The First Night and Day

ANTICIPATION, INVASION, ESCAPE, AND A KNIGHT

Mairien awoke the morning of her circuit day ball, her heart aflutter.  This was the day she would be presented to society; she would officially be a lady of the court; no longer would she simply be the youngest daughter of the king.  Sitting up in her bed, she gazed out her window, marveling that the sun had never shone brighter, the breeze had never blown softer, and the larks had never sung sweeter.  Sinking back into her pillows, she sighed; already, it was the best day of her life.

A few minutes later there was a knock at her bedchamber door and within a few moments her dressing maid was in the room, bringing her hot tea, biscuits, and fresh fruit.  “Good morning, Your Highness,” said the maid as she retrieved Mairien’s dress from the wardrobe.

“Good morning, Orillia,” Mairien answered.  “Is it not a lovely day?”

“Quite, Your Highness.  Would you like your white sash today or your plum?”

“The plum, please.”  Mairien said, stepping out of her bed.

The morning and afternoon passed in a blur of preparations: last minute dress alterations, Lady Tiela’s�"Mairien’s closest friend since childhood�"arrival from Caritas Real, the second province of Veritas Pure, hair preparations, many giggles and blushes at the thought of dancing with possible suitors in the great hall, and a number of other excitements.  Before Mairien knew where the time had gone, the chandeliers were burning, the minstrels were playing stringed instruments, and carriages were entering the courtyard in droves.  Laron, Mairien’s older brother, who was courting Lady Tiela openly and daringly�"much to the dismay of every other available lady-in-waiting�"escorted her to the great hall, and the party began, as Mairien remained upstairs until seven o’clock, at which time her father would present her to the lords and ladies of Veritas Pure.

Little did the merry-makers in Purus City know the dastardly destruction that would soon descend upon them.

For an hour the great hall of Purus Castle had grown gradually fuller.  The dukes and duchesses, lords and ladies, knights, dames, counts, Marquises, and countesses from across the countryside gathered in celebration of Mairien’s introduction to society.  Everyone in attendance vigorously ate the delicate tarts and cakes and truffles, and sweet wine flowed freely from wineskin to goblet and from goblet to stomach.  The young men and women danced the traditional waltzes and quadrilles of the country, laughing and making merry in a carefree manner.  All seemed right, safe, and joyful in Purus City, in the province of Pacis Pure, even across the entirety of Veritas Pure.

At a quarter to seven, as the king prepared to mount the stairs and ascend to Mairien’s chamber, a messenger sprinted his horse through the castle gate and stopped so abruptly before the guards at the palace door that the foam off the horse’s flanks splattered onto their faces.  The messenger dismounted hurriedly, burst through the guards and shoved his way through the crowd sending a very round duchess of ripe old age tumbling into another equally round, equally aged duchess.  The messenger did not stop, though he was scolded heavily by the duchesses and by their considerably rounder dukes.

The messenger was at the king’s side before the palace guards knew what had happened, and breathless and red-faced, attempted to gasp out his message.  “Your Highness�"I am come�"from Revera�"we are overcome�"by Luciforus�"and his armada.  Indeed, Sire, I am scarcely ten minutes ahead of them.”

The king, taken aback and panicked by this sudden message of an unwarranted attack, immediately ordered the closest guard to move all of the guests into the safest part of the castle and lock all of the doors and close the gate and drawbridge.  Hastily, King Baron, moving to a window looked out towards Revera and saw the shadowed enemy, moving across the hillside like a black cloud of smoke or a large swarm of locusts and he barked off several wartime commands to the closest officer.  By this time, Luciforus’ armada approached the edge of the city, and the King realized that the castle would be soon overtaken.  He then remembered Mairien, upstairs and waiting, not a part of the masses below.  She might be able to escape; and, therefore would be their only hope for survival.

Almost blindly, King Baron shoved his way upstairs, ignoring every comment or question that fell upon his ears.  He must spirit Mairien away; he must send her for the one thing that would defeat Luciforus and his Armada, and he must do so quickly.  He shoved himself into her chamber without a knock, and Mairien, who had, at that moment, espied the invading masses, almost leapt in the air for fear of her life.

“My child,” said the king, “Do not be frightened, it is only me.”

“Father,” Mairien, visibly shaken, cried, “what is all of this?”

“Lord Luciforus attacks us and the castle shall soon be overtaken.  We have been caught sleeping, my daughter, and we shall pay dearly for our blunder.  Now, listen to me carefully that you may escape and retrieve the aid we need.  Quickly remove your dress that you might wear one more practical for a long journey.  I will turn my face, but I will not stop speaking, and I will have no time to repeat myself, so listen closely.”  Mairien did as her father bade and listened attentively as he spoke.  “When you leave this room, you will take with you my side sword and satchel.  Go to the end of the hall and use the secret passage that leads down to the cellars.  Take from there a wineskin and a loaf if there is one handy.  In the southeast corner of the cellar there is a trap door in the floor beneath a table.  Open it and climb down the ladder, making sure that you secure the door behind you.  At the bottom of the ladder you will find an unlit torch and several bottles of oil.  Take what you can fit in the satchel.  You will also find a cart; get in and push it forward.  The tunnel is mostly downhill and the wheels sit in grooves hewn from the stone.  You will roll safely to the end of the tunnel, which is halfway to Bellator City, some seventy-five despits from here.  You must swiftly away from the tunnel and set out on a journey to Mount Trinitus.  Climb to the top and retrieve the Leo Palma and bring it back to the castle that The Faithful may give us victory.  It is the only thing that can save our nation.  Would that I could send a knight or brave warrior on this errand, but I cannot, as only a descendent of the house of Pure can pluck the Leo Palma from its resting place.  Are you dressed?”

“Yes Father, except you must tie my sash.”

King Baron turned and did so, continuing.  “Today, Mairien, this moment is my greatest fear.  You are wise and benevolent beyond your circuits, but I have done nothing to prepare you for the journey on which you must now embark.  I pray that The Faithful grants you the endurance and resourcefulness you will need on this journey.”

The king peered out the window, saw the castle yard filling with the Armada, and quickly removed his satchel and side sword while she retrieved a cloak from her trunk.  She strapped on the weapon and satchel; he removed his signet ring, handing it to her, and, ushering her out her chamber door toward the end of the hallway, King Baron commanded, “When you are in need of something�"a horse, shelter, food, anything�"show our countrymen this ring and tell them that the king will repay them tenfold when the kingdom is restored.  My little Mairien, may you be brave and strong, may The Faithful protect you and guide you safely to Mount Trinitus and safely home.”  He opened the secret passage and embraced his daughter quickly, “There is no time for tears or sad goodbyes. The fate of our kingdom is in your hands.  Go with Faith, my little one.  My heart will be with you until you return.”

A moment later Mairien held a lit torch with her back against an inside wall of the secret passage, at which point she dropped to the ground in the tunnel frozen in shock.  She could barely understand what was happening, how she was supposed to complete this monstrous task set before her.  She had never before traveled two despits without at least one guard, and now she must journey some seven hundred or more despits without a guard, without a companion, yea, with no assurance of safety and survival.  As tears welled up in her eyes, Mairien took a deep breath and repeated her father’s words, “There is no time for tears.  The fate of our kingdom is in your hands.”  Clutching up the torch and her cloak, Mairien followed the passage down to the cellar.  There she took a full new wineskin, and, not readily finding bread, took grapes, a block of cheese, and a couple of apples from a nearby barrel. Finding the trap door, she pulled it open with much effort and climbed hastily down the ladder.  She pulled the door closed and secured it that no one from inside the castle could open it, loaded the cart and shoved off, leaping in as it began rolling down the tunnel towards what she hoped was safety.

When King Baron descended the stairs, he found the armada had breached the castle and were destroying anything and anyone who stood in their way.  Many of his countrymen, men and women alike, lay dead or bleeding on the stone floor of his home.  A mixture of screams and shouts reverberated through the castle walls.  He searched desperately for his family, but could find no one, and his body went hot with a mixture of dread and anger. 

It was at that moment that Lord Luciforus spied the king.  He turned to General Zebub Ra, a short, fat, sweaty man, who commanded his Armada, and ordered him to bind King Baron and take him to the dungeon.  The General smiled a maniacal smile; relishing the fact the he was personally fettering the king, he made a slow and determined advance, as if he were a lion stalking his prey.

When the king saw Zebub Ra approaching him, he reflexively reached for the sword girded upon his waist.  But as he reached he paused, knowing he would not find it.  So it would be his fate to be either slaughtered or taken prisoner on his own staircase.  Whatever his fate, he would face it bravely with regal, unflinching grace, for the king was neither cowardly nor selfish.

 

*****

Mairien was unsure as to how long she rolled through the dark tunnel toward Bellator.  She knew only that her entire body ached from the cramped space in which she sat; the cart was very small and she had to sit with her knees bent all the way up to her chin.  The tunnel seemed endless, and sometimes Mairien felt as though she were traveling in a continual circle.  She no longer knew in which direction she traveled, so disorientated was she by the monotonous rattle of wheels and never-changing tunnel walls.  Several times the cart had stalled at the crest of a small hill and Mairien, thankful for the chance to stretch her limbs, had walked about for a bit in the damp, cold tunnel.  She dared not walk too long, for fear of being followed by the black cloud of invaders that had swept through Purus City in minutes.  As soon as the numbness left her feet and legs, she pushed the cart forward and leapt inside, continuing down the tunnel.

Many times in the tunnel did her thoughts return to the night prior, when she sat at table with her extended family in the Great Hall.  Both of her sisters and her two eldest brothers had married and were raising children of their own.  Eron, the third-born son, had entered the priesthood of faith�"though judging from his childhood, no one would have suspected he would forsake all earthly desires and enter into an abstentious and celibate lifestyle.  Nevertheless, he was awakened in his twenty-first circuit to his selfishness and now spent the better part of each day in the temple, praying and worshipping before the altar of The Faithful with his lute.  Laron, the youngest of the king’s four sons, was but nineteen and was openly courting Lady Tiela, daughter of the Marquis Real, and Mairien’s closest friend.  The family was seated around the table, supping together, filled with mirth and joy as they laughed and shared excerpts from their childhoods�"funny moments in the nursery or larks upon which they had embarked and the subsequent scraps in which they found themselves.

Mairien thought of her Papa who sat tall and stately at the head of the table.  The candlelight wonderfully accentuated his strong, handsome face as it twinkled in his blue-green eyes and caused his gray-dusted auburn hair to glisten.  Though he was happy and mirthful, there was a tinge of either sadness or regret in his eyes when he leaned toward her and took her hand in his saying, “Well, my little Mairien, what do you think of entering adulthood?”

She had replied enthusiastically that it was truly one of the most amazing things in the world.  Then her thoughts had drifted to the ball and she sighed and exuberant, anticipatory sigh, adding, “I do not think that I have ever been so excited about anything in my entire life.”

In the cart, in the dark tunnel, Mairien heaved a heavy sigh and shook the memory from her mind.  It was too bittersweet to think upon, for in doing so she became melancholy.  This day and this situation was far different from the imaginings in which she had indulged the night before, and this was the real day, so she must focus on it instead of what she wished it to be.

Her father’s instructions echoed in her ears almost as loudly as the rattle of the cart’s wheels.  She alone would to go to Mount Trinitus.  She alone would climb to its summit and retrieve the Leo Palma.  She alone would succeed or fail.  The fate and the hopes of an entire nation rested in her hands.  Her hands, which were soft and small and shaking in her lap.  She thought of the daunting task: her lack of provisions, of a horse, of a map, of assistance, of ability.  Her whole life she’d never known lack and now, here she was, the most important moment in the history of Veritas Pure, and she knew nothing but lack.  She despaired for her people, for she was no brave son or knight to ride forth astride a warhorse bravely.  She was but a girl, barely a woman, who, when she wanted for anything needed only command one of the guardsmen to fulfill her request.

“I am not able,” she cried out in prayer, “How can I do this?  I am only a girl, the youngest and weakest of my father’s children.  I have no great strength like Aron, or intellect like Daron, or faith like Eron.  I fear for my family, for my nation.  I cannot do this!  I am not able.  You must send another.  I am weak and clumsy and I’ll get lost.  You know I will get lost.  I will fail.  I will make a mess of it.  Why could this task not fall to one of my brothers?  They are men, strong and able, and could accomplish this.  Any one of my siblings could do this task better than I.  Why must it be me?”

That prayer of inadequacy gave way to a prayer of anger.  “And why must it be today?  Of all days, you allow this to happen on my circuit day celebration!  This was supposed to be a day of joy and excitement.  I should be dancing in the great hall with young lords.  Tiela should be at my side, and we should be sipping mulled cider or sweet wine, or eating raspberry tarts, or whispering about how handsome Duke Geston’s eldest son is.  Instead, I am rolling down this endless tunnel, cold and hungry and alone, and my family is imprisoned or…or…”  She could not finish her statement.  Instead, she wailed, “This is not fair.  Not in the least.  I hate it.  I hate Luciforus for ruining my circuit day, and I hate You for letting him.”

Mairien wept into her hands.  It was an ugly, mindless sort of weeping, uncontrollable and unstoppable, her anger and despair overwhelming her finally.  She did not know how long she wept, but when the cart stalled again at the crest of a hill, her tears had slowed, but they still fell out of her eyes and slid down her cheeks.  She got out of the cart gingerly, actually falling onto the stone floor because her legs had grown numb.  As she laid there on the cold tunnel floor, wincing at the tingling sensation of the feeling returning to her toes, she took deep, calming breaths and her tears finally dried.  “I do not hate you,” she whispered after a couple of minutes, looking at the tunnel’s ceiling without really seeing it.  “I do not, and I am sorry for saying it.  Please forgive me.  My heart aches with worry and my flesh trembles with fear.  I cannot do this alone.  I am not equal to the task.  I am so full of doubt, of fear.  I know I am little more than a girl.  I need help.  Please, Faithful, you must send me help. I despair of failing my family, my country, and You.  You most of all.  Please, help me.”

The feeling returned to her legs and she walked about for a few moments to work out some stiffness in her joints before placing her hands on the side of the cart and pushing it forward until it gained enough momentum to roll on its own.  She placed her foot on the small step that had been fastened to the side of the cart and climbed over the side as it picked up speed and rolled along in the dark.

The first torch had already burned out and the second was growing particularly dim when Mairien spied a faint light in the distance.  At first, she blinked her eyes, certain that she was simply imagining what she saw, conjuring up the illusion because she desired so much to see the sun, moon, and stars in the heavens.  As she looked again, the faint light remained and even grew larger and slightly brighter.  Excitement ballooned in her chest as she realized that the tunnel was quickly coming to an end and blessed open sky and green pasture lay ahead in the faint light that grew increasingly brighter and increasingly closer, and Mairien found herself crying happy tears.

All at once the light enveloped her, as the cart came to an abrupt stop, tossing her head first over the front side and onto the dew-covered grass.  Never had daybreak been so beautiful, never had light felt so warm, never had a tumble into wet grass been as welcome as it was to Mairien at that moment.  She laid there her face warmed by the sun, relishing the light, relishing the sweet smell of dewy grass, relishing her escape from darkness.  She truly felt freer then than at any moment of her life.  But her reverie was not long, as reality quickly set in and she was reminded of why that freedom was so sweet.  A vast and terrible enemy had besieged her home.  She must continue on her journey; she must accomplish the task set before her; she must tarry there no longer that she might rescue her people from bondage and death.

Quickly she stood and collected the items her tumble had scattered across the hillside, smoothed down her dress, and followed a narrow path that cut across hills of heather and hemlock.  Mairien traveled as swiftly as she could, her eyes looking across the vast prairie land of Veritas Pure, her heart feeling a mixture of pride and trepidation.  It seemed so surreal to her that such terrible people had invaded her country.  It was not right; Veritas Pure was not a land for the barbaric Malefians.  It was a land for the good, kind-hearted Veritans who loved it and each other.  It was not a country to be ruled by tyranny and fear; rather, it was a country to be ruled by mercy and compassion.  It was her father’s country, and she determined in her heart that she would restore it to him, though it might cost her own life.

After being on foot for about half an hour, Mairien heard the distant sound of a galloping horse drawing near from the west.  Purus City was to the west. Could Luciforus be sending someone to locate her?  Could she be in dire peril so quickly after her freedom from that unbelievably dark tunnel?  At once afraid for her life, Mairien ducked behind a large rock on the right side of the path.  ‘Once the horse and its rider are well past,’ Mairien told herself, ‘it shall be safe to continue the journey.’ 

The horse did approach, and speedily so, but at the moment it should pass, Mairien heard the rider command the horse to stop.  The sound of rocks and clay skidding across the ground followed the command as the horse dug its hooves into the terrain, sliding to an abrupt halt on the opposite side of the boulder.  Shaking with fear, mortified and now absolutely sure of being captured, Mairien bit her finger to suppress a scream as the rider dismounted.  She placed her free hand on the hilt of her father’s side sword and heard footsteps as the rider approached her. 

A voice sounded in the silence, “Madam, are you in need of assistance?  Are you injured?  Are you ill?  Madam, need you my aid?”  When she did not answer, the man said, “I must know your business here, madam, in the name of Veritas Pure and its king.”

This man did not at all sound like someone who was invading her country.  In fact, he sounded like a Veritan, a man of her own country, though not her home province.  Surely, were he the enemy, she would have been yanked up and treated meanly and coarsely.  Without looking up, Mairien answered, “I am neither ill nor injured.  I merely sit here to rest.  I have journeyed all night and am quite tired.”

There was a momentary pause, which was followed by his voice considerably softened, “Then I am sorry for disturbing your peace.  I noticed the tracks in the dew and feared someone was in distress.  And truly, you looked frightened and distressed as I approached.  May I be of service to you?  I could take you to a proper inn if you so desired.”

It was at this point that Mairien dared to look up.  Her eyes landed on a much welcomed sight: a breastplate with the Veritas Pure seal upon it and the blue cloak of a knight of the Patientia True province.  Immediately her fear was turned into joy and hope, and she launched herself off the ground.  “Good knight,” Mairien said, finally meeting the man’s eyes with her own and producing her father’s signet ring from a pocket in her cloak, “I am Mairien Pure, youngest daughter of King Baron, and your aid is much needed.”

Immediately the knight bowed and said, “Your Highness, I am sorry that I addressed you so commonly.  I am Gaelus, knight of the province of Patientia True, servant of your father and my country.  Please, how may I be of assistance to my lord, the King, and his daughter?”

“Purus City has been seized by the evil Lord Luciforus and his terrible armada.  I am on a quest to Mount Trinitus to retrieve the Leo Palma, our one and only chance to defeat Lord Luciforus.  If you would spare your horse for the cause, Sir Gaelus, my father shall repay you ten fold once the kingdom has been restored.”

The knight neither paused nor balked with his response.  “I shall gladly do so and more for my king and country.  My horse is yours, Your Highness, only allow me to escort you on your journey.  It is not safe for a woman, much less a princess, to travel alone on the countryside, especially now as we are invaded by such a band of infidels.  And I cannot, having pledged to serve my country and my king, allow you to travel without protection or aid, when your quest is the hope of our nation’s existence.”

The joy that flooded through the princess’s heart at that moment was so great that she could not contain it, and she impulsively embraced Sir Gaelus.  “Thank you, thank you!  Oh, Sir Gaelus!  May The Faithful bless you for your allegiance to my father and our great nation!  May he bless you, indeed!”

The knight was startled by the princess’s actions, and understandably so.  It was not in the practice of women, and much less the practice of princesses to bestow such affection upon a man such as he, especially when their acquaintance was not yet ten minutes in length.  Realizing the extremely unusual situation, Sir Gaelus commented not on propriety and simply said, “It is my duty and my pleasure, Princess, to serve my king and my country.”

Mairien quickly released the knight, shocked and embarrassed, and said, “Sir Gaelus, I do apologize for my outburst just now.  It is just that...” her voice faltered, “it has been a very difficult…” her voice faltered again, and Mairien stopped speaking, afraid she would not be able to hold in the emotions that were quickly escaping her heart through her eyes.

Sir Gaelus, taking pity on her, quickly answered, “Your Highness, please, there is no need to apologize.  You have barely escaped Purus City.  Your entire family�"nay! your entire nation is in great distress.  You are no doubt emotional, as well you should be.  I am not offended, you may be sure.  I should think it odd were you not emotional at such a time.”

Mairien smiled up at the knight, not daring to speak and simply nodded her head in thanks.

“I do think it is best, though, that we make haste and away.  We might reach Bellator City by mid-day if we hurry, where we will no doubt be able to find a second horse and more stores for our journey.  Perhaps we may even find more brave men to accompany us.”  He turned and walked towards his horse and Mairien followed. “May I take your satchel from you that I may tie it to the saddle?” 

Mairien handed him the bag and he performed the task asking, “Are you able to ride astride the horse?”

“Yes.”

The knight nodded as he mounted, “Very good.  Our journey shall be swift.” 

He reached out his hand to Mairien, which she took.  She mounted the horse with little difficulty, and Sir Gaelus looked over his shoulder to say, “Hold fast, Princess, we shall fly.”  A moment later, Sir Gaelus snapped the reins and said, “Yah! Regalis, yah!”

 

 

*****

The dungeon was located on the south side of the castle and was hewn out of the rock upon which the castle sat.  It consisted of two main areas divided by a long corridor.  As one descended the curving staircase and alighted in the passage, one would find on ones left a series of doors that opened into small cells that were no more than three strides�"approximately nine feet�"square.  To the right, however, one would find a single door that opened into a rather large room (approximately twenty-one strides long and twenty-five strides wide) used to house the drunks who stumbled out of the alehouses and were found by castle guards.  These men would be held over night and released next day when they had slept off their liquor.  In this large room there were no chains by which men were bound, but there were benches.  The door was simply locked from the outside for the duration of the night.  The walls of this room were of stone and approximately as tall as two men of average height, where they met the stone ceiling.  Along the junction where the wall and ceiling met were seven small, square openings about the size of a dinner plate, through which light and fresh air came into the room, for Veritans were kind, even to their prisoners.  The dungeon floor was rough hewn from the rock and covered in dirt and straw.  Upon that dungeon floor sat three small benches, long enough for a woman to lay upon without dangling her feet of the end, and wide as her shoulders.  There were also two buckets in the corner of the room diagonal from the door used for waste disposal.  In the room there were no other amenities�"not even a torch by which to see, so that late in the evenings, when the sun’s descent into the west brought it below the castle, the dungeon grew completely dark, save a sliver of light from the torch in the hall and gray-colored moon beams that, coming through the seven openings, seemed to dissolve into the room rather than illuminate it.

Thus, when King Baron arrived in the dungeon the night of Mairien’s escape, though it was quite dark, a very welcome sight greeted him.  There in the dank, cold room, every member of his family as well as Lady Tiela was safely stowed.  As horrible as it was to see the royal family of Veritas Pure held captive in the dirty, malodorous room, the fact that they were not dead was salve to his wounded heart.  He immediately embraced his wife, almost weeping as he held her.  Each of his children and grandchildren came to him and held him close, thankful to The Faithful for his safety.

When the door was closed behind them, and they felt no one was listening to their conversation, Daron, the second-born son, who was the slightest and darkest of all his sons, with his mother’s brown hair and eyes, asked, “Father, where is Mairien?  Know you her fate?  Is she safe or is she…is she?  Please, Father, we have all been so desperate to know what has become of her.”

The king, wiping the vestiges of tears from his face, replied.  “Son, fear not.  I have dispatched her to Mount Trinitus.  She, as yet, has not been captured.  If she is, it is possible that she will not be cut down, as you, all of my family, are safely here in this dungeon at least for the time being.”

“You have sent her after the Leo Palma?  Can she brave that travel, Father?  Can she climb that mountain?”  Aron, the eldest and bravest of the king’s sons, asked, “She is but a girl, and she not been properly trained to survive such a journey.”

“I realize that this quest appears impossible,” said the king, “but I believe in The Faithful and I believe in Mairien.  She is no longer a girl; she is a woman, and she is far wiser and stronger than we accredit her.  I truly believe that, should she complete this task and return to us safely, she shall be shown to be the strongest of our family, for she trusts completely in The Faithful.  That trust shall guide her and protect her, whatever may befall.”

“You speak truly, Father,” Eron confirmed.  “Mairien may be but a small lass, but she is formidable.  Her heart is true, her mind is pure, and she is full of faith�"faith in our great nation, faith in our heritage, faith in The Faithful.  She bears a power that very few of us can comprehend.  She does not even comprehend it, but her virtue shall take her safely to Mount Trinitus and shall return her to us.”

“Then let us sing,” Lady Tiela proposed, “a song of praise and thanks to The Faithful that even as we are imprisoned, our deliverance is nigh.  Perhaps The Faithful will hear our praise and strengthen Mairien.  Perhaps He will even send her aid that she might not be required to traverse our countryside alone.  Perhaps we shall shake the very foundation of this place and our rescue will come even more speedily.”

And they sang a traditional hymn of thanks:

      Though we be cast in darkness and pain

      Though we have lost all we have gained

      Though we endure what is baneful

      Still will we ever, yea, we will ever

      Lift up our praise to The Faithful

 

      Though we shall see terror and death

      Though we must lose all we have left

      Though taunted we are by the hateful

      Still will we ever, yea, we will ever

      Lift up our praise to The Faithful

 

      Though we be tossed in stormy gale

      Though our every step seems to fail

      Though beaten and bruised we are grateful

      And will we ever, yea, we will ever

      Lift up our praise to The Faithful

 

The king and his family continued singing through the night.  They sang all of the songs they knew, and when they had sung them all, they sang them again and again until they were all at such peace in that dark place that they slept comfortably for hours upon hours.

At dawn Lord Luciforus sent them a single wineskin and two loaves, telling the guard to drink some of the wine and eat a piece of the bread as an act of good faith, demonstrating that he would not poison them.  He also told the guard to make the King aware of the fact that he would not be called an ungracious host.  The King received the food and wine without saying a word to the guard, and after thanking The Faithful for the provision, gave the food to his family to eat.

As the day waxed and waned, the dungeon prisoners continued singing the hymns they had sung the night before.  They even created new hymns and banged their hands and stomped their feet against the stone floor in lieu of drums, voices echoing down the hallway, filtering through the open doors and resonating off the castle’s stone walls.  So loud were the echoes that they disturbed Luciforus as he met with General Ra in an antechamber at the top of the stairs. 

“What in the name of all that is unholy?” Luciforus boomed as the song fell upon his ears.  He flinched, the sound of the rejoicing Pure family making him almost physically ill.  “What are they doing?”

“I believe that they are singing, Your Supremacy.”  General Ra answered stupidly.

“I am well aware of that, you idiot!  What I want to know is why!  What reason have they to sing?  They are locked away in the dungeon of their own castle.  They have lost their freedom, their country, their very lives, though they do not know it yet.  In what do they have to rejoice?”

“Perhaps they are simply attempting to pass the time, sir.”

“I care not why they do it, Ra.  I want it stopped, and I want it stopped this instant.  All of that joy is giving me a headache.  Threaten them.  Tell Baron that I desire them to cease their singing this instant.  And tell them that if they do not comply, I shall have the queen’s head on a stake in the town square for all of his remaining subjects to see.”

General Ra quickly did as he was bid, and, though they feared not for their own lives, the family was not willing to part with their beloved mother.  So, all was quiet in the dungeon.

 

*****

“Bellator is not far, Princess,” Sir Gaelus remarked over his shoulder, five hours after they mounted Regalis.  “We shall shortly see the temple spire.”

Mairien nodded her head against his shoulder to signify that she heard and understood him.  Sir Gaelus had not exaggerated when he said they would fly.  They flew, indeed.  Never had Mairien ridden a horse that ran as fast as Regalis.  He had been foaming for almost two full hours, but he neither slowed nor faltered.  In her heart, Mairien feared for the horse’s well-being.  It could not be good for a horse, no matter how finely bred or well-trained, to gallop full speed for above two hours.  However, she was no expert horseman, and Sir Gaelus, she believed, would do nothing to put her or the horse in any danger.

As she thought this, they rounded a bend and she beheld the Bellator Temple spire.  It was a welcome sight.  Lord Rowem’s manor was only one despit south of temple, and there they would surely find aid, rest, and supplies for their journey�"not to mention food.  The wineskin was still mostly full, but as she had not feasted last night, Mairien had eaten all but one apple and a small chunk of cheese from the store she had taken from the castle.  It was impractical, she knew, to consume as much of her ration as she did, but, having been unable to eat for most of the day because of the nervousness and excitement of the impending ball, her stomach would not be denied.

They quickly galloped through Bellator and drew near the gate of Real Manor, Lord Rowem’s place of residence.  Mairien felt relief as she saw the familiar iron gate, the walls of stone surrounding the grounds, and residence.  The Real family crest was engraved in the stones of the wall.  It was almost as if she were coming home.  But, as her excitement began to peak, Sir Gaelus quickly turned the horse and galloped eastward away from their destination.  Mairien’s heart sank with disappointment and confusion.  She could not understand why they were not going through the gate to speak with Lord Rowem.  He would aid them.  They would be safe beneath his roof.

When they reached a cobbler’s shop at the eastern edge of the city, Sir Gaelus halted the horse, and immediately Mairien said, “Sir Gaelus, what is the meaning of this?  Why are we not in Lord Rowem’s presence?  We would have found immediate rest and assistance.”

“Your Highness, would that it were possible!  I espied the armada on the grounds as we approached as surely as I live and breathe.  Real Manor has been breached, and I fear for the fate of Lord Rowem.”

If her heart could sink any lower, it did at that moment.  Fair, kind, faithful Lord Rowem�"he was like a second father to her.  The thought of him imprisoned, tortured, even murdered was too painful.  She could not contain her tears and wept bitterly against Sir Gaelus’ shoulder.  And Sir Gaelus, wise and compassionate, laid his hand over hers and let her cry.

Eventually the tears ceased, and Mairien, once again, felt ashamed for allowing her emotions to rule her actions.  For the second time, she apologized, “Oh, Sir Gaelus, I fear I have lost all control of my emotions again.  It is not fitting that I should act so in your presence.  I am sorry.”

Once again Sir Gaelus replied with gentleness and wisdom.  “Truly, Your Highness, there is no shame in tears.  It displays your great love and compassion for, not only your friends and family, but also our great nation and its people.  If, as the scrolls say, The Faithful weeps for us, does it not follow that we should weep for each other?”

Her heart was warmed and strengthened by his words and she smiled and nodded.  “You are right and wise, Sir Gaelus, yet again.”

“I thank you for the compliment, Your Highness, and I beg you never to censure your emotions for my sake.  They are in no way offensive.”

She smiled again, but the smile was almost immediately changed to a frown.  “We must find out Lord Rowem’s fate.  We must, Sir Gaelus, and we must retrieve a second horse as well as additional stores for our journey before we can continue.”

Agreeing, Sir Gaelus suggested they dismounted to inquire of the cobbler.  As they walked in the cobbler’s shop, a boy of twelve, either a son or an apprentice who was cleaning a pair of boots, greeted them.  “Good day sir; good day madam.”

Sir Gaelus spoke, “Good day, young man.  Is the cobbler in?”

“Aye.  He sups in the back.  Shall I fetch him for you?”

“If you please, and tell him that Sir Gaelus of Patientia True requires assistance.”

The boy disappeared into a back room, and a moment later a small, lithe man of about forty-five entered.  Sir Gaelus spoke first, “Cobbler, we are sorry to interrupt your meal, but we are on a very important journey for the king and require information from you, if you are able to give it.”

“I shall be happy to assist my king and country,” said the cobbler.  “However, I must first have some assurance that you are, in fact, a knight of our kingdom and not a Malefian masquerading as a knight prowling for information.”

At that point, Mairien stepped forward and produced her father’s signet ring.  “I am Mairien Pure, daughter of King Baron.  At nightfall yesterday Purus City was captured and I journey to restore the kingdom.  Whatever aid you give us, my father shall gladly restore it to you ten fold once the kingdom has been restored to him.”

Immediately the cobbler bowed, “Your Highness, please forgive my mistrust.  We, too, were invaded at nightfall yesterday.  I shall be happy to supply any service you require.”

“We require only information from you, cobbler.” Sir Gaelus returned.  “Have you any knowledge of Lord Rowem’s fate?”

“Aye, sir.  The armada took him captive.  They bound him in chains and transported him westward yesterday.  I can only guess their destination is Purus City.  They have since taken control of and ransacked Real Manor.”

“So they did not kill him?”  Mairien asked.

“Nay, he was alive when he left.”

“And what of his family?”

“Lord Rowem was the only one in residence at Real Manor.  His sons and daughter were away.”

Tears of joy began to well up on Mairen’s eyes, and she whispered, “Praise be to The Faithful.  He is not dead.”

Sir Gaelus asked the cobbler several more questions, determining how many Malefian warriors were in the city and where they were primarily located.  “You do not intend to attack them, do you?”  The cobbler asked at length.  “Indeed, that would be suicide.”

“No, I shall not attack them.  I mean only to find a safe place for Her Highness to rest.  We must make haste as soon as I can secure another horse.”

“There is an old, empty silo to the west of town.  It is in poor shape from a storm last winter and has not been repaired.  No one uses it.  It should provide safe shelter.”  The cobbler turned and yelled towards the back, “Corus!”

The boy came running and said, “Yes, Papa.”

“Retrieve two loaves and a square of salt pork and a bag of oats from the kitchen.”

“Yes, Papa.” And the boy ran off.

The cobbler turned back to the knight and the princess, “As for the horse, I wish I could help, but I have only a mule, and he would be more trouble than he is worth.  Lord Rowem has the only good horses in the south of this province.  You will find them guarded, I am sure, should you attempt to retrieve one.”

“We appreciate your aid, kind cobbler,” Mairien said.  “The king shall repay you for your kindness.”

Corus returned then, with two loaves stuffed under his arm, a bagful of oats, and a handful of sausages.  “There was no salt pork, Papa.”

“The sausages will do, son,” said the cobbler, taking the provisions and handing them to Sir Gaelus.  “I cannot give you much aid, but what I can I freely give.  May The Faithful bless your journey and restore our nation to its rightful king.”

“And may you be blessed for your kindness, good cobbler.”  Gaelus answered, shaking the man’s hand.  Father and son bowed to Mairien, who curtsied in return, and she and Gaelus took their leave.

 

*****

Luciforus personally visited his captives in the dungeon at the traditional teatime of four o’clock, bearing two more loaves and another wineskin.  As he stuffed a piece of bread in his mouth to demonstrate the food was not poisoned, he said, “Baron, you have always had the best grains on our landmass.  How do you do it?”

“It is not I,” replied the king.  “It is The Faithful who provides for us.”

“Oh, yes, The Faithful.  How could I forget about him?”  Luciforus spat venomously, his ruddy face growing even redder.  “He gives you the best land, the best livestock, the best harvests, while my nation is little more than desert and wasteland.  I despise The Faithful.”

“It is for that reason that you live in a wasteland.” King Baron replied.  “Had your ancestors served him, your kingdom would not be the waste it is this day.”

“So you say!” Luciforus boomed.  “Baron, Baron, Baron, I truly doubt our service to The Faithful would have any affect on the terrain of our homeland.  That is why I have decided to take yours from you.  This land is rich and its people are submissive�"not so mine.  I can barely prevent their pilfering of my storehouses, much less their neighbor’s.  But here, in this country filled with wheat and wine and olives I could reside without fear of being overthrown by my peasantry.”

“You underestimate my people, Luciforus.  They are submissive to me; this is true, but it is because I rule them with fairness and kindness.  I do not oppress them as you and your forefathers oppressed your subjects.”  King Baron answered, “And if you believe that my nation will sit idly by while it is invaded, you are sadly mistaken.  We Veritans are a strong, resilient people, with the help of The Faithful, and He will not forsake us in our hour of need.”

Luciforus simply shrugged his shoulders.  “Perhaps that is what you think, Baron, but I should like to see them attempt to defeat my armada in hand-to-hand combat.  Or, better yet, I should like to see them organize themselves now that I have removed from their midst all of the strong military men and rulers.”  The women gasped at Luciforus’ implications, and Baron clenched his jaw.  A rue smile danced across the evil man’s features and he added flippantly, “Oh, yes, I forgot you were unaware.  You see, I did not simply invade the castle.  I took possession of all seven of your provincial seats and the rulers and military men you positioned there.  You have nothing left in this country but farmers, vinedressers, ranchers, and a few country gentry who have inherited their titles rather than earning them.  Do you really believe they are capable of great exploits?”

“I never underestimate my people, and I never underestimate The Faithful.”  Baron rejoined, at once regaining his composure.

Luciforus, growing bored with the conversation, looked gloatingly around the room at the faces of his captives.  It was then that he noticed that Mairien was not present.  “RA!!” He bellowed, sticking his head out the door.  “You,” he pointed to the nearest guard, “go find General Ra this moment.”

The guard being dispatched, Luciforus began mumbling under his breath incoherent words mixed with expletives; words so vulgar and profane that the men covered the women’s ears and the women covered their children’s ears.  Never had they known such language so offensive; never had they heard words so foul.  After some five minutes of profanity, General Ra appeared in the doorway with a submissive, “Yes, Supremacy.”

“Ra, what is the meaning of this?”  Luciforus seethed.

“The meaning of what, Supremacy?”

“You�"you�"you�"how can you not know?”  Luciforus raged, his flushed visage positively red, and his black, well-kept hair falling disheveled about his face.  “The king’s youngest daughter is not here�"” and he cursed some more.

“Supremacy, I assure you, I thought she was present.  I counted, sire, the king and queen, four sons and three daughters, with their appropriate spouses and children.”

“Did you really?  Tell me, which of these are the king’s daughters?”

General Ra pointed to Iriena and Jaira.  He then turned, and said, “And here is his youngest daughter,” pointing at Lady Tiela.

“You imbecile!” Luciforus roared.  “That is not the king’s daughter.  She is Lord Rowem’s daughter, a close friend of the family.  She is no princess.”  He began pacing and cursing again, raking his hands through his hair.

“Supremacy,” General Ra offered meekly, “how was I to know this was not his daughter.  I have never seen her, and this young girl was the appropriate age.”

“Stop making excuses!  I am grown weary of your ineptitude, Ra.  Have the castle swept; see if there be any secret rooms or passages.  If you cannot find the girl, we must send out The Scelus.”

“The Scelus, Supremacy, is not that a bit extreme.”

“Extreme?  Extreme!  Extreme!” he roared, “An heir to the throne is not in our custody.  Tell me, Ra, how will we subdue the people of this nation if we have not captured and destroyed their leadership?  We will find the girl, Ra, and the Scelus shall be the ones we send.  For, at this moment, I care not if she is brought to us dead or alive as long as she is in our possession.”

“Yes, Supremacy.  We shall begin a sweep immediately.”

“And gather the Scelus in my chamber.”

“Yes, Supremacy.”  Ra answered, leaving the room.

Luciforus peered at King Baron studiously, seeming to take a moment to rein in his anger.  When he spoke it was with a subdued voice.  “So you have managed to hide your daughter from me, Baron.  It is no wonder that you have been somewhat comfortable in this place until now.  I applaud you, for you appear to have won a battle.  But this war is far from over, and I am determined to be the victor.  You may be assured of that.”

At that point Luciforus paused, an idea forming in his head.  Grinning wickedly, he continued, “You made a terrible mistake, Baron, thinking that your daughter’s escape would do you and your nation well.  If I do not have word of your daughter’s whereabouts by daybreak tomorrow, you shall tell me where she has gone and to what purpose.  I shall make sure of that.”

Bravely and regally, Baron answered, “Threaten me as you wish, Luciforus, but I shall betray neither daughter nor country.  I shall die before I do either.”

“Then perhaps I shall lend you a shovel, as you are so determined to dig your own grave,” he answered ironically, and, turning on his heel, strode out of the room.

Luciforus left the dungeon and went straightaway to his chamber, which was actually King Baron’s chamber.  He went immediately and took up the mirror on a nearby table, carefully rearranging his hair, smoothing down the tufts he had misplaced in his fit of anger.  He looked at himself intently, narcissistically.  He was, without question, the handsomest man who had ever been born to Malefian parents.  Most Malefians were sallow and ugly, suffering from diseased skin.  Not he.  He was ruddy, handsome, and had no blemishes or maladies of skin.  No�"his blemishes were not superficial.  He was diseased within; his malady was rooted in the deepest part of his soul, but as long as he looked beautiful outwardly, he cared not about the distorted figure he was within. 

Minutes later General Ra knocked at the door with the Scelus Assassins behind him.  “Enter.”

“Supremacy,” General Ra said, “I have twenty men sweeping the castle and its grounds as we speak.  The Scelus are with me now.”

“Very good.  Send them in.”

General Ra nodded to the six men behind him, who then entered the room.  Five of the men were large in some fashion, either tall or burly, or a combination of the two.  The one, who was not tall, was short, compact, and unusually handsome for a Malefian, but his comeliness compared in no way to that of his overlord.

“Men,” said Luciforus, “we have a very serious situation.  Baron’s youngest daughter somehow escaped the castle last night.  I do not know how she escaped, nor do I know which direction she traveled.  All I know is that she is doubtless seeking aid of some sort.  Though Fortis is a closer country, the terrain is hardly conducive for a girl, much less a royal heir, to travel on her own.  Therefore, we may infer that Honestis is her destination.  You must track her, men, and bring her back to me at any cost.”

“Any cost, Supremacy.  Does that give us leave to kill her if necessary?” asked the tallest man, called Cruoris.  His forehead was overlarge, the brow bones looming over his eye sockets, with a long extremely crooked nose and cheeks that were so narrow they looked sunken.  He looked more a skeleton with skin than a man of flesh.  But he was viciously shrewd and murderous.

“I should like to keep her alive at least until her arrival here.  However, if it is absolutely necessary you have my authority to bring her back either dead or alive.”

“And during our journey home, Supremacy,” asked MaleViscus, who was the ugliest of the six.  His face that looked as though it had been squashed together from all sides, all of the compressed parts straining to escape through a bulbous nose that appeared ready to burst like an overripe tomato, “have we free reign with her?”

“I care not what you do with the girl as long as she is brought back to this palace in some shape or form.”  Luciforus answered.  The six Scelus Assassins smiled luridly, thinking of all of the ways they would torture the king’s daughter when she was in their possession.  Their leader’s voice interrupted their dastardly thoughts as he said, “Well, for what exactly do you wait?  Some signal to fall from the sky?  Go now, and quickly.  And I want regular updates from you, men.  Our armada is in every major city in the nation.  Send a soldier whenever you have news of the girl.”

“Yes, Supremacy.” The six men bowed and left the room.

Luciforus drank a glass of King Baron’s wine when they left and dropped into a chair.  His men would bring her back, though she might be almost unrecognizable by the time they returned.  He grinned sadistically and thought, “That will surely teach Baron not to be difficult in the future.”

 

*****

Mairien and Sir Gaelus arrived at the silo within five minutes of departing from the cobbler’s shop.  It was a tall, round, wooden building, and one could tell that it had once been a sound structure.  Now a portion of the roof was sunken in and many wooden planks about the sides were busted or rotted through.  Broken as it was, it provided the two travelers with a safe haven in which they could eat and rest.  After Sir Gaelus reconnoitered the building and was sure of their safety from the Malefian Armada, he led Regalis in, tied him to a post, and poured the oats out on top of an old barrel so the horse could eat.  He and Mairien then sat and ate of the loaf and sausages the cobbler had kindly given them.

“We shall slumber here a few hours and continue our journey at nightfall, Your Highness.”  Sir Gaelus said as they broke bread.  “It will lengthen our travel time, but I believe we shall be safer cloaked in night.”

Mairien nodded, “That does seem like the safest course of action.  No doubt Luciforus has now realized my absence.  I wonder what he shall do.”

“Do not wonder, Princess.”  Sir Gaelus answered, “It will only lead to sad and terrible imaginations.  I can tell you that, whatever he does, it will be neither kind nor good.  Let us simply leave the matter at that.”

But Mairien could not cease thinking of the myriad atrocities Luciforus might perpetrate.  He was capable of all manner of evil, of that she was sure.  A million horrible pictures rose in her mind’s eye, pictures of her brothers beaten, disemboweled, and hanging from their feet in the town square.  Pictures of her mother and sisters forced into rooms with a troop of Malefians, their gowns being ripped from their bodies, their cries resounding off the castle’s stone walls.  Pictures of her nieces and nephews heads mounted on pikes, their bodies tossed into the fields to be eaten by carrion birds.  She shuddered against the images, trying to force them from her mind, yet she was unable to keep the question from passing her lips, “Think you that he will harm or injure my family members?”

Gaelus looked up from the dagger he was sharpening against a whetstone.  He did not wish to have this conversation with her.  He knew it would weigh heavy upon her heart and mind, causing her more grief than she already felt.  And yet, he could not leave the Princess’ question unanswered.  He could attempt to avert the conversation, but she was likely to demand an answer as her title suited.  He had vowed fealty to her father when he received his knighthood, and that fealty extended to all members of his household.  With a sigh, he answered, “I cannot say with certainty, but I would not be surprised if he did.  He is a cruel, hateful man who cares only of himself.  It is rumored that he murdered all of his brothers and sisters in their sleep when he was a mere boy of six, that he set fire to his father’s bedchamber as the old man lay unconscious with mountain pox.  He does not even care for his own countrymen.  How much less would he care for foreigners he intends to conquer?”

Mairien sighed, her soul heavy with the burden of the journey. “I fear my escape from the castle will lead to the execution of my family.  I fear I have not the…” she paused, not wanting to express her doubt aloud.  Doing so would give it power, make it true.  Instead, she asked, “Sir Gaelus, to what purpose is this journey if we are unsuccessful?  It will be all for naught.”

“Your Highness, please, you cannot fix your mind on the negative.  We must remain positive and keep our eyes on the goal.  We must not doubt.  Mount Trinitus and the Leo Palma are our goals, and I shall do everything in my power to get us there.” He spoke with an assurance and fervor Mairien neither felt nor believed herself capable of feeling.

“This seems like such an impossible task, Sir Gaelus.” Mairien said, desperately, “The chances are against us, and such a steep chance it is.  How can we expect…”

Sir Gaelus interrupted, “But we have The Faithful, Your Highness, and we have faith in The Faithful.  He is on our side and we cannot be defeated.  Let not your doubts about our abilities persuade you to falter or surrender.  When we are unable, The Faithful is able to do as much and more than we need.  Believe in that.  Hope in that.  Trust in that, Princess.  It shall carry us through.”

“You are right yet again.”  Mairien answered, after a reflective pause.  “How came you to be so wise.”

“Many mistakes and failures, Your Highness.  I have been doubtful, very doubtful, and my doubts limited me.  But when I trust in The Faithful, I have always had victory.”

Mairien nodded her head and yawned.  “You are tired, Princess.” Said Sir Gaelus, “You must sleep now while we have the opportunity, for tonight we will ride, and we do not know when we will have another chance for repose.”

“Will you rest as well?”  Mairien asked, spreading her cloak over her body, reclining against a pile of straw and cornstalks.

“Yes, but not until I have tended to my horse and made sure that the armada knows not where we are.”  Sir Gaelus answered. “Now rest, Your Highness, while you can.”

She obeyed his command.  Indeed, she would have been incapable of disobeying it, had she tried.  Her dreams filled with echoes of her circuit day feast, sitting at table with Father, peering over her goblet with a smile as Laron leaned forward to flick throw a grape at Aron’s forehead, Mother’s misty eyes crinkling as she smiled, and then it changed, and she saw the black cloud of invaders sweeping toward the castle, houses and barns bursting into flames as they drew ever closer.  Mairien’s eyes shot open, her heart pounding with fear, a cold sheen of sweat on her face.  For a moment she thought she was in the castle about to be captured by the Luciforus and his terrible army.  Then she felt the straw beneath her face and heard Regalis’ gentle snort from the far corner and she remembered where she was.  She searched the room for Sir Gaelus, called his name softly, but he was nowhere to be found.  Mairien gathered her cloak about her and walked slowly to the door that she might peep out and hopefully see the knight close by.  But, when she looked around in the pale purple twilight and she could not see him she felt concern and even panic creep into her chest.  Where could he have gone and to what purpose?  Why would he leave her there without a word of warning and naught but a side sword for protection?  It seemed very ungentlemanly of him, and she feared that he was not who he said he was, and was indeed a Malefian warrior masquerading as a Veritan knight.

She shivered.  Were all of his words lies?  If they were, he was truly an expert liar.  Her blood went cold, fear creeping up her spine.  As it did, a thought as light piercing through darkness, invaded the fear, a thought that was warm and felt right.  If he had been lying, he would have taken his horse.  He would not have chanced leaving her with Regalis, who was fast and strong that she might escape.  Furthermore, he would not have left her there armed.  She smiled and shook away the fear, subconsciously touching the hilt of the weapon girded at her waist.  Sir Gaelus was a knight of Veritas Pure and whatever errand to which he attended now was that they might continue their journey to restore the kingdom.

So Mairien stood just inside the door and watched as the sun sank below the horizon.  Only moments before all grew dark, she heard a singular set of thundering hooves approaching the silo.  Immediately she reached for her father’s side sword, keeping her hand ready on the hilt as the rider approached.  But when the rider was in sight, Mairien recognized the cloak and dress of Sir Gaelus and relaxed her grip on the weapon, though she did not remove her hand from the hilt until Sir Gaelus dismounted, saying, “I have secured us another horse, Your Highness.”

“But how?”  Mairien asked, astonished to see the strong, white-coated studhorse she had ridden for years during her visits to Lord Rowem’s home.

“Oh, the armada men stationed at Real Manor are hardly capable.  There were only two in the stables and I swiftly disabled them.  This appeared to be the strongest horse in the Marquis’s barn.”

“Yes, he is, and very fast.”  Mairien answered, approaching the animal.  “His name is Spiritas.  He is Lady Tiela’s favorite horse.  I have ridden him many times and he has always left me breathless.”

“Then we have no fear of him reacting badly to you.  Let us gather our things and quickly depart from here.  I gathered some apples and pears from barrels in the Marquis’ barn, so we will have provision until we reach Profecto.  My mother and father live five despits east of the city and we should be able to eat a real meal when we arrive there.”

Mairien hurriedly gathered her things, stuffing everything back into her bag and asked, “When do you think we will arrive there?”

“Mid morn tomorrow, should we encounter no problems.” Gaelus answered, leading Regalis toward outside.

“Problems?”

“Yes.  The Abigo forest is a dangerous place through which to travel.”  Sir Gaelus answered, helping Mairien mount Spiritas.  “Marauding gypsies inhabit most of that forest, Malefians who travel the dangerous fissure paths across the border, and we are likely to run into a sect of them.”

“So we will have to fight them.”

“It is likely, Your Highness, but you must not worry.  I am quite capable of defeating my share of gypsies.  They are undisciplined and rash.”

“I am sure you are, Sir Gaelus.  However, I am unsure about my own ability.”

“You are more capable than you realize, I am sure, Your Highness.  And even if you are not capable, The Faithful is.”  Sir Gaelus answered, mounting Regalis.  “Now, we must hurry.  I should not like to be still in this region when the armada finds two of its men incapacitated.”

“It has grown dark.  How will we see?”

“The torches,” Sir Gaelus answered.  “I refilled them while you slept.  When we are far enough from the city I will light one and go ahead.  You must follow the light, Princess, very closely.  And if I move it that you cannot see its flames, you must stop immediately, for we have either met with trouble or there is some other unforeseen complication.  If at any point you fall far behind you must yell to me and I will slow down until you have recovered the lost ground.”

Sir Gaelus led the way out the silo down the road towards his home province at a canter.  When they could no longer see the glow of candles or fires in home windows, he lit the torch and said, “And again we fly, Your Highness.”