Chapter 1

The sun was setting over the trees, casting a red flush across the hillside. Shadows grew longer and a night-wind rustled the branches of the firs, casting eerie silhouettes across the path. Daelia, weary and saddlesore, watched the fiery sphere sink lower and lower, finally giving way to the pale moon as her horse plodded slowly onward. Soon it would be too dark to ride any further; the first day of her banishment was nearing its end. She began looking for a place to settle in for the night. Or at least for her horse to settle in—there would be no peace in her sleep this night. Since daybreak, the long hours on the road had been spent chiefly in brooding over her misfortunes, and now at the end of the day Daelia felt no closer to understanding these mysterious turn-of-events than ever. Her one consolation was the new sensation of freedom slowly creeping upon her. She was free to go anywhere she liked! You have always wanted to see what lies beyond Braedoch—now here is your chance. New people and beautiful places; you should be happy.

She wasn’t happy; couldn’t be happy when she did not know where her brothers and sisters were or how they were faring. Perhaps these feelings will pass, perhaps someday I can forget. Forget her family? How could she even think she would forget them? But it hurts so much. Daelia groaned, tipping her head back to stare at the stars twinkling overhead, letting the breeze blow through her hair, long fallen out of its combs.

A branch alongside the path ahead cracked loudly. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she gripped the reigns more tightly, straining her ears for more sounds. Nothing—all was silent but the wind, and the clip-clop of her horse’s hooves. Had she imagined it?

The horse stopped as she pulled back sharply on the reins—there was something watching her from beneath the shadows, she could feel the eyes burning her. Daelia swung the bow off her back and reached for an arrow, but it was too late. Two rough hands grabbed her right arm and the fabric of her long cloak from behind, jerking her from the saddle. A second person seized her horse’s halter before the horse bolted in fright. Daelia threw a punch at her attacker, but the large man evaded the fist and pushed her to the ground. In the scuffle, she accidentally lost her grip on the bow, and it went flying into the tall grass beside the road.

“Don’t fight little missy, and we won’t hurt ya too much.” Snarled the man who held her pressed to the cold ground on her stomach, arms pinned behind her. She struggled, but the man was simply too strong. “We’s just gonna borrow your horse here and whatever items of worth ya might be carryin’ if ya don’t mind.”

“I most certainly do mind! Now let me go!”

The dirty man laughed, blowing foul breath into the girl’s face, “Don’t matter if ya mind or not, we’re takin’ ‘em anyhow!” Something pointy jabbed between her shoulder blades, “Now quit yer movin’ or I’ll be forced to use this knife in a way you won’t like.” Quickly the stinking man went through the pockets of her heavy cloak and the small money bag she had tied around her waist, all the while keeping the knife poking into her back.

He removed her money bag and searched her pack of clothing, leaving clothing strewn about on the ground, then turned to his partner who still stood holding my horse. “Ain’t got much on her but these coins and the horse; we’d better take what we got and get outa here.”

Then as quickly as the thieves had appeared, they were gone again, taking the horse and all of the girl’s money with them. Daelia herself lay stunned on the side of the road, too shocked to move. Her transportation and means of getting food had vanished; only a few articles of clothing were left to confirm that the thieves had ever been there.

Slowly she began picking up the scattered items, stuffing them back in the discarded cloth bag. Where is my bow? In the dark it was almost impossible to see anything in the grass and brush, but she slowly felt around with her hands, searching for the smooth wooden handle of her treasured bow. Though she discovered her quiver of arrows that the man had carelessly tossed aside, she could find nothing of the bow.

Exhausted, cold, and trembling still from fright, Daelia sat between the roots of a large fir tree with her bag and quiver. Pulling her cloak close around her, she willed herself to breathe evenly. From a distance off an animal began to howl mournfully. She felt the gravity of her situation fully, realizing how close to danger she had come that night. What is going to happen to me out here, all alone with no weapon? I hope I will live to see the morning. Are the others having such a bad time of it as I am? Don’t think about it--try to sleep. A very long night followed for Daelia, with a sleep that only led to nightmares. In her dreams, the thieves returned—but instead of the dirty man whom had kept her bound, in the dream it was Duard; robbing her of everything she held dear.

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The sensation of raindrops on her cheek woke Daelia from a restless sleep. The morning sky that greeted her was dark with storm clouds, and a blustery wind from the north blew cold. Good traveling weather it was not, but satisfyingly appropriate for her current disposition.

Standing up slowly, she tested out each sore limb—the result of her cramped position between the roots of the tree and trying to stay warm. March was a fine time for Duard to send us wandering over hill and dale. He could have at least waited till May, the lying, worthless...

The thought died when her eyes alighted on an object lying not far off in the wet grass, right beside the road. Gathering her bag and quiver, Daelia hurried over, knowing that she had found what she had spent so long searching for the previous night. The treasured bow was unharmed, only a little wet when she picked it up and examined it; and lying in the very spot that she had gone over so carefully.

Momentarily cheered, she placed the bow over her shoulder, and began to walk as the rain came down more steadily. She was grateful for her heavy woolen cloak, even though she was fairly soaked by the time the sun finally appeared that afternoon.

By this time the landscape had begun to change slightly. Trees were fewer and farther between, and wide, green meadows sprawled lazily over the countryside. The air had also become warmer, making it necessary for Daelia to carry her cloak over her arm. After the lingering signs of winter in Braedoch, the fertile growth of this area was beautiful. She wished she knew where she was, for there had not been a town or village for miles, and she was hungry. The road stretched out before, seemingly never to end. Perhaps once she came to the top of the large hill that she could see several miles down the road there would be a town or an inn. Not that it made any difference. She sighed; there was no money with which to buy food anyways.

In the early evening, she found a bush alongside the path that held a few purple berries, but when she had plucked them all found that she had no more than a handful. One by one she ate them, finding them a little sour and strange in flavor. Though helpful, it was hardly enough to satisfy her growling stomach.

Suddenly, down the road came the faint strains of a melody. As Daelia watched from beside the berry bush, the figure of a man came around the bend and into view. A tall, lanky figure dressed in a bright tunic of blues and gold, the man walked with a jaunty air and whistled a lively tune. A pack was thrown over his shoulder and the setting sun caught the fiery glint of unruly, red hair. He drew closer, and was almost about to pass by when a movement caught the corner of his eye. He jumped visibly, caught off guard by the sight of a girl staring at him from the roadside.

“By the gods, girl, I did not see you! What do mean by just standing there? Are you a robber? I never carry anything of value on my person if you are interested.”

Daelia examined this funny character, taking in his carefree stance and noting his seeming lighthearted inquiry as to her being a robber. The expression on his face said he rather hoped she was a robber, as though meeting one would be rather exciting.

“I am not a robber, sir, and I had no intention of startling you.”

"Then who are you and what were you doing?”

Daelia rather thought it none of the stranger’s business, but out of politeness she answered, “My name is Daelia, and I was picking berries for my supper.”

“Well my name is Finneas Culwart.” He came closer, removing the pack from his shoulder. Seeing his face closer now, she saw that he was much younger than she had first supposed. “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you eat berries for supper? Have you no food of your own?”

“No, robbers relieved my of my purse last night and I have had nothing to eat since midmorning…yesterday.”

Finneas took note of the bow and arrows the girl wore across her back and motioned to them.

“Do you know how to use those things properly?”

Daelia drew herself up to her full height, her ire rising at his forward manner, “I have been using a bow since the time I could pick one up. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean—“

"By the gods, I don’t doubt your ability; my own aim has always been ghastly! Now before you say anything else, listen to my proposal. If you agree to camp with me tonight and keep away anything that might cause us trouble, I’ll share my supper with you. I have more use for your bow than the bread and meat it will take to feed you.”

Though his manner rankled her, having never been exposed to such a bold personality before, she could not deny her need for food. She agreed to guard the traveler in exchange for a meal.
Sitting beside the campfire an hour later, she ate the brown bread and venison with relish, listening to Finneas talk. In fact, he was very good at talking. Daelia was beginning to doubt whether he stopped for breath between sentences.

“It is quite fortunate I happened upon you actually,” he was saying while adding another stick to the fire, “I would have not liked being alone in a place like this all night; because of the wild animals more than the thieves. Like I said before, I don’t carry anything of value with me, only a change of clothing, food for my journey, and a knife. You see, I am on my way to my home in Wainden, if you know where that is. No? Well it is about a day’s journey from here on the other side of the river. Anyways, I am going back to Wainden to collect my belongings, sell my house, and buy a horse. As soon as I have done that, I am going straight back to Parsaena to live, where I will—“

Daelia interrupted Finneas, curious about something, “Where is Parsaena? Why is it better than your home?”

Finneas sighed impatiently, as though she had asked a foolish question, “The great city of Parsaena lies only half-a-day’s journey south along the River Theine. Surely you have heard of it! No? Where have you been living all this time?” He did not stop for an answer, “The people of Parsaena are far more appreciative of beauty and talent than the unsophisticated peasants in Wainden. My shop receives commissions from some of the noblest families in Parsaena, whereas in Wainden, I sold only one piece of work in three years. By work I mean art, of course.” A thought occurred to him suddenly, “Say! You said you have nowhere to go. Why not go to Parsaena? It is far more beautiful there than any old country village you will find along this road. But I must say I’m getting sleepy; I’m almost too tired to talk. I hope you don’t mind if I go to sleep now, I have a long way to walk tomorrow.”

Daelia nodded her head absently as he stretched out on the ground and promptly fell asleep. She was still trying to sort through his torrent of words. Parsaena? Was is as wonderful as Finneas had told her? He said it was beautiful. Perhaps I can at least journey through it, if only to see for myself.