The Shield of the North (NSFW)

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Welcome to my second solo story, The Shield of the North. The story was, in part, based on a burst of inspiration from the song The Shield of the North by Proge Protocol - and I do recommend visiting the artist's YouTube channel.

In this story I hope to provide interesting characters, interesting lore, and an interesting story. Any feedback, thoughts, and/or criticisms should be left constructively in the Feedback Thread for this story, not here.

Please be aware that this story is entirely created and written from my own thoughts and ideas; if you feel I have copied an idea from something you've posted somewhere, I do truly apologise, and point out that any such copying was done without awareness or ill intent on my part.

Please also be aware that while I've included the NSFW tag in the title, I've done so as a matter of expediency, and not necessarily because I know that there will be any specific NSFW scenes included.

In this first post I will include links to the world map and character images of the protagonist (sorry - the character images are AI generated), as well as information regarding items, places and people of interest as they occur in the world and story.

I hope you enjoy reading this story - The Shield of the North

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Map of the Narene Empire

Fianna de'Vrie (AI generated)

The Gods of the Narene Empire

Devere, the Guardian (M) - God of Loyalty, Duty, Protection, Soldiers
Talitha, the Hearthkeeper (F) - Goddess of Life, Agriculture, Nature, Animals
Zendorro, the Deceiver (M) - God of Lies, Trickery, War, Destruction, Storms
Kaltyron, the Creator (M) - God of the Seas and Oceans, Elements, Weather, Sailors
Paniva, the Fleeting (F) - Goddess of the Skies, Sun, Moon, Stars

The Lands of the Narene Empire

The Land - The Narene Empire
- Capital: Neverhold
- Major Cities: Knightreach, Blackstrand, Stonemount, Shimmerwater
- Outposts: Grimwatch, Winterhold, Lightport, Rockhold, Seawatch
- Notable Villages: Brittlewater, Oldpond, Southview, Bayshore
- Farms: Stonewall Farm, Eastwood Farm, Ocean Farm, Hammond's Farm
- Features: The Worldspine (mountain range), The Spike (mountain), Chesmack Hills, The Eastern Forest, Gloomwood, Homeless Marsh, Spine River, Shelter River, Open River, Dead River, Lonely Lake

Nearby Isles
- Tamgar Isle; Town: Flameacre; Features: Tamgar Woods
- Hartpond Isle; Town: Crystalglen; Features: Hartpond Peak
- Elmack Isle; Tower: Seareach

NOTE 16JUN26: I only just noticed that the map has Dead River noted twice; I don't know how I missed that. Unfortunately, recent updates to Inkarnate's site have resulted in the text being locked down in older maps (apparently text is embedded in the layers) so I cannot edit & correct it. The river noted as Dead River leading into the Eastern Forest is correct; the river noted as Dead River going to the Worldspine is, in fact the Spine River.
UPDATE 02AUG26: I figured it out and corrected the map.

Notable People

Neverhold
-- Emperor Kylen Thorenfell
-- High-Lady Jennia Thorenfell
-- Crown Prince Paven Thorenfell
-- Crown Princess Evianne Thorenfell
-- Harlen De'Tarren (M), Seneschal of Neverhold
-- Mirage (F), Spymaster of Neverhold

Others
-- Baron Kyle Yarling (M), Lord of Stonemount
-- Baron Maven Ber'Den (M), Lord of Knightreach
-- Baroness Annia Veschen (F), Lady of Shimmerwater
-- Baron Gryland Southers (M), Lord of Blackstrand

Eastwood Farm
-- Maslen Farren (father), Tinna (mother), Henrick (son, older), Carrie (daughter, younger)

Neverhold
-- Sgt Devlin (East Gate), Recruit Ayton (militia), Hovan (militia), Gustal (Innkeep, The Prancing Pony)

Neverhold Castle
-- Jerlan (Imperial Guard), Soran (runner), Bethy (maid)

Hammond's Farm
-- Arlo Hammond (owner), Vera (Arlo's wife), Berra (daughter), Mack (elder son), Paran (younger son), Jannik Warren (blacksmith)

Table of Contents

⠀Chapters 1 - 10⠀ ⠀Chapters 11 - 20⠀ ⠀Chapters 21 - 30⠀

• Chapter 1 - The Call
  Chapter 2 - The Rider
  Chapter 3 - The Delivery
  Chapter 4 - The Family
  Chapter 5 - The Shield
  Chapter 6 - The Message
  Chapter 7 - The Departure
  Chapter 8 - Eastwood Farm
  Chapter 9 - Company and Conversation
  Chapter 10 - The Road and the Detour
• Chapter 11 - To the Capital
  Chapter 12 - To the Castle
  Chapter 13 - Getting the Audience
  Chapter 14 - Meeting the Emperor
  Chapter 15 - Meeting the son
  Chapter 16 - Sparring and Conversation
  Chapter 17 - An Uncomfortable Dinner
  Chapter 18 - A Nighttime Proposal
  Chapter 19 - A Royal Breakfast
  Chapter 20 - Exiting the Castle
• Chapter 21 - The Feeling of the City
  Chapter 22 - The Feeling of the People
  Chapter 23 - The Journey South
  Chapter 24 - Sorting out a Problem
  Chapter 25 - Hammond's Farm
  Chapter 26 - Meeting the Matriarch
  Chapter 27 - Meeting the Patriarch
  Chapter 28 - Dinner and a Show

 

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Chapter 1: The Call

"Call her."

His Imperial Majesty of the Narene Empire, the Emperor Kylen Thorenfell, was seated at his large oaken desk in an opulent study. He was an older man, perhaps fifty winters old, and his girth suggested he liked his food and wine a bit more than he probably should. His blonde hair was thinning and turning silver, capping an older, rounder face shaped by weight and age; but the bright blue-grey eyes set in the man's face showed the man's mind was still sharp. He was dressed in resplendent robes, rich in texture and coloured in the deep red that matched the Empire's banner.

He'd been Emperor for nearly thirty years, now; the last twenty-five of them along side his wife, the High-Lady Jennia Thorenfell. Kylen had made his home in the Imperial Castle in the Empire's city, Neverhold, once the previous Emperor – his father, Joran – died of apparent ill health. Kylen and Jennia had met the following year, courted, and eventually married. Three years later Jennia had given him a son, the Crown Prince Pevan; two years later a daughter was born, the Crown Princess Evianne.

The afternoon sun was streaming in through the large windows of the study. The room was large, the size of some small cottages, and was lined with several bookcases that reached to the ceiling, each bookcase filled with book and texts of all manner of topics. The desk itself was large, solid, polished, large enough to hold a good-sized map of the empire if needed; the room also held a large soft sofa and a large fireplace that was currently roaring with well-tended flames. Thick rugs covered the floor to add to the sense of extravagance the room conveyed…and this room was a good representation of the overindulgence of the entire castle.

His Majesty was seated at the desk in a large and solid chair, enough to hold his slowly-increasing bulk. On the desk a sheaf of pages was fanned out, the most recent reports from his Spymaster of events in the Empire. Kylen knew these reports would be accurate, but slightly dated; his Spymaster was detailed and diligent, but it took time to gather information, and time waited for no man. The Emperor had spent the afternoon going through the reports, apparently satisfied with the contents…until a very specific report caught his eye. He had no reason to doubt the accuracy of his Spymaster's reporting skills. He read the report again to be sure had hadn't read it wrong the first time.

There was, according to the report, a rumour of a plan to take the Emperor's life.

The report had sent a chill down his spine when he first read it, and sent a second chill down his spine when he read it again. A plan to make an attempt on his life. On his life. Him, the Emperor. The man without whom the lands would be in disarray, in chaos. He didn't know whether to feel anger or fear, and his reaction was most likely somewhere in the middle. He'd set the report down on the desk and called for his Seneschal, a tall, thin and weaselly-looking man in thin but elegant robes named Harlen De'Tarren, to discuss the report. The Seneschal had arrived in the study about five minutes after he'd been sent for.

"Call…call her…?" the Seneschal repeated slowly. "Are you sure that's the best course of action, Majesty?"

"Did you read this report from Mirage?" Kylen appeared to be annoyed that he wasn't being obeyed instantly.

Harlen shook his head quickly. "No, your Majesty. I only know what you've told me."

"Then read it and tell me what you think," the Emperor snapped, pushing the sheet of parchment across the desk towards the thin man.

Harlen picked up the parchment and held it at eye level so he could read it. His eyes flicked from side to side as he scanned the words on the page, widening slightly as he neared the end of the brief, but concise, report. Like the Emperor before him, he read the report twice to be sure there was no misreading.

"Mirage seems to be quite sure that there will be an attempt on your life, although the report does not indicate when this might occur," he noted finally as he set the report on the desk.

"Yes, yes," Kylen muttered thinly. "So I'm not being paranoid or irrational about it."

"I didn't say you were, Majesty," the Seneschal pointed out. "However, Mirage only reports the rumour of such a plan; there is no evidence of a plan as yet, so Mirage cannot be-"

"That doesn't matter," Kylen interrupted tersely. "That there's a rumour is bad enough. Call her."

Harlen coughed politely. "Again, I must ask, Majesty: is that wise right now?"

"I can't be seen to be mobilising the militia to root out this rumour," the Emperor reasoned irritably. "If my forces started checking it out, it gives the rumour validity. I need an impartial hand, a hand trusted by everyone in the Empire."

"And therein is the possible flaw," Harlen observed carefully. "The Shield is loyal to the Empire…not necessarily to the Emperor. She will be completely impartial, and will be unlikely to act if she believes her action is not in the best interests of the Empire."

"How will killing the Emperor be in the best interests of the Empire?" Kylen snarled grimly.

"That I cannot answer for her," the Seneschal replied honestly, his shoulders shrugging helplessly to highlight his answer. "I make no claim to understanding how her mind works."

"Then it must be pressed upon her that my untimely death is not in the best interests of the Empire," Kylen growled firmly. His right arm swept out, a thick finger pointing unambiguously at the door to the study. "Now go…and call her." There was no room for discussion in that voice, and the Seneschal recognised it.

Harlen bowed his head deeply. He knew a command when he heard it. This was no longer open for discussion…at least, not now.

"Yes, your Majesty," he conceded civilly. "I will send a messenger immediately." He rose from his bow, backed up a couple of steps, then turned on his heel and strode out of the study.

A half-hour later a rider departed the castle on horseback, the rider bearing a message addressed to The Shield of the North and fixed with the Imperial Seal.

Wheels had been set in motion.

 

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Chapter 2: The Rider

The rider rode hard…but not that hard. He had his orders, of course: deliver the sealed message to the sanctioned place near Rockhold, where the Eastern Forest meets the Worldspine mountains. The rider knew the woods were thinnest there, but no less dangerous to travel due to the unstable ground, the rocks. The woods thinned out there, but the mountains grew in its place. Debris from fallen trees mixed freely with rubble from crumbling mountains, and the place he had to get to was several miles inside that…treacherous terrain. But that wasn't the main reason he didn't push overly hard to deliver the message.

Nor was the rider cautious because of the cold. The weather in the Narene empire was often cold, the grounds often a little harder due to chill. The Worldspine was often covered in snow – less in Summer, more in Winter, of course – and the lands surrounding the mountains were also snow-bound most of the year round. Snow was known to fall as far south as Hammond's Farm in the coldest of Winters, although snow typically only fell north of Eastwood Farm. No creature, man or beast, wanted to run hard in the cold, and right now Summer was behind them this year.

It wasn't the distance that encouraged the rider to slow his pace, either. He had nearly three hundred miles to travel to get to his destination, give or take the few miles he'd have to travel on foot once he reached the forest edge – the horse would be unable to travel inside the forest without risking breaking a leg, and he'd rather not have to face the Seneschal to tell him the message was delivered but one of the Emperor's messenger horses had to be killed because of a broken leg. That particular conversation would not end well for the rider.

No, the main reason he deliberately slowed his pace a little was…he didn't like the Emperor. He wasn't overly fond of his lot in the Emperor's service, either, although a job was a job. But the Emperor was…not given to civility, at least amongst the staff of the castle grounds. If he bothered to notice the low-ranking staff at all, he was abrupt and crude and demanding and impossible to please…unless you were one of the cute young serving wenches, in which case the Emperor was known to have a warm smile and wandering hands. On occasion one of said serving wenches was known to spend a night in the Emperor's bedchamber keeping both the emperor and his Queen entertained, and the girls refused to speak of what happened when they emerged the following morning…they didn't have to say much, though, as the marks and torn clothing and dishevelled appearances and odd walking gait told much of the story.

The rider knew he couldn't dally overlong, though – too much time and the Seneschal would enquire of the excessive delay. It would take him a week to deliver the message and return, maybe ten days at most, and the Seneschal would be watching to be sure he returned in a reasonable time. Ten days he could manage to get away with…eleven possibly. Certainly no more. Maybe if he took his time getting there and then rode hard back…?

The rider knew the target of the message, of course: the Shield of the North. Not personally, of course, very few knew the Shield on a personal level, but most people knew the Shield existed. Some thought she only existed in legend, and there were certainly a few folk songs sung in taverns depicting the heroics of the Shield in ages past. The Shield was known to be loyal to the Empire, dedicated to the lands inside its boundaries, willing to stand up for the People of the Empire; the Shield was loyal to the Empire, but that did not necessarily extend to the person leading it. The rider knew he was delivering a message to the Shield, even if indirectly.

That meant that the Emperor believed there was trouble brewing. What that trouble was, though, the rider had no knowledge. Sometimes it was best to be a lowly servant, unnoticed except when the Emperor lifted his shoe to see what it was he'd just stepped in. Little People like himself were often overlooked by those in charge. The rider didn't know if the trouble meant he should delay or hurry, to be honest, but he didn't like the Emperor…so he slowed his pace once he was out of sight of the city gates.

He reached the first way station just after nightfall, presented his Imperial Badge to gain a simple meal of lamb stew and bread plus a mug of mead, and a bed to sleep in, for a discounted price. His horse was stabled for the night while he slept well enough. The next morning he woke early and, after a quick splash of water to freshen up and a bowl of gruel and water for breakfast he saddled his horse and was on his way again. He rode carefully, at a quick but measured pace, not enough to push the horse too hard…urgency without hurry, was the best way to describe his passage. He passed freeholders tending their properties, passed through a small village that didn't appear on any official map – there were plenty of those, he knew – passed a few more homesteads. He kept to the main road towards Knightreach, although his journey would not take him to that city – he'd go as far as the turn, then head on to the Rockhold watchtower and settlement. He reached the second way station just on lunch time, and the third just after sunset.

The rider had been travelling for five days when he finally reached the Rockhold settlement. The rider called it a "settlement", but it was little more than a large army barracks with a large tower facing the Worldspine. Still, his Imperial Badge afforded him stabling for his horse, gave him a hot meal and a bed to sleep in. He would have liked to have passed quietly, but such was not to be the case; the local commander wanted to have a brief chat.

"You sent for me, sir?" the rider began when he stopped in front of the commander's desk. The commander's office was small, almost cramped, but efficient in the use of available space: a single desk with two chairs in front and one behind, a couple of bookcases for manuals and maps and orders and the like.

"I did," the commander agreed thinly. "Your name, rider?"

"Garrick, sir," the rider replied simply. There would be no need for more than a first name, not here.

"Garrick. Welcome. I'm the watch commander here, Lieutenant Maren Settick." The two briefly shook hands at the introductions, and the Lieutenant gestured for Garrick to take a seat. "What brings you this far north, Garrick? We only rarely get a visit from someone who is not army, and certainly very few from Neverhold."

"I come bearing a message, Lieutenant," Garrik replied as both men took their chairs; he was not sure how much he should be revealing. "Not for you, though; I do not bear orders, if that's what you're wondering."

Maren smirked quickly as he shook his head. "Orders wouldn't come via a castle rider, anyway," he pointed out simply. "So…if not for me, then who…?"

The rider pursed his lips and remained silent for a moment. "I…the message I bear is for the Shield, and for her alone," he explained reluctantly. "I know not the message contents; the message was given to me sealed, and I dare not open it."

"The Shield…?" Maren's eyebrows raised sharply. "Then…there is a problem – or a perceived problem – in Neverhold." He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry, Garrick – I don't expect you to know, nor do I ask you to speculate. But that does explain your presence here. You wouldn't come here for a friendly visit, and there are few other reasons you'd come here at all."

"I suppose that much is true," Garrick agreed wryly. "I do apologise for prevailing upon your hospitality, though."

"The Emperor's whim is my command," the lieutenant noted drily. "I won't keep you here any longer than you need to be, though. Eat when you need, rest as you can; you'll not be delayed here." He stood, apparently satisfied with the conversation. "Thank you for speaking with me. Perhaps you'll stop on your way back and let me know what's going on in our capital…?"

Garrick also stood, and he nodded at the request. "I can certainly do that, sir," he agreed, as the two shook hands again. "I'll be back in a couple of days, then." With that, he turned and left the office.

Garrick was not looking forward to the next stage of his journey, though. It was going to be cold and miserable and unfriendly…and some of it on foot.

 

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Chapter 3: The Delivery

The next morning saw Garrick leave Rockhold and head east towards the tip of the forest. There was no path to follow, no worn track that marked a clear destination; there was only the cool morning air, a gentle mist that hung about him, enough to add chill through his clothes without obscuring his vision. If he didn't have instructions he'd rather be in Neverhold, but…the Seneschal had given him this task, this message, and if he didn't deliver, well… The Emperor was known for his temper as well.

The ground gradually grew harder beneath the hooves of his horse; he could feel it in the way the horse's footing changed over time as the distance was eaten away by the travel. Debris of fallen trees mixed with rocks and dirt and torn-up grass…it wasn't dead out here, but it certainly was not farmable. The nearest farmstead was nearly a hundred miles south of here, the Eastwood Farm. There were other, smaller farms in the region, but Eastwood was like a local hub for farmers to meet and trade. There was no real evidence of civilisation for twenty miles in any direction, other than Rockhold. Garrick knew what he was looking for, where he was going…and as he reached the edge of the forest, he knew he'd have to leave his mount behind.

He dismounted, secured his horse to a large collapsed tree, pulled his cloak about himself for warmth that he suddenly needed. He patted the horse comfortingly, then set off into the forest. Even though he was nowhere near heading into the forest depths, and he knew that, he still felt on edge.

"When you get to the edge of the forest, follow the black markers into the forest. Three miles on foot and you'll find what looks to be a stone pillar, black, like obsidian, that stands as tall as a man. Place the message in the hole at the top of the pillar, offer a prayer to Devere, then leave; your task will be done. Return post-haste to report."

Those were the words given to him by the Seneschal. He had no reason to doubt any of it. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth against the chill he'd just sucked into his lungs, then stepped into the forest.

It was amazing how gloomy the forest got so quickly. He figured he was barely a mile in, and the daylight was noticeably less. He could see the mountains rising in the distance, through the trees, when he looked to his left; when he looked to his right, he saw nothing but trees and considerably less light. He knew it was a trick his eyes were playing on him, but he had no desire to test what his eyes were telling him. One foot, two, five, ten…fifty feet…keep going. He tried to coax a song from his childhood into his mind, to distract from the hemmed-in feeling the forest was giving him.

He found the pillar after an hour of walking through debris and rubble, through rocks and hard dirt and fallen trees and logs. It was almost as described to him: black, standing his height or so, stone like Obsidian, as thick as himself, a hole larger than his arm about head-high that went through the width of the pillar. A sense of foreboding washed over him as he looked at the pillar, and he had no idea why. Garrick paused, steeled himself, pulled the rolled parchment with the Imperial seal from the pouch on his belt. He half-expected the pillar to try and snap his hand off or something stupid when he placed the message in the hole, but…nothing. The message just remained in the hole, sitting…waiting. He heaved a sigh of relief, then remembered he wasn't done. He bowed his head in prayer…he had no idea what he was supposed to pray for, though, as whispered words started to fall from his lips.

O Devere…please accept this message from the Emperor. He hopes this will call The Shield to his aid, although I have not been taken into confidence as to why. The Emperor believes there is trouble coming for the Empire, and seeks the Shield's aid. Devere, I ask that you hear this prayer and see this message reaches The Shield.

Garrick had never felt so stupid as he did right then, offering a prayer to a god when he had no idea about anything other than the requirement that he place the message in the pillar. He remained silent for a moment, then raised his head to look at the pillar and the message, to make sure it hadn't fallen out or blown away or anything.

There was nothing more than a fading puff of smoke where the parchment had been sitting.

Garrick's eyes widened slowly, first in amazement, then in fear. That…had the parchment simply disappeared? He looked around quickly, moved around the pillar, searched for a dozen feet in all directions from the pillar…nothing. The message had gone, as if it had never been there. Was that supposed to happen? He'd been given no clue as to what was supposed to happen, what he should be expecting, after he'd placed the message and offered the prayer.

Magic…

Was it a sign from Devere that he'd done well in his task? Or was this just the work of Zendorro the Deceiver, playing tricks on him? Garrick didn't know, didn't want to know; he just wanted to get out of there.

Fear started to overwhelm him, and he turned quickly and headed out of the forest as fast as he could. It took him longer to get out than it did to get in, partly because he turned himself around in his panic, something that just added to his panic…until he eventually spied his horse through the trees, waiting calmly and patiently for his human to return. When he finally reached his steed he hugged his horse firmly about the neck, like the horse was the most precious and amazing thing he'd seen in his entire life. It took several minutes before Garrick felt brave enough – and calm enough – to mount his horse and head back towards Rockhold.

He had a promise to keep to the Lieutenant…and he really needed a stiff drink.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 4: The Family

Some twenty miles further into the forest was a small clearing, backed up against the base of one of the mountains of The Worldspine. The clearing was maybe two hundred feet across, was well-cleared and well-maintained, had a small corral and stable for a couple of horses, a fenced-off area that could be used for sparring and training, and, at the back of the clearing, was the entrance to a cave. Near the entrance to the cave, under a covered section of timber roofing, was a small forge and bellows, along with an anvil and a sharpening wheel; on the other side of the cave entrance was what could only be described as a small food preparation and cooking area. There was a pair of training dummies at the opposite side of the clearing from the forge; the dummies were well-patched and equally well-used. A small stream was nearby, trickling off the mountain and into the forest to end who-knew-where.

The cave itself, though…while the entrance was carved by nature, the inside had seen some helping hands dig it out. There were several smaller caverns inside the cave complex, each cavern – they would be better described as rooms – decorated and fitted for a purpose. One room was clearly tactical in nature; the room was lined with bookshelves that contained texts and treatises from many parts and ages of the Empire, and in the center of the room was a large table that contained a detailed map of the Empire and the surrounding lands and nations. Two of the rooms were bedrooms, fitted out sparsely and functionally – one room contained a pair of single, comfortable beds, the other contained a single bed and a smaller cot-like bed, and both rooms contained wardrobes and tables and chests for storing clothes and accessories. The fourth room was more of a living and relaxation area, with a several large bookcases filled with books for relaxing reading and a couple of comfortable sofas for sitting and unwinding. A smaller, cooler area in the back of the complex served as a small larder or pantry, stocked with various items of food and drink. The caves were lit by torches sitting in sconces through the cavern complex…the torches did not burn, however; instead they glowed with a pleasant and warm light that seemed to come from within the wood itself, never extinguishing or consuming.

Inside the cavern were three females: one a girl of maybe six or seven years, one a mature woman in her late forties, the third a much-older woman in her seventies. They were clearly related, if for no other reason than they all had green eyes and differing shades of ginger hair – the young girl a bright shade, the mature woman a darker shade, and the older woman a mix of ginger and silver. They were all fit, healthy, limber and agile in their movements, although the older woman was showing her advancing years. She knew she was not much longer for this world. The mature woman and the young girl were in the living area, reading a story together, while the older woman was moving about the bedrooms and tidying up what little mess she could find.

On a small table in the strategy room a tiny puff of smoke appeared, accompanied by the sudden appearance of a rolled sheet of parchment bearing the imperial seal.

It took some time to pass before the parchment was noticed, and it was the older woman who found it first. She set the blanket she was carrying down on a stool in the room and picked up the parchment…she could reasonably surmise it had been there for maybe thirty minutes. She sighed softly and walked into the living room.

"Lyra," she called, getting the mature woman's attention. "Find Fianna. This will be for her." She held up the parchment for the woman to see.

Lyra looked up from reading the story, her expression hardening for a moment, and she nodded quickly. "Jessinta, dear…" she soothed to the girl on her knee. "Go and help your Gran. I need to find your older sister."

Jessinta pouted prettily. "Is this about that duty-thing you were telling me that we do, mama?"

Lyra smiled warmly. "That's right, little one. Your sister is likely to be called to duty. When she comes in, you can sit with us while we talk about what the message is, and what needs to be done."

The girl smiled brightly. "Okay, mama." She bounced off Lyra's knee and rushed to the older woman's side.

"I don't think she's gone far, Cilla," Lyra pointed out to the older woman. "Fianna indicated she'd be doing a little hunting for food. She's usually quite reliable…and accurate."

Cilla barked a short laugh. "We all are, girl," she pointed out. "That's what we were blessed for, what we trained for." She paused to pat the young girl's head. "Now, go. Fianna needs to know what this message is about, and sooner rather than later."

Lyra rolled her eyes then nodded in understanding. She stood, took the parchment from the older woman, then headed towards the mouth of the cavern. It was cool outside, but it was always cool in this part of the Empire. Cool, or cold. Never warm. Lyra didn't really feel the cold, though, not the way others might feel it. That was part of the blessing of her bloodline, a slight resistance to the cooler and warmer temperatures. That, and the ability to heal faster than a regular person might.

Many centuries ago, Lyra's many-times-great ancestor served the Emperor and performed a great boon during wartime that saved the Emperor and the Empire; she'd uncovered and prevented a coup that might have spelled disaster for the Empire had it succeeded. In reward, the Emperor's mystic had performed, with the full and willing agreement of that ancestor, a long ritual that both blessed and bound the descendants in service to the Empire. The descendants would receive small gifts to aid them in their bound duty; the descendants were given to defend the Empire above all else…and they were darned tough in battle for it. Sharp and shrewd the women had become, while becoming both dedicated and focussed in their service. The blessing kept doubt at bay; they did not feel regret or annoyance for what had been done to them, for what had become of them.

Lyra stepped into the clearing, parchment in hand, her eyes scanning the forest to try and find a sign of where Fianna had gone. The girl had been gone an hour or more already; she shouldn't be too much longer.

Hopefully.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 5: The Shield

Just how far have I gone? Further than I'd planned. That damned buck kept me going for a while.

The young woman – maybe twenty-five years of age – sighed softly as she moved towards the animal she'd finally brought down. Not for lack of skill or trying; no, she'd been perfectly lined up for the shot, her aim true, the shot loosed…and at the exact moment her arrow left her bow the damned critter had dipped its head, turning a certain kill shot into a painful wound that sent it scurrying in pain and fear. Of course, she couldn't let it go like that, with an arrow sticking out of its neck, so she'd followed it, stalked it, waiting for the shock and blood loss to take its toll…then she closed in and gave it the mercy it needed. The problem was…how far out had she gone? A bloody long way, that was for sure…and she had to carry the buck back home on her own.

Fianna de'Vrie was a quite attractive young woman, like the others in her family. She had rich ginger hair that was tied back in a firm braid that hung to her chest, green eyes that marked her family line, a pretty face marred by a small scar on her cheek from training harder than she probably should have given her age at the time; like the rest of her family, her figure was lean and wiry, fit and athletic, possessing soft and gentle curves. She was dressed practically, her outfit made of soft black leathers that covered her torso, and finished in a short skirt that allowed full freedom of movement, with thigh-high black leather boots that were quite sturdy. Over her shoulders she wore a dark green cloak that was heavy and practical, good for providing cover in shadow and natural terrain both. Her belts and pockets were filled with all manner of weapons and vials and tools, and on her back was a quiver filled with arrows that matched the hunting bow now slung over her shoulder.

She made her way to the fallen buck – fortunately, not too large for her to carry over her shoulder, although her return trip would be slowed by the added bulk. Damned animal for running away…although the thought did make her smile faintly. She knelt down next to the still-warm corpse, picked up the body with a small amount of effort, positioned it over her shoulder and balanced it, then slowly stood, turned, and headed back in the direction of her home in the clearing.

The walk back was longer than she'd have liked, and the breeze through the trees was cool and fresh as it came off the mountains above. At least the sun was shining, although that was less obvious in the forest. The trees weren't thick here, but still dense enough that sunlight struggled to reach the forest floor. At least snow struggled to reach the forest floor, too, when it came. Rain never had that problem, and the woman was thankful that neither seemed to be about to occur. Walking back with a buck on her shoulder while it was snowing or raining was not something she enjoyed. She had plenty of time to think as she made the trip back, and not for the first time she wondered just how it had come about that her family line had been blessed the way it had. Just how bad had things been, and how devoted had that long-dead ancestor been, that this blessing was thought to be the most suitable reward? Not that Fianna hated what she did, or thought ill of that ancestor for the choices made. She, like all of her line, were content with their lot, content to serve the Empire.

A voice, calling her name, brought her mind back to the present. She looked up from her reverie-filled walk, swung her gaze around as the voice called for her again…and she spied her sister through the trees not too far away. The relationship between the girls was…tricky: they were related, yes, but only every second generation. Fianna's mother was actually Cilla, and Jessinta was Lyra's daughter; technically, Lyra and Jessinta were cousins to Fianna…but the women never thought of themselves as anything other than family.

"Here, Lyra!" she called out to the other woman. She watched as the older woman turned in her direction and started walking towards her. A few minutes later they were side-by-side, Lyra falling into step beside the younger woman.

"You took your sweet time on that hunt, Fianna," the older woman noted drily. "We were expecting you back ages ago."

"Blame the buck," Fianna replied with a nod of her head at the creature on her shoulder. "If he hadn't moved his head at exactly the wrong moment, he'd have died quickly instead of leading me on a merry chase through the forest."

"Of course," Lyra chided lightly. "Always someone else's fault, never a problem with your skill. I was never this bad at hunting, was I?"

"Oh, no," Fianna noted sarcastically. "You were worse. We're never going to forget the hunt that died on you because it stumbled and broke its neck while running from you."

"I needed the exercise," Lyra sniffed lightly, although she smiled warmly.

"Mmhmm." Fianna was clearly dubious, but it was all in good fun. "So…what brings you out here to find me? On any other day you'd have simply waited for me to return."

"A message arrived from the Emperor," Lyra replied simply, her tone matter-of-fact. "A couple of hours ago, now."

"It bears the Imperial seal?"

Lyra nodded, and held up the rolled and sealed parchment for Fianna to see. "It came via the pillar. Cilla found it on the message table in the strategy room."

"Damn." The younger woman was silent for a moment as they neared the clearing. "If it bears the Imperial seal, then the Emperor must believe there is trouble for the Empire. But…the Empire has been at peace for decades. We haven't been called for much beyond helping resolve squabbles between the lords."

"That's what you need to determine, my dear," Lyra reminded the younger woman. "You are the Shield of the North, now; finding out what's caused the Emperor to ask for aid is your duty."

"I know," Fianna sighed softly. "Then we'd best get this buck inside so we can prepare it. I'm sure the skins will be useful; the meat certainly will. When we get back, I'll crack the seal and find out what's important enough for the Emperor to call for aid himself."

"Indeed," Lyra agreed as the two women finally entered the clearing. "And you need to freshen up," she added with a playfully-disdainful sniff at the younger woman. "You stink."

 

[Sync]

Chapter 6: The Message

Twenty minutes later, a barely-freshened Fianna stood alone in the strategy room, her hands lightly holding the rolled-up parchment. The Imperial Seal was unmistakable. Fianna was nervous – she'd received a few messages via the Pillar before now, but never one from the Emperor himself. Not that she had any great regard for the person that was the Emperor – she didn't know him – but that it had come from him indicated that the issue was dire indeed…or that he at least thought it was.

It was her job to figure that out, weigh it against the good of the Empire…then decide the course of action that best benefitted the Empire.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then bent the parchment slightly, enough to crack the heavy wax seal. She unrolled the parchment, held it up enough to allow her to read it.

Shield of the North,
It is with alarm that I find the need to write this message. There is growing evidence that there will be an attempt on my life in the coming months, if not weeks. I need your assistance to find the truth of this plot, find the person or persons behind it and…bring them to account.
Your reward will be worth your time.
Yours in good faith.
Kylen Thorenfell, Narene Emperor

Fianna wandered slowly over to the map table, her eyes scanning the message again to make sure she hadn't mis-read it. An attempt on the life of the Emperor? That was not necessarily something for the Shield to get involved in, but…if the Emperor's untimely death – assassination – caused more problems than it solved, then it would be her problem. Certainly, an attempt on the Emperor's life was treasonous, punishable by death, and she had no doubt that Kylen would call for that if it was proved that his fears were well-founded. But the Shield was supposed be above politics. If this was all just political manoeuvring by the Emperor's enemies, then she needed to stay out of it.

She could make that determination once she had more information. For now, all she had was a parchment written by an apparently-nervous Emperor.

She had to go.

I have to go.

The decision was made, apparently. She picked up the parchment, walked out with a determined stride towards the living room to find Cilla and Jessinta there; Cilla was reading the same story that Lyra had been several hours ago, it seemed, and probably the same part. Fianna knew the story – a story about wizards going to wizardy school and dealing with evil wizards in their own midst while attending classes, and having to find a magical rock before the evil wizards did. Witches and wizards didn't exist in reality…not really. Some were still around; they just hid themselves very, very well. Cilla looked up first, saw the expression on Fianna's face, stopped reading the story. That caused Jessinta to look up as well, and the young girl frowned when she saw the look on Fianna's face.

"Is everything okay, Fi?" The young girl was too bright and too curious, and Fianna loved that about the girl. But she had to shake her head.

"No, Jessi…it's not." Her voice was quiet, firm…determined.

"Can I help?" Jessinta's innocent question almost made Fianna tear up…almost. She knew that, when the time came to hand over the mantle, Jessinta would make a great Shield. But that time was not now.

"Not this time, Jessi," she replied slowly, her voice still carrying that quiet yet firm tone to it.

"What was on the Parchment, Fi?" Lyra asked, walking in from the outside where she'd been skinning the buck, wiping her hands on a cloth to clean most of the blood and gore off.

Fianna half-turned in Lyra's direction, enough that she could included all of them when she spoke. She waved the parchment in the air casually in front of her.

"The Emperor has requested the aid of the Shield personally," she advised solemnly. "He believes there is a plot against his life. He's asked for the Shield's help in determining the truth of the plot, and then to bring the responsible persons to justice if the plot can be verified. That's all he's given me in the message."

"Not a lot to go on," Cilla observed from the sofa.

"No, it's not," Lyra agreed. "It's…thin, at best."

"But I have to go," Fianna noted calmly.

"Why?" Jessinta wanted to know. An unspoken agreement passed between Cilla and Lyra, one Fianna caught – it needed the current Shield to answer the young girl's question. She knelt behind the sofa and lightly stroked the girl's bright red hair.

"It's our duty, Jessi," she replied simply. "But it's more than that, too. The Shield of the North – which you will be, one day – is sworn to defend and protect the Empire. If this turns out to be nothing more than a ghost chase, then I'll return having done nothing more than put people on notice that we're watching. But if the plot turns out to be true and the Emperor is killed, it could plunge the Empire into Civil War, and that is not good for the Empire. If I can foil the plot, then those who'd harm the Empire can be put to justice and the Empire can return to peace." She smiled and kissed the girl's head. "Does that make sense?"

Jessinta's nose screwed up as she thought about Fianna's words…and, finally, she nodded slowly. "I…think so…?" she replied, a little uncertainly.

"I'll explain it to you more later, dear," Cilla intervened smoothly. "For now, all you need to understand is that Fianna has to go to find out if people really do want to kill the Emperor, and stop them." The three older women knew there was much more to it – that if the Emperor's death turned out to be best for the Empire, then she might have to do that, too…or at least allow it to happen. Sometimes what was "best for the Empire" was a very grey area to play in.

It wasn't easy being a beacon of light.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 7: The Departure

Fianna spent the next hour preparing herself for her journey south. It wasn't going to be an easy journey – around three hundred miles to cover, just to reach Neverhold – but the Shields were blessed to be fleet of foot and could cover ground quickly if they needed. One day Jessi would fully understand, Fianna knew, but that time was for much later. Hopefully.

She checked over the equipment she knew she'd be needing – the special equipment given to the Shield in ages past, in a time when witches and wizards were less rare and hidden. They had a variety of weapons in their little store, but each of them had their preferred fighting styles. Lyra preferred the long sword and shield, Cilla had preferred the sabre or rapier in a duelling style…Fianna preferred a pair of short blades. Each of their weapons had long ago been enchanted to always be at the Shield's hands when needed. Fianna also preferred the shortbow for ranged combat, and the quiver was always filled at the beginning of the day. She took up a heavier cloak that was almost full-length; while the Shields were less affected by the effects of cold, they were not immune. Her leathers were patched and ready, and she made sure she had a stock of healing potions – they tested terrible – tucked in her belt, along with her thieves' tools and picks. Weapons were set on her belt, potions and tools secured, a small pouch of coins was secured, a whetstone and flint & steel were slipped into a boot pocket. Lastly, she secured a small gold pin to her leathers, just above her left breast, the symbol of the Shield.

Finally…she was ready to leave.

She marched to the outside of the cavern to find the others waiting for her in the clearing. They all felt it when a Shield departed…not knowing if the Shield would be able to return. None had failed to return yet, but that was no guarantee that the next "mission" would end in disaster. Fianna looked at each of them in turn, hugged each of them firmly.

"Be careful out there, Fi," Lyra advised sincerely. "For a reason I cannot explain, I do not fully trust this Emperor."

"I'll be careful, Lyra," Fianna agreed. "Something about this doesn't feel right to me, either, although I cannot say why."

"I don't need to tell you anything else," Cilla added simply. "You know all you're going to need. The task is now for you to work out what's going on…then work out what's really going on. The truth of this matter will, I suspect, be buried deep down."

"That makes me feel so much better, Cilla," Fianna rejoined with a faint smile…but she knew the older woman was correct.

"And you, young thing," she continued, turning to Jessinta and mussing the girl's hair. "You need to stop pestering Lyra and Cilla for stories all the time and start paying attention to your learning. Time will be past you, and before you know it, I'll be back and asking how much you learned while I was gone." She smiled warmly, but it was partly for show, to help calm the young girl.

"I will, Fi," the girl replied sincerely. "I promise."

"Be sure you do." She paused, then continued in a whisper that was loud enough for everyone to hear. "Besides, you need to look after Cilla. The old woman can't see as well as she used to."

"I heard that," Cilla noted drily, as Jessinta giggled and nodded.

"I wasn't trying to hide it," Fianna offered lightly.

"Don't you have a mission to get to?" Cilla countered with a raised eyebrow.

"All right, you two," Lyra chimed in, her smile warm and strained. "Fi, be on your way. You know your duty will not be put off, and time wasted here is time lost at Neverhold."

Fianna nodded her understanding, opened her mouth like she was about to speak, then closed it without saying a word. Instead, she took a couple of steps back, offered a broad and warm smile, waved her hand in farewell, then turned and departed the clearing; within moments the forest had swallowed her up, leaving only three in the clearing…and none of them knowing whether Fianna would return. Both of the older women felt a little uneasy with the nature of the request, but there was nothing they could do to stop their duty…or Fianna's.

For her part, Fianna slowly tracked south and east through the forest, heading more-or-less for the forest's center, at least to begin with. She was able to move quickly, quietly, her footsteps sure and soft on the forest floor. She covered the miles in good time, far better than a regular person would have done – a tribute to both her training and her Blessing. By the end of the first day she'd covered enough ground to put herself at a position approximately half-way between Rockhold and the Eastwood farm. She made camp for the night, wrapping herself in her cloak before slipping inside her bedroll to sleep; a handful of rations was all that was needed for both dinner and breakfast the next morning.

The next day she kept going with through the forest. Occasionally she'd see wild game, but she ignored them – she was not hunting for food, not yet. She continued her path, stopping for a brief rest on occasion, stopping to fill her water flask as she drank from it, stopping to freshen up by splashing cold water on her face whenever she came by a stream. By the end of her second day she was approximate to Eastwood farm, and her first major stop. She'd leave the forest alongside the farm the next day. The people would recognise her for what she was, but better to not leave the forest near her home and possibly risk putting her family in danger. The Eastern Forest was large, generally unfriendly, and home to a variety of wildlife…the Shield didn't need would-be enemies trying to find them by her being careless. She made camp, again taking a handful of rations for dinner and breakfast the next morning.

When she'd finished packing her camp she tracked west to leave the forest…and then on to Eastwood farm, and her first real meeting with people in some time. With any luck someone at the farm would be able to give her an idea of how the Empire fared.

Any information she could get would help her.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 8: Eastwood Farm

There was almost a palpable sense of relief that coursed through her when she finally exited the forest. Not that she hated living in the clearing in the back of the forest far from any real form of civilisation, but more because she was out in the open with no trees surrounding her. There was a sensation of freedom that came with her stepping into the open grasslands that lay beyond the edge of the forest, and Fianna paused to appreciate the feeling, her eyes closed, her pretty face turn up towards the sky. It was sunny but cool, the rays of the sun doing little to warm her. Sunlight like this didn't often reach them in the clearing; there was always the mountains behind them blocking out the early sun, and the forest blocking out the late sun…their dose of direct sunlight only really hit them for a few hours in the middle of the day.

She sighed happily as she walked for a few steps without a care, just enjoying the feeling of being unencumbered. A warm, bright smile light her face as she ambled carelessly…until her feet stopped moving and she just stood still, her arms out wide, her face still turned up to the sky, her eyes closed…she inhaled deeply through her nose, held the breath for a few seconds, then let is out slowly. This was a moment to simply be, to enjoy, to carry no weight…and she revelled in the moment.

But the moment, as with all other moments before it, faded, and she opened her eyes and lowered her face to bring her gaze ahead of her. Fifty miles away to the west and slightly north was the Eastwood Farm. There she'd stop, speak with the landholder, rest a night or two before making her way to Neverhold. Unless things had drastically changed in the Empire of late and she was not aware of it, her position as Shield would afford her some manner of respect, or at least courtesy. It had been a while since she'd ventured out of the forest – the last time had been nearly ten years ago, before she'd taken up the mantle of Shield herself, and she'd travelled with Lyra to Rockhold. The military outpost and watchtower hadn't overly excited her then…but now, the prospect of venturing outside filled her with a mix of excitement and foreboding: she was meeting new people, but it was for a purpose. She needed to get a feel for what was going on in the Empire…before she reached Neverhold.

Her feet carried her quickly over the largely-flat terrain; it was easier when there was little forest rubble to contend with. The day grew colder as she walked, her feet carrying her quickly and purposefully towards the farm. Clouds slowly formed overhead, adding to the feeling of coolness by blocking out the weak warmth of the sun's rays; by the time she was in sight of the farm the clouds have completely covered the sky, the sun was starting to set in the west, and a faint, misty rain was settling over the land around her. In spite of her Blessing, Fianna shivered slightly. The cold air she didn't mind so much, but the misty rain was an extra layer she wasn't really enjoying.

The sun had almost completely set when she reached the boundaries of the farmstead; there was little to mark the sun but a few shades of red highlighting the clouds in the evening sky. She could see well enough in the darkness; another benefit of her bloodline's Blessing. She took a deep, slow breath as she crossed through the gates of the farm; another mile of walking in the misty rain and she was at the door of the main building. The hood of her heavy green cloak had been pulled up long ago, and, as the last rays of the sun finally dipped below the horizon behind her, she raised a gloved fist to knock heavily on the thick door. She knew that how she was greeted would tell her much of the state of the Empire.

It took a couple of minutes, but the door was opened slowly, and she found herself being greeted by a young man, fair skinned, dark hair and eyes, maybe about her own age, dressed in simple clothes – tunic, heavy jacket, heavy pants and boots – and an unkempt, unshaved look from the day's work. He looked blankly at her for a moment as his eyes quickly ran over the person before him…then his eyes widened slightly when he spied the pin above her breast.

"M-Milady Shield!" he gushed quickly, possibly unaware that he was staring at the pin…and her breast below it. Fianna smiled faintly at his reaction and greeting, although she found herself not really caring for the "Milady" affectation.

"Greetings, good sir," she replied politely, bowing her head briefly, courteously. "My name is Fianna, Shield of the North. May I come in?"

"Wh-what…? Oh, ummm…yes!" the young man stumbled as he moved to get out of the young woman's way. Clearly he wasn't prepared to see anyone of high stature, official or mythical.

She threw her hood back and stepped inside, enjoying the relative warmth of the home as the door was closed behind her. The place was homely, well-built, furnished comfortably for a farmstead…she supposed. It was certainly very different to what she had in the cavern and the clearing. "What may I call you, young man?" she asked curiously.

"My name…? Ah…Henrick, Milady," he replied quickly. He was still very uncertain, and to Fianna it was already getting tiring. Just how much had the Shields passed into Legend these days?

"Please, just call me 'Fianna'," she offered civilly. "And I'll just call you 'Henrick'. Now, would you care to show me to the owner of this farm…or should I guess?" There was a faint smile on her lips as she spoke to hopefully take some of the sting out of her words, but she didn't really want to wait on formalities that were largely irrelevant to her.

"Oh…s-sorry," the young man replied promptly. "This way, please."

He led her away from the front door into a larger room that looked like it was both kitchen and dining area. A large pot-bellied stove was in the middle of the room and doing a fair job of providing warmth; a large fireplace was at one end with cupboards and tables for food storage and preparation. Lanterns lined the walls for light, and there was a couple of small sofas placed in front of the stove. An older man and woman were seated on one of the sofas, and a younger girl was on the other – Fianna guessed that Henrick had been sharing the sofa with the girl.

"Mother, father…th-this is…ummm…Fianna, Shield of the North," he introduced formally, as he pointed out each person in turn. "Fianna…my father, Maslen; my mother, Tinna; and my younger sister, Carrie."

Maslen, an older man in maybe his early fifties, with an overweight stomach and a shock of white hair on top of a ruddy face, stood as quickly as his portly legs would allow him. "Milady Shield…!" he began, but Fianna cut him off.

"Please…no need for that" she interrupted quickly but politely. "Just 'Fianna' will do. I'm not in need of any formality."

"Of course…Fianna," Maslen replied agreeably. "So…what can we do to help you?"

Fianna smiled warmly. "What I do need, if you can," she noted simply, "is a meal of whatever you can spare, a place to rest for the night…and conversation. I'd know what is happening in the Empire these days, anything you can tell me."

The woman, Tinna – not quite as plump as her husband, but still carrying a few extra pounds, with a mess a greying brown hair on her head – stood and nodded. "Of course, Fianna," she agreed readily. "Please, sit by the fire while I serve a plate of stew for you. I hope that will be all right…?"

"Whatever you have spare will be fine, Tinna," she agreed easily, as she slowly lowered herself into the vacant spot next to Carrie, sitting casually on the edge of the sofa instead of relaxing into it. She leaned towards the stove slightly, taking in the warmth she hadn't realised she needed.

Suddenly, company was very, very welcome.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 9: Company and Conversation

It took a few moments for a small bowl of stew to be handed to her, and Fianna was content to sit in silence while she waited. The room was warm enough compared to the coolness outside, and although she didn't feel the cold as much as others, she still enjoyed the warmth provided by the stove. She remained leaning forward on the sofa, largely because she hadn't removed her weapons before seating herself – she wasn't quite so comfortable in the presence of these people that she felt she could disarm herself – but also because she didn't want to feel like she was entitled to relax in their home, even though she'd been invited to do just that.

Fianna was content to wait quietly…but others, it seemed, were not.

"So…you really are the Shield of the North?" Carrie asked meekly from her spot on the sofa next to the young woman.

Fianna turned her head to regard the girl, smiled warmly and nodded slowly. "That's what they call me, yes," she agreed easily. "Plus…I suppose I am exactly that."

"I thought the Shield was just a legend, a story told by Mama to us before tucking us in at night." Clearly Carrie was uncertain about the woman sitting next to her, and Fianna snorted softly.

"Some may wish me to be nothing more than a legend," she mused thoughtfully as she returned her gaze to the stove and the warmth it offered. "There are those who will not be happy I've been called."

"Really? Who?"

"I don't know, Carrie," she replied honestly. "That's what I'm going to try and find out."

"Hush, Carrie," Tinna replied as she returned to the living area with a small bowl of stew and a wooden spoon in her hands. She passed the bowl and spoon to her guest, who gratefully accepted the offering.

The stew was thick, hot, filled with various vegetables and chunks of meat – lamb, Fianna guessed. She took a small spoonful of stew and ate it carefully. It was hot, that much was for sure…and the liquid broth slid down her throat as she chewed on a small lump of meat. It was good – a simple, staple fare, but still filling and nourishing. "It's good," she offered gratefully. "Thank you."

"So…what brings you to our humble farm, Mil- Fianna?" Maslen ventured quietly after a few moments of silence. "Most guests we have are freeholders from nearby parts, sometimes merchants travelling between Knightreach and Neverhold."

Fianna nodded as she swallowed a cut of carrot. "I come on summons from the Emperor himself," she advised carefully. "I'm sure you'll understand that I cannot say why."

"Of course not," Tinna agreed quickly. "But…why stop here, though? You could surely have just gone through."

"I'd be a poor Shield if I didn't know who and what I'm protecting," Fianna pointed out with a small smile. She spooned another portion of stew into her mouth, chewed silently, swallowed, then continued. "I'd know something of the state of the Empire, if you can tell me. What's news of the area? Is trade good?"

Maslen and Tinna looked at each other, a mixture of concern and curiosity on their faces. Fianna didn't miss it, but she waited for one of them to speak. The two children were, perhaps mercifully, content to remain silent for the time being.

"The Empire is…generally good," Maslen ventured slowly, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "Trade is good along the road from Knightreach to Neverhold. Merchants stop and buy our produce, sell us tools and equipment. We can afford to keep the land, we have a few workers who help with the fields and crops and animals."

"We sometimes host a patrol of soldiers travelling to Rockhold as well," Tinna added, her voice equally slow and careful. "They bring news that the capital is bustling with people and trade. Merchants gather in the markets and trade with all manner of folks who turn up, even some from the Tilvell Kingdom to the south."

"But…" Maslen continued, although he hesitated for a few seconds. "But the soldiers also talk about how there are additional troops being sent towards the southern border with Tilvell, and they don't think it's for training." The older man hung his head slightly. "They talk amongst themselves when they think we cannot hear them."

Fianna frowned slightly. "Troop movements to the south…?" she repeated thoughtfully. "I was not aware of that. If it's true, then it's…disconcerting."

Tinna shook her head quickly. "I…we don't know that troops are going south," she pointed out hurriedly. "Just that the soldiers talk like that when they pass through. Only in the past few weeks have they been saying that, though. Most times, they…they talk about how their pay is getting slowly thinner."

"Hmmm…" the Shield mused thoughtfully. She finished the last of the stew, let the empty bowl and spoon rest on her lap once the spoon was placed in the bowl. The thought of troops gathering in the south was not good news at all. Nor was the rumour of soldiers getting less pay. Trade was good, according to the family, but that wasn't everything – it helped, though. Something wasn't right. There was a lot more going on than she could see from here, and she couldn't confront the Emperor with this when all she had were second-hand stories from a farmhold.

"What of your neighbours, the other farms around you?" she asked after a few moments of silence. "Do you get on well with them?"

For the next hour or so Fianna was opened to the lives of farmers in the north of the Empire – they were well, they looked after each other, they supported each other, trade and barter between them was good and fruitful. What one farm didn't have, another was sure to have a spare or surplus of. Relations between them were well and good, and while they often hosted each other for meals, the Eastwood Farm was the typical meeting place for the region for festivals of significance, such as the Holy Days of the Gods, each SeasonTide Day, and New Year Week.

Finally, after much back-and-forth chatter, the conversation faded to a comfortable silence. Fianna looked at the stove, smiled faintly, then looked at Maslen and Tinna.

"I thank you for your hospitality," she began sincerely. "The stew was very warm and filling, just what I needed. But…could I trouble you for a place to rest for the night? I have no need or desire to deprive anyone of a bed; if you have a hayloft, I can sleep there."

Tinna looked like she'd been about to offer one of her children's beds for the night, but she instead pursed her lips and nodded. "We do have a hayloft," she agreed. "It's in the barn, just behind the main house. It will be comfortable, but…not very warm. We've got blankets, if you wish."

Fianna nodded slowly. "The hayloft sounds good enough for my needs," she replied graciously. "And a couple of blankets for warmth will do fine…as long as I'm not depriving any of you."

Maslen shook his head. "We'll be okay, Fianna," be declared firmly. "It's not often we get an honoured guest like yourself, and we'd be poor hosts if we let your comfort slide. Henrick can show you the way, and can carry some blankets for you."

"You're very kind, Maslen," the Shield conceded politely. She stood from the sofa, checked that none of her belongings had come loose or had fallen to the floor, then stretched herself slowly to work the kinks out of her graceful and toned frame. "On that, then, I shall bid you all a good night, and a pleasant sleep."

A few minutes later she was watching Henrick walk away from the barn, having walked with the young man as he carried a couple of heavy blankets to the barn for her; she and the young man had chatted briefly, for several minutes, before they'd bid each other a good night. She slung the blankets over her shoulder and climbed the ladder to the hayloft. She laid the blankets out, moved a few haybales for a little privacy, then set her weapons to the side. She laid herself back on one of the blankets, pulled the other blanket over her and wrapped it around her, then closed her eyes after a moment of silent prayer to Devere, and let herself drift away…

 

[Sync]

Chapter 10: The Road and the Detour

The following morning saw Fianna awake before the sun appeared over the top of the forest. Daylight reached the farm first, but the sun itself was hidden by the trees for a while. The young woman yawned and stretched…then immediately checked to be sure her weapons and equipment were right where she left them against the wall of the barn. They were. She felt a small twinge of relief shoot through her at the knowledge, followed by the sensation of pieces of straw in her hair. She giggled lightly to herself as she spent the next few minutes removing the strands of straw, then she yawned again as she stood and neatly folded the blankets, placed her weapons and gear about her person as she needed, then tucked the blankets under one arm and climbed down the ladder.

She was in no way surprised to find the family out and about already; she knew farmers were traditionally early risers, and this family, it seemed, was no exception.

"Good morning, Fianna!" Tinna greeted the Shield brightly as she watched the young woman emerge from the barn. Tinna was standing by the main house, maybe forty or fifty feet from the barn. "I trust you slept well?"

"I did, thank you," Fianna replied honestly as she approached the older woman. "It was a little warmer than I'd expected, and the blankets certainly helped."

"I'm relieved, then," the older woman replied sincerely. "Come, I'm sure you'll want some breakfast before you continue on your way."

"I'll not say no, if you're offering," the younger woman agreed. She fell into step beside Tinna, blankets in hand. "I know I said it last night, but I am thankful for your hospitality…and your information."

"Don't worry about it, dear," Tinna offered dismissively. "It's not every day we get to see the Shield of the North, much less share a meal with her." She led the younger woman into the kitchen. "Just leave the blankets on the table over there. I'll put them away later."

"Thank you, Tinna." She did as instructed, then returned her attention to the older woman. "I don't suppose you have a horse I could acquire? While I could certainly make my way on foot, I've got a couple of hundred miles to cover. I'd be more than happy to pay for the beast, plus a saddle and harness if you can spare them."

"I'm sure we can accommodate that, Fianna," Tinna replied as she served up a bowl of hot porridge and handed it to the other woman. "Eat this, and I'll talk with my husband and see what we can arrange." She disappeared outside as Fianna started on the porridge – it was good; hot, thick, a little sweet, definitely filling – and returned just as the bowl was emptied, Maslen right behind his wife.

"We don't have much in the way of riding horses," Maslen admitted sheepishly. "Most of the horses we have are work horses, pulling ploughs and carts and the like. But we do have an animal that we could sell to you for a modest sum…20 crowns, if it will suit."

Fianna nodded as she set the bowl down. "I'm sure it will do fine," she offered soothingly. "Please, show me." She followed the couple out of the house and into the yard. Nearby was a standard riding horse, and Fianna strode over to look closely – it was nothing fancy or flash, but it was a solid-looking animal, likely capable of putting down the distances she needed to cover. It was well-fed and cared for, and there was a saddle and harness already on it for her. She smiled and looked over to Maslen and Tinna.

"His name is Pannon, if he pleases you," Tinna offered.

"He'll do me nicely," Fianna agreed sincerely. "I doubt I'll be in a position to return him to you, but I will look after him for you." She reached into one of her pouches, pulled out a handful of coins. She counted 20, then added a few more and pressed them into Maslen's hand. "For Pannon…and for your hospitality," she told the couple, before taking the reins and swinging herself easily into the saddle as the two children joined their parents. She made a little more small talk, then smiled, waved, bid her farewells and rode off; slowly at first, then increasing her pace once the farm was behind her.

She didn't take the shortest path to the road; instead she rode due West for a while. She was content to enjoy the faint warmth of the sun's rays as she travelled, thankful that it wasn't her feet providing the locomotion for now. She could cover ground almost as well as a horse, but if she didn't have to do so it would make her time easier. Still, it took her a couple of days to reach the road, and she passed through a small village on the way; she stopped to rest and freshen up in the village, and made simple talk with the people who were almost scared of her presence – if not scared, then certainly somewhat cowed. She didn't enjoy the experience, but it lent weight to the comments of the people at Eastwood Farm that the Shield of the North was something of a legend these days, and it made Fianna wonder whether she should be less isolated from the rest of the Empire in future.

For the next two days she slowly made her way south along the road to Neverhold. She moved with a purpose along the road, but not with hurry; as much as she knew she needed to arrive in the capital, she also knew that she needed to speak with as many folk as she could. The people on the road would tell her as much about recent events as the emperor's staff would, and she'd be more likely to get an unfiltered view of the state of affairs…although the very real danger was that said unfiltered view would also be based on a lack of knowledge. Still, it would be much better to have both sides of the equation when she met with the Emperor. She rode with merchants, stopped to speak with farmers and serfs, stopped at waystations and spoke with staff and travellers. She learned much…and she was forming a picture in her mind that the Empire was not in as good a state as it possibly could be.

She took a detour when she neared the capital…when the road made a turn to follow the natural terrain and headed towards The Spike. She hadn't been to The Spike; she'd read about it and heard about it, but had never actually seen it…so she thought this would be a good opportunity to do so, while she wasn't under the pressure of having to complete a mission. She'd been able to see the peak rising about the skyline even from the clearing in the forest, but to see it up close…that would be something else.

The Spike was a peak of legend…if one believed the legends. It was a solitary mountain in the middle of nowhere, towering over the landscape, taller than some of the peaks in The Worldspine, tall enough that the top third was permanently covered in snow, and more in Winter. It stood as the sole landmark that could be seen from almost any point in the Empire. Legend had it that it was once the meeting place of the Gods when they were creating the world, that it was where the Gods decided how the world would look and feel and how the people would live and who would rule over what. If one believed the legends.

The rain had broken when she drew closer to the mountain; the clouds were parting, the gloominess was disappearing, the sun was shining through breaks in the clouds…and that was when something caught her attention: in the distance, in the direction of the mountain, the unmistakable glint of sun on metal. It was a long way off, but there shouldn't be anything there, should there? Or maybe there should be. Either way…she felt the need to check it out, if only for her own curiosity. For the next few hours she rode towards The Spike, Pannon's nose pointe towards the place she'd seen the glint of metal. When she drew closer to her destination, she slowed…then dismounted, loosely secured her horse to a tree, and moved on foot. She wasn't fully investigating, but she was curious.

There were heavy footsteps in the soft ground, long steps, like boots or even armoured shoes. Not many tracks, maybe a half-dozen people, if that. Broken twigs, snapped branches, a loose thread…some people with at least reasonable equipment had passed through here recently, heading towards the Spike. It could be bandits…it could be an Imperial Patrol…it could be militia from Oldpond. She had no way of knowing, in truth. But it was curious. She knelt down next to the tracks, touched the ground around them – less than a day old. But she couldn't dally here; right now she was tasked to meet the Emperor to discuss his potential issues, and lingering here was delaying that. She sighed softly and stood slowly, her eyes sweep over the area once more, looking for another clue and finding none, not even the metal object that had caused the glint that had captured her attention; then she slowly turned and walked back to where she'd left Pannon. The horse was waiting dutifully, happily eating at the lush clumps of grass.

"Well…that wasn't as fruitful as I might have hoped," she told the horse softly as she climbed back into the saddle. Not that the horse had a clue what she was saying. "Things just don't add up, Pannon…or maybe that's just a gut feeling."

She wheeled the horse around and headed in the direction of Neverhold, now West and cross-country from The Spike. She still had over eighty miles to travel…she should make it later tomorrow, with any luck, while there was still daylight.

She could hope for that, at least.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 11: To the Capital

She rode at a measured pace for the next eighty or so miles – through the long grass, past fences marking paddock boundaries, past farms and small homes and barns, past livestock feeding on hay and grass. Clumps of trees were along the trail she rode – there was no proper road or path where she was travelling; she was effectively riding over open country, marked properties notwithstanding. Serfs and landholders were occasionally seen as she rode, and she nodded politely and gave a civil greeting to all she encountered, although duty did not allow her to stop and chat at length to any.

She was forced to camp in the open that night. She found a small clearing, dug a firepit and lined it with what stones she could find, got herself a small fine going; the hare she'd found and killed an hour earlier was soon skinned and cooked through, properly, the gamey meat a welcome bout of sustenance to complement the handful of nuts and berries. There was a stream nearby, bubbling in the darkness; she found it, filled her flask, drank carefully. She set her lean-to, slipped into her bedroll, and let her mind wander over what she'd learned so far – which wasn't a lot, she knew.

The Emperor had called for her directly, that was unusual in itself; he believed that there was a plan to take his life. Messages from the Emperor were normally, in that past, written by the Seneschal or one of the attending nobles. The Emperor was not, apparently, universally liked. Things in the empire were not going as well as they could be; the farms were holding their own, but not necessarily doing well. Soldiers were reportedly complaining of their pay being reduced. There were reports of soldiers heading slowly for the southern border. And there were unexplained footprints and tracks around The Spike. There really was very little to go on, but it made her a little…uneasy. It just didn't feel right. And she was going to have to work it out. It was just that…the Emperor might not agree with the decision she made, once she was finally in a position to actually make one. She needed to learn more – a lot more – before she could begin to act.

She rolled on to her side, closed her eyes…let sleep claim her…

She woke the next morning to the sounds of birds chirping in the trees above her. The fire had long gone out during the night, and it had rained at least a little – the grass in the clearing was damp, the canvas of her lean-to was wet. It can't have been a heavy rain, otherwise she'd have woken…but she'd slept through the night, and felt much rested for it. Sleeping rough was not an unusual thing for her to do, and Fianna was quite grateful that she'd been trained on how to sleep in the open and be comfortable. There wasn't a lot for her to do at this point, other than make sure the fire was properly out before covering the pit, having a small meal of left-over hare and a handful of nuts and berries and a healthy few mouthfuls from her flask (which she then refilled from the nearby stream), and finally packing up her camp and resuming her trek towards the capital.

It was after lunch when she finally was able to spot the high walls surrounding the capital city itself. The towers of the inner city had been visible since mid-morning, but the walls and the gates – she was finally nearing the end of her journey…well, this part of her journey, anyway. From here she'd need to organise to get to the castle, meet with the Senechal and then the Emperor…and only then would she find out just what she'd been called for.

The problem was…the guards on the gates.

There was a line of people waiting to enter the city, it seemed. Although the Eastern gates were not on one of the major roads in or out of the city, the path was still well-travelled, and today was no different. As she drew closer, it became apparent that the guards were stopping and searching everyone who wish to enter the city. Merchants, farmers, simple travellers – all were deemed to be subject to the stop and search routine. And it was going to take a while, it seemed.

"This is all very new, and disturbing," muttered the man in front of her – a merchant, she guessed, judging by the man's clothing and carriage.

"How so?" Fianna asked curiously as she drew alongside the carriage.

"The guards," he mumbled in reply. "This whole searching thing. It's just-" He paused as his head turned to regard the person next to him, and his eyes widened as he took in her symbol. "Milady Shield!"

She quickly held up her hand. "Please, no," she replied, cutting him off before he could make her presences known. "Just Fianna."

The merchant looked at her for a few seconds, then blinked slowly and nodded. "As you wish. Name's Bolarn. I'm a trader out of Blackstrand, carrying furs and cloths."

"Pleased to meet you, Bolarn," Fianna replied agreeably. "You were saying about the guards…?"

"Mmph!" the merchant snorted softly as he waved his hands at the gates. "This whole stop and search thing they've been doing. It's only sprung up in the past couple of weeks, I've heard. They never used to do this before; the capital was open to all travellers and traders. Now…it's open, sure, but not before the guards check you over."

Fianna could hazard a guess as to a likely explanation, but she wasn't going to say it. "Any idea what's happened in the city to cause this?" she asked instead.

"I'm not sure," Bolarn admitted. "I haven't visited the capital in a while. But word I've heard from people who have recently left the capital is that the Emperor is becoming a little paranoid. And the guards…they seem to be open to taking bribes, which is just as disturbing. Bribes have a way of becoming insidious and commonplace, especially if the higher-ups turn a blind eye."

"Hmmm," Fianna mused thoughtfully. This was a new development. Word of this hasn't reached Eastwood farm when she was there…but it may have done by now. Bribes at the gates could impact both travel and trade.

The queue had moved forward while they'd been talking, and Borlan's carriage was now up for…inspection. For a moment, Fianna was content to hang back and observe, to see for herself what might be happening, and she deliberately pulled her cloak around herself, in part to hide her Symbol of the Shield from their eyes. If the guards knew the Shield was watching, they might act differently; they wouldn't change their behaviour for a random person on horseback. For the most part, the guards were polite and professional in talking with the merchant and looking through his carriage…until they returned to the merchant after checking his wares. Conversation started to become agitated and excited; it seemed like the guards were asking for a payment to let him in.

Fianna decided this was a good a time as any to break her cover.

"Gentlemen," she announced in a clear but firm voice. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"Just wait your turn, ma'am, we'll be with you in a moment," one of the guards replied curtly, his attention still clearly on the merchant.

"It seems that you're asking for a toll or fee or some other form of payment to let the man through," she mused thoughtfully as she allowed her cloak to fall open slightly, enough to reveal the Shield on her chest. "Did I overhear that right?"

"Just something to help keep the stre-" the second guard began, then stopped when he realised who he was speaking with.

"That's what I thought," Fianna noted when the guard fell silent. "Bolarn can go about his business without further hinderance, yes?"

The shoulders of both guards slumped slightly – they knew they couldn't do anything here and now. The Shield was above both of them. Right now, all they could do was nod and stand aside, then motion for the merchant to go through.

"Excellent work," Fianna observed pleasantly as she nodded to acknowledge Bolarn's grateful expression. She waited for the merchant to get through the gates before continuing. "I'll be sure to mention the wonderful work you two are doing here when I speak with the Seneschal."

She stopped to let her words sink in, and felt a pang of smug satisfaction when she saw their visages pale slightly. She didn't let them speak.

"Now…speaking of the Seneschal, I do need to meet with him. I don't suppose either of you would be able to help me with that…?"

The first guard finally found his voice. "Not us, ma'am," he advised solemnly. "You'll need to speak with the sergeant first. He's in the small guard hut over there." The man pointed to a hut located about ten feet inside the gates, with more buildings behind it and to the sides. The hut looked, at least, like a guard hut, with a small sparring ring next to it and a station for someone to watch from outside the hut.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Fianna acknowledged sweetly. "Now, if it's all the same to you, I'll just head in and speak with your sergeant."

"Yes, ma'am, of course," the second guard agreed quickly, stepping back to let the young woman through, even going so far as to offer a quick salute as she passed by him.

Fianna smiled grimly as she heard the two guards mutter between themselves in her wake.

"Bloody hell – the Shield, here?" "Things must be more crapped than we thought if she's here." "What do we do?" "We keep our heads down and inspect like our orders say."

It would be interesting to hear what the sergeant had to say, Fianna figured wryly, as she dismounted and led Pannon to the hut.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 12: To the Castle

The inside of Gate Hut was about what she'd expected, to be honest: cramped, dim, with a couple of small cells in the back – for holding small-time criminals until they could be tried in a court, Fianna presumed. One side wall was lived with shelves that held books and tomes and folders of what she could only guess were orders and notes; the other side wall contained a rack with various weapons – swords, spears, bows and arrows, shields – as well as a desk with a couple of chairs around it.

Standing in front of the shelves, his back turned to the door, was a man dressed in the armour of the city guard – a simple leather chest-piece with shoulder guards and forearm bracers, and a longsword sheathed on his hip. His hair was dark and dirty, like he hadn't bathed for some time, and there was a set to his shoulders like he was tired of his work. Possibly he'd risen as far as he was going to go already. He certainly didn't seem too interested in finding out who'd just entered his hut, at least not enough to encourage him to turn around.

"Hovan, didn't I tell you to stay on the gate and inspect everyone coming through?" he grunted wearily, his head only half-turning in the direction of the door. "I'll remind you that these orders come direct from the Captain. Now get your ass back out there and do your damned job."

Fianna smiled faintly, then coughed politely. "I'm sure Hovan is doing a good job on the gates," she pointed out coolly. "A little too well, in fact – he seems to be making a small profit from the orders."

The unfamiliar voice got the sergeant's attention, and he spun sharply, his hand dropping to his sword hilt…then he froze, his eyes widening slightly.

"Oh…crap," he mumbled after a few seconds. "I…Milady Shield," he offered once he recovered his voice. "I didn't…I didn't know I should be expecting you."

Fianna decided that this man was not worthy of using her name. "That's quite all right," she agreed civilly. "I suppose I did come by without announcing my presence. But then…declaring my arrival would somewhat hinder my ability to move quietly, wouldn't it?" She levelled a cool stare at the man, whose ruddy features had at least settled away from surprise. "So, how do I go about getting to the castle? I am here at the request of the Emperor himself, and I don't suppose I should keep him waiting any longer than is necessary."

"I…no! Of course not," he agreed quickly. "The next shift is due to arrive shortly – I'll ask one of them to escort you to the castle."

"Very good," Fianna agreed with a cool graciousness. "Now, might I have the pleasure of your name? I do want to pass your regards to the Captain, let him know how well things are going out here on the East gate."

The man swallowed hard; he didn't look pleased by the suggestion or the implication. "It…uuhhh, it's Devlin, Milady," he replied rather reluctantly.

"Sergeant Devlin at the East Gate," Fianna repeated thoughtfully, committing it to memory. "Thank you. Although, if it's all the same to you, I'll wait outside for that escort." She didn't bother waiting for a reply; instead, she simply turned, her cloak billowing behind her briefly, then walked out of the hut.

She remained at the station at the outside of the hut, watching the gates with a small amount of interest as she waited patiently for the next shift to arrive. It didn't take long – maybe ten minutes – for a pair of guards to round the corner and head in her direction…and she smiled with amusement as they pulled up short when they saw her standing outside. After recovering from their surprise the pair marched into the hut, and Fianna could hear questions being asked, answers being given…neither of them was apparently too keen on walking with The Shield through the city. Eventually she could hear Devlin snapping and yelling at the two of them, barking a less-than-civilised order at one of them – Ayton, apparently – to escort her to the castle gates. She smiled with some smug satisfaction at the conversation in the hut; from what she'd seen so far, she rather liked that her presence was making the guards uncomfortable. Soon after the yelled order, a sullen young man in his early twenties with dirty blonde hair emerged looking glum and crestfallen as he approached her.

"Milady Shield," he muttered unhappily. "I…I'm Recruit Ayton. I'm to be your escort to the castle."

Fianna bobbed her head politely at the introduction. "Thank you, Recruit Ayton," she acknowledged calmly. "Shall we go?"

They walked through the streets of the city at a measured pace; the guard was apparently keen to complete this task, while Fianna was content to observe as much as she could of the city. She kept a loose hold of Pannon's reins as they walked. She was not too surprised to see a distinction between the classes – the nobles were not themselves evident in the outer city, but their servants and underlings were prevalent; serfs and workers were also plenty in number, everyone milling about and going about their tasks, walking through the wide main thoroughfares and narrow side streets, walking in and out of shops and stores with purpose. It was fascinating to see how so many lived and worked in such a place…and she found it curious that there was not the degree of happiness or joy that she'd seen in and around Eastwood Farm earlier.

As they moved through the city, it became apparent where the middle and upper classes made their homes and businesses – the streets were generally cleaner and well maintained, the people were cleaner, the buildings were cleaner and better made. The number of serfs and workers were fewer, and the number of servants and officials seemed to increase. The air of self-importance seemed to increase as well. The two – three, if one included Pannon – moved in silence, although Ayton did occasionally look back to make sure Fianna was still following his lead. It was by now fairly obvious where the castle proper was – it was in the center of the city, its walls and gates becoming clear as they approached, the fortifications of the castle clear to her trained eye.

It took the two about five more minutes to reach the gates of the castle, and Fianna noted a stark contrast between the attire and demeanour of Ayton compared with his counterpart of the castle. Where Ayton was sullen and barely-clean and slouched, the castle guard was polished, professional, upright of bearing and manner. At least the two appeared to know each other.

"Ayton," the castle guard began in a clipped, proper tone. "What brings you here today?"

"Official business, Jerlan," Ayton replied simply. "I've been tasked with providing an escort to the castle for our guest – Milady Shield of the North."

Jerlan's eyes widened slightly before he snapped to attention. "Milady Shield!" he greeted Fianna politely. "Neverhold is honoured by your presence."

"Somehow I doubt that, Jerlan," Fianna observed with a hint of amusement. "But thank you all the same." She allowed a faint smile to play over her lips as she turned to Ayton. "Thank you for your escort, Ayton," she informed the young man. "I believe Jerlan can assist me further."

"Yes, Milady," the young guard agreed, and Fianna fancied she felt a palpable wave of relief wash over him as he bowed politely and took his leave. The Shield watched the young man go for a few moments before returning her attention to Jerlan.

"Now…I am here at the request of the Emperor," she informed the man coolly. "How can I best ensure I can respond to that summons?"

"The Seneschal, Milady," Jerlan replied sharply, still standing at attention. "He'll be the best person to see you to the Emperor. If you received a message from the Emperor, likely it was the Senschal who wrote it and sent it."

"Excellent," Fianna responded politely. "So…how do I get in to meet with the Seneschal…?"

"Please, step inside the gates, Milady," the man told her, stepping to the side so she could enter, Pannon still being led by his reins. "If you'd like to wait inside the hut here, I'll send a runner to let him know you're here and to bring him to meet you."

"Of course, Jerlan," she sighed softly. More waiting. But at least she was now inside the castle walls.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 13: Getting the Audience

At least she didn't have to wait long for the runner to return with news. Fianna figured she'd been waiting about ten minutes, give-or-take, and Jerlan wasn't too interested in talking. She didn't wait in the hut, though; she stayed near it, close by, letting her gaze slowly sweep over the opulence of the castle gardens and structure. There was more life in these gardens than she'd seen in the Eastwood Farm, she estimated, and she knew the Farm to be about twice the size of the castle by area of land. It was sorely tempting to mount Pannon and go for a quick ride through the castle lands, but she didn't succumb to that temptation. She'd be a poor guest if she had.

She was still debating the merits of riding Pannon through the castle lands when the runner returned – a little breathless, she noted, but he hid it well. He stopped a few paces before her and bowed his head.

"Milady Shield," the boy announced, his breathing heavy. He must have sprinted to the castle, spent just long enough to relay her presence and get instructions, then sprint back to the main gates. "The Seneschal bids that I walk with you to the castle, then see your horse stabled and groomed while you speak with the Emperor."

Fianna sighed softly and nodded her head in acknowledgement. "Very well, young squire," she replied graciously. "Lead the way, then." She watched as the runner gently and respectfully took Pannon's reins, then fell into step beside boy and beast as they walked along the well-maintained gravel-and-stone path through the meticulously cared for gardens. She tried to engage the young man in conversation, but he didn't respond much or well beyond short and precise answers, so her attempts to gain a little more information fell largely flat.

It took them about fifteen minutes, Fianna thought, to reach the steps to the castle itself – clean and smooth steps, about ten of them, leading to the doors of the castle proper. At the top of the steps, waiting patiently, was a tall, thin, weaselly-looking man in thin but elegant dark-grey robes. When Fianna and the runner reached the base of the steps the man descended them, his head bowing deeply as he approached the honoured guest.

"Milady Shield," he intoned politely, in an almost ritualistic manner. "On behalf of the Emperor, his Majesty Kylen Thorenfell, I welcome you to Neverhold. You honour us with your presence. I am his Majesty's Seneschal, Harlen De'Tarren." Normally Fianna might have insisted that no formality was required, but here, inside the castle walls…she felt that these people needed to understand and acknowledge her position. "If you will excuse me for a moment," the man continued, as he turned to address the runner.

"Soran, take the Shield's horse to the stables and see that it is groomed to the standards the Emperor might expect. Once you've delivered the horse to the stables, return to the castle and wait by the Emperor's study, where the Shield and Emperor will be meeting. When the Shield is ready to depart, it will be your task to see that the horse is returned to this position for the Shield to continue her journey…whatever that might be."

"Yes, Seneschal," the boy, Soran, replied obediently. "Milady." Reins held firmly in his grasp, the boy let the horse along the front of the castle then turned the corner, presumably heading towards the stables. With boy and horse out of sight, Fianna returned her attention to the Seneschal, who offered her a thin and awkward smile.

"Please, Milady," he offered politely as he stepped to one side and gestured up the steps with a sweep of his arm, "let us not dally. The Emperor has become…agitated, shall we say, of late."

Fianna made a small non-committal noise in the back of her throat as a way of acknowledging the man's comment, but otherwise said nothing until they'd entered the castle itself.

Inside the castle…it was just as exorbitantly splendid as the outside suggested. The stone floors were well-cleaned and polished, rugs were thick and plush, walls were solid and painted with pieces of part hanging from them, potted plants were placed in strategic places…the castle interior was an exercise in over-spending. The grand staircase leading to the upper floor was just as extravagant as the entry foyer, and there was no reason, in Fianna's mind, to doubt that every other room was anything but equally extravagant in design and décor. She found her estimation of the Emperor falling slightly as she turned her head slightly to regard the Seneschal.

"I suppose I can understand that seeing a report indicating your own life was possibly in danger might skew one's outlook on the future," she conceded thoughtfully as she followed the man up the main staircase.

"Indeed," the man muttered through barely gritted teeth. "You only have to speak to the man, and briefly. I have to live with it."

Fianna snorted softly through her nose with something amounting to dark humour. "Is he that bad? What can you tell me of this report? Was it just the one report, or are there more?"

"It's been a little more than two weeks since we received the first report," the Seneschal explained as they reached the top of the stairs and turned to the right. "There have been several more reports since then from our spymaster, and each report contains the same rumours of a threat to the Emperor's life. No reports of escalation, but the rumour persists. He believes there is more than just rumour."

"I may need to speak with your spymaster as well," Fianna noted. "Getting information on the source or location of these rumours will help me get to the truth of it."

"I shall see what I can arrange," the man agreed. "Our Spymaster is efficient and reliable, but a little…elusive. She can be a little hard to track down and get messages to, at times."

"I suppose if you want your spymaster to have good qualities, being hard to find is one of them," she noted thoughtfully. "But I'd like to meet with her all the same."

"Of course," the Seneschal replied sincerely. They stopped at the end of the walkway outside a pair of solid doors, next to some large windows that overlooked the castle gardens. "Please, wait here a moment while I check that his Majesty is ready to receive you."

Fianna bobbed her head politely, then watched as the thin man slipped through the double doors and disappeared. If she was being honest with herself, the officiousness of this entire endeavour was starting to annoy her: she'd been called here by the Emperor himself, but she still had to wait on pomp and circumstance to see him? But she was duty-bound…so she waited, and stood in front of the windows to look at the casual activity of people moving about in the gardens below. One minute…two…three…then the door opened and the Seneschal emerged.

"Milady Shield," he intoned civilly, as he opened the door wider and stood to one side. "The Emperor will see you now. This way, please."

 

[Sync]

Chapter 14: Meeting the Emperor

The study was just as lavishly-furnished as the rest of the castle: thick rugs on the highly-polished stone floor, plush chairs and sofas, a large and heavy desk by the window with lots of sheafs of parchment piled on it. The wells were lined with shelves filled with thick tomes and rolls of parchment, and a large window that overlooked the castle gardens filled the outer wall. Seated behind the desk was the man who could only be the Emperor – a large, overweight man with thinning and greying blonde hair dressed in finer robes and cloaks that screamed excess to the generally-rustic Fianna.

Harlen stopped to the side of the desk and gestured from one to the other.

"Majesty, I present to you the Shield of the North," he intoned formally. "Milady Shield, his Majesty the Emperor Kylen Thorenfell."

"Thank you, Harlen," the Emperor wheezed impatiently, "You may go." The Seneschal bowed his head diffidently to the Emperor, nodded politely to Fianna, then strode out of the room and closed the door behind him. With the room now containing only the two of them, Kylen gestured for Fianna to sit in one of the chairs opposite the desk, which she duly did. She didn't enjoy the way she sank into the chair so much, though – too hard to get out of quickly.

"So…you asked to meet with me, your Majesty," Fianna began simply. "Your message indicated the possibility of an attempt on your life."

"Yes, correct," the Emperor replied drily. "My Spymaster encountered a few rumours a couple of weeks back that the possibility existed. Mirage has since delivered a few more reports, and each report contains evidence of the same rumour, although she has not been able, so far, to track the source."

"I see," the Shield mused thoughtfully. "May I see these reports?"

The Emperor nodded briefly, rifled through the sheafs of parchment on his desk until he found a few specific ones, then grabbed them and thrust them at Fianna. "Please. I'd love to know your thoughts on the matter."

Fianna stood and walked over to the desk so she could take the proffered parchments form the Emperor's outstretched hand. She moved to stand by the window to read them, more out of preference than any need for light…and she became aware of the Emperor's gaze on her lithe frame as she read through the reports. She felt her skin crawl momentarily at the realisation that the Emperor was subtly leering at her, almost like he was undressing her. She decided that this man was rather unlikable – but that alone was not reason to not do her duty. She ignored him as she read through the reports – that the report of the rumour was there consistently suggested there might be something in it, but the lack of specific details made it hard for the Shield to put any large weight on them. At this point they were just rumours.

It took her maybe five minutes to read through the sheets of parchment – five minutes of putting up with the Emperor leering at her – before she relaxed her arms and looked at the Emperor, who was now acting like he had not just been playing too-close attention to her.

"Mirage is consistent in her reporting, at least," Fianna agreed slowly. "But there isn't much to go on in these reports. If there's more to these rumours, she either hasn't yet found it…or hasn't reported it."

"Yes, that's what Harlen and I also thought," the Emperor snapped quickly. "But my hands are tied in this. I cannot use the militia to try and track this down – if they are nothing more than rumours, then my using the militia gives them validity; if these rumours have substance behind them, then I risk losing sight of what's going on."

"That's a reasonable premise," Fianna agreed easily. "What are you hoping I will do that your Spymaster, apparently, cannot?"

"That should be rather obvious, and I even said so in my message to you," he replied irritably. "I want you to investigate these rumours, find out if there's anything to them. If they are nothing but rumours, then this matter can be put to rest; but if it turns out that there is indeed a conspiracy on my life, then…" The man paused slightly, possibly for effect. "Then I want you to find the people who are plotting against me and bring them in for justice; if they refuse to come to the capital, or if they run, then I expect you to eliminate them. We're talking about treason, here, after all. If there are conspirators as well, you need to expose them also."

Fianna frowned slightly at his words. "Majesty…you know I'm not a member of your militia, nor someone who can police things like this for you. My first duty is to the Empire."

"How is the empire served by the assassination of the emperor and the chaos that would follow such an assassination?" the man quipped with annoyance. "Civil war is never in the best interests of the empire, or any other nation."

"In the short term, perhaps," she agreed carefully. "But in the longer term… who knows? Sometimes long-term good can come from short term chaos." She was starting to understand that the Emperor was maybe a little paranoid – understandable, perhaps, given the circumstances, but he was still not the most pleasant man she'd spoken with.

The Emperor glowered unhappily at the woman, as if trying to prove her thoughts correct. "The assassination of the Emperor is not in the best interest of the Empire," he rumbled darkly, deliberately emphasising key words, clearly not liking her line of thinking.

Fianna held up her hands placatingly. "Very well," she told him, more out of a need to not fuel his obvious annoyance than any desire to agree with him. "I will look into it and see what I can find. I've already suggested to your Seneschal that I would like to meet with your Spymaster. I should also have a word with the people around you to see if they might have seen or heard anything that could help me work out what's going on." Instinct told her that there was more – much more – to this, given what she'd already seen and heard…but she needed more.

"Good," the Emperor declared with a note of annoyance in his voice. "Do what you need to do…and bring those who plot against me to justice, one way or another."

"I will do what I need to do…what must be done," she agreed, sincerely, deliberately choosing her words to allow for the double-meaning. The Emperor would take that, she hoped, to mean that she'd do what needed to be done to protect him; she knew that she'd do what needed to be done to protect the Empire. There was a big difference.

"Then speak with the Seneschal," Kylen told her dismissively. "I'm sure he can organise what you need." He returned to the papers on his desk, apparently happy that the meeting was over.

"Thank you, Majesty," Fianna replied neutrally, as she bobbed her head politely in his direction before turning and walking out of the room. It was tempting to slam the door behind her, but she didn't – that would be unseemly. Her first meeting with the Emperor – the very first time she'd met him – and it had not been a pleasant one. He was lecherous, rude, demanding…and, now, a little on edge and paranoid. He'd fallen into the excesses of his position, she felt.

She took a long, slow breath and let it out just as slowly. She needed to find the Seneschal and organise to meet with the Spymaster…and perhaps the Emperor's son as well.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 15: Meeting the son

The Seneschal was waiting patiently for the Shield to emerge from her discussion with the Emperor. He'd chosen to sit on a sofa near the top of the staircase, and, when Fianna left the study behind her, she found he was doing apparently little more than sitting and looking out of the nearest window. She took a good look at the man as she approached: thin, weaselly features, dressed impeccably in deep blue robes, a long mane of silver-grey hair at the back of his head while balding heavily on top, skin showing his advancing years. She didn't…dislike him, but she found it difficult to like him. He was, all told, a man going about his duties the best way he knew how, and she could appreciate him for that.

He stood as she drew nearer and bobbed his head politely. The boy, Soran, had apparently either not arrived, or had been dismissed before she'd emerged from her meeting with the Emperor.

"That didn't take long," he observed in his nasally voice.

"No, it did not," she agreed with a hint of annoyance in her voice. She came to a stop a couple of paces in front of the man, her annoyance revealed in a slight frown.

"He wasn't…difficult…?" he queried, hoping that the Emperor had not been even slightly inappropriate towards the Shield.

Much to the Senschal's relief, she shook her head. "No…no more than I should have expected," Fianna replied a little reluctantly. She sighed softly. "Under the circumstances…he doesn't know a lot other than what's in his Spymaster's reports, which now consistently speak of rumours of an attempt on his life."

"That has put him on edge," the Seneschal agreed readily.

"I did notice that," she retorted softly. She walked alongside the man to the top of the stairs. "I'll need you to somehow arrange for me to meet your Spymaster, even though you've said that contacting her isn't the easiest thing to do."

"I'll do my best to organise a meeting between the two of you," he agreed as they walked down the stairs. "I expect you'll be a little easier to find than she is when the time to meet arrives."

Fianna snorted softly. "That's quite possible," she conceded quietly. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she continued. "I'd also like to meet some of the people closer to him – I understand he has family here?"

"The Emperor's son will be the easiest to find at this time," the man noted. "The Queen and the Crown Princess are in the castle, but at this time they will be in studies. The Queen is seeing to the Princess' education, and they often spend this time of day in the library together."

"That's fair enough," Fianna noted sincerely. "Where can I find the Crown Prince, then?"

"Most likely you'll find him at the guard barracks doing some sparring with the guards there," the man told her. "He might relish the chance to spar with you, if you've a mind to."

A warn and knowing smile played over her face at the information. "Well…if it will help me speak with him, I might do just that," she mused thoughtfully. His guard might lower while sparring; he'd be focussed on weapons play and might let slip a few things that he might otherwise keep to himself." By now they'd reached the main doors to the castle. "Where can I find the barracks?"

"Through the doors, then to your right," the Seneschal told her. "They're behind the castle building, next to the stables where your horse is being groomed."

"Thank you," she replied simply, then, after a moment of hesitation, shook his offered hand. She made her way through the doors, down the main steps to the gravel path, then turned to her right. The daylight was starting to fade as she rounded the castle building, but it was not yet too faded. There could still be plenty of talk to be had by daylight.

Finding the barracks and sparring ring wasn't, as it turned out, terribly difficult – all she had to do was stay on the gravel path and follow the sound of clashing blades. It only took her about five minutes of walking to come within sight of the sparring ring, and another few minutes to be standing next to it. There were a few guards in attendance, watching a guard in uniform sparring with a young man wearing pants and a loose tunic who she could only presume to be the Crown Prince. The Prince appeared to be around her own age, tall and handsome, fit and graceful in his movements. If she wasn't bound by duty, she might allow her mind to indulge itself for a while…but there were things that needed doing. She addressed the guard closest to her in a soft voice.

"Greetings, ser," she began quietly. Not wanting to disturb the sparring currently in progress. "Might I trouble you to confirm that I am watching the Crown Prince there?"

The guard's head snapped around towards her as his attention was suddenly re-focussed, although he relaxed somewhat when he spied her symbol on her cloak.

"Milady Shield!" he gasped softly. "I…I didn't know to expect you!" He paused, then nodded his head as he returned his gaze to the sparring ting. "Aye, that's the Crown Prince in the tunic. He's not done sparring yet for the day, but we have our duties as well. As much as we'd like to stay and spar, we can't." He paused, then looked back at Fianna, who was now smiling faintly. "If you're willing…?"

Fianna grinned faintly. "I'd heard about that," she admitted softly. "I'd certainly be open to sparring with him for a time. I do want to talk with him as well, so I can take the opportunity to do both."

"Very well," the guard agreed, a hint of relief in his voice. "This bout should end in a minute or so; when it does, I'll make introductions and leave you two to spar and talk."

"Thank you, ser," Fianna acknowledged with a brief nod of her head as she settled to watching the bout in front of her. The Crown Prince was good, she had to admit that; but sparring was very different to fighting, and she doubted he'd done much of the latter…if any at all. His footwork was solid, his strikes and thrusts were well-honed…but she could also spot a couple of flaws in his style that she could exploit, if she had a mind to. She just had to remind herself to not be distracted by his general appearance…and she knew that, when it came time for her to retire and bear the next generation, she could do worse than seek the Prince out for a partner.

Presently the bout ended, and the guard stepped into the ring, gesturing for Fianna to follow.

"Highness," the guard began with a respectful bow of his head. "If it pleases you, your next sparring partner has arrived." He turned to the side and gestured respectfully to Fianna. "Crown Prince Paven Thorenfell, the Shield of the North."

"Fianna will be fine," she added politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Prince."

"The honour is mine, Fianna," the prince replied quickly. "And please, call me Paven, for now."

"As you wish," Fianna noted graciously as she stepped a little further into the ring, noting that the guard was making a discreet exit.

"Dare I ask what brings you here, Milady Shield?" Paven asked as he let his sword arm relax by his side.

"I'm here at your father's request," Fianna replied as she watched him relax. "And I thought to get some insight from yourself before I begin my travels." She smiled faintly. "And if that means I have to spar with you at the same time, then so be it."

"I'd be honoured indeed to spar with you, Fianna," Paven agreed, stepping a few paces backwards towards the middle of the sparring ring. "Can I presume that you'd rather our conversation be done in confidence?"

"That would be beneficial to myself and my duties, if that is acceptable," she agreed as she stepped towards the middle of the ring herself, drawing her pair of short blades as she took a stance opposite him.

He nodded, then looked up slightly towards the guards. "Give us distance, gentlemen," he ordered in a firm and clear voice. "Watch if you wish, but do not listen." The guards saluted quickly then moved back a good number of paces, maybe twenty feet, so that they were leaning against the barracks wall. Paven nodded, then returned his attention to Fianna, bringing his single long sword up to a ready position.

"So, Fianna," be offered with a small smile. "Shall we dance?"

 

[Sync]

Chapter 16: Sparring and Conversation

Fianna smiled warmly at Paven's invitation. She had a reasonable guess that they'd be relatively well matched as sparring partners; she could reasonably presume that he'd been extensively trained and did a lot of practice and sparring…but he just didn't have her experience. And she doubted he'd have sparred against someone like her who wielded a pair of shorter blades instead of a single longer blade. Like him, she relaxed her stance, let her swords lower slightly as they began to slowly circle each other…she was going to let him make the first move.

She didn't have to wait long.

After maybe fifteen, twenty seconds of circling slowly around each other, sizing each other up, he moved in. He wasn't going for any kind of kill or attempt to damage her, clearly – this was just sparring, after all – but he still moved with a purpose that was intended to force her to react defensively. He swung overhead, his blade coming down at her body, and she quickly flicked up one of her blades to deflect his blow, just enough to allow his strike to slide past her body as she moved aside.

"Easy opener," she observed lightly. "Fair enough. Start with simple blows to gauge each other, then move into combinations to see how well each other is at counterattacking." She paused to grin faintly at him. "This should be fun. Just don't forget the conversation." She moved in carefully, slowly, one blade thrust towards his torso while her other sliced at his leg, her movements deliberately slow and measured, and she noted how his blade deflected the first strike while his body moved away from the second.

"I won't forget to talk," he agreed warmly. "Just don't forget to ask questions as we spar." For the next couple of minutes they traded deliberate and measured blows. In that, at least, they were well-matched – his power and reach were good balances to her speed and dual attacks.

Soon, though, they began to slowly increase the pace of their attacks and defences.

"So…how's life in the castle been this past month?" she began casually as their blades clashed yet again.

"Difficult," Paven admitted carefully as he ducked and weaved and attacked. "Father has been…more pensive than usual the last few months in particular. More secretive, I think."

"Even before the reports from your Spymaster?" she asked curiously, ducking under a high slash from his weapon.

"Aye," he agreed lightly as he reversed the swing of his blade, only to watch it get deftly caught by her twin weapons. "He was…secretive before, but this business about his life has added a touch of…paranoia to him."

"Understandable, I suppose," she noted lightly as she thrust at him with both weapons in a one-two action. "What do you hear from the soldiers and guards?"

For a moment Paven was quiet as he focussed on his attacks and blocks. She was making him work, even while they were lightly sparring. It was a good workout she was giving him, and he couldn't tell if she was getting a similar workout.

"They speak of…uncertainty," he conceded after a brief but slow flurry of attacks he delivered at her, all of which she ducked or blocked. "I've heard that the soldiers complain of lowered pay, and the guards are getting difficult orders."

Fianna nodded as he blades flicked out and worked at his defences in a slow but steady manner. "I've heard something similar," she told him. "The soldiers patrolling in the north say similar things."

"They do?" Paven queried sincerely. "If this uncertainty has spread through the Empire then there is something unsettling." He paused to take a strong defensive stance. "You are loyal to the Empire…yes?"

Fianna nodded slowly as she also took a moment to check her defences. "That is my first duty," she agreed carefully. "The Empire first, then…other considerations. This is what the Shield has been tasked with for three hundred years."

"So…if you found that someone has been acting in a manner that you feel is contrary to the best interests of the Empire…?" Paven paused, then resumed attacking, his movements slightly faster than before.

"Then I would have to decide whether that person should be allowed to continue acting in that manner," she told him factually, her defences fluid and precise.

"How far would you take your action against such a person?" Paven was clearly fishing for something; he knew more than he was letting on, but he wanted to know what she'd do if she found something untoward.

"That depends on who it was and what I found," she returned neutrally as she launched another flurry of attacks at his defensive posture. "An aggressive action from myself to stop a person might be warranted; or the Empire might be better served by me not taking action and letting events unfold as they will. Each case, each situation, is different."

"I see." Paven increased the pace of his attacks, which Fianna's dual-weapon defence handled readily.

"Is there something I should know, Paven?" she asked carefully, deliberately.

"I…I'm not sure," he replied slowly as their sparring continued without pausing. "But…the soldiers talk about slow build-ups in the South, a reorganisation of troops and patrols towards the Tilvell border, as well as issues with pay. The soldiers aren't as content as they were even a year ago."

"You've got your own small spy network, Paven…?" It was a guess, and unfounded one, but she somehow felt it was warranted. She was not surprised when he nodded slowly in reply.

"A few here and there," he admitted, almost sheepishly. "Not as extensive as Mirage and her network, but it's good to have my own sources."

"Indeed," she agreed. "What can you tell me? And did you want to tell me here?"

"Later…after dinner, perhaps," he offered. She nodded faintly, then fell silent as they set themselves into a final, sustained, bout of trading blows both offensive and defensive. After several minutes of continual intense sparring they parted with a silent nod of agreement, each of them breathing heavily for their exertions, him a little more than her.

The sunlight was fading in the evening sky as Paven took a few paces back, marking the end of the bout.

"Thank you, Fianna, Shield of the North," he told her formally, his voice louder for the benefit of the guards. "It was an honour to spar with you today…and I'm quite sure I'd not want to meet you in open combat."

"The honour was mine, Crown Prince Paven," she replied sincerely, her head bowing slightly but respectfully. "Your training and continual practice serves you well."

"You flatter me," he told her, a small smile on his lips. "Join us for dinner, if you would. I'm quite sure we can make room for you at the table, and I'm sure we can find a guest room for you to stay the night in, if you'd agree."

The offer was tempting, for sure. She hadn't given a lot of thought to what she was going to do for food or rest in the capital, so…this offer was as good as any. Fianna smiled and nodded.

"I'll take you up on that, Paven," she agreed finally, a warm smile on her lips. "Dinner and a bed for the night. I'm sure my horse won't object to the extra grooming and feed, either."

"I don't doubt it," he agreed with a light chuckle. "Dinner is normally served in about an hour; that gives us just enough time to freshen up beforehand." He gestured to one of the guards. "See to it that Milady Shield has a room for the night and a warm bath before dinner. Ask for one of the serving girls to wait on Fianna while she freshens up for dinner as an honoured guest." The guard nodded, saluted, then ran off to the castle.

"And just like that, I'm an honoured guest," Fianna joked lightly. "Somehow, though, I get the impression that your father would rather me out in the field, tracking down the source of this rumour with very little to go on."

"Perhaps," Paven agreed with a small laugh. "But…if there are people on the hunt for my father, they're not likely to do anything with you in such close proximity."

"One can hope," she agreed thoughtfully.

"Indeed." Paven paused, then nodded to another guard. "Escort Milady Shield to the castle and the guest room. Be sure there is a serving girl waiting to take care of her." He smiled and looked to the ginger-haired woman. "Dinner, then." Without waiting for a response, he took his blade and headed off towards the barracks.

Fianna watched him go; she could only guess that he was going to pack up and do a little freshening up himself. She sighed softly, then turned to her escort.

"Shall we go?" she asked simply, falling in to step beside the guard for a quiet walk to the castle.

The coming evening promised to be…interesting, she felt.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 17: An Uncomfortable Dinner

There was a young serving girl – pretty, fair skin, dark hair, about Fianna's height, wearing a dark-red dress, maybe sixteen years old – waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase when Fianna walked through the main doors into the castle. The guard who'd been escorting her stopped a couple of paces from the serving girl, passed along the prince's instructions to her, then saluted the Shield before taking his leave. Fianna sighed softly as she watched the guard leave before turning her attention to the girl – Bethy, her name was – and smiled faintly.

"Follow me, Milady," was all the girl said, before turning and heading up the stairs to the upper floor and following a corridor down toward the rear of the palace. The girl stopped in front of a large white door, opened it, and gestured for Fianna to enter.

"This is the room that you'll be staying in tonight, Milady," the girl explained softly, like it was the only course of action for Fianna to take. "A bath has been prepared for you, and I will attend to you while you bathe, if you wish, Milady." Fianna felt like taking issue with the idea that others would decide her actions for her, but she wasn't about to take it out on the girl. The girl was just doing her duty, after all. She stepped into the room…and paused.

The guest room was quite – very – large, probably the same size as the cooking and living area of the Farren homestead at the Eastwood Farm. It was splendid, impeccably furnished and fitted, lavishly decorated, and spoke too much of waste and extravagant comfort. Deep reds and burgundies were the main colour theme of the room, with gold and silver trimmings on fabrics; metal fittings were done with brass or iron. The bed was large and too comfortable, there was a thick white rug on the wooden floor between the bed and the fireplace, and a large bathtub filled with steaming water was resting at the foot of the bed. Bethy closed the door to give the two some privacy.

"Does the room please you, Milady?" the girl asked, perhaps sensing Fianna's disquiet.

"It's fine, Bethy," Fianna replied quickly. "Just…too rich and fancy for my tastes, but for tonight, I can manage." She didn't need help removing her equipment and clothing, but Bethy gave it all the same; soon Fianna was naked, her trim and toned frame drawing the eyes of the younger girl for a moment. Perhaps Bethy had never seen a woman like Fianna naked before, with clear muscles and strength combined with grace and agility. Fianna stepped into the water, testing the temperature with her toes before slowly sinking into the water; she was unable to suppress a groan of delight as the warmth seeped into her muscles and provided much-needed relief.

For the next ten minutes or so, Fianna bathed…and was bathed. She tried, once, to tell Bethy she didn't need help, but when the younger girl proved she could reach places that Fianna could not, the Shield acquiesced and allowed herself to be attended to. While part of her hated the extravagant finery and the servitude the palace represented, Fianna was not about to express her annoyance at the serving girl who was innocently washing her back. Bethy helped the older woman step out of the bath, helped her dry down, helped her dress in her leathers and cloak, helped her re-equip herself…and for all that she disliked the overt richness of the palace, Fianna could not deny that she felt much refreshed after the bath. The serving girl then escorted Fianna out of the guest room and along the hallway, down the grand staircase, then along another hallway towards the rear of the palace where Paven was waiting. Bethy bowed her head to Paven first, then to Fianna, and took her leave.

"I trust you're feeling refreshed, at least a little, Milady?" Paven asked sincerely. Fianna noted that he'd freshened up as well, in additional to dressing up for the occasion of the dinner. She hoped it wouldn't be some stiffly-formal affair; she knew it would be nothing like what she'd shared with the Farren family.

"I admit that the hot bath has made me feel a little…cleaner," she observed wryly. "Splashing oneself down by a stream is good enough when travelling, but a hot bath does make a difference."

"Of that, I have no doubt," Paven agreed, although Fianna really doubted that Paven would know what it was like to bathe by a stream. "Shall we go in?" He held the door open for his guest, allowing Fianna to enter first.

The dining room was about the same size as the entire Ferren homestead, and Fianna was by now getting used to the extravagant opulence of the palace interior – every room of the palace she'd seen so far was dripping with excess, and this room was no different. Rish red curtains against the windows, wooden floors, shelves for storing tankards and goblets and plates, a bench at one end for the meals to be delivered to and from…and, in the middle of the room, a long polished table, capable of seating up to ten, a large candelabra in the middle, with the Emperor at one end, the queen and the Crown Princess to the Emperor's left, and places set to the Emperor's right for Paven and herself.

The Emperor stood quickly when he saw Fianna enter the room, his expression decidedly unhappy.

"Explain yourself, my son," he demanded in a sharp tone. "Why is the Shield wasting her time here, when she could be in the city trying to get to the truth of these rumours?"

"Milady Shield is here as my guest, father," Paven replied smoothly but firmly as he helped Fianna sit opposite the Crown Princess before taking his seat at his father's right hand. "She was here at your request, it was getting late in the afternoon, and I felt it would be rather rude to not extend some hospitality and courtesy to her."

Kylen sat down and grumbled a grudging acceptance; the High-Lady Jennia was cool but cordial in her silent acknowledgement of the Shield's presence…Evianne was clearly intrigued, but apparently didn't want to speak up openly when the mood was already a little frosty. Fianna smiled to herself as she noted the reactions from around the table; the children had promise, but the adults were not overly receptive to the presence of the person who would bring them down if she felt the Empire would be best served that way. Again, Fianna's instinct told her there was more going on than she knew; the Emperor and his Queen were not as open or forthcoming as they presented. For a few moments they made polite and barely-civil small talk, punctuated by noises of displeasure from the Emperor.

"Have you learned anything useful so far, Milady Shield?" the Queen wanted to know as the soup was served in small bowls. "You may speak freely here; everyone at this table knows why my husband called for your aid." The Queen's voice carried the same tone of discontent as her husband was expressing, but she was more subtle about expressing it.

"It depends on how you're defining 'useful,' I suppose," Fianna countered neutrally, as she swallowed a mouthful of the broth. "Have I found anything yet that could lead me to the truth of these rumours about your husband's life? No. Have I found interesting information? …yes."

"Am I allowed to ask what you have learned so far?" the Emperor rumbled acidly from his chair.

"Of course you may ask," Fianna agreed pleasantly. "However, given that what I've learned is, so far, largely hearsay, I'm not if would be wise or prudent at this moment to divulge it, I fear."

"All the more reason you should be in the city instead of being frivolous here," Kylen remarked snidely.

"That's no way to treat an honoured guest, father," Evianne piped up from her chair opposite Fianna.

"She's not my guest, daughter," Kylen retorted sharply. "Your brother invited her; to me, our guest has a job to do, and I'd rather she be doing it."

"That's enough, father!" Paven snapped, thumping his fist on the table. "Whether you want her here or not, Fianna is a guest here, she does hold a position of unique standing, and you will treat her as such!"

In that moment, as the Emperor reluctantly backed down grumbling, Fianna realised something possibly significant: Paven might be the ruler the Empire needed. She smiled thankfully at the young man; she didn't need his defence, but it was welcome.

For a short while the dinner table was quiet as the five attendees ate in silence…the tension in the air was palpable. Soup was finished, bowls cleared away, the main meal was brought out – a large leg of boar with lots of roasted vegetables. Plates were served, portions given, wine was poured…conversation was still muted, cold, quiet, largely limited to mundane topics like weather and the Isles and crops and farming. It was…civil, if not pleasant.

Unfortunately, the Emperor was not a happy drunk, and this night proved no exception. As the dinner wore on and the wine continue to flow (Fianna politely refused wine after the first goblet), Kylen's tongue became looser, and he began by first attacking the nobility in Neverhold for being unsupportive in his efforts to rule and bring prosperity to the Empire; then his vocal musings expanded to include the rulers of the major cities of Stonemount and Blackstrand; his outbursts turned to the army and some general he thought were undermining him…and, by the time dessert was served, he had turned his drunken attention to the question of whether the Shield of the North was still relevant in this day, given how useless she'd been so far.

Fianna could see that Paven was fuming by the time dessert was finished; for herself, however, Fianna had learned a few more things about the Emperor – and the Empire – that she had not previously been aware of, and she knew she needed to follow up with the nobles and generals he'd named as being unsupportive and unhelpful. He could be right, and they could be simply blocking him…or they might have legitimate reasons for opposing him. She needed to know…there was a growing number of people she needed to converse with in her pursuit of the matter at hand.

Dessert was finally done, and the awkwardness of the dinner was over. Servants came in and cleared things away; Fianna and Paven excused themselves, Fianna first and Paven a few minutes later.

Fianna returned to her guest room, found Bethy there warming the bed and turning the quilts down for her. It was a sweet gesture from the girl, in light of the tensions around dinner. A simple robe and nightshirt had been laid on the end of the bed, presumably for Fianna to sleep in. The bath had been removed, and the fire was lit and roaring heartily.

Right now, bed was a damned good idea.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 18: A Nighttime Proposal

The first thing she did was loose her weapons belt and set it on the night table next to the bed. Her swords and bow and quiver were still where she'd left them – safe, secure, sheathed, next to that same night table – but she'd left her daggers in their sheathes when she'd gone to dinner, as well as keeping her potion vials in their loops on her belt. Now that she was getting ready for bed, she supposed she didn't need to continue wearing them…although it would never do to have them out of arms' reach, especially in the castle where she was getting the feeling that her presence was not welcome.

She sighed softly to herself and walked to stand in front of the fireplace, then turned so her back was to it – it allowed for her to warm up better, and also afforded her a better view of the room, which put her a little more at ease.

What did she now know? Not a lot more, in truth…although she had learned more about the effects of the Emperor's growing paranoia on the capital. A slowly-growing feeling of unrest was starting to pervade the empire, she knew that from Eastwood Farm. Troop build-ups reported along the southern border. Evidence of some activity around The Spike. On-going reports of a rumour of a planned attempt on the Emperor's life. Tightened security around the capital, with each gate guarded and all those entering subject to search. Guards taking bribes to get through the gates. The Emperor – a not-likable man, now that she'd met him – was becoming more secretive and irritable. Paven had his own information, but wasn't so sure about revealing it.

Paven. The more she thought about the Crown Prince – although her first-hand knowledge of the young man was limited – the more she got the impression that he might be the best person to lead the Empire, regardless of the threat to the Emperor. Of course she'd need more information before she could categorically make that determination, but first impressions counted for a lot, and the two men – Emperor and Crown Prince – were very different in demeanour and temperament. She also could not shake the notion that he might be a good choice for companion when it was her turn to bear the next Shield.

"I need more," she whispered to herself. "So much more. Mirage must be my next contact…if I can find her. Or maybe she'll find me. She'll be able to tell me a lot…it just depends on where her duty lies."

For a few minutes she was content to let her thoughts wander, although she was not unaware of her surroundings. Her eyes continually searching and watching, her ears constantly listening…she was in a very different environment from the one she'd been raised and trained in. The castle almost felt…alien. So many creaks and clunks and bangs and clatters…and no rustling breeze, no gentle sounds of animals, no fresh air. It was just…wrong.

She was about to make the move to head to bed when a gentle knock sounded on her door.

Her ears pricked up as her head snapped around to regard the door; she was instantly alert, her wandering thoughts temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. She moved to the bed, close to her weapons, before responding.

"Enter," she offered in a quiet but firm voice, enough to carry to the door and impose her authority.

The door opened to reveal Paven, similarly dressed-down following dinner. He took two paces into the room, stopped, took in the sight of Fianna standing so-close to her equipment, and remained by the door, although he did close it behind him.

"May I come in?" he ventured carefully.

She paused, then nodded as she allowed herself to relax slightly. "Of course," she agreed, although she was still a little wary.

Paven nodded his thanks, then moved to stand by the fireplace, apparently in an attempt to show he had no hostile intentions.

"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad moment," he began sincerely.

"Not really," Fianna allowed politely. "I was just…thinking, and about to get ready to turn in."

"My apologies, then," he replied politely, and she bobbed her head in acknowledgement. "I suppose you're wondering why I decided to visit?"

"The thought did occur," she agreed readily.

"Hmmm." Paven paused for moment, then took a deep breath and continued. "Well…I wanted, firstly, to apologise for my father's behaviour at dinner tonight," he ventured slowly. "He's normally a lot more civil, even friendly, with guests, especially high-profile ones such as yourself."

"The air around the dinner table was a little awkward and uncomfortable," she conceded.

"I guess this whole business about the threat on his life has made him more…" Paven's voice trailed off, like he was searching for the right word.

"…paranoid…?" Fianna finished politely with virtually no hesitation.

"I suppose there's really no other way to describe it," he admitted sheepishly. "So…my apologies for that." He pursed his lips. "Unfortunately, you won't get an apology from him."

"Somehow I'm not surprised," she observed lightly. "Still…apology accepted." She paused, then allowed a small and faint smile. "At least the food was good."

It was Paven's turn to smile faintly. "I'm glad for that much, at least," he noted wryly. Then he sighed heavily. "I'd share information with you, if I could."

"Oh…?" Fianna's curiosity was piqued. She thought briefly about sitting on the edge of the bed, but decided against it. Paven was still standing by the fireplace, and she didn't yet trust the Crown Prince enough to lower her guard by relaxing that much.

"Yes," Paven nodded. "I have my small network of spies who tell me things, but…I'm sure I don't get the reports of what's actually happening; I'll wager that my reports are sanitised before I see them. I can't walk the Empire and see things for myself; but you can."

Fianna frowned slightly. She heard and understood the truth of his words, the underlying frustration of a man who wanted to know what was happening but wasn't really able to find out, but…

"Are you wanting to add me to your spy network, Paven?" she asked softly.

The Crown Prince snorted lightly. "While it's tempting to try, I know I cannot do that," he admitted slowly. "You must remain impartial, and loyal to the Empire first. I'm quite aware that if, in your eyes, the Empire would be better served by my death, you'd permit it, or even facilitate it."

Fianna's frown turned into a small scowl. He was right, of course, but she hadn't wanted it to be brought into the open like this. Still, it was there, out and done. It took a few seconds for the scowl to fade from her pretty features.

"So…what information would you share, then?" She felt it was better to not follow that particular line of discussion, instead choosing to go back to his original topic.

"Well…I can find out things in the castle that you cannot," he pointed out. "I have the ears of the generals. I can make gentle inquiries to find out what the mood of the army is. In return…" He paused, then rushed ahead. "In return, I just want to know what's going on from a source that's independent!"

"Pool our resources, you say?" she probed gently, and Paven nodded quickly.

"Yes! That!"

Fianna smiled faintly. "I suppose that might be acceptable," she agreed carefully. "I won't tell you where I'm going, though, lest the wrong eyes read any messages I leave, but I can tell you where I've been and what I've observed. In return…you can keep me appraised of the mood in both the castle and the army, let me know of any changes in troop movements."

Paven nodded almost excitedly, and Fianna smiled warmly.

"Very well, then," she agreed coolly after a few moments of thought and reflection. "As I travel, I'll leave messages for you as to what I've seen of the Empire. In return, I'll receive updates from you about life and activity in the capital."

"That will work," Paven agreed readily. "One day, assuming things don't take a turn for the worse, it will fall to me to rule the Empire. I would know who – and what – I'm ruling."

Fianna nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "You could do worse than make efforts to understand your Empire," she agreed, then stifled a small yawn…something Paven noticed, apparently.

"But I've kept you long enough," he observed quickly. "I'll apologise for delaying your sleep, although the conversation was…fruitful." He bowed his head politely, and Fianna bobbed her head in reply. "Good night, Milady. I'll arrange for Bethy to rouse you for breakfast at sun-up." He bowed his head again, then made his way back to the door, opened it just enough to let himself out, and closed it behind him to leave Fianna alone in the room.

The Shield sighed slowly and heavily. Was the son working against the father? The thought bounced through her head as she slowly divested herself of her clothing, and for a moment she was content to stand naked in the room, letting the cool air refresh her lithe frame before she took the sleeping tunic that had been laid out for her and pulled herself into it.

She doused the torches and candles in the room one by one before she climbed into the bed, appreciating the softness while missing the hardness of ground, and pulled the quilts up over her body. The bed was just one more piece of decadence of the castle that she knew she'd never gets used to. She doused the candle by her bed and closed her eyes.

Sleep took a little while to come, and her dreams were punctuated by images of the Crown Prince bedding her and giving her the next Shield…

 

[Sync]

Chapter 19: A Royal Breakfast

Sleep was…restless, at best. Fianna woke several times during the night, her body hot and bothered by both her dreams and the decadence of the room: the bed was too soft, the quilts too heavy, the fireplace making the room too warm for her to sleep properly. At one point she considered sleeping on the floor, and got as far as deciding it was a good idea before drifting back into slumber. Some part of her was aware that she wasn't sleeping properly in this bed, in this room, but she was captive to her status as an honoured guest.

She was probably having the best sleep of the night when she was roused by the serving girl who'd tended her the previous evening – Bethy, the young brown-haired girl who must have been all of sixteen winters, was standing next to the bed, reaching out to touch the Shield's shoulder and gently shake her. Of course, Bethy's task was to wake the guest, but she didn't want to be rough; she could not have known that Fianna would probably appreciate a rougher wake-up. One eye cracked open, took in the sight of the girl, and she groaned softly.

"Is it morning already…?" she wanted to know, her voice soft and croaky. She didn't feel like moving: she was lying on her stomach, legs askew under the quilts, head turned to face the window – at least the curtain was still closed to block the morning sun – left arm under the pillow, right arm down by her side. She didn't feel that good, her head felt a little foggy from lack of decent sleep.

"It is, Milady," Bethy replied gently, relieved that their guest was now awake. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not really," Fianna croaked honestly. She coughed in the back of her throat to clear it, then rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. "The bed was too soft for me, the quilts to thick. I'm just…not used to sleeping in such finery, Bethy. I'm sure I'd have been more at home in the servant's quarters."

"I'm sorry, Milady," the girl replied, apparently genuinely apologetic over the fact that the guest had not enjoyed the night's sleep.

"Nothing for you to apologise for, Bethy," the older woman replied with a shake of her head. "Let's speak no more of it." She groaned and pushed herself up into a sitting position, something Bethy was quite happy to assist with. "What does an honoured guest like myself do for breakfast here?"

The young maid flushed slightly at the inflection in the Shield's words. She couldn't understand why a guest wouldn't be happy being treated like a guest. But it wasn't her place to question. "Crown Prince Paven has asked that you join him for breakfast, and has asked me to see you be ready for breakfast. I believe it will only be him and the Crown Princess with you; the Emperor and the High Lady ate earlier for breakfast."

Fianna sighed softly. Of course Paven wanted her to join him, but at least there was the small mercy that the Emperor wouldn't be joining them. "Well…best that we get me ready for breakfast, young Bethy," she mused slowly, a small hint of sarcasm in her voice as she shuffled towards the edge of the bed. "Gods forbid that I miss out." She just knew that breakfast would be a lush affair as well…she was given to simple meals.

For the next ten minutes both Fianna and Bethy struggled to get the Shield out of the bed, refreshed, and dressed in her standard leathers and cloak. This time Fianna properly equipped herself with her daggers and swords sheathed and secured to her belt, potions secured to her belt also, and her bow and quiver wrapped – for the moment – inside her small bedroll. It was a process made slightly more difficult by Bethy apparently having no idea how to properly handle weapons of any kind, nor how to pass them safely, but Fianna took the time to explain things as they went, such that the younger girl was at least passably aware of due care by the time Fianna was properly dressed. The Shield gave no protest as Bethy offered to brush her hair to make sure there were no knots in it. The two didn't talk a lot as Fianna was slowly dressed and equipped, other than chatter about how to handle weapons and talk related to the woman's attire. When they were finally done, Fianna felt almost like herself again…other than the chore of getting downstairs to some no-doubt fancy room to partake in an unnecessarily-fancy breakfast.

The pair made their way down the stairs in silence – Fianna because she had nothing she wanted to say, Bethy because she didn't really know what to say. At least the silence wasn't awkward, for which Fianna was thankful. They went down a set of stairs at the rear of the palace, smaller than the grand staircase at the front but no less extravagant and opulent, and arrived close to what must have been the main kitchen, judging by the smells. Bethy led the way down a side corridor to a large and open room not far from the kitchen – the room was open at the outside wall to allow a largely-unhindered view of the palace gardens, with space to comfortably seat eight at the central table, and a side table containing plates of various meats and breads and fruits…did one help themselves for breakfast? This was new to Fianna. What happened to the food that wasn't eaten? Surely it wasn't going to be thrown out – the staff could eat their own breakfast, have leftovers for lunch and maybe dinner…right?

She didn't get to ask those questions: Bethy was guiding her to the table, pulling out a seat next to Paven, who was already seated at the head, and opposite Evianne. She dutifully sat, looking somewhat perplexed by the arrangement.

"Thank you, Bethy," she offered sincerely. "But…what…?"

"Oh…my apologies, Milady!" Bethy replied quickly after a second of confusion. "One serves oneself from the selections at the side table." There were plates and bowls stacked at one end of the side table, Fianna could see that now…she was again a little overwhelmed – and slightly disgusted – by the decadence in the palace. She nodded her thanks to Bethy, who curtsied deeply to the Shield and departed, leaving Fianna to stand and make her way to the side table to consider her options.

"Thank you for joining us, Milady," Paven began behind her from his chair. "I trust you slept well?"

"I'll confess that I did not sleep well, Paven," she replied as she took a plate. "The bed was too soft and warm for my tastes. I'm used to sleeping in something like a cot, or a simple bed. Hells, I slept under a lean-to and in a hayloft on my way here."

"Ugh…gross," Evianne chimed in from her chair, and Fianna turned slightly to regard the younger royal. It was the first time Fianna had gotten to really look at the girl – last night's dinner didn't really count – and Fianna saw that the girl was young, maybe eighteen winters, pretty, head full of blonde hair, slight of build…and fully-captured by the fineries of her station. Fianna guessed that she'd be married off to a suitable noble boy soon, if arrangements weren't already being made.

"It's what I'm used to, is all," Fianna repeated simply as she made her selection – a chunk of bread, a slab of roasted meat left over from the previous night, and a few pieces of apple. She took her plate and returned to her seat, poured herself a cup of water, and started on the bread. "You might dislike what I'm used to, and that's your experience; I'm not overly fond of what you're used to, and that's my experience. If you would rule, you would do well to remember that all opinions are valid, regardless of whether you agree with them."

Paven nodded his agreement. "Unfortunately, that viewpoint is not something father teaches," he noted slowly. "He seems to hold the idea that his opinion is the only one that matters, because he's the Emperor. He may consider other opinions, depending on the situation and where it comes from, but mostly he'll hold his own counsel."

"And there's nothing wrong with that," Evianne noted imperiously. "It's served him well for all these many years, and he's held a long reign from it."

"But it's not working so well for him now, is it, sister?" Paven wanted to know. "If it was, you and I would not now be taking breakfast with the Shield of the North, would we?"

"We might," the girl replied defensively. "Father might have invited her just to keep the interest there in a legend."

The Sheild snorted softly around a mouthful of bread as Paven shook his head. "Don't be obtuse, sister," the young man chided intensely. "You and I both know that the only reason Fianna is here is because father is worried. He's got a problem, possibly something that could have a long-lasting effect on the Empire, and he doesn't know how to – or if he even should – handle it on his own. Fianna is here because her first duty is to the stability and security of the empire, so father wants her to handle it for him."

Fianna nodded in agreement, although she was slightly impressed by Paven's assessment. He was largely correct, although she wasn't sure if the Crown Prince knew the full specifics. Maybe he did know; he might know more than she did, in truth. They hadn't really talked at length on the subject. He knew things, but not what Fianna did; he also knew other things that she did not. At least Evianne had the good sense to not inflame the conversation.

For a few minutes they ate in a silence that wavered between awkward and uncomfortable. Fianna finished her bread then moved to the roasted meat, picking it up delicately in her fingers and chewing on it slowly, almost enjoying the look of revulsion on Evianne's face at her apparently-uncouth manners.

"So…what do you think you'll do next, Milady?" Paven asked simply. "Did you have any plans for working out whatever it is that father's asked your assistance with?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest," she conceded, being vague in part because she didn't know who else might be listening. "Maybe I'll spend some time in the capital, getting a feel for the mood of the people. Rumours and gossip may help give me some insight as well, although I know to not place too much stock in either. A day or two moving around, then…out into the lands. I'll definitely visit Oldpond and Blackstrand at some point, also Hammond's farm, but I'm not yet decided on just where I'll go next. There's news of movement in the North as well, so Knightreach and Stonemount may also require a visit." She chuckled softly. "I daresay I'll likely have visited most of the empire before this is done."

"That does sound like a large journey indeed," Paven agreed, ignoring Evianne as his sister seemed content to brood and shake her head dismissively. "If there's any way I can help, please let me know. The imperial waystations can get messages to me, if you need to."

She swallowed her mouthful of roasted lamb and nodded her thanks. She was simply ignoring Evianne for the moment; the Crown Princess was too caught up in her own insulated world to understand what was really going on. "Thank you for the offer, Paven," she intoned graciously. "At this moment I cannot say that help will be unwelcome."

Breakfast was largely done by this time; at least Fianna had eaten her fill. She took the apple pieces off her plate and bit into one with a satisfying crunch and pushed herself up from her chair.

"Thank you for the morning meal," she offered sincerely. "Again, not what I'm used to, but not unwelcome or unenjoyable. If I may be so bold, I would that the staff be given the leftovers, and maybe some of the city's less fortunate could also benefit."

Evianne openly scoffed at the idea, but Paven looked thoughtfully at the Shield for a moment before nodding slowly. Fianna gave no thought to either as she went on.

"But at this time, I feel I should take my leave. I'm sure I can make my own way out, so no need for either of you to trouble yourself on my behalf." She had no doubt that the Crown Princess wouldn't lift a finger for the Shield if she didn't have to, and she didn't want Paven to feel obligated. "Besides, I may have overstayed my welcome; something I'm sure your father would agree with, if he were here to offer an opinion." She bit into the apple piece again and deliberately chewed loudly.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Paven," she added courteously. "With luck we'll meet again. I'll see myself out."

With nothing further to add and without waiting for either to comment or reply, she turned and walked out of the small dining room.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 20: Exiting the Castle

As it turned out, getting out of the castle was a little more difficult than she'd thought. Leaving the dining room was easy enough, but then…she hadn't allowed for the corridors that criss-crossed the castle. When you weren't familiar with them, they all looked the same. She made the first turn out of the dining room all right, then the second…then, perhaps fortunately, she bumped into Bethy while trying to figure out which way to turn.

"Do you need help, Milady?" the girl asked, doing her best to be helpful to their guest.

"I admit that I do, Bethy," Fianna replied graciously. "Perhaps understandably…I'm lost in here. Could you please guide me to my room so I can get the rest of my equipment, then show me how to get out of the castle? I'll also need to get my horse from the stables – I believe…Soran, was it?...took him there."

"Of course, Milady," the serving girl agreed, and headed off in the direction of the guest rooms.

"I should probably also get word to the Seneschal that I'm departing," she added as the two walked along one over-decorated corridor after another.

"I can see to that as well, Milady," Bethy pointed out politely.

"Thank you, Bethy," Fianna acknowledged sincerely. "I must say that you've been the bright point in this visit for me."

"Milady is too kind," the young girl replied as she blushed deeply.

The two walked in comfortable silence for a few more minutes until they reached the guest room where Fianna had slept. While she'd equipped her swords and daggers and potions before heading to breakfast, her bow and quiver and bedroll and small satchel were still packed and in the room – Fianna grabbed them, slung them about her body, checked that everything was secured and where it should be, then turned to the serving girl, who'd been waiting patiently at the door.

"Now I'm set," Fianna told her guide happily. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to lead me out…"

Without further conversation the two fell into step once more and made their way along corridors and halls until the grand staircase came into view. Fianna was unable to hide a small sigh of relief as the exit was finally revealed to her; Bethy looked at the guest curiously but didn't say anything as they made their way down the over-large staircase to the entry hall. When their feet touched the floor of the main foyer, Fianna turned and spoke softly to the young girl.

"Thank you for your guidance and service, Bethy," she began quietly. "For the future…please take care of yourself. I do not know what will happen in the weeks and months to come, but there may be upheaval, and I would like that you not be harmed through it."

Bethy blinked quickly at the Shield's words, the reaction accompanied by a look of surprise when Fianna's hand rested comfortably on the girl's shoulder. "I…yes, Milady," she managed to get out. "I promise I'll be careful."

Fianna gave the girl a small, reassuring smile, nodded briefly, then released the girl from her gentle grip and turned towards the door. "Please ask Soran to get my horse ready for me," she asked the girl. "And get a message to the Seneschal."

"Yes, Milady," Bethy replied quickly, then turned and darted back into the castle.

Getting out of the castle from here was, clearly, much easier – when the main doors were right in front of you, it would be very difficult to not leave. A few moments later saw Fianna on the outside of the castle doors, a sense of relief washing over her that she was no longer inside the stuffiness of the castle. She took several deep breaths of fresh air, then made her way down the main steps to the gravel path before turning in the direction of the stables.

She got halfway to the stables when she encountered the Seneschal, who was apparently waiting for her to approach.

"Good morning, Milady Shield," the man greeted her politely, his thin voice still slightly grating on her nerves.

"Good morning, Seneschal," she replied in kind as he fell into step beside her.

"I heard about last night's dinner…conversation," he observed drily. "And I got word about your desire to move on after breakfast. Bethy got word to me; I've sent Soran on ahead to prepare your horse." He paused for a moment, his lips pursed thoughtfully. "I can only apologise for the Emperor's behaviour."

"Somehow I'm not sure the Emperor would share your offer of apology," she noted pointedly. "But thank you all the same."

"Probably true," the weaselly man agreed. "Did you at least sleep well last night?"

"Not really." Fianna's reply was flat and honest. "There was too much…finery…for me to be fully comfortable in. Was the bed soft and warm and comfortable? Sure. Am I used to that? No." This concern for her well-being and comfort, while possibly just polite courtesy, was starting to bother her. "I did briefly consider sleeping on the floor."

"Ah." The Seneschal seemed to not know how to respond to such a blunt rejection of the castle's comforts, and Fianna decided to sav the man from having to respond by waving her hand dismissively.

"But nevermind that," she continued firmly as they approached the stables. "My goal today is to wander the city for a while, maybe spend time in the market, and stay overnight in an Inn or Tavern, and tomorrow I'll leave the city and investigate the countryside to see if I can pick up any leads on these rumours."

"His Majesty would be gratified to hear that, I'm sure," the Seneschal noted diplomatically.

"Let's not kid each other, Seneschal," Fianna observed humourlessly. "You and I both know that the Emperor is more likely to be happy to see the back of me, even though he was the one who called for my aid in the first place. He made his feelings on that very clear last night." She paused as they reach the stables, turned to face the thin man.

"That doesn't include the fact that, while I was in his study yesterday, he was…let's say he was keenly looking at me in a way I did not find appealing." She held up a hand to stop his comments. "But I don't really care for any of that right now. What I want to do is get this underway, so I can get to the bottom of whatever is going on that's brought me here and be done with it." She could feel her irritability rising slowly as she spoke. "So, if it pleases you, I'll just grab my horse and be on my way. I think, for now, that the sooner I can put the castle behind me, the happier I'll be. I don't know what expectations I had of the castle and the people in it before I arrived in the city, but overall, the reality has fallen short of my expectations."

The Seneschal could only nod glumly. A rebuke from the emperor he could handle – he got them almost daily, especially now – but this was…different. There was little he could say to that; instead, he nodded to the boy, Soran, who was leading Fianna's horse over to them. Fianna took the reins gently from the lad and nodded her thanks to him, then reached into her pouch and withdrew a silver crown, which she handed to the young man.

"For your service, Soran," she told him simply. "But I'll make my own way to the main gates from here, thank you." She didn't bother waiting for either of them to reply, although the boy was clearly pleased with her recognition; she simply turned on her heel and, reins in hand, slowly headed through the gardens towards the main gate with Pannon following behind obediently.

The walk through the gardens allowed her to calm down, at least a little. They were soothing, if nothing else – calming, colourful, each bush cared for with painstaking attention, each flower lovingly cultivated. The grounds staff here did not deserve her ire, she recognised that. Nor did the Senschal, in truth, but she recognised that he was the face of what she disliked about the castle, and thus he'd become the focus of her annoyance. She might have to apologise to him later…maybe.

It took maybe fifteen minutes of walking for her to finally reach the gate, and she recognised the man standing guard as being the same man who'd greeted her yesterday. He snapped to attention when he approached.

"Milady Shield!" he greeted her professionally.

"Jerlan, isn't it?" she enquired politely.

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed quickly.

"Excellent," she replied simply. "Jerlan, I'm leaving the castle, but not the city, not yet. Could you perhaps give me the names of a couple of inns or taverns I might stay at overnight? Nothing in the noble quarter, though; something in the middle- or lower-class quarters would be better."

The guard frowned slightly. "If I might know what your intentions are so I can better advise…?"

"My intention is to eat and sleep, so the places need to be at least vaguely reputable," she told him. She didn't trust him enough to tell him why she wanted a middle-class tavern.

"Of course, Milady," he acknowledged simply. After several minutes of thought and discussion, she had The Prancing Pony Inn in the city's west and not far from the market, a clean and respectable establishment often frequented by merchants and traders; The Squawking Crow Tavern in the city's south not far from the main barracks of the city militia; and The Spikeview Inn in the city's east, respectable but not really proper for a lady such as the Shield to visit.

Fianna smile thinly at the man and nodded her thanks, then walked through the gates and into the city. Markets were good sources of gossip…as were Tavern taprooms after dinner.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 21: The Feeling of the City

It was close to mid-morning by the time Fianna actually walked through the castle gates to return to the city. She took a few paces from the gates, Pannon behind her with her hand loosely holding the reins, and then stopped to take stock of her surroundings. Her symbol was deliberately covered by her cloak, so as to not announce her presence to the city. She needed information, she needed understanding…while she had a good intellectual understanding of the Empire, she had barely experienced it before this journey. There was no real need for the Shields to interact with the Empire as a whole, except when called for. Fianna was starting to feel that this may be a mistake on their part. It was hard to justify standing for the Empire when you didn't have a lot to do with it. That was something she could rectify, though.

A bit to the west and slightly south was the central marketplace of the city. While there were plenty of stores and shopfronts to be seen dotted around the city, the main market was the life of the city. If the Castle was the brain of Neverhold, then the Market was its beating heart. It would be a good place to learn about the city and her people…to learn a little of what life might truly be like in the Empire.

But first…a place to stay the night. The Prancing Pony seemed the best bet – it was close to the market, and also – if the information provided was accurate – frequented by the kind of people who travelled the Empire. They'd have good insight into the state of the lands she was defending. There'd be plenty of gossip to be found in the market, too, and it didn't hurt that she could combine idle chatter with a hunt for basic supplies and equipment. She smiled faintly to herself as she turned and headed west.

Finding the market wasn't hard: after a short while of travelling the city streets it became a simple matter of following the bustle and gentle noise. The market was large indeed, stalls everywhere, people milling about looking for a bargain. She didn't linger, though – not yet. She needed the tavern first, and it took her another ten minutes of walking to find what she was looking for: The Prancing Pony. There were stables around the side, and she left Pannon with the stableboy for the price of a silver crown; then she made her way inside.

The main room of the tavern was about as she'd expected: dimly lit, save for the light coming through the slatted windows, rough tables and rougher chairs, a small raised platform by the main fireplace, and lengthy bar along one wall leading to what she could only presume to be the kitchen at the back. Various bottles and flasks lined the shelves behind the bar. There were a few patrons already present for what had to be the start of what passed for lunch time here, and there were a couple of serving wenches moving around the main floor. In the back of the room was a narrow staircase leading to the upper floors. Fianna didn't particularly fancy staying here, but she needed to do so in order to better understand what she was being asked with. She approached the bar and got the attention of the barkeep behind it; a few minutes later she was leaving the bar with a door key in hand having secured a room and stabling for the night. She'd be back for dinner, and the evening gossip and the night went on and tongues got looser.

For now, though…the marketplace.

She made her way out of the tavern, securing her room key in a small pouch as she left the establishment. The day was cool, as always, but at least the sun was struggling to shine to stave off the possibility of rain. A gentle breeze washed through the city, helping her forget, for a moment, that she was inside a city. Of course the bustle of people and the constant chatter of conversation around her quickly brought her back to the moment, but that fleeting second of escape – even if it was just inside her mind – was very welcome. She sighed, and headed to the marketplace – easy enough to find from the tavern she'd be staying at.

The main marketplace of Neverhold was a large square, easily twice the size of the clearing she called home. The ground was loosely paved but dirty, making it easy enough for people to walk on without risking slipping on the paving stones if it got wet – which, she supposed, happened often. There were stalls everywhere she looked, lined up neatly in rows, almost like a miniature city: in the centre was a collection of small buildings, the permanent stalls that were given to the regular traders, while the outside was made up of temporary stalls and tents of the traders who only arrived when their travels and wares permitted. A handful of city guards were making loose patrols through the market streets looking for any signs of trouble – which, from what she could see so far, didn't happen with and frequency. Fianna knew she should start mingling and collecting information, but…where to begin?

Maybe it was just better to wander without a specific purpose. That in itself might be beneficial to her aims. She could stand to pick up a few extra days' worth of trail rations for when she left the city, anyway, and the food vendors were more likely to speak to the people than those selling specific items. Fianna slowly walked along the lines of stalls, her ears listening for snippets of conversation as much as her eyes were looking to see if there was anything of note she might stop to check out. It didn't take long for her to pick out a merchant who appeared to offer stock for the traveller.

"Good morning, good sir!" she offered lightly as she approached the man's large and open tent. It was still morning, right? Yes, it was. And her symbol was still carefully hidden from view.

The merchant – a rounding, middle-aged man with unkempt black-ish hair, pale skin, and thick but worn robes of various browns – looked up, saw a possible customer, and smiled broadly.

"Good morning, fair lady!" he replied warmly. "Korath is my name, and I would be delighted to see if I can help you."

"Well met, then, Korath," Fianna noted sincerely. "It looks like you stock goods and supplies for the traveller…?"

"I do indeed, fair lady," he agreed. "I do a good amount of travelling myself, so I now from experience what's good and what is not. You travel yourself, then?"

She nodded slowly. "I do," she noted neutrally. "I'm reasonably well-stocked for the moment, but it won't hurt to top up my supplies before I'm back on the road."

"That's true. I'm just in from a trip around the south-west, myself – Shimmerwater, Grimwatch, Southview, the two farmholds. What about yourself?"

"I'm in from the north," Fianna told him. "A small village between Rockhold and Eastwood farm."

"I was thinking of heading that way," Korath mused thoughtfully. "Any news from there?"

"Not really. Generally quiet. The mood is a little…wary, I suppose. News of possible unrest spreads, you know. What about the south?"

"True enough, that. The south is little different in that regard. But…word is that things are a little more – tense, I guess is a good way of putting it – around Blackstrand." The merchant tapped the side of his nose lightly. "The news I've heard from there speaks of soldiers moving in that direction."

Fianna nodded slowly. "I've heard that as well. That news has reached the North. Soldiers talk when they're unhappy, it seems, and they've been observed to be engaging in not-usual rotations."

"Then you'd best be careful on the roads, my lady. These may be dark times ahead of us. What of my goods takes your fancy?"

For the next few minutes the two haggled and traded, coins were handed over, goods were received, and Fianna was satisfied with her additional supply of trail rations, a new firelighting kit, and a tent-repair kit. She also had the makings of a plan – to head south, towards Shimmerwater first, then across to Blackstrand. She gave her farewells to the merchant, then continued on her way after securing her purchases.

As she continued to wander, apparently aimlessly, around the marketplace, she knew she had to be on the road in the morning. The Common room of the Prancing Pony would be another good way to determine the mood of the city, but then…travel. As much as she hated to admit it, the Emperor was correct, in that she'd not been moving as quickly as she possibly could have. She needed information, though, and moving quickly might cause her to miss something vital. She was, at this moment, engaged in a delicate balancing act, and she wasn't overly fond of the position the conflicting needs placed her in.

She was getting a good feel for the mood of the city, too. Her ears picked up many snippets of information – some of it useless to her mission, as they were conversations focussed on personal or local matters; but others were useful, as they talked of soldiers south of the Open River, strengthening of the troops at the Grimwatch, rumours of boats preparing to sail from Lightport. But she knew that whatever the stories in the market held, there would be a different feeling in the Common room when tongues were looser and less restrained.

The daylight was starting to fade when she made the decision to return to the Inn. She gave a nod to the Innkeep as she made her way through the Common room towards the stairs; then she was on the upper floor, heading to her room, unlocking the door, closing the door behind her. The Inn was comfortable, but she had to admit that it was not anything fancy like the castle was…and she rather liked that. The Inn felt more…genuine. Fianna secured her purchases with the rest of her belongings then headed back downstairs to the Common room, locking her door behind her as she left her room.

She was looking forward to a hearty Inn stew and a mug of mead to accompany the evening's rumours.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 22: The Feeling of the People

The common room was already starting to fill as she took a seat at a small table in a darkened corner. It wasn't full, nor was it likely to be, but there were still plenty of people coming in for a drink and a feed. She knew from the Innkeeper that the guest rooms were not all occupied. As more folk filed in the sound of chatter and laughter slowly grew louder, and her hearing – thanks to the centuries-old gifts bestowed upon her ancestor, the first Shield of the North – was able to discern more and more individual conversations and words. Fianna knew she could, if she wanted to, concentrate and pick out a single conversation in the crowd and focus on it, but she didn't want to do that, not now; focusing on a single conversation would cause her to miss out on many others, and the point of being here was to find out as much as she could. She made a point of keeping her symbol hidden; she wanted to be sure, as much as she could, that she didn't stand out or draw attention.

A serving wench approached her as she settled – a girl of maybe sixteen winters, slim, dark brown hair – and stood a couple of steps away. "Gustal said you're new in town," she intoned lightly. "He asked me to make sure you order before the rush starts. Them folks," she added, nodding in the direction of the centre of the room, "generally have a drink or two before ordering food, so if'n you order now, you'll get something that's fresh and hot."

Fianna smiled faintly at the girl and nodded her thanks. "Sounds like good advice," she agreed easily. "In that case…get me a bowl of stew, and a mug of mead, please. Put it on my room."

The young girl smiled and nodded. "Gotcha," she acknowledged simply. "One stew, and a mug of mead. Be back shortly." The girl turned and disappeared into the gathering crowd, leaving Fianna alone at her table to watch and listen.

It wasn't difficult to work out that conversation became less restrained as drinks started taking effect. In the room were farmers and merchants, guards and labourers, shopkeepers and craftsmen – all talking amongst their little groups initially, sharing tales of the day's work. But…the conversation felt a little…restrained, she supposed. Sure, she didn't know how lively a regular evening might be, but there was something in the air, like there had been in the market. Laughter felt a little strained, chatter felt a little muted…even in the comfort of a tavern common room, the unease in the city was present.

The wench returned with a tray, set the tray on the table to place a bowl of steaming stew in front of the Shield with a spoon in it, a small plate containing a large chunk of bread, and a mug of mead. "There y' go, ma'am," the girl advised politely. "Hearty venison stew, bread to mop it up with, and a large mead."

Fianna looked up and gave a brief bob of her head in thanks. "Thank you," she acknowledged simply. "What's your name, girl?"

The girl blinked briefly. "It's Hetty, ma'am," she replied, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"Well…thank you, Hetty," Fianna offered agreeably. "Although…as much as I'd like to chat and get your opinion on things, I'm sure the others might get a bit rowdy that I'm hogging your attention."

The girl – Hetty – pursed her lips for a moment, then smiled faintly. "They would at that, ma'am," she agreed. "I'll be back to check on your later, perhaps." She didn't wait for a response, instead turning and making her way through the milling bodies towards the bar, leaving Fianna alone again.

Fianna watched the girl disappear into the growing throng of people, then focussed on her dinner. It was a simple fare, true – just what she preferred. This was far more comfortable than the dinner last night in the palace. She felt better for simply not being there; even though she was undoubtedly physically safer in the palace, she felt more relaxed in the Inn's common room. It was warm, rustic, comfortable, filled with regular people and regular conversation – and, as she spooned a serve of stew into her mouth, accompanied by simple and wholesome food. The stew went down easily, well, and for a moment she forgot why she was here as the meal began to heat her on the inside. Then she sighed…and focussed her hearing.

There was a lot of "normal" conversations – farmers talking about livestock or crops, men talking about their families, women talking about their children, merchants talking about their wares and their travels. Interesting snippets, to be sure, but nothing that especially warranted her attention. It was worth knowing, though – it gave her an idea of how life was faring generally in the Empire. For the most part, the "common folk" were content to go about their lives, and if they were aware of anything untoward here, they weren't letting it disturb their normal routines.

Then her ears found a group of soldiers…

"…orders telling us to head towards Blackstrand, then keep going to the Gloomwood…"

"...joining with another phalanx on the other side of the Open River south of Hammond's Farm…"

"...heading out with my phalanx to reinforce Grimwatch…"

"…strange things happening at The Spike, my Captain says to ignore it…"

"…told groups of barbarians are moving south through the Chesmack Hills…"

That was what she wanted to know. So the rumours she'd heard about troop movements were more than just rumours; these soldiers were talking about orders and phalanx movements. This was certainly a build-up to war, and along the Southern border it could only be against the Tilvell Kingdom; but was the Empire the Defender or the Aggressor? She'd heard nothing from the kingdom to the south, only that the Empire was mobilising in that direction. The comment about odd things at The Spike confirmed her suspicions earlier…but the news of barbarians moving south from beyond The Worldspine was disturbing.

She'd been too isolated for too long, she knew that. Keeping out of the way and emerging when called was not good, and she knew that the Shield had to become more active in the Empire, if only to keep an ear to the ground to remain informed about events. Of course, she had to survive this current…whatever it was, first.

Her stew was largely gone by the time she stopped focussing on the conversations around her; the soldiers had got up and left anyway, or had at least stopped talking about orders and were just talking and getting drunk. Fianna used her bread to clean up the remaining gravy left behind by the stew around the bowl, her mind whirling with the nuggets she'd just collected and trying to formulate a plan of action. There was almost too much to investigate, and in too many directions – she was in the middle right now, and needed to go everywhere: northwest to the Chesmark Hills; east to The Spike; southeast to Blackstrand and the Gloomwood; south to Hammond's Farm; southwest to the Gimwatch. Hammond's Farm was a good hub in the south; that might be a good starting point, and from there to Blackstrand.

She sighed softly and finished mopping up her stew with her bread, and picked up her mug...but that was empty, too, much to her surprise. She got Hetty's attention and ordered another mug of mead, sat in silent contemplation as she waited for the mug to arrive. She resolved to follow that plan of action: leave Neverhold immediately after breakfast and head to Hammond's Farm. There she'd be able to better gauge the mood and news of the south. From Hammond's Farm head to Blackstrand to check in with the local Lord, determine the Lord's feelings about the Empire, gather what news of troop movements and build-ups, get an understanding of the relationship with Tilvell…and then scout around the Gloomwood.

She nodded her thanks to Hetty when her fresh mug was delivered and she drank from it slowly. This has started with a threat against the life of the Emperor…and was slowly turning into a possible war. But why war? If war was inevitable, who was instigating it?

And how to find Mirage and get her hands on the Spymaster's insights?

 

[Sync]

Chapter 23: The Journey South

The night had passed largely uneventfully once the soldiers and guards moved on. The farmers and merchants talked amongst themselves, but didn't really say anything that wasn't either relevant or already known to the Shield. For the most part, Fianna was content to continue to listen while enjoying sitting back in her chair and sipping on her mug of mead as the large hearth crackled and flared in the middle of the common room. The room was kept comfortably warm by the hearth, and as the patrons filed out she was able to catch additional gossip from Hetty; but again, nothing overly newsworthy, not for what she was seeking. The hearth was slowly dying when she decided to retire for the night. At least the bed in her room was comfortable – simple, basic, but comfortable.

The next morning she rose early. She dressed quickly, packed up her belongings and gear, then made her way to breakfast. A simple fare of gruel and water was all she needed. The common room was largely empty at this time of morning, and that suited the Sheild just fine. She didn't particularly want to feel hemmed in, even though any patron would possibly steer clear of her. She was done eating quickly, quietly, with little fuss – just how she wanted it. Half an hour after she left her room, Fianna was in the stables, checking over Pannon and her tack and saddlebags. Satisfied that everything was in order, she gave the stableboy a half-crown tip, then she was on her way, leading Pannon out of the stables and into the street.

Getting out of the city was not as difficult as getting in had been, at least, although the South Gate was more frequented and carried more traffic through it. The guards at the gate seemed to be a bit more polished than those who'd greeted her yesterday; they were only checking inward travellers in a cursory manner, and barely paying attention to those who were departing. Fianna found herself in line behind a merchant with a couple of horses and wagons of goods, and the conversation between the merchant and his second was uninteresting and contained nothing she needed to know. Then it was her turn through the gate, and she checked her symbol was covered and hidden before she approached the guards.

"Morning, ma'am," one of the guards, the taller of the two, began politely.

"Morning, gentlemen," she replied equally politely.

"Travelling south, I take it?" the same guard continued.

Fianna nodded. "To Hammond's Farm first, then on to Blackstrand."

"Travel carefully then, ma'am," the guard cautioned. "There are vague rumours of bandits between Hammond's Farm and the Lonely Lake, so be sure you stay to the roads."

"Thank you for the warning," the Shield replied sincerely. "What word of the lands around Blackstrand?"

"Word we've been given is that there may be something unhappy building towards the border with Tilvell, ma'am," the second, shorter, guard chimed in. "If you don't stray from the city walls and the main roads, you should be fine, though."

The young redhead pursed her lips thoughtfully before nodding solemnly. "Thank you for the caution, gentlemen," she offered in response. "I'll be sure to keep your words in mind. I fare you both well."

"Safe travels, ma'am," the taller guard replied sincerely as Fianna hauled herself into the saddle and nudged Pannon into a gentle walk through the gate.

It was only when the gate was a couple of miles behind her that Fianna felt free of the city's confinement. She finally felt she was able to enjoy the world around her: the sun shining with gentle warmth, a soft wind taking away what little warmth the sun was providing, faint clouds overhead slowly moving across the pale blue sky, the faint warmth of the sun turning the night frost into glistening dew on the grass beside the road. Clumps of trees dotted the landscape, broken by small homes and farms and simple fences marking property boundaries. Birds could occasionally be heard chirping in the trees, or as they flew overhead; the sounds of nature just helped Fianna shake the feeling of being hemmed in. She allowed herself a moment to take in the simple wonders of her surroundings as Pannon dutifully carried her southwards.

She knew it would take he a while to make the journey to Hammond's Farm, though. She could cover fifty miles in a day, but it would still take her over a week to get there from the capital…assuming travel was not slowed by circumstance or weather. She had plenty of rations for the journey, and her tent was well-patched. The road was well-worn but well-kept – for the most part – and Fianna was comfortable that she could set and keep a good pace without wearing Pannon out. There were Imperial Waystations along the way that she could eat and rest in as she needed, and they would also present opportunities for more news and information as she journeyed south. If there was no Waystation nearby when she decided to rest for the night…well, that's what the tent and rations were for, and the Shield was in no way above using them if they were needed.

It took her nearly five days of solid, constant travel to reach a point where the Shelter River came into view – a large stretch of water that meandered through the countryside to its exit in the Bay of Shelter. The Bay of Shelter was aptly named – its size and shape and location meant it was protected from most of the weather that came off the Mirrored Ocean, and the Shelter River was obviously named for its place of exit. Small hills surrounded and guarded the river as it cut through the landscape, enough that the location of the river could be easily determined from a day away, if the weather was clear. She had encountered a few travellers on the road thus far – merchants travelling in both directions, farmers moving produce between villages, a family moving towards Hammond's Farm for a new life. She spoke with them all as time permitted, but she could not afford to slow for long; Fianna found herself firming in her decision to spend more time in the countryside among the "common folk"…if both she and the empire survived this mission.

On the sixth day of travel she reached the Waystation that sat a few miles from the bridge that spanned the river, and it was there she found the news that the bridge was out…

"Well…that's a bit inconvenient," Fianna remarked drily to the Master of the Waystation.

"Agreed, it is," the Master – a solid, grizzled old man in his late fifties if he was a day, with ruddy features, a shock of greying hair and piercing green eyes – replied pleasantly. "It collapsed a week or so ago…an' I have my suspicions 'bout 'ow it came down, too."

"You suspect the bridge had help in collapsing?"

"Aye, m'lady," the Master agreed. "No doubt you've 'eard rumours o' bandits in these 'ere parts…well, those rumours are more than jus' rumours, you mark my words. They won't attack a Waystation, though – that'd draw the army on them. So they jus' harass good folk like yoursel'. We've sent word to Oldpond for materials to repair the bridge, but they'll be another week or so getting the timber to us."

"There's nothing for it, then," she sighed softly. "I'll have to ford the river. Where's the best place to do that?"

The Master jerked his thumb eastward. "About half-way 'tween 'ere and Lonely Lake the land flattens out an' the river is shallow," he told her easily. "That'll be your best bet to cross. Mos' others do the same, an' the riverbed is fairly smooth and worn from the foot traffic through that part. You can rejoin the road easily enough once you've crossed."

Fianna nodded her thanks as she finished her lunch – a simple meal of roasted vegetables, a chunk of mutton and a cup of ale. "My thanks for your news, good sir," she offered sincerely as she pushed herself away from the table and stood slowly, adjusting her weapons as she straightened. "I'd best be on my way, then."

"Devere watch over you, m'lady," the Master intoned simply.

"And you as well," she replied politely. She left a couple of silver crowns on the counter, then walked out of the building. She untethered Pannon and climbed into the saddle, then turned and began moving east in her methodical, purposeful pace.

Well…I suppose it was going to be inevitable that I'd likely run into bandits. The thought was not unbidden, but it was blunt. To be honest, I'm slightly surprised my travel so far has been largely untroubled. But…maybe cleaning up bandits isn't a bad distraction from the monotony of travelling. She smiled grimly as she found the flattened riverbank about twenty miles from the Waystation, then paused to take stock of her surroundings…and to simply relax in the moment as she gazed at the river in front of her.

Suddenly, the other side of the river felt like a whole other world.

 

[Sync]

Chapter 24: Sorting out a Problem

It was when she made the decision to begin the crossing that Fianna realised that she'd possibly made a slight error of judgement: the sun was lower in the sky than she'd expected, and the shadows were starting to lengthen. Not a lot right now, to be sure, but it'd likely be a different story when she'd finished fording the river, and she didn't want Pannon to be wet from the river crossing then have to deal with the chill of the night. She sighed softly and cursed her eagerness to keep moving; if she'd only paused to pay attention to the day around her, she'd be sleeping in an Imperial Waystation eating a hot meal instead of facing camping near the riverbank eating rations. But for now…there was nothing for it. It'd be pointless doubling back to the Waystation now.

With a soft muttered string of choice words directed at herself, Fianna dismounted, found a decent spot by a small clump of trees about a hundred yards from the river, then set up camp for the night. A small firepit was dug and a fire was lit in it for light and a bit of warmth. Trail rations were never great, though – they were nourishing enough, and kept a person's belly full and their legs moving, but when compared with even the basic fare of a Waystation…? Fianna smiled grimly into the flickering flames before taking the time to groom Pannon for a short while. Once the horse was settled, Fianna set her lean-to, unravelled her bedroll, and lay down to sleep…

Eyes slowly fluttered open beneath a ginger mop of hair as a long, slow breath was sucked in between full lips. She'd slept well enough; certainly as well as she had in the castle a week ago. For a moment Fianna didn't move, simply being content to rest in the warmth of her clothing and bedroll…but the moment was broken by the need to yawn and stretch. She did just that, rolled onto her back as arms pushed up and out, her body twisting slowly to wake up muscles. She a heavy sigh of reluctance she sat up, eased herself out of her bedroll, and packed her small and makeshift camp away. The fire had burned out during the night, and she made sure the embers were cold with a healthy splash from her waterskin. Breakfast was a few handfuls of scroggin – dried fruits and nuts – washed down with a few mouthfuls of water; then she finished packing her camp away, took Rannon's reins in hand, and headed to the river's edge, where she paused to refill her waterskin.

The morning was, as was typical, cool and brisk. Being on the edge of the Shelter River didn't change that; indeed, the proximity of the chilled water seemed to make the day feel a little colder than it might have otherwise been. She paused at the river's edge, surveying the natural crossing before her; the water was maybe slightly more than ankle-deep – not treacherous of itself, and the water wasn't flowing rough or fast here, but enough to make the ground underfoot slippery and uncertain. She waded into the river with slow and deliberate steps, taking her time, making sure that Pannon was behind her all the way. When she was across she stopped to make sure no water had seeped into her boots, gave Pannon a brief rub-down, then she saddled up and continued on her way.

She angled her direction of travel to have her pointed roughly in the direction of Hammond's Farm, an establishment she knew to be large and generally-welcoming and almost like a trading hub for the south in its size and activity. It would take her a couple of days to cover the nearly seventy miles to get there when she was moving across open country, but she was fine with that; she was curious to see if she'd encounter the bandits that had been rumoured to be in this region. If they were present, then…well, they were not good for the Empire. She didn't head directly for the Farm like she presumed most regular travellers would do.

It was getting closer to dusk, with Hammond's farm thirty miles to her West, when Fianna spotted the ambush. She was approaching a small clump of hills, slightly-rough terrain, with scrub and brush and trees dotting the landscape. Had they seen her from her distance of a half-mile? They might have, and she couldn't make the assumption that they hadn't. She wasn't sure of their numbers – there were plenty of places to hide in the hills and trees ahead – but she saw at least three, and there were possibly more. It was only her heightened eyesight that had allowed her to spot the archer hiding in a tree first, causing her to look more closely and pick the other two. She suspected one or two more. Without breaking her horse's gait she unlimbered and strung her bow, pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it. If she slowed or turned away now they might realise she was on to them. All they needed to see was a lone traveller…with any luck they'd not attempt to rush her.

Luck, this time, was with her.

Fianna didn't get the opportunity to circle behind them like she ideally would have wanted; instead she rode on, acting like she was largely oblivious to their presence…until she got to within a couple of hundred yards, when she brought her bow up, aimed, and rapidly sent two arrows into the tree where their archer was, catching him squarely and causing him to fall lifelessly to the ground. Realising their ambush had failed, the bandits – four more of them, she discovered to her annoyance and concern – rose from their positions and started moving on her. A second bandit fell to well-placed arrows before they made fifty feet…and that was where she had to quickly sling her bow across her chest and rapidly dismount. She'd not get the chance to use more arrows if she wanted to be properly prepared for hand-to-hand fighting. Her bow secured, she drew her twin blades and advanced cautiously, deliberately, her swords held in a loose and ready grip as the bandits started moving warily towards her, like they were now realising she was no easy mark.

They were closing the gap – their three, in a rough skirmish line, to her one. How to attack…? If she moved to either side, she'd be flanked easily. She'd be flanked regardless, but if she could control how… Two of them were using sword and shield, the third – to her left – was carrying a two-handed maul. She'd have to be careful of that one in particular. She moved forward, quickly but carefully, focussing for the moment on the middle of the three…and the fight was joined.

It quickly became apparent that while they had some skill, they all lacked the refined training that she had. Fianna found that her biggest problem was not letting Maul get behind her. She was quick on her feet as her twin blades clashed with theirs, and that helped, but it wasn't going to work forever. For the moment she focussed on the center bandit, her off-hand deflecting his blows while her main hand worked to open a gap in his shield-work…and, after a few seconds of back-and-forth, she had the gap she needed, and she thrust forward with both blades, catching him in the chest and abdomen, the points of her swords cutting through the simple cloth-and-hide armour he was wearing and inflicting mortal wounds as he dropped his sword and shield with suddenly-numb fingers and slowly dropped to the ground.

Two on one, now, and Maul was behind her.

She turned side-on to them and angled herself, as best she could, so that they were both in her peripheral vision. She could split her attention, at least for a short time, between them like this. She quickly moved between her two opponents, batting away at one for a few seconds and pushing him back before switching and darting to face the other. The difficulty was that she kept having to change her fighting style to match the man she was facing in the moment, and she knew she was in danger of losing her rhythm of focus if she kept this going too long. She launched a flurry of blows against the remaining sword-and-shield man, forcing him back several steps, then turned and launched herself at Maul. Face-to-face he was easier to deal with, and he wasn't used to facing someone who could fight back confidently. Fianna attacked him hard, one hand followed by the other at a rapid pace, forcing him to block and defend…she allowed him a counter-attack, and while he was recovering from the swing she dived in behind his guard and caught him with a single thrust through his unprotected flank, the point of her sword driving through the soft leather jerkin he wore…and then there was one.

Her blades hung loosely by her sides as the two eyed each other warily…then his eyes caught the symbol on her chest as it had been exposed by the fighting she'd been engaged in. She could see his eyes widen quickly as he realised that he was doomed. Bandits were not good for the Empire, and now that she was here she would not look away…he knew that.

"Oh…crap…" he muttered softly, his eyes still focussed on the symbol of The Shield. "Milady Shield. I…I'm sorry…" It was futile, or course. There'd be no mercy today, no forgiveness, not from The Shield. Hopelessly, he lunged forward at his opponent.

Fianna met his sword thrust with both of her blades, her swords crossed and thrusting down, pushing his sword down and trapping it. The she opened her arms, her left hand pushing his sword wide while her right hand pulled back and thrust forward, driving her blade into his stomach and twisting to end it quickly. For a moment she pitied the man; at the end, he knew his fate was sealed. His apology might have been genuine, it might have been an attempt to sway her or distract her…but it made no difference.

"Talitha may forgive you," she murmured as she watched the life fade from his eyes. "I cannot." She watched the man fall to the ground, watched him gurgle and cough for a moment…then simply watched. Five bandits…five corpses, all by her hand. Unnecessary, but for the path they'd chosen. Their fate had been determined the moment she'd heard of their presence. She sighed softly, used the cloak of one of the bandits to clean her blades before sheathing them, then she adjusted the bow on her back. At least Pannon hadn't wandered too far after she'd dismounted.

She spent the next hour dragging the bodies into a single line, placed them side-by-side. She quickly checked each of them to see if there was anything that she might be able to link to the broader mission, but other than a couple of handfuls of brass and silver crowns between them there was nothing – they were, apparently, just a group of men who'd decided that preying on the weak and innocent was a good path in life. She collected their weapons and secured them in one of her saddlebags – she'd leave them at Hammond's Farm for safekeeping and possible use. She prayed over them for the next five minutes, offering them to Devere's judgement. Maybe between Talitha and Devere the five could find some mercy. Finally, content that she'd done what she could do, had done what she had to do, and that she could do no more, she pulled herself into the saddle and turned West…and in the direction of Hammond's Farm.

The sun was overhead, but she knew that the sun would beat her to the farm this day – she was too far away from the farm to make it by nightfall. She'd arrive about lunchtime tomorrow, by her estimation. Still, she pushed on, camped overnight with the fires of the farm visible in the distance, and the next morning she resumed her trek…and it was late morning when the fences of Hammond's Farm came into view.