"Watch it! If you fall, where am I gonna find another initiate to stare at a wall?" The wonderful humor of the Red Ravens. To some they were known as a secret circle of asssassins and it was a well earned reputation. This band of warriors, mages, and thieves were handpicked to carry out more shady acts for the King. No matter how peaceful a kingdom looks, there are always threats lurking in the shadows and Tasec is no different. King Richard Flamehart has been one of the most controversial to sit upon the throne in the whole millenia the family has done so. As such, business has been good for the Red Ravens.

Good for the Ravens, not too good for Ryder. The young half-elf joined up with the Red Ravens with a promise of fighting for a great cause, but most of his work has been castle patrols. He's vocal about what he views as a punishment, but is reassured he's merely the low man on the totem as the newest recruit. He'll serve his time as all of them have. When he is ready, the Ravens will have him take on the more high profile assignments. In the meantime, Ryder spent his days wandering the castle walls far from any conflict on the kingdom's borders.

His partner, Kayel, didn't help matters much. The arrogant human noble gladly accepted a position with the Ravens to live an easy life in Valeria. He was more than happy to enjoy the luxaries of the castle and keep an eye on the princess. He especially liked being the superior Raven on the grounds and constantly bossed Ryder and the others around. Everytime he heard Kayel's annoying voice, Ryder wieghed the possibility of jumping off the castle's turret. The fall would shatter every bone in his body. With his luck, he'd live to hear about it.

"Well, Kayel, I'd imagine you'd drag one of the ones you made clean the latrines for the fourth time today." Ryder made no attempt to hide his distaste for Kayel. The blonde swordsman was too thick to catch it.

"What can I say, those things get filthy!" Kayel smirked. He stood behind Ryder, but he knew that there was a smirk painted across that pampered face. Ryder jumped off the turret. Unfortunately, it was back on to the castle wall. He turned to face his superior.

"The sun is only just rising. Half the castle is still asleep." Ryder continued his patrol. He made sure to bump shoulders with Kayel before he increased his pace. Ryder heard Kayel curse under his breath as Ryder disappeared into the tower and started down the stairs. He'd cross the royal quarters to check on the family and then continue his patrols on the south wall. He liked to watch the city come alive just beyond the wall.

Gwendolen remembered the first days of her return to Valeria nearly a month ago. She had been so tired from dusty roads, bloody battles, and some of the most god forsaken terrain to set camp on that she had spent her first week bath simply sleeping entire days away. She would break only to bath in beautifully hot water that contained exactly no surprise fishes or snakes or peeping men, and eat food that had been cooked in a proper, well stocked kitchen with spices aplenty. That first week, home had never looked so wondrous. She had thought she would be glad to never, ever, ever leave again.

But that was nearly three weeks ago. Now she was testing the mettle of anyone and everyone who happened to pass by the training yards. She was almost painfully bored already. She had lessons daily—with what had to be the oldest man in the world—on diplomacy and courtly matters. Her father rightly worried that her time at the edges of the kingdom, painting the borders red on occasion thanks to some rather strange rebellions, had made her forget some of the finer points of dealing with stubborn nobles and sensitive neighbors. Gwendolen found the lectures so dull she could feel them working like a numbing agent on the mind. And apparently she was not alone for the old man put himself to sleep regularly with his own talking.

Of course, today like every other day since she had stopped sleeping like a winter bear, the moment she was free from her lessons, she was away to the training fields and fighting every man and woman who passed by. She especially enjoyed teaching a few tricks to some of the more neglected squires and pages. Too many of the knights that were stationed in the capital, she noted, did not train their young warriors properly. They were relegated to the basic duties of their stations; getting horses and pouring wine for their masters. Gwendolen would have none of that. These were the boys and girls that would become the men and women who fought for her kingdom one day. She would not have them know nothing of a sword and shield!

But as the day began to yield itself to night, she knew it was time to retire; even if she still felt like she had days and days of energy to spare. She would have to find some way to burn it or she would surely go absolutely mad. She knew Nonios felt much the same. Already he was becoming a bit of a bastard to the stable hands and she knew if he was not ridden hard soon, someone was libel to get dragged around or bit. Nonios had once been quite a gentle—though tricky—soul like herself. But it was not just the men and women who came away from battle with scars none could see.

She scrubbed herself of sweat and dirt and soaked a time in clean water to ease her muscles and help sooth her enough to sleep. Finally she was dressed and put to bed. She drifted in a dreamless sleep for at time but soon, lurking up from the darkness of nothingness came vivid nightmares of things all too real. The cries of horses not meant for war falling in battle. Lost limbs. Lost lives. Crows flocking, their calls like a horrible song for the dead.

She woke with a gasping start and found herself covered in a cold sweat again. She filled the basin by her bed and splashed her face clean before trying to lay down in bed again to sleep. But she could not. She could not even pretend to try. Too many ghosts lay that side of her lids for her to close them. So after much tossing and turning, she rose again and donned a light robe. Barefoot and quiet she made her way to her private gardens to find the sky was already blushing faintly with the sun. Not true dawn just yet, but not quite the pitch darkness of night, either.

The fresh air helped—she told herself the fresh air helped, at least. And it at least whisked away the cold sweat that clung to her skin still with a pleasant little chill. But soon she was restless again and wandering. But not for long. She frowned when, as she was returning to her room to perhaps dress for the day or rearrange her sitting room or something to get rid of some of this chaos in her, she spotted her father looking very much like he had dressed in a great hurry leaving his chambers with a few servants still putting the finishing touches on him.

“Father?” she called down the hall, changing course from her room to his side. He perked a bit at seeing her, though he still looked rather perturbed and sleepy.

“Gwen, what are you doing up this hour?”

“I should ask the same. And fully dressed at that!”

“Your uncle is here causing a bit of trouble. I am not yet sure what he is here for but he has said it is of the utmost urgency and will speak to none but me. So I must go greet my darling brother and hold council with him.”

Gwendolen frowned a little in worry, “That is a bit odd. The lands he cares for are not near enough the border to be effected by the rebellions. But if you or he have need of me, call me with haste. I am well awake and I am always ready for a fight.” She was only halfway teasing as she smiled and kissed her father's cheek.

He gave a weary little smile and a pat, “That's what worries me.”

And then he was away and she was left to return to her room and pace about like a caged tiger waiting to be summoned.

For all the irritation he had with the royal family, Ryder had to admit that living in such luxury was certainly appealing. Every morning at the crack of dawn, the fires in the kitchens were started and spread the smell of burning wood through the castle. Shortly after, the meat would follow. The whole west wing of the castle would spell of pork and chicken for the first part of the morning. Ryder didn't get that smell a lot back home.

Ebonwing was in the poorer part of the kingdom. It was just too close to the borders of the Wildlands. Every mile of the border had to be manned at all times by the King's finest. Dangerous monsters and entire legions of beastmen lurked in and beyond the forest. The majority of supplies in the region were designated for the soldiers on guard. Villages such as Ebonwing were ordered by royal decree to donate portions of their crop and income to the border patrols. Ryder's mother, a simple barmaiden, felt a lighter purse when the policy was made.

Ryder didn't believe that King Richard enacted such an edict as a tyrant. Just the opposite. He had to do all he could to keep the border safe from the Wildlands. Had the King taken a lighter hand in the decision, Ebonwing and the rest of the region may have fallen to the beast tribes a long time ago. Still, there were dozens of noble families in Valeria. Each one had enough resources to supply the border for a year with what Ebonwing's taxation could only supply for a week. That was Ryder's problem with the nobility. They were so detached from the woes of the commoner.

Ryder abruptly stopped and bowed. A servant on the otherside of the doorway did the same. The princess left her room in a gown and continued down the hall without a word. She was distracted. It was probably another nightmare. Ryder had overheard her handmaidens gossiping about the increase of night terrors the longer she remains at the castle. It was slightly comforting to know that even the rich and powerful had trouble sleeping at night. It was just too bad that it was probably a silly greed driven dream rather than the pain of guilt. Honestly, what could a princess be guilty about? Maybe she swore at a handmaiden.

Ryder chuckled a little to himself. It earned the ire of the passing servant as he continued down the hall. Ryder nodded as he passed more and more staff waking to the creeping light. They were expected to be up before the king and have his day fully prepared before he put his slippers on. A few of the staff would nod back. Many of them knew Ryder but, as with the rest of the Ravens, had no idea what he really did around the castle. Ryder himself was even more of a mystery as he always wore his own armor, as opposed to the Ravens' red and black uniform or a servant disguise. The whispers about him being a spy or perhaps a friend of the king's were always amusing. Truth told? He was just hoping it'd get him kicked off castle duty.

The smell of pork blew away as the fresh, cool air pushed through the tower door. The sun was finally lighting up Valeria as Ryder walked across the castle wall. Already, Ryder could spot Sampson stuffing his ovens with fresh dough. Ms. Janille was filling her stand with lillies and roses. The end of the night, she would send a bouquet of roses to the castle gates. 'The King's favorite!' she'd claim. The guards would laugh and promise to deliver them. Richard has never seen them, nor heard of Ms. Janille. Then, of course, there was...Roland Flamehart?

Roland was the oldest of Richard's brother, and the black sheep of the family. When King Reginald passed away, he declared Richard as his successor. By tradition of Tasec, the throne was to be Roland's. This scandal, as the nobles saw it, was the first chink in the Flamehart armor. They saw it as a weak move by Reginald and claimed that Richard was not ready. Nobles and their traditions. To Ryder and the rest of the common people, it was another world away. The intricate backstabbing and politics of the throne ultimately didn't change the fact that the commoners were stepping stone for the nobility.

That all said, Roland was screwed out of a castle and instead inherited an estate outside of Valeria. That was where the scorned brother spent most of his time. Now he marched upon the castle with forty men in tow. Fully armed and ready for battle. So was Ryder. He unsheathed his sword and started towards the tower.

"Open the gates! The Duke of Eston approaches!" The guards shouted at each other and then were snuffed out by the sound of the cullis gates opening. Ryder cautiously put his sword in the sheath on his back. He had been stationed at the castle for nearly six months and never once seen the Duke come for a visit. It left a bad taste in his mouth, but nobody seemed to share the feeling. He grunted at a lost chance to fight, kicked some pebbles away, and sulked back downstairs. At the very least, he could find out why Roland was in town. Ryder stopped as he passed a window in the winding staircase.

"I demand to see my brother." Roland was a pudgy man with a brown beard that rivaled a Dwarf's in size and elegance. The gold bangles around the braids was a nice touch, Ryder thought.

"My lord, King Richard has not yet arisen from his slumber. Perhaps, if you and your men-"

"Then wake the damn fool! Valeria is in danger and I'll be damned if my incompetant brother and his beauty rest is the reason it falls." Danger? Ryder liked the sound of it, but there had been no warning from the Ravens. The eyes and ears of the king would surely have heard of an active threat to the castle. So far, the best they had was the idle threats of Count Montierro. The Count didn't even have his own army. Surely, he wouldn't dare at making a strike for the King. Ryder's curiousity peaked. He had to know more and knew the perfect spot to do so. No doubt, with such a serious claim, Richard would assemble the court to entertain his brother's concerns.

King Richard greeted his brother warmly and offered the men that came with him as much good welcome as could be managed on such short notice. But it seemed his big brother was having none of it. Not a terribly great surprise. Roland and Richard had always bumped heads to a degree before their father's passing. But when the throne was passed over Roland's head to Richard, their sometimes contentious relationship had become painfully strained. Richard always hoped some day his big brother would lay aside his hurt on the matter but each time they met, the king could see if festering away inside the older man. It was a sad thing to watch one's own brother be consumed by something like that. And the older they got, the more Richard could only hope they would make amends before the end. He wanted no ill feelings between he and his brother when they passed into the realm of their ancestors.

But by the serious look on Roland's face, Richard knew well that there would be no time for talks of reconciliation this day. No, Roland came only to bear bad news before the sleepily assembled court.

“Brother, tell me, why are you here? You must have ridden all through the night to reach us.” Richard's voice boomed into the room as he tried to stifle a yawn. He was a man that worked late into the night, not one that rose particularly early. And so, Roland began to tell Richard and the court of the attack.

“Estal has been attacked.” A wave of startled gasps went through the court and suddenly everyone was very much awake. “I believe Count Montierro played now small part in the betrayal and I believe he means to come for you next, brother.”

It was the first time Roland had called King Richard “brother” in perhaps over a decade. It touched the king deeply and in ways he had not expected. The throne was a lonely place—especially when one was making absolutely no friends among the court that filled the halls of one's home. To think his brother might call him so again, might worry for his safety... it warmed him. Though the idea that Montierro of all people would try to attack Roland was a bit... well that was a bit odd.

“Count Montierro has no army. Are you certain it was him?” the king asked.

His brother gave a solemn nod, “Yes, there is little doubt in my mind. I believe he hired soldiers of fortune for this deed. Please, allow me to station my men in the castle. We cannot allow this man to strike at the throne directly. I have seen his hired hands at work, I know how he will strike; I would ask that the command of the palace guard be given to myself.”

Richard considered if for a brief moment. Of course, Gwendolen would not be pleased. If there was battle to be had she would want to command her soldiers and knights and likely ride out with them. But Richard could not stomach sending his daughter to battle again. He had barely been able to tolerate her trips to the borders, he could not chance her blood being spilled on his very own doorstep.

Richard gave a slow nod, “Very well, your med may eat and rest from their long journey before they take their posts.”

Meanwhile, pacing in her room, Gwendolen was near to pulling her own hair out. She couldn't just sit there while her father held court. And while she loved her uncle dearly, she was not always sure she trusted him. She had visited him on her return from the borders and there was occasionally a queer sort of spark in his eye as he surveyed the lands or looked out towards Valeria—though it was too far away to spot on the hilly horizon—that made her rather uneasy. She did not know why it made her uneasy and felt rather ashamed for being a bit suspicious of her uncle. But that he was here now was not a good sign.

Roland was a man of riches and conveniences; much to the dismay of his people. He would not have ridden so hard all through the night to reach the castle if there was not urgent matters to attend. So she decided not to wait for her father's summons. She summoned her maids and was made ready for the day. As she wanted to attend court, she was dressed in muted gold and rich brown. Her maids complained a bit at her continued persistence of such dull colors when there were rich reds and royal blues and stunning purples in her wardrobe. But Gwen found she preferred the muted deer tones these days and could not be swayed. Her hair was braided and face lightly decorated before Gwen slipped her feet into her slippers and dismissed her girls, making her way to the audience chamber where it was likely her father was hearing out Roland's news.

She slipped in quietly, keeping near the edge of the room, behind most of the preoccupied courtiers. She had no desire to be shooed out if they were talking about something her father would rather she not hear. She nearly seethed when her father gave Roland command and felt her gut twist uneasily. Somehow she did not like this—for more than having the chance to test her mettle again taken from her grasp. But her father's word was law and he was likely to be cross at her for not having waited for his summons like she had said she would. (Though honestly when had she ever actually waited for her father to call her?)

Ryder scanned the area for any patrols. The Red Ravens took all their jobs seriously and protecting the king was no exception. As such, they ultimately trust nobody with their secrets. Richard himself didn't know how exactly the Ravens were protecting him. It was good enough for him that since he hired them his life had not been directly at risk. Ryder knew about the network of secret tunnels the castle already utilized as well as the tunnels the Ravens built. They were in obscure and often hard to reach places to protect the secret. Ryder picked out a tunnel that would take him to a spy post directly above the council chambers.

The trick was getting up to it. The carved out stone that covered opening was about thirty feet above him. Blocks of stone had been slightly pulled out to provide just enough of a fingerhold to scale the castle wall. The ledges weren't pulled out even half an inch. Ryder had nimble fingers and was one of the best Ravens at making the climb, but the sun was up. Making it to the tunnel without being seen would require him to make haste. One slip and he could tumble twenty feet and have to explain to soldier why he was up there.

Ryder rubbed his hands lightly in the dirt and took a few steps back. One more quick look around to confirm. He was clear, for the time being. A running start and he jumped up the wall. His fingers just barely found their target. The dirt slipped a little as he landed, but kept him on the rough stone. He planted his feet against the wall and looked up for the next notch on the wall. It was a reach. Ryder stretched out his arm and continued upward.

The climb was more graceful than Ryder had expected. He made it to the odd colored two by two stone that marked the tunnel entrance. He planted his feet on either side of it and balanced himself. His fingers wormed behind the stone and a slight tug brought it out of the hole. Ryder felt his body sway back too far. The sensation of falling filled his gut. He grabbed the inside of the tunnel. A lip was intelligently designed for this very purpose. His balanced recentered, Ryder crawled inside and placed the stone back in it's obscure placement.

The tunnel was clean. It had been there for years now, but with the Ravens daily use it maintained free of vermin. Ryder crawled until he could see light coming around the corner. He knocked softly on the wood three times as code to warn the posted Raven of an ally. He stopped crawling when no response knocks came. He pulled out his dagger and scooted forward to peer around the turn of the tunnel. Just five feet beyond the turn was the opening that led into the rafters of the King's Court. The post was vacant.

"Very well, you and your men may eat and rest from their long journey before they take their posts." Ryder inched closer to the rafters. A still warm mug of coffee sat on the beam running along the tunnel entrance. There was no other sign of Raven in the rafters. Ryder scanned the walls, hoping to see an ally perched behind one of the phoenix statues perched around the room. The feeling of falling returned to his gut.

"With all due respect, brother, Montierro's men should have arrived well before me. I'd like my men to reinforce the guard immediately. Your staff should remain clear of the halls and I shall accompany you to the throne room. Should it please you, of course." Roland genuinely seemed concerned for his brother's safety and now Ryder did as well. Ravens don't abandon posts. If the court was in session, then a Raven was to be posted at all times. Something was wrong. Ryder had to find Kayel. He turned around on the beam and felt his foot push against something.

Ryder froze in place. He could hear the wind splitting apart as the mug pierced towards the floor. The splash of liquid and the clank of the mug restarted his legs. Ryder scurried back into the tunnel like a rat. He rolled over and tried to catch the air that jettisoned from his lungs. He could hear the court below erupt in panic. He had to find Kayel, immediately. Ryder got back on his hands and knees and made for the exit.

As he crawled closer, Ryder could hear panic beyond the false stone. The king's brother arrived with concern of an attempt on Richard's life and now something has given it legitamacy in the court chambers. The castle would go in lockdown and staff would be hearded into the nearest safe rooms by soldiers. Utter chaos would break out in the castle until the would-be-killer was found. Ryder pushed the false stone and let it fall to the ground. It went unnoticed by the soldiers moving into the castle or taking point at the castle walls. Ryder jumped down and followed behind the troops into the castle.

Gwendolen's uncle had barely finished his request when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and as she turned her head, a shatter of something against the floor. Reflexavly she took a defensive stance, her hand going to her hip to draw her blade as chaos erupted around her. But she could grasp nothing but air for she did not bare arms at court unless serving as general to her king. She could see only shattered earthenwear on the floor over a spatter of what must have been the contents of the cut. Her eyes shot up but she saw nothing. She frowned. Odd thing for assassin to carry with him. And strange place for a scout to have come. No spy would be so foolish as to take a morning meal into such a precarious place.

Her eyes shot to her father, already men she knew well dressed in the heavy armor of the king's guard were whisking him away. With a growl in the back of her throat she turned from the rushing crowds and retreated out the door she came. She lifted her skirts and ran through the halls, already panic of house staff and the militant precision of house guard coming into play. She reached her room in record time, flinging open the doors to take up her sword and her mother's amber cloak pin. She had yet to enter a battle without it and she would not start now, when it seemed things were most dire.

She strapped her sword to her side and was again running across the castle as fast as her nimble legs could carry her. Only it was not shelter she sought. She would not let her father face this cowardly enemy on his own. But when she finally reached the throne room, she found it besieged by... by her own people? For a brief moment she thought the enemy might have stolen palace guard uniforms but it was shattered as she began to recognize faces among the throngs. Her heart broke but instead of spilling tears like a shattered vase, she felt anger like a cracked mountain spilling lava. White hot rage filled her like nothing she had felt before. Before she even rightly knew what she was doing, she had her sword drawn and was cutting down any that fought against those men protecting the doors of the throne room. But it was quickly apparent that they were badly outnumbered and Gwen quickly called her men back for a retreat into the throne room to barricade the door.

“Treason!” She shouted viciously into the echoing chamber, “The blood of our own guard stains my hands and I will have the head of the man who forced my hand in this!” she seethed. She could see nothing but red and would have been surprised that the saying was so literal if it were not for the fact that the rage left no room for anything else. And then she suddenly realized she was seeing red because there was blood in her eyes. It was only as she began to try to calm herself so that she might think logically of their survival that she had even begun to notice the horrible burn the red liquid caused in her eyes.

“Treason? It is not possible.” Her father said, wide eyed as he approached his rather feral looking daughter.

“We have no time for this.” She cut her father's heart broken confusion off quickly. “The door will only hold so long. We must get everyone to safety before that.” Her father was already nodding and opened his mouth to speak when there was the all to familiar sound of blade being sheathed in flesh and Gwen was staring uncomprehendingly at the several inches of blade her suddenly muted father had protruding from his belly. There was a long beat of utter shock. No one seemed able to move a muscle. Not even Gwendolen could manage to do anything to stare.

This was not real.

This was not happening.

This was a dream.

And then her father made a choking sound as the blade was pulled from him and the man fell to his knees. Gwen did not realize that horrible, god forsaken sound had come from her own throat as she watched him fall. She raced to her father's side, the rest of the world irrelevant and unnoticed. She reached her father just as he began to slowly fall forward and caught him. She pressed her shaking had firm to his rapidly bleeding belly and met his confused, pained gaze with wide eyed fear even as she tried to sooth him with lies that all would be well. She was so oblivious to the world that she did not even realize that her uncle was speaking as he wiped his blade cling on a neat square of white cloth.

“I have waited years to do that, little brother.” he hissed.

Roland still had enough of his own guard with him that he did not fear the shaken men that were still loyal to the king. They had just watched their king's death blow, Roland had no doubt they would put up an emotional fight but neither did he doubt that it would be a short one. And he was right. The guard were dead in minutes and that left only the huddled masses of horror stricken courtiers who were weeping and wailing and begging for mercy like the cowards they were.

Even the death cries of her loyal men fell on selfishly deaf ears as she watched the life wink out of her father's eyes, his last breath leaving him in a dull hiss as the natural weight of his chest and the lax diaphragm let the air seep back out of him. She felt numb. She felt like she were watching some play at a distance. Her face was expressionless as a few precious tears leaked from her eyes. This time, she did hear her uncle's words.

“Gwen, know that you will die like the rest of these common cowards for you are not worthy enough to even die by my blade,” and with that, he spat on her and walked away, opening the door for his men so that he could leave before the bloody slaughter started.

She wiped away the spit with a hand that went from shaking like a leaf to eerily calm as guardsmen filtered in; taking no hurry with it as she was the only armed person left in the room. Gently, she moved her father from her lap to the marble floor, gently kissing his brow and closing his eyes before she stood tall before the traitors. She drew her sword and with none of the ceremony she normally used to honor battle and all those who would fall in it on both sides, she took to hacking. She set aside the great swelling tsunami of grief and loss and sorrow that threatened to wash her away and plunged head first into the slow and steady and burning flows of her rage. All the while, as she hacked and slashed at them, taking limps and lives with each swipe of her blade, she hissed at them.

“Traitors.”

“You dare abandon your post?”

“You dare turn against your king?”

“Liars.”

“Filth.”

“You are not worthy to even taste my blade.”

And on and on as she lost herself in the madness of loss and rage. Their disloyalty had cost her her father. She would not let them live. But their numbers were growing as they began to realize she was still a threat and called for help. She barely recognized that already most of her father's court was dead. She had wondered why the floor was so slippery and realized it was because most of it was already covered in blood. Sense was finally starting to kick in. She had to get out. She had to escape. She had to summon the aid of her kingdom's allies and she could not very well do that if she were dead!

It was hard to tear herself away from the battle but she was already tiering and the numbers were less and less in her favor. Even she could not deny she faced death if she continued. And so, she fought with a burst of sudden careless viciousness that was enough to throw them off before she made a break for a servant's entrance to the throne room. The halls the servants used were often narrower and would put her unarmored form at an advantage of her armored guardsmen. She was fast through the halls, darting and weaving until she realized she had put some distance between herself and her captors when she reached the kitchens. She nearly kept going but spotted a girl with a cut throat on the floor. The girl was well dead, no doubt. But... but even if she made it out of the palace, they would chase her with everything they had. Unless they thought she was already dead.

She had never been so grateful for the simplicity of servant's clothes as she cut herself out of her own and dawned the maid's. She barely dressed the girl before she heaved the girl's body into the massive hearth of the kitchen. She did not think they would look too closely at the body with it so badly burned; nor at her sudden suicide. It was not at all uncommon for royals to take their own lives rather than give an enemy the satisfaction of taking it for themselves.

Then she was running again, though trying to be much stealthier this time around as she wanted no one to suspect she might not be dead until she could summon up an army of her own—a loyal one. It felt like an eternity before she was in the dungeons trying to remember exactly where the escape was supposed to be in this place. She had been shown it briefly as a child but everything looked so different when you were barely three feet tall. It didn't help matters that she was exhausted and only now realizing just how many cuts and gashes she had from her carelessness in taking on the entire treasonous lot of palace guards. Oh gods, if she had come all this way just to die in the dungeons like a coward fool, she would kick every god she could find right in the balls.

The castle wasn’t the same as Ryder had left it just moments ago. The halls had cleared of servants and the guards were engaged in battle. The chaos was so abundant that the guards appeared to be swinging at anyone around them. Ryder frowned as guards swung at the same uniforms. It took him a second to realize that it was no accident. Some of the king’s men appeared to be assisting the Duke’s soldiers. A sign that he was standing in the midst of a coup. Ryder wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that he could single-handedly fend off this attack. He avoided the battle and went the other way. He had yet to see Kayel or any of the other Ravens.

“What should we do with this lot?” The voices came from up ahead. Ryder edged against the wall and crept towards the voices. The elegant decorations of statues, armors, and furniture gave him plenty of cover for his approach. Two of the duke’s men stood over a pile of bodies. The swash array of red and black armor told Ryder what he was looking at before he even noticed Kayel’s face staring down the hallway. His eyes were void of all life.

“We strip the armor. We’ll need them to disguise the men that will kill the rest of the order later.” The sensation of falling was back. Ryder’s gut sank as he pieced together the events. This wasn’t just a coup. It was a purge. Roland was erasing Richard’s reign. The throne and all his allegiances would be corrupted. At a different time, Ryder may have supported this action. As he stared at Kayel and the others, Ryder realized that Roland had now made this personal. He had to warn his brothers and sisters of the attack. But, first…

“Shut up, I heard something.” He was right. The soldier heard Ryder’s bowstring draw back and then the air cut by an arrow. The arrow pierced his chest. The staggered from the impact and looked down at the shaft protruding from his body. He glanced at his comrade before trying to speak only to have blood trickle from his mouth. His partner drew his sword, but it was too late. Ryder loosed another arrow, this time aiming for his leg. The arrow planted right in the man’s knee and Ryder ran to him as he fell to the floor.

“Where is the duke?” Ryder spat at the whimpering soldier. He twisted the arrow and the man let out a scream of pain. Ryder grabbed his face and forced him to look into his eyes. “Where?”

“The throne room…he’s killed the king and princess.” The throne room was beyond the fighting he had left behind. He couldn’t go that way. Ryder let go of the man’s face and thought for a moment. The soldier let out a sigh of relief, thinking his life was safe. Ryder shook his head and pulled the arrow from the wounded knee. Another shriek of pain was silenced as Ryder shoved it into the soldier’s throat. He could take the servant tunnels through the kitchens. He had to hurry.

The path was unsurprisingly clear. Most of the fighting would focus around the throne room. As he approached the kitchens, Ryder heard movement on the other side. He opened the door just enough to peer inside. Shadows danced in the light of the oven fires. He moved slow, but squeezed past the door and hid behind a cabinet. He watched for a moment as the figure undressed and undressed another figure on the floor. Now he could clearly see the shape of the figure, a woman from the curvature. He watched as she swapped clothes and put the other body in the fire.

Ryder wanted to act, but he had the feeling to wait. It wasn’t adding up. Roland had only brought men and swapping clothes in the middle of the coup seemed pointless. Not much to hide anymore. With the body burning, the woman left out another door. As she crossed the room, the fire illuminated the figure and he saw a face and hair he recognized: the princess. She was still alive, but she was a fighter. If she was here by herself and using guile, then something had gone terribly wrong. The coup was winning. Ryder decided to follow her as she disappeared beyond the door. If she was running, then the battle was lost and her safety was the only future the kingdom had.

“Your majesty, I think it’s time we leave this place.” Ryder tried to stifle any previous resentment he had for the woman. If she was going to do anything with him, then she had to trust him. He sounded as friendly as possible, like a loyal servant protecting his queen. He rushed past her and opened one of the cells. A man was resting on the cot, but he didn’t stir when the bars creaked open. More than likely, after weeks of starvation, he was dead. He went to the far side of the cell and pulled down on the sconce. The wall slid open and the faint odor of sewer water wafted into the room.

Gwen whirled on the man, sword drawn and ready to slice him to ribbons if he proved to be foe. But by the gods she hoped he as friend of the crown. The long battle in the throne room and her flight through the palace had left her exhausted and running on little more than adrenaline; she had need of an ally in this dark hour. It was jarring to be called “majesty,” though. With the king dead, it was technically accurate but it made her stomach churn all the same.

“You still serve loyally?” she demanded harshly.

When he passed her to step into one of the cells, she realized a moment before he activated the lock of the hidden exit that he had knowledge of the hidden passage. Which was a great surprise. For Gwen had thought—and been schooled by her father—that only the true royal line would know of this to keep it safe. But here was some... some elf not only opening the door for her but opening it before she could even rightly remember where it was!

But there was no time for that now. Now she needed to follow him into the foul smelling passage. She pulled the exit closed behind her and decided to inform the man that was apparently trying to help her (she still wasn't entirely sure this wasn't some sort of trick or trap. Having loyal guards turn on you and yours did have a way of inducing paranoia) of her urgency.

“I placed a bit of a diversion which, if it worked should buy us quite a bit of time. However, if it did not, we should perhaps make as swiftly as we safely can. Since it might be that you may be killing me in the near future or we might be dieing together, I don't suppose you would be to adverse to giving me a name to call you by?” She wanted to ask a bit more of him but the stench seemed to fuse to her tongue so thickly she could taste it whenever she opened her mouth so she chose to keep it closed until they reached the sunny outside.

The passage seemed to take an eternity and was so dark that even when her eyes finally adjusted, she found she could make out barely even the shape of the man before her. Though on the bright side, the farther they got from the palace, the less horrible the stench. She was about ready to think they would be spending the rest of their lives in the dark as she strained her eyes listening for any signs that they were being followed that when they came to the end of the passage, she was so little expecting it that she ran right into the man who showed her the way. She gave a quick apology and drew back to a proper distance before being horribly blinded by the slab of stone being pushed open to present the vast, rolling greens of the uplands that overlooked Valeria.

She blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep the stranger in her line of sight as she stepped into the midday upland but it was a difficulty as the dark accustomed eyes seemed to be content to give her only stabbing pain in her skull for her trouble.

“You can call me Ryder, and don’t worry. For the time being, I’m the only ally you have here.” Ryder smirked in the darkness. He actually felt superior to this fallen queen now. Sure, she had a whole kingdom to now rule, but only to have it taken from her in the same instance. It was amusing to drag her through the bowels of Valeria’s sewers. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

The rest of the way was spent in silence. Ryder was actually surprised. He knew that he had led her in circles more than once. The sewers were confusing, winding and twisting, and he had never been in them before. As part of his assignment, Ryder was shown a map of the escape route, but a clear, bird’s-eye view did little when actually in the dim muck of it all. He expected her to be chewing him out for getting her lost in the stench cloud. Aside from his own fallacies, Ryder at least expected to hear quiet sobs or whispered threats as they felt through the dark. Gwendolen was silent the whole way.

Ryder could only guess the girl was still in shock. The battle hardened general, torn up by a simple coup. She probably saw her father die, but she was a warrior princess. She should have been able to handle it better. Though, Ryder couldn’t claim he’d be entirely immune to the effects, either. Just losing his comrades, some of which he didn’t even like, had shaken him up more than expected.

Perhaps it was sheer dumb luck, but Ryder managed to lead the princess to an exit. Runes etched in to the wall were glowing like candlelight as they approached. Ryder pressed his hand to it. Gwendolen bumped into him and he released an annoyed sigh. He mouthed the word Modith and the wall slid away. The light blinded them for a moment. His eyes adjusted and the hills of Valeria came into clarity. The rolling greens were famous for their sea of colors when the flowers bloomed in mid Spring. It was a lovely sight, or so Ryder heard. The hills were a faded green this close to Winter.

“Right, princess, I think we should make for Ravenhold. My brothers and sisters can protecct you until you figure out your next move.” It was a true enough statement, but not why Ryder wanted to go. The words of the soldiers still echoed in his head. Ravenhold would be next. He had to warn the others. Truthfully, he didn’t know how safe it’d be. Somebody betrayed the other Ravens. It was the only way Kayel and the others could have been caught so off guard. Ryder shook the image of Ravens piled on top of each other out of his head and started towards the sea of green.

“My 'next move' is drumming up an army and taking my kingdom back. I see no other possible course of action.” she informed the strange elf-man sharply. “But I will need provisions if I am to travel for aid. If you believe your brothers and sisters can help me acquire such provisions, then it would be a journey worth taking.” She was not stupid. She knew she would need help if she was to get her feet under herself—even if it was only just enough to ride off over the hills to an ally she could trust enough to keep her safe while she drummed up loyal soldiers from her own lands. She was loath to admit it however, seeing as how royals at any disadvantage historically found themselves without heads or with knives in their backs. Gwendolen would rather like to avoid both, which meant projecting power she most certainly did not have.

She cast a suspicious eye at Ryder and asked a bit incredulously, “I think I have seen you about the palace before. What exactly is your position in the palace?”

She made it sound so easy. It wasn't going to be enough to just pop and declare that she wasn't dead. Most of the people had never even seen her before. Any foolish young girl could step up and claim to be the princess now. The hard part was going to be rallying the people in her favor. The people could give her an edge in the fight against Roland, and could prove detrimental if she lacked their support. Ryder had to admit, she was handling herself much straighter than he had anticipated.

"That's complicated..." Ryder could hear Kayel lecturing him for telling the princess all about the king's secret organization. Revealing their true intentions in the castle would ruin the mission. It didn't matter anymore. Roland was obviously aware of the Ravens and had intentions to disband them. Maybe, this was his chance to save the Ravens. If, and it was a big IF, Gwendolen somehow managed to take back the throne. She would have to decide whether or not to continue using the Ravens. Ryder sighed and took a leap of faith.

"We, I...am a member of the Red Ravens. It is a group dedicated to the interests of the kingdom, receiving direct orders from your father. We were also responsible..." It was hard to finish the sentence. Ryder didn't care that the king was dead. He didn't care that he was now travelling with a self-centered princess. It was the fact that the Ravens failed. Ryder had failed. "The Ravens in the castle were for the protection of the royal family."

Gwendolen gave the man a rather dubious look when he informed her that his position was “complicated.” Normally that meant either “illicit lover” or “illegitimate child” when dealing with complicated positions at the palace. Of course, on rare occasion the two complex positions intersected within a single person. That was usually when coups and civil wars started. And then suddenly she was wondering if the elf man wasn't going to announce he was a not so distant relative and/or stealing into some lady's bed when he shouldn't—or some lord's if the gods had decided to make her life really interesting.

And then the first words out of his mouth were “we” and “I” and she was sure she was about to have a bloody heart failure because this man was about to declare that he was her brother or cousin or something just mind bogglingly ridiculous. Only he didn't. He was apparently a member of something called the “Red Ravens” who rather pointedly sucked at their jobs. Secret organizations among nobility and commanded by nobility did not startle her. Kings rose and fell by them and kingdoms were often build and turned to dust from such shadowy dealings. And it seemed as though it might very well be her kingdom's turn to fall to the pages of history if she did not take her throne back from Roland. She was a bit cross her father had never told her about these Red Ravens but she supposed that would have come in time. Though if this was any example of their work, her father might not have bothered to tell her about them for their sheer uselessness.

With the image of her father's final moments still so painfully vivid in her mind, she wanted badly to snarl at this elf man. She wanted to point out his incompetence and pick at it like a crow. But she knew better. She would get nowhere sating her pain and anguish with the pain and anguish of others.

“Well,” she said a bit tightly because it really was hard not to curse the fool for whatever incompetence these red birds had that let this coup run unimpeded, “I assume these 'brothers' and 'sisters' of yours are of the order as well? Perhaps they will be able to redeem themselves by aiding their future queen.” Then she turned to look about the lands, “Nonios should still be wandering these hills.” she gave a sharp whistle through her teeth, “He can take us to your raven nest.” she could not keep the little bite of bitterness from her voice at mention of the ravens as she sheathed her sword. She only needed call twice more before a black figure came galloping up from the distance and charged across the land to them like some hell hound.

Gwendolen smiled and stepped forward, arms open for her dearest friend as the terror of a black horse came to a grinding halt some paces from Gwen and then began to prance lightly on nimble hooves, tossing his head like a happy pup greeting its master. Gwen cooed at the horse for a time, rubbing his neck and kissing his face before she took to his bare back. She turned Nonios towards Ryder and offered him a hand to pull him up, “You will need to guide me but Nonios can surely make the journey in quick time. There is no horse born yet that Nonios cannot out ride.”

Ryder took her hand and saddled up behind her on the black beast. It was a rather impressive horse, but he'd expect no less for royalty. It was probably hand picked from the finest stables in the kingdom. He instinctively grasped around Gwendolen's waist when the horse broke into a gallop. She warned him, but Ryder hadn't expected such a jolt into speed. Impressive was the only word that came to mind.

"The Red Ravens base themselves in Larson's End, the hamlet north of Valeria. We should make it in good time." Ryder could only hope. It sounded like Roland had a well-thought plan to easily eradicate the Ravens. However, Ryder's disruption of the guards wouldn't go unnoticed. Roland was too smart to leave such an important task to one plan. He'd have a back up and could have implemented it in the time it took to navigate the sewers.



Larson's End was prettier than most hamlets in the kingdom. It had to be. Many dignitaries and diplomats passed through it on their way to and from Valeria. It rest just between Valeria and the first major crossing of roads to the other regions. The roads were kept clear of debris and feces. The brothel only took the prettiest of simple girls. The inn was well staffed and stocked to make sure that any men of stature that wanted to stay would not complain of service. Some of Valeria's more successful merchants invested in these improvements knowing that happy dignitaries meant an influx of coin.

Of course, there were plenty of mercenaries, adventurers, and travelers that took advantage of these luxuries as well. Pleasurable in comparison to Valerian hospitality, but at half the price. Ryder frequented the town himself when given the rare leave from the castle walls. The Ravens were well compensated for their service, but a long night of entertainment still cut holes in his purse. Ryder made the mental note to steer the princess away from the brothel. Faith points would be lost if she found out he was a recognized customer.

"Head to the Giant's Den. The tavern is a front for the Ravens." Ryder looked around at a lot of the gawking faces sticking out of windows and alleys. In any successful city, no matter the size, those of questionable standing lurked in the shadows to seize opportunities. That was not mentioning the curiosity of the horse itself and its riders. He lifted himself up and let the horse continue before dropping behind it. Ryder walked up along the side and grabbed the horse's reigns.

"You may want to dismount. You reek of authority riding through town." Ryder eyes swept between the sides of the street. Roland's men could have been in town. There was no way to know just how much Roland knew about Ryder's involvement. He had to assume that their arrival was expected. "You don't want to draw attention just yet."

Nonios tossed his head and gave an irritated huffing when Ryder touched him. Gwen steadied him with a patting of his neck and dismounted smoothly. Ryder had a point. Gwen was not sure she could look anything less than authoritative riding on Nonios' back. Nonios was an impressive horse and could easily make even a peasant riding upon his back look rather authoritative. But Gwen had been a general for five years and a princess for her entire life, the quietly commanding airs of authority she bore about her would not be easily washed away; even in her own father's blood.

"I'd prefer not to draw any attention until I have an actual army at my back," she growled. "But considering I'm me I doubt very much that will be in our favor." And with that, she made for the Giant's Den. Nonios following close behind as if there was some invisible lead Gwendolen held. When they arrived at the tavern, Nonios waited dutifully outside while Gwendolen entered with Ryder.