Chapter One

By the age of ten years old, Glora was a skinny girl who took pride in such things as wearing mismatched socks and flaunting her messy, uncombed hair. She enjoyed such activities as racing through the streets of the city with a wild gang of children and accepting dares, no matter how dangerous they might have been. The majority of the city merchants knew her not by name but as “that skinny, dark-haired scamp”. Indeed, although most adults found her amusing and slightly intimidating, many others (the law enforcers in particular) saw her as a nuisance and were constantly trying to find her name and her home, scouring the poor region of the city for hours at a time, hours that, in the opinion of many a citizen, could be better spent tracking worthy criminals such as the Sneak. In truth, the law enforcers were rather frightened by this particular criminal, and justified their lack of enthusiasm by pointing to the fact that nobody had, as of yet, proved that the Sneak was anything more than a rumor. Many ghastly stories were associated with the criminal, and so the children were shielded from the possibility of its existence. As a result, the stories and the criminal were the most discussed pieces of forbidden information spread throughout the young population. Many games and dares sprang up about the Sneak within the numerous nooks and corridors in the kingdom, spreading from child to child through the infectious whisper behind a hand.

There was a simple reason as to why Glora and her place of residence had remained undiscovered for such a length of time. Contrary to the assumptions of local law enforcement, the child did not actually live in the poor region, known to most as the East Provinces. Glora spent much of her time plotting her escape from the wealthiest region of the entire kingdom, the North Provinces. It wasn't as if she wished to be cold and hungry, as was the unfortunate situation for the majority of her little friends. The girl possesed an odd arrogance about her, derived from some combination of her rough and wild playmates and her excessively wealthy and noble heritage. Her parents were the owners of a massive manor, in which their child could rarely be found at any time of day before dinner. It is safe to say that neither mother nor father wasted much concern on their daughter during the early years of her youth, instead devoting their energy to maintaining the family business and the affairs of the kingdom. Glora had become subtly talented at slipping away without notice, predictably right before a mathematics tutor called at the door or else at the mention of any other form of boredom.

It wasn't untill the day of her eleventh birthday that Glora's mother realized her daughter was becoming quite out of control. And so the girl was located and retrieved from the depths of the East as only a mother has the ability to do, given a proper washing which involved an unsightly tantrum and much scrubbing, and finally dressed up in a pale yellow dress. Her dark mess of curls was combed and tied up and back in a fashion mimicking the style of other well-to do young ladies, many of whom were to attend Glora's birthday celebration that evening.

A tense quiet occupied the dining room as Glora sat stiffly against a high-backed chair. The meal before her was lavish and grand; pine nut served with rasberry and a beverage of clear, smooth sugar water, a rare delicacy. She looked about the room darkly, glaring at all who returned her gaze. She noted that her parents had cleverly seated the queen's daughter to her right and the tax collector's to her left, but after a few friendly smiles directed at Glora they had given up and commenced a light conversation. A glance towards her parents cooled her fiery temper, however; they were looking at her with rather worried frowns as she continued to ignore her guests. Snapping her teeth and jutting her jaw, the child turned to face the princess. She looked at Glora with a cold and inquisitive eye.

"What's your name?" Glora said. It was in this manner that all friendships began on the streets. The previous question was then followed by asking one's age, tradition stating that the older of the two be granted automatic dominance. Glora was one of the rare children who had the daring to disregard this rule, and few attempted to correct her.

"Aleah." Replied the girl smoothly. She raised a single eyebrow. "I would think you should know that." She and the tax collector's daughter met each other's eyes and giggled.

A flush rose to Glora's cheeks. She knew she ought to show respect to the princess at least, but it simply wasn't in her nature.

"Why would I know that?"

Aleah turned to her coldly. "You would know," she said, "because I am your princess, and you are my citizen."

"I've never heard of you." 

It was a bare-faced lie, but Glora was accustomed to bare-faced lies. In any case, it achieved the effect she had wanted. The princess's eyes widened momentarily in outrage. "Then why did you invite me to your silly little party?"

"It wasn't my decision; I didn't invite any of you."

With a crisp rustle the princess rose to her feet. "And I did not come of my own accord." Straight-backed and proud, she swept from the room.

Glora leaned back in her chair. The tip of her tongue felt cool as she surveyed the faces of her guests, but her skin had gone cold and she felt rather guilty. It would have undoubtedly been useful to have the princess as a friend, and perhaps it wasn't such a great thing to humiliate her own guest. But Glora was more wild than civilized and knew little of manners and gentleness. She consoled herself with the knowledge that in a friendship with the princess, she would have been the lesser of the two. Her throat tightened at the thought of her street friends. Had she been with them, she would have been laughing right now, and perhaps the smaller ones would have danced around her and sung songs about eleven years old. A circlet of smooth grass and little flowers would adorn her head, and if they were lucky, Glora might've shared a few warm seed cakes from the East marketplace. But instead she was trapped inside her stuffy dining room, surrounded by a dozen young faces she barely recognized, all chattering without her, perhaps about her. She felt her eyes burn and her throat harden in frustration, and quickly took a sip of chilled sugar water.

A clear ring from her mother's goblet stole her attention, and Glora glanced up along with her guests.

"Children, if you are finished with your meals, you may go outside or visit Glora's room. I am sure she'd be delighted to give you a tour of the manor." She glanced testily at Glora, and the girl suddenly wondered if anybody else had noticed the princess's departure. They probably had. Watching her mother smile at the children as they scooted their seats back under the table, Glora thought she was a bit pretty. But cold, too, as her smile was directed not at Glora but some place else. The legs of her chair scraped harshly against the wooden floor, a grating, mean sound. She stood up and brushed the crumbs off her dress front, wondered with a touch of amusement if there were any smudges of rasberry on her face, and focused on walking leisurely to join her guests.

"Hello, Glora." said a girl her own age. Glora examined her for a moment. She was smiling tentatively, and her pale brown hair flowed smoothly over her shoulders in it's naturally straight state.

"Hi." Glora responded, attempting a friendly smile of her own. Perhaps it worked, for the girl's lips curved higher and she spoke excitedly. "I've always wanted to see the inside of your house. It's just so big and grand, and you and your parents seem so- so..."

Glora narrowed her eyes and tilted her chin up. "Yes?"

But the girl grinned, as if amused by her reaction. "Regal. As if you're better than royalty."

Glora didn't respond, but inside her chest felt a little warmer. "Shall we go inside then?" asked the girl.

"Okay. What's your name?"

"Saria. And I know your name, because, well, everybody knows your name here." At this remark Saria ducked her eyes and fingered her dress as if embarrassed. Glora wrinkled her nose as she digested this information, looking around at her expectant guests. A few looked to be glaring at her, and one boy was watching her warily, arms crossed over a smart blue jacket. "Well, we might as well be off." And Glora led the way into the main hallway, Saria at her side. The wood creaked under their many-booted feet, and the smell of pine oil was sharp in the air. Glora inhaled deeply, cheeks tensing in pleasure of the fresh, faraway scent. Oftentimes she had wondered what was the source of commodities like pine oil and warm cocoa, but long ago had her parents stopped answering these questions, and her own friends claimed to know the answer but boasted of such wild adventures that Glora knew them to be fibbers. Saria by this time had hurried to the end of the hallway, smoothing away the thick velvety curtains at a window and gazing outside. The boy in the blue jacket was peering curiously down a corridor, the one which led to Glora's bedroom. She briefly considered leading them into the laundry room, locking them in and then escaping through a chute. It would be terribly funny, and she could slip outside and join her friends in the East. These poor children would cringe at the thought of following her down the dusty chute, and Glora could even stay a little while and make scary noises through the vents. But as she glanced at Saria, whose cheeks were flushed with the excitement of exploring her manor, Glora knew it wouldn't be right. She sighed, and her shoulders slumped as she thought of her friends in the streets without her, but she nodded down the corridor and showed her guests up a stairway and into her room. Saria opened the door, and was soon bumped out of the way by the curious children, who glanced around with a single sweep of the eye. The blue-jacketed boy spoke first.

"It's rather plain, isn't it?" he appeared disappointed, and even Saria seemed dismayed to find only a bed whose covers weren't made, a little table with a glowing lamp, and a wooden shelf along one wall which was occupied by various objects that appeared more or less to be random junk.

"Well, it's not as if I spend all day in here. After all, a bedroom is really just meant for sleeping in."

"I guess. You should visit my house, Glora." Saria looked at her sympathetically. "It's not quite so big or grand, but my bedroom- well it's not as big, either, but it's- it's...You should see it."

Another girl nodded. "My bed has curtains all around it, long, dark blue ones. And I have a feathered sofa, all bright red, where that window would be." She pointed at Glora's large window on the far wall. "And a big wardrobe for all my clothes and a chest for my jewelry."

A few other children nodded in admiration and agreement. Glora rolled her eyes at the extent to which the conversation had grown dull, and sat down crossed-legged on her soft, carpeted floor. "Say, what have you lot heard about the Sneak?"

Saria's eyes grew wide, a little boy gasped, and a girl scowled and muttered something about "you lot".

"We're not supposed to talk about that, Glora." whispered the boy.

"My father says only street children discuss those topics." said a girl.

"Aw, come on! What do you suppose will happen? Think he might hear you or something?" Glora looked around the group, exasperated.

"My father, or the..." the girl drifted off.

"Sneak!" Glora said with an impish grin. "You've gotta talk about these things, or you'll be unprepared when something bad happens." she said in what was meant to be a knowledgeable manner. She had picked up this bit of wisdom from Orden, a streetsweeper who had grown fond of the street children.

"Well," began the boy in the blue jacket cautiously. "I heard that the Sneak eats little boys and girls." He looked around ominously at the others, who by now were also sitting upon the carpet. This dreadful statement was met with skeptic expressions and a snide little smirk from Glora.

"Sham, what are you, ten years old? I used to believe that when I was your age. The Sneak commits incredible crimes. He knows every secret to the kingdom. Any time you hear a bump in the night, or a little creak in your attic, that's the Sneak." Glora met the eyes of her guests, and her heart thumped pleasureably to see their widened eyes and the tilt of fascination about their young heads. The boy glared to have his own rumor dashed to the ground as nonsense. "I'm twelve years old, by the way, which I think is quite older than you, Glora."

"You know what I beleive?" Saria said. She bit her lip cautiously. "Now, I'm not exactly allowed to talk about this, but...I think the Sneak has something to do with....with up- up there." The girl pointed up above their heads, blushed bright red, and covered her mouth with a guilty gasp. Glora and the others followed her finger to upwards to stare at the ceiling. Glora frowned, puzzled. "Huh? What do you mean, up there?"

Saria shook her head, hair shaking about her shoulders. The blue-jacketed boy was glancing at Saria suspiciously. "Saria, if you're talking about what I think you are, that's forbidded information. You could- no, you would  get locked up in the jail forever." A hushed silence fell over the room as the children listened in fear and awe.

Glora leaned forward eagerly. "Forbidden?" she breathed. "Tell us, Saria."

"No!" said the boy sharply. "This isn't some child's whisper game, Glora. You be careful what you bring up around others." he gave her a steady glare, heavy with warning. Upon closer examination, Glora detected the hazel eyes and honest forehead of Saria in the boy's face.

"Are you two related?" she asked, straigtening.

Saria nodded. "Jared's my older brother. And I think we should probably be getting home." The color had gone from her cheeks, and she looked breathless and scared. Glora got to her feet and opened the door, nodding at the children as they filed out. The sudden withdrawal of tantalizing possibilities and Jared's cold warnings left the girl with tired shoulders and a heavy head. Ignorant of the courtesy which expected a host to walk her guests out the door and wish them all a calm sleep, Glora simply turned and shut her door as the last girl lifted her skirts and slipped down the hallway. She left her own room for a quiet bath down the hall. Inside the warm bathroom and steamy water, she washed her skin with the sharp, sweet scent of fennel soap and ran lavender and rose oils through her hair. The girl remained in the water for a while, silent as she wondered about how her friends in the streets fared that night. It was a cold month in the East, where lanterns were rare and the oil to burn them was thinly distributed. The kingdom of Faldor was perpetually dark and cold, warming only slightly in the summer and lighted only by the ancient lanterns in every province. Past the Northern walls lay darkness of which no one dared explore, and to the far West, beyond the colorful markets could be heard an eery trickling sound whose source none had found. The East was perpetually expanding through it's dusty and dangerous mines, but venture too deep into the absence of light, and be lost for all of forever. One had to journey only slightly into the South to hear the beat and thrum of a mighty military, though what the fierce army trained for a common citizen had no clue. And right in the center of it all, in Faldor's Circle, stood a very old and well-cared for banner, which would tell any curious adventurer quite a bit about the secrets of this kingdom.

In her massive manor in the wealthy North Provinces, Glora had only the faintest clue of what immense goings-on were occurring just out of reach. She pondered over the Sneak and wondered at what Saria could have possibly meant when she pointed at the ceiling, but she was really just a little girl with a burning curiousity and a haughty nature, comfortable in her parent's luxury and ignorant of the real world. It would take a great coincidence, terrible danger, and unwavering determination before Glora could even begin to realize the full height of what had been hidden from her.

When the water had grown less than warm, Glora drained the tub and wrapped herself in a thick shawl. She was dressed in a soft blue nightgown as she slid under her messy blankets, resting her damp head on her pillow and gazing out the window into a hazy, lantern-lit world. Her breath grew heavy and slow, in and out, in and out. Just before her mind drifted out of reality and into dreams, the girl heard a creak from her attic, and a gentle smile appeared on her lips and faded just as quickly.