Chapter One

Banners snapped in the wind, and she could hear the thunder of horses’ hooves even from this distance. Nira’s breath caught at the spectacle of it all, watching the troop in full regalia break free from the benighted grasp of the Aresia Wodelands and emerge into the streaming sunlight. Few braved the terrible forest where Darkling Arts kept travelers at bay, and thieves either butchered or robbed those foolish enough to ignore the warnings. That magic kept the Temple of Ynarin safe, here in the wildlands beyond.

"Come away from the window, child." The crackling voice of her mentor chided Nira, drawing her attention from the approaching troops. She blinked into the darkened chamber, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer lighting, before focusing on the old crone seated by the fire. Malisina, First to the Reverend Mother. Fond warmth closed around Nira’s heart. This woman took her in -- a hapless orphan left wandering in the wildlands -- and cared for her against the Reverend Mother’s orders. Many of the others believed Darkling Arts birthed her, and Nira was in no place to dispute that. She couldn’t remember her parents or family at all. The most she ever remembered about that time was in the depths of sleep, when bloody images woke her in screaming fits. Malisina claimed she was destined for great things. Who was she to argue with a Truth-Sayer? It was on Malisina’s word alone that she still lived.

Drawing away from the window, Nira returned to her teacher’s side, tugging the shawl up around the old woman’s frail shoulders to ward off the evening chill. With a fond smile, she settled on the low stool beside Malisina’s chair.

"Tell me what you know of him, Mala," she plied eagerly, curious to know everything about the man who came to disturb their peaceful home. "What kind of man is the Emperor?"

"Emperor, bah!" The older woman fluttered a scoffing hand through the air. "That pup is no more Emperor than I am the Goddess Efri!"

Nira’s eyes widened. This was the first she ever heard gentle Malisina speak ill of the new Emperor. "Have a care, Mala! He may mean to cause us harm."

This brought a chuckle from Malisina, even as one trembling hand reached out to stroke her face lovingly. "Ah, my sweet child, not you. You have the power to show yon fledgling Eagle the error of his ways. Besides, I mean him no harm. I only tell them as I see them, and he is not yet an Emperor, and nor shall he be fully so, as long as our own sweet Mistress Eleindra draws breath. I fear those two shall be the death of us all, child, if one is not soon tamed."

Nira drew back, puzzled. Malisina had a tendency to ramble, of late. Some whispered that she grew feeble-minded, but Nira wondered. Malisina was gifted with the Future Sight of a Truth-Sayer. Could her words be prophecy, not mad ramblings?  A cold chill brushed Nira’s skin.

"What do you know of him, Mala?" She pleaded, clutching her guardian’s hand.

"Nothing to cause such fear, sweet child," Malisina assured her gently, her wise old eyes sparkling. That look, alone, told Nira her teacher was far from mad.

"Then what?"

"Patience, child," Malisina scolded her, a familiar rebuke. Then, a soft smile turned up the woman’s lips. "Very well, I will tell you what I know. Yon Eagle has been groomed for this day since he was in leading straps. He was harnessed for war before he sat upon his first horse, or flew his first war bird. And yet, there is a sadness to him that speaks of a man who wishes for peace. You must remember this, child, or all that would come after you is lost."

The warning furrowed Nira’s brow, but she nodded and scooted nearer. What Mala meant, she had no idea, but she would remember. Indeed, how could she ever forget these words?

"Eleindra once told me that her brother drew the blood of war from his own wrists. Some say there are scars there - marks of a boy who does not yet understand the man his father’s death created. And yet, he is strong, with great courage, and even greater arrogance. I believe they breed such qualities into all of Imperial blood, myself."

Nira smiled in response to the wry flash of Malisina’s lips. She didn’t know any Imperials - or any nobles, for that matter - to understand that quip. "Is he handsome, Mala?"

Malisina chuckled. "Ah, to be young again! My darling girl, he is said to be as handsome as the night sky is beautiful. The bards, they sing ballads of him, of his beauty and charm, his strength and his skill with both the sword and the touch."

Nira’s gaze dropped, and she blushed to the roots of her blond hair. These tales, she had heard. And they fueled dreams that drove the nightmares away, though she had no experience to know if what she dreamed was even possible.

As the sound of four hundred hooves grew louder, Nira was drawn back to the narrow window by curiosity. Malisina’s description intrigued her.

Peering out the narrow window, Nira sucked in a sharp breath as she saw him at last. Strangely warm shivers ran over her skin, and she wondered if she was sick. She laid a hand to her feverish cheek, even as her heart beat loud in her ears, drumming against the walls of her chest.

He was magnificent!