strongest and most courageous, then I must disagree. I must advise you again that we face a daunting enemy. It will be difficult indeed to counter those for whom death is no constraint.

‘However, it is said that that there are warriors, in one of the Kingdoms, who also seem not to fear death in combat. So, forgive me Madam, but I have rectified your oversight and have invited them to attend your council. It would be well to have them with you when the time of war is upon us.’

The Queen was horrified. She knew very well that he meant the Chavelonians. Although their abilities as fighters were fabled and it must be true if Vatik acknowledged it, they were almost to be as generally feared and despised as the accursed Rumin. It was also said, as Vatik had conveniently forgotten to mention, that their women were as brutal as their men. They were little more than savages and amongst other iniquities, they practiced necromancy.

‘This is not to be borne.’ She declared angrily, thumping her fists on the arms of her chair. She stood up and began to pace the chamber as though it was too small to contain her rage. ‘First you instruct me not to antagonise my people then, in one simple action, you utterly contradict it. You pile problems upon problems without giving me the understanding to solve them. What are you about? What is it that you expect of me?’

‘Your Majesty’, Vatik said severely, ‘How often is it necessary to caution you? Do not let your ignorance force you into prejudice. Do not destroy your reputation as such a benign and generous sovereign, by allowing your anger to engulf your good sense. Though those people’s ways might differ from your people’s, they are no more or less degenerate. You are not being kept from the fact that Dretath's forces are huge. You will need all the assistance that there is to call upon. Save your outrage for your true enemy. Do not suffer it for those who would be your friends.’

‘Ha!’ She turned on him with a scornful glare. ‘You attempt to appease me by explaining away actions that should have been discussed in advance? If it was not for your infernal sagacity, I would be highly inclined to have you expelled.’

‘Ma'am,’ Baryte interposed with an ingenuous smile designed to diffuse the tension, ‘I have found that the knowledge that Vatik can sometimes be in error, makes him more pleasing to know. It is indeed hard to admire someone who is constantly right.’

The Queen blinked at him in momentary confusion and then laughed at the accuracy of his fact. ‘Take care that you do not become better - or worse than he. But no, I do not think that Vatik does ever greatly err, yet I still do admire him.’

‘Thank you Madam.’ Vatik bowed to the Queen and cast a grateful glance at Baryte.

The Queen resumed her seat. ‘You are a valuable young man. I should have you about me often in future to calm my passions. I hope you mean to be present at my council?’

‘If you command it, your Majesty...’

He was interrupted by a knock at the door, preserving him from uttering what might have been deemed impertinence.

At the Queen's command, a servant entered.

‘Well?’ She said impatiently. ‘I thought my instructions were that I was not to be disturbed.’

The servant blanched at her evident annoyance. ‘Majesty, my apologies are profuse and abject. But when one such as I, is caught between the wrath of my sovereign and that of the Consummate of your guards, experience has taught me that your Majesty would be the most clement.’

‘Perhaps.’ She said bitingly, vexed at the impatience and jealousy that the Consummate could not suppress regarding her favouritism of Vatik, which he was correct in imagining was greater. However, as circumstances made it vital to preserve the peace among her subjects, she decided it would be wise to end her audience with Vatik and admit the Consummate. Besides, most of the matters of an important nature had been aired and the rest would just have to wait.

‘Gentlemen,’ the Queen addressed Vatik and Baryte with a sigh, ‘It is with reluctance that I am forced to dismiss you. Whatever it is that the Consummate wishes to discuss, it as usual cannot await my convenience.’

The Queen marshalled her thoughts as the two men were ushered out and the other in. It would be necessary to impart to the Consummate most of what she had learned of events. She knew how unwelcome the prospect of supplementing her forces with the Chavelonians would be to him, but she was armed now with Vatik's arguments and Baryte's scroll. She could now recognise the Chavelonians' possible worth. She had decided that however awful and savage they might be, she was determined to defend her realm whatever the cost and if she needed them to help do it, it was a price she was prepared to pay.

A young woman ran up the stairs to her father's apartment, acknowledged the guards' salutes, and entered. She carelessly flung aside her cloak, nodded in response to Lord Alard's bow and crossed the Chamber to where her father was sitting, gazing abstractedly at the world outside.

Chavelon’s King was not in his dotage, but he looked older than his years. He seemed greyer than usual and there was dejection in the stoop of his strong shoulders.

‘You wanted to see me.’

Her cool dispassionate voice roused him from his reverie, but added to his depression. ‘The trader Sulak's arrival here the other day with his tales and tidings from the lands of Aricen and beyond, have given me feelings of great ill in the hearing of them. They are too closely in accordance with the divinations of my astronomers to leave any doubt of their being other than true. I wish to hear your and Lord Alard's opinions before I place the matter before the Tribal Conclave tomorrow.’

The creases on Lord Alard's face deepened into a frown. ‘My Lord King,’ he said gravely, ‘To hold a council, as the Queen proposes, in defiance of the Ascendant is a great risk. Do you not remember my testimonies of the methods he uses to deal with those who refuse to pay him homage?’

‘I have not forgotten.’ The King replied grimly, eyeing the Lord with disapproval. ‘But do you not consider that the Queen has shown honour in refusing to relinquish those Mithreans? Besides, I have much the same mind in disbelieving that a man can possess such powers as have been suggested. Such magic there may well once have been when the world was young, as legends and ballads often tell of it. However, there lately has never been any evidence of it.

‘It is to the spirits of the stars that we look to for guidance in battle and our dealings with one another, to the moon for the order of our lives and to the sun for our harvests. What need have we to change our ways, when the spirits serve us as well as they choose, as we serve them?’

‘Sire, whatever powers Dretath may or may not possess might not be your issue, but his might is undeniably great. He has overrun an empire and it appears he now seeks to extend its bounds. Though I understand and would condone your wish to do battle against this encroaching evil - if I really believed victory could be gained - I think it would be more judicious, given the benefit of my experience, to at least hear what terms he would ask for peace.’

‘Peace?’ The Lady turned to face Lord Alard and spat the word back at him with contempt. ‘What virtue is there to be found in a peace which may forever be held ransom against his breaking it? There can be little bargaining with those who deal in terror!’

Alard ignored her scorn and answered levelly, ‘My Lady, the tribes of Chavelon have paid the price of war too often and for too long. Now that they have learned the benefits of truce under your father's rule, I doubt that they will be prepared to bear the costs again so readily.’

‘My Lord,’ she said coolly, ‘You have lived amongst our people now for some time, so it is a wonder to me that you still fail to understand us.’

Alard sighed. He understood very well that these people thought that dignity, honour and greatness were only to be found in war or death in combat. He had attempted to civilise them by introducing the Mithrean concepts of education, decorum, and social laws, but few seemed willing to accept these ideas. The Chavelonians continued to prefer their savage freedoms to tame restraint. Only the Lady Cyderial had shown any real willingness to learn. Even so, he now realised that she had put it all behind her, when his youngest son had gone. Even his eldest son, of whom he also despaired, had too readily embraced the ways of this land. It was if his past had never been.

Slowly and stiffly, the King stood up, as though the burden of his troubles were crippling him. The idleness of the relative tranquillity of his reign seemed to have robbed him of his vigour. He had attained his position by being the strongest of the strong and although initially it had been a challenge to maintain his new-won sovereignty, it lacked the crisp definition of life lived at the end of a blade.

Grasping his daughter's arm for support, he shuffled over to a seat closer to the fire, eased himself into it, and sighed deeply. ‘Alard, you are right that the cost of war can be high. Nevertheless, that cost must sometimes be met. Perhaps you are right that that this council is a risk, but sometimes risks must be taken. My own experiences and the fate of your old empire assure me that, at times, we should take up arms and fight for our interest. It seems to me that certainly on this occasion, your honourable desire for peace might cost us everything.’

‘Sire, I have given you my counsel and to accept or deny it is your right.’ Alard answered submissively.

‘Indeed,’ agreed the King pleasantly, ‘And your counsels have often been of much benefit. Some of the knowledge you brought with you from your old lands has been invaluable. The artificers have new skills and the farmspeoples’ husbandry has improved so greatly, that we begin to become prosperous and can now engage in some trade with our neighbours, instead of having to raid them so often for our needs.’

He paused thoughtfully for a moment then continued firmly, ‘But my daughter Cyderial is also right. You do not seem to have learned to understand us. We pride ourselves on our courage and endurance and though you have often remarked on our capacity for generosity and loyalty, it is the respect for honour and truth to our word, which we prize above all else.

‘When I was made king over the tribes, I gave them my word that I would preserve the dignity of their lives. Now it seems that the time is coming when I must prove my worth. My people have the right to live or die as they choose. I will not betray them to the degradation of existing at, or for the pleasure of this Ascendant.’

‘Sire, if you are determined to follow this course, then I foresee that your peoples' courage and endurance will be tested to their limits.’ The Lord warned dourly.

Cyderial returned to the window. The sun was setting and wind-blown clouds were beginning to muster, heavy with the promise of snow. The gloom outside matched the air of the room and she quietly closed the shutters against the chill and the gathering dusk.

She remembered what her life had been after the arrival of the Mithrean lord and his sons. It had been like a perpetual spring. She had laughed, danced and sang and happily learned her lessons on how to be like a Mithrean lady. She learned the language, to both read and write it, and how she ought to comport herself. Then as spring turns to summer, hers and Alard’s youngest son’s mutual fondness had blossomed into love.

Then so suddenly her life had turned into a perpetual winter since Sevan had gone. A short while before they had meant to wed, he had gone to Drakith with a small company of young warrior friends, on the strength of a rumour that there were exceptionally good spoils to be had. All who had loved him had attempted to dissuade him, until at least the rumours were proven, or until they had consulted the astronomers for predictions of a favourable outcome. However, Sevan had set his heart on obtaining a worthy tribute for his bride that only foolhardiness could obtain. He never came back, nor was his body ever found.

‘Father,’ she said with quiet determination, ‘I wish to be your envoy for this council.’

Lord Alard cut in hurriedly before the King could answer her. ‘No Sire, she must not go. If you choose to ignore my advice against seeking war with Dretath, then so be it. However, I must strongly urge you to accept it on this matter. The way to Aricen lies through the kingdom of Drakith and you must be well aware of suggestions made by certain warriors, that King Corderbon's son could be responsible for my youngest son's fate.

‘I am aware Sire, that this need to avenge his death and probable dishonour will not be disavowed, but a blood feud can have no place with those whom you must seek an alliance. Even the fine warriors that this kingdom possesses cannot fight two battles at once.’

Alard moved closer to the King and bent down to whisper something into his ear. The King visibly started and glowered angrily at both the Lord and Cyderial.

She turned her back in frigid disdain. She could easily guess to what perfidy Alard had stooped. She had intended to tell her father what she had done in her own way. She had erred in believing that the Lord was an honourable confidant and that he was pleased that she had gained the means for retribution.

The King sat in silence for a while, digesting Lord Alard's unassailable wisdom. It had a very bitter taste. His thoughts led him to wonder whether it was really misfortune that had washed this man - a former Mithrean governor - and his sons on to his shores.

His daughter had been a child when a small craft had been found foundering on the treacherous reefs, which protected the fishing grounds from the full force of the sea. The boat had contained that small family who had managed to flee their ravaged lands.

He had granted the Lord haven, befriended him and was so impressed by his person and knowledge, that he had honoured him with the position of an advisor.

Alard's sons were fine boys, handsome, intelligent, and full of spirit. He took them into his service to be trained as warriors. The eldest – Pollik showed such aptitude, that he now ranked amongst his elite and bore the Mark of the Firestar - the warrior fellowship under sole command of the King.

The younger Sevan however, had spent much of his time helping his father teach Cyderial the ways and language of the Mithreans. He had mostly ignored Sevan's failures of duty as he watched his daughter blossom into a warm and joyful woman. Now though, he wished she had never set eyes on him.

He knew now why he had been in ignorance of her whereabouts for the greater part of the year. She had gone away into the western mountains and had only just lately returned, her mission accomplished, to attend the Tribal Conclave.

Though he had immediately perceived that her cloud of grief had not yet lifted, only Alard's present hints made him realise how dark it still was. It disturbed him, but when he spoke at last, it was with the semblance of composure.

‘My Lord, I thank you for your time and you have my assurances that your recommendations are ever welcomed, if not always heeded. I will for the present suspend my decision on the appointment of my ambassador; until I have had a very necessary and long overdue discourse with my daughter.’

Lord Alard accepted the King's gracious dismissal with a bow and a brief apology to the Lady, who declined to acknowledge him or his departure by remaining steadfastly with her back to him.

The king once more retired into reflection, while she braced herself for the storm of condemnations to come. But it was with sadness that he finally addressed her.

‘It is unfortunate that my friend should be the one to expose to me some truths about my own daughter. It grieves me that her heart is of late so little known to me and its secrets given only to those who are not kin by blood.

‘Perhaps it is not to be wondered at that the warriors of the Firestar should take an interest in Sevan’s fate, but it does disquiet me to understand that you are so unable to put aside your loss after so much time, as indeed others have done. Besides, I would have expected you not to so depend upon speculation. Though Corderbon’s son might not be disposed towards us after your sensible refusal of his proposal, Corderbon I know respects the codes of the warriors and although I do not trust that Prince Berlad notices his father’s respects and wishes, circumstances cannot now permit such doubts.’

Cyderial had meant to defend herself against wrath with defiance, but her father’s hurt touched hers like a blow on an unhealed wound. Her grief had somehow locked itself away deep inside her, denying her any usual expression of it and keeping her a captive sufferer. Until she could be released from her pain, she had no balm or solace for his. Someone somewhere was responsible for inflicting this state upon her and until she satisfied the need for vengeance that she was certain Sevan’s spirit craved, she would never be free from her bereavement’s unmerciful burden.

She turned around now to face her father, her anguish making her eyes hard. ‘And what if those rumours prove true? How could I, Pollik or you for that matter, leave Berlad’s actions unpunished?’

The King scowled at her. ‘Then Lord Alard was right about you. I had hoped that you had enough sense to put aside your need for vengeance. If circumstances were otherwise I would have no hesitation in ordering an immediate reprisal, once the truth was ascertained. However, now I must forbid it!

‘Alard has also brought to my attention that you have somehow managed to attain the Firestar Mark. By doing so you have sorely tempted me to act on his advice and send someone else on this venture in your stead. However, it is well for you that I have already thought to consult my astronomers. It appears that the stars have chosen you for this.

‘I have always been disposed to let you do more or less as you please, but it has sometime been my aspiration that you should not bear arms. Though it is traditional for tribeswomen to take a share in warfare, if they are of a nature or in a position to do so, it pleased me that until now, you had shown no such desire. That is why I encouraged you in your pursuit, under Alard’s guidance, of the foreign style of learning. In those occupations, you gratified me by demonstrating some considerable talent.

‘Do you realise that you have now almost certainly denied yourself the opportunity of marrying outside of this kingdom? Female warriors are unheard of elsewhere and because of this, it is unlikely that you will be properly honoured or respected. And you make me despair over your treatment of Pollik. I have lately nurtured a hope, that perhaps one day he might succeed his brother in your affections.’

The King caught up the end of a log that was protruding from the fire and jabbed angrily at the embers, causing sparks to fly from the flames. ‘I have known since your birth that you were destined for more than Chavelon could ever offer. It is the stars’ will that you look beyond the kingdom’s issue for a mate. It is your duty to obey them, not least for the sake of your happiness.’

For a moment, Cyderial stared at him with surprise and vexation. He had never before voiced any such concerns to her, though she had to concede that the issue was irrelevant in the past, it was still very much so to her now. As to his hopes as far as herself and Pollik were concerned, he must not be aware that their feelings towards one another were these days, as mutually cool as he might wish they were not.

Nevertheless, her conscience was stirred by his anguish. She knelt at his feet, drew him towards her, hugged him, and asked for his forgiveness.

‘If it gives you any peace,’ she said as contritely as she could, ‘I will endeavour to hide my Mark.’

The King’s irritation dissolved and he kissed her forehead, then lifted her chin and said wryly, ‘You are audacious, disobedient, and shameless. Still I am inordinately proud of you. I must admit I should feel some gratification for the fact that you, my daughter, are the first and only woman ever to have won the Mark. Also on a little further consideration, my concerns for your safety in these dangerous times are a little allayed.’

Cyderial looked up at him. His anger now vented and his anxieties aired, he seemed less aged and more vital. She had not realised before, how much inaction had bored him. As plans and stratagems evolved in his mind, any concerns she had harboured about his fitness for the tasks ahead were entirely dispelled by the vigour in which he next addressed her.

‘Though it may seem precipitate and our time together too short, I suggest that you leave for Aricen as early as is convenient. So I think it must be in the morning following the feast. The speed of Dretath’s movements must make us have haste in ours.

‘We must also exercise more than usual caution in all that we do now, especially in placing trust. Even those who appear most loyal can be guilty of treachery if they believe they have something to gain.

‘I must select warriors of the Firestar to be your escort and I would have you choose two clanswomen to be of the party. It would not be seemly for you to appear at Queen Phidia’s court without attendants. The Aricen customs I have heard, are not as our own and it would not do for you to be judged unfairly by them.

‘Go now and begin your preparations. There will be little time for such tomorrow as there is our agenda to be decided and other matters to be settled – oh and have Pollik sent to me.’

Cyderial kissed him as she stood, then went to retrieve her cloak. The King studied her as she did so and saw that she was at present, unexceptionally attired in a long grey linen under-tunic with a shorter unembroidered cerulean robe over it, cross-girdled round with a gold chain. He would like to see her in one of the gowns he had bought for her from the trader.

‘Before you go Cyderial,’ he said, ‘I have decided that the feast will be in your honour. So would you grant me the honour of wearing one of the gowns I lately purchased for you? Sulak informed me that they are made in the style favoured by the ladies in Aricen. I would see how you will look when you attend upon the Aricen Queen.’

She smiled at him. ‘It will be as you wish.’

It was with a heavy heart that the King let her go. He did not doubt her capabilities, or that his trust in her was altogether misplaced, but he knew that she could be capricious and wilful at times. Also, with her recent display towards his friend, there was a new aspect to her that was decidedly chilly.

He prised himself out of his chair and went to the window. He opened the shutter and followed her with his eyes as she crossed the courtyard. A man appeared behind her, shadowing her protectively. It was kinsman Brodrik Dokuma.

Cyderial stopped when she realised he was there, turned and greeted him. They clasped one another’s forearms in the usual manner of comrades, but the closeness in which they stood, told of an understanding deeper than the King really cared for. The warrior then escorted her to the door of the warrior’s hall, where he kissed her hand and left her.

The King frowned as he closed the shutter again, but could not close his heart to the uneasiness that had entered it. The stars had formed her to thrive in the sunlight of a Mithrean, not in the starlight of her own kind. Nevertheless, considering Allard’s accounts of his peoples’ traditions, he wondered if there was any other than Pollik, who would be so nearly worthy of her.

The thought of stars then stirred him and he went over to a large chest that stood in a corner of the chamber. He lifted the lid and picked out a small and very old box. He resumed his seat by the fire, opened the box, and took out a jewel-stone on a silver chain.

The stone was shaped into a smooth oval and was set in a simple silver band. It had belonged to his now long dead wife and she had told him that it was almost as ancient as the stars themselves. He studied it closely by the light of the fire. It was black but with what appeared to be tiny silver flecks in it. They fascinated him. They gave the stone a strange iridescent quality and as the firelight’s flickers caught its lustre, he imagined he could just see a faint star in its heart.

It was a princely gem, though too delicate for a man to wear. He considered it odd and a pity that his Queen had never chosen to wear it. She had never named it, so he mused that it must be his responsibility. He turned it again towards the light and it struck him at once that the only title he could possibly attach to it was "The Star of Chavelon".

The King smiled to himself with satisfaction as he carefully placed it back into its box. The gem would make a fine gift for his daughter and although he knew she was not usually given to wearing ornaments, he thought that the Star’s simple elegance might please her.

Amanda Willcox   Synopsis    CHYRM