(A/N I found a few spots that needed revision…but for those new to the story…enjoy!!!  Please review…I would love to review yours as well!)

Prologue

1296-Northeastern Cornnrall, Tsythmarth Province

 “This is a very generous offer, Mr. Allens.  I doubt any other would give such a large offer for such a tiny piece of land.”  The stranger put down his cup of wine and stared at its simple wooden craft almost contemptuously.  He hated the smell of this place…it stuck to the back of his tongue and refused to leave.  Everything around him was so simple, so utterly common that he just wanted to burn it away and start over.  Only when Daniel spoke did he lift his gaze.

“While I appreciate your offer…and realize that it is most kind of you do give me this large amount for my land…my reply stands.  No, thank you,” Daniel too put down his cup. 

“I beg your pardon?”  The stranger’s calm, collected voice faltered momentarily as anger flashed in his eyes. 

“This land has been in my family for years,” Daniel explained, filling a cup with tea, instead of the warm mulled wine he had served his guest.  “I would like to have something to pass on to my daughter.”  He gazed at his child affectionately as she stroked the large and sedate puppy sprawled in front of the fire. Her russet hair was unruly despite the late hour and her dress was smudged from the hearth.  She spoke in low tones to the pup and smiled as his long tail thumped the ground.  Daniel’s gaze flickered back to the old man seated at the other side of the table.  “I wouldn’t have her live elsewhere.”

The man’s voice was thick with ugly scorn that he made no show of hiding, “this is foolish.  You’re a poor shepherd…why in heavens name would you want to pass that on to your child!” the final word was said with such ferocity that Daniel’s daughter looked up momentarily from her pup and stared into the stranger’s eyes. Her brow furrowed as she stared…she didn’t understand the look on his face.

Daniel’s voice remained calm though anger rimmed his features,  “because,” he leaned forward and he tapped the table with one tanned finger, “it is her heritage.”

The stranger stood so quickly that his chair caught on the smooth wooden floor and fell over backwards.  Daniel got to his feet as well.

“This is idiocy Allens.  You know that.”  Despite his obviously considerable age, the stranger loomed over the shepherd, pointing a gnarled finger at his chest, “or you will.” 

He whirled around angrily and made toward the door before turning.  He spoke to the child, “I hope you enjoy the petty life of livestock and dogs, girl…for that is all that you will become.”  He smiled, revealing blackened and missing teeth and stalked out the door.

“Father…I just don’t understand why” Aleyn snatched the end of her father’s cloak and looked up at him with very brown and very much pleading eyes.

“Because I said so…you need to stay here…like a big girl and watch the house.”

Aleyn released the cloak and looked at her feet, “I don’t think it’ll run away.”

 Daniel looked down at her from his packing, and smiled.  He stepped back and knelt to the floor so he could look into his daughter’s eyes.  “How old are you now?”  He clasped her hands in his large callused ones.

Aleyn held up two hands, the fingers splayed.  A grin lit up her face.

“Ten years old?  Why? You’re practically a lady!”

Aleyn’s grin widened.

“But you still have to stay.”

The grin faded.

“But…you can come next time.” 

The grin returned, “Really?” 

Daniel fanned a large kiss on the child’s forehead, “ I promise.”

“Okay…but can I play outside?”  Aleyn’s eyes flickered behind her father to the large pasture and the dogs romping beyond.

“Yes…but stay within view of the house ok?”

“Yes father.” She kissed him to seal the deal.

“I love you Aleyn.”  He snatched her from the ground and she squealed into his neck.

“I love you too, Father.”

Barking dogs came upon so fast that Aleyn almost fell backwards onto the ground.  The child whirled around to see her pup’s parents, Willow and Hatchet, running at her full tilt.  Willow, a large lanky greyhound was vastly out sprinting her mate, a bulky mutt with a black muzzle and brown body.  She held something within her jaws and Aleyn cringed, almost positive it was a large--still alive--rodent.  The pair had reached her before she could take another breath.  Willow sank at the child’s feet and let the object between her jaws fall to the ground.  It was brown and soaked with foaming dog saliva but still recognizable.  It was a hat.  Aleyn scooped it up and stared at it for several moments.  A hot acrid stench reached her nostrils and filled them.  It was all she could do to prevent herself from gagging. The hat…through the dog spit and grit that had become adhered to it was covered in a thick gooey substance that stained her hands red.  Blood.  As the scent reached the dogs nostrils they started barking madly, tugging at the child’s clothes and pushing her with their snouts.  It was then that Aleyn registered what this meant.  This hat...stained crimson, was a message…one she was meant to follow.  She turned to Willow, who was panting heavily but upright and ready; she spoke a single command.

“Lead”

The dog took her position beside the child, who slid her fingers beneath the collar and allowed herself to be led away.  The arm and hand that held the hat hung limply towards the ground but Aleyn was far from discouraged…this mystery was fun…she would win this game…she had Willow.  The child was marched steadily across the pasture until a dark covered road came into view.  This road led to town…a magical place that Aleyn had never been allowed to go.  But father had said that she could go next time…and that would have to suffice. The road as it stretched across the large meadow was gradually being taken over by the foliage in the forest.  As Aleyn neared… the thick meadow grass gradually gave way to hard packed earth and fallen leaves.  Then the smell returned.  Only magnified one hundred-fold…the sordid reek of death.  Aleyn’s eyes watered at the stench and the dogs once again began to howl and bark madly.  Father’s wagon lie off to the side of the road, the contents, goat cheese and wool lying untouched.  Beside the wagon a pile of clothes lie in a heap.  The child neared, her eyes streaming and breaths coming in and out through her mouth in a vain attempt to avoid the terrible stench.  It was then she realized.  The dogs fear…the hat...the wagon.  Aleyn gathered her courage and walked to the pile of clothes.  It was a person, lying in a pile of crimson that still oozed from his neck. She gathered a breath and rolled it over.  It was then her will gave out.  A wave of the putrid stench rolled over her and stole her breath.  Her breakfast resurfaced and her throat stung.  Her father.  Her father on the side of the road.   Dead. Stench.  Death.  Blood.  Cut. Falling.  Dark. Death. Sleep.  Her father…murdered.

Le Fey en Soir

8 years later--Lorenith Forest

Rowen blinked as he let loose the arrow clutched between his middle and index fingers.  In the millisecond of time his eyes were closed, the arrow went wild, missing the target by a clear foot. 

“Pitiful,” came a voice behind him.  A man dressed in green breeches and matching tunic stepped out from behind a bush.  Auburn hair shimmered above his brow; his shoulders broad and his arms were long.  He carried a bow and a large quiver of arrows and had what looked to be the beginnings of stubble on his chin.  Rowen  glanced up and released a sigh at the sight of his elder and most annoying brother. 

“Well good morning to you too, Demarn the ever great marksmen!” Rowen called mockingly and bowed curtly.

With a grunt of indignation, Demarn charged and took a swing at his brother but missed by inches.

Rowen had to duck fast to dodge the swing at his ear.  Swinging his elbow round quickly, he rapped sharply on the back of Demarn’s head in retaliation.  Demarn being the larger one wasn’t able to move quickly but could use his weight as an advantage.  While Rowen had been laughing silently with his back turned, Demarn snuck up and squashed him into submission. 

The squabble finished.  Rowen stood, his ribs creaking and sucked in a heaving breath.

Demarn, being a boastful young man proceeded to comment on his brother’s archery skills.  “When you aim, make sure to keep both eyes open and pay attention, you’re always drifting off and loosing concentration.”

Rowen rolled his eyes, not really paying full attention. His attention had turned to a rustling in the bushes.  All sounds melted around him, his eyes squared firmly on the bush.  He smoothly drew an arrow from his quiver and set in the bow.  The bush quivered violently, and Rowen took a step forward.  Rowen heard his brother abruptly stop talking and pick up his bow noisily.  Rowen took another step forward.  The bush shook once more and a large pheasant flew out.  Rowen’s eyes narrowed and he let loose the arrow.  It struck the pheasant squarely, killing it instantly.  He walked to where it had fell and shook it above his head sardonically.

“No concentration?”  He hollered in his brother’s direction without focusing on him directly. 

Demarn scoffed and walked up to his brother, scowling deeply. Snatching the bow from his hand, he tossed it as far as he could to Rowen’s left (a rather immature gesture on his part) and bounded off cackling. 

Rowen exhaled his annoyance and went in the bow’s direction.  He found it swinging off a branch, the bowstring wrapped in foliage but nonetheless intact.  He retrieved it and slung it over his shoulder. Shaking his head at the now disappeared Demarn, he turned away from the rising sun and walked through the dying mist.

Rowen or Prince Rowen Exniard Tarkis is the youngest son of King Stavnard of the Royal Order of the Soliquin.  The lands that Rowen’s walked upon spoke to him in silent praise and respect, hailing him as one of the royals that ruled over it.  ‘Ruled’ being used lightly, for Soliquin do not rule land; they are more or less a part of it.  They used or borrowed from it and in return protected it from the most dangerous creature to ever walk upon this earth: Man.  Now this job carries with it many responsibilities, even if you are one of the most powerful creatures in the forest you protect, there are still dangers to be aware of.  Man being one, but also another more ancient evil.  It had been written long ago that the Minderc, a race of evil elves and Men banded and bred together to form an evil powerful and greedy enough to destroy all those who oppose them, had terrorized the people of Soliquin and Men descent. Centuries before Rowen existed, the Minderc were all but destroyed, their evil ways caving in upon them like loose sand in an hourglass.  No trace was left, what they had destroyed and burned grew again; no evidence was left except for those in the minds of the old ones.  Man, having no gratitude for the few elves that had decimated the evil race, took from the land, squeezing precious life from it and replacing it with cobble streets, filthy water and smoke filled skies.  The Solis reclused themselves from the sight of Men, angry at Man’s arrogance, and fell back into legend and myth.   Now, the Soliquin weren’t an ignorant race but they were, to be put simply, wary to help Men again.  They stood forevermore in the shadows, watching as the once green pastures faded into gray cities, brown farmlands and stinking murky rivers.  They watched and waited for Men to burn themselves out. 

Luckily, these burdens on mind and body fell to another.  Rowen was the youngest son, so of course he would be given some meager job, governor of some province or such, while his elder brothers were king and general of legions.  This fact of course did not help Rowen escape schooling.  Up at dawn, swimming in a freezing lake in the main courtyard, marksmanship, manners, etc.  He grimaced at the thought of horsemanship this afternoon, with Master Quinne slapping him instead of the horse with the whip for not keeping his heels down. 

Rowen’s thoughts were suddenly broken as he tripped over a hidden root and landed face–first in a pool of foul-smelling water. The bow broke free from his shoulder and landed a yard away with a loud clatter.  Rowen climbed to his knees sputtering pond scum and water plants.  Covered from head-to-toe in unnamed muck and freezing water, Rowen peered in the pond at an attempt to clean himself off.  Peeking through the cold and dismal mud was a pair of deep amethyst eyes.  Since most of his race had either green or blue eyes, Rowen’s had been a subject of curiosity since he was born; they had been quite the addition to his already handsome features.  He had a slim face (now covered in mud) as well as thin eyebrows and jet-black hair cropped short.  Scraping and scrubbing, he managed to make himself look half-decent; he climbed heavily to his feet, walked around the pond, watching his footing with deliberate care, and tried home again.

The city of Tysthmarth is absolutely in-navigable in the early afternoon; every merchant selling, every housewife buying.  The air is thick with dust and sweat, of which is mingled with human and animal alike.  Various stenches hover in the air; the smell of rotten meat and fruit hover in the air like the flies that consume them. The atmosphere is full and hectic, like everything and everyone has somewhere to go and must be there as soon as possible.  Fishmongers yell out there wares to attract customers whilst shoving their produce into the faces of those who walk close enough.  Cats and other strays hover expectantly, just waiting for the unlucky scrap to fall to the ground.  People crowd the streets, carrying bundle upon bundle of purchases, children swing on the arms of their mothers, red faced from heat and grievance.   

‘Aleyn do this! Aleyn don’t dawdle! Oh do come on you idiot girl! Like she could carry all these packages,’ Aleyn thought.  She shifted the fruit basket from one arm to another and exhaled huffily.  Her arms ached from the weight of the numerous purchases balanced on them.  Aleyn knew that if she dropped a single package, her mistress would be on her like stink on…well you know what.

“Hurry up girl! Don’t dawdle,” came a sharp and painfully familiar voice ahead of her.  Aleyn raised her head.  A small even-toned woman with almond slanted eyes was looking at her, her lips perpetually turned towards the ground.  Her hair was spun gracefully into a bun, the few errant gray strands trapped beneath a voluminous fuchsia hat.  Madam Warnk, Aleyn’s mistress, had turned out of the stream of traffic, waving a fan at her face at an attempt to cool herself.  It didn’t help much; all she wore was velvet and fur, despite the muggy heat that terrorized the already sunny morning.  She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for Aleyn to “dawdle” her way over to her.  Aleyn took as much time as she could get away with; putzing couldn’t fight off the inevitable.  Sure enough, a raised eyebrow and a swat from a closed fan later, Aleyn was sitting in a tailor’s chair in the cloth shop. 

Aleyn was a girl of 17 though she wasn’t married and doubted she ever would be.  She had been sold into slavery when she was 10 after her father had been killed on the way to town.  For five long years she was sold and bought to various households, never allowing herself to adjust or make friends knowing she’d never see them again if --and when she was sold.  2 years ago she was bought into the Warnk household.  While Madame Warnk was married to Senator Warnk, she was a pleasant enough woman, if not a bit harried looking; at least she seemed to be.  But when her husband died suddenly a few months ago, Madam had become increasingly cruel.  Beatings, missed meals, harsh punishments and even embarrassment had become part of Aleyn’s weekly routine. 

Aleyn slouched in the chair, her neck clicking as she did, allowing her back a few precious moments of rest. The room smelled of cotton and wool and various tidbits of cloth lay strewn on the floor.  The small room had an oddly calming effect on her senses; like she was in a place she had been a hundred times before. Warily she allowed herself to relax; knowing the sounds of the Madam’s bartering a few yards away would soon give way to ”come along Aleyn!”  Outside the city walked by, few looking in at the girl in the tailor chair.  Aleyn’s thoughts drifted dreamily and she allowed her vision to slide out of focus.  She thought wistfully of her father’s cottage and her real home, a home of her own.  A sharp pain in her shoulder made the picture in her mind fade for a quick second but the muscle soon relaxed and the daydream returned with a vengeance.  The sounds mellowed around her as she sat alone in her thoughts.  A vision of herself wafted past her mind’s eye.  She saw herself, alone and carefree, living in the forest selling or trading to survive.  Aleyn’s mind clicked, as did her back as she sat up abruptly, and her thoughts filtering into a single word: escape. 

“Escape?” Maryn’s young eyes widened at the thought.  She watched intently as Aleyn packed a traveling cloak, tunic and extra blanket into her sack.  Maryn was Lady Warnk’s (Madam’s daughter) chamber maiden. She had arrived a little after Aleyn and was 4 years younger. 

“That’s what I said” Aleyn replied.  She was terrified but she wasn’t going to tell Maryn that.  The poor child was already scared enough even though she thought Aleyn was fearless.  At the moment however, Aleyn couldn’t help but me amused at the look on poor little Maryn’s face.  It was a mixture of youthful excitement and hope with a dash of utter and true terror.

  Aleyn shoved the blanket into the bag and sat down heavily beside Maryn on the bed.

“I have to go Maryn. This…” she gestured around her. “Isn’t where I belong.”

“Well I know that…but…” Maryn looked at Aleyn’s bag.

Aleyn took a handkerchief from her bedside table and began to convulsively fold it.

“I’ll be fine.”  Aleyn finished and put the kerchief in her bag.

Maryn yawned, “I know that too.”

Aleyn smiled at her and fell backwards on the bed.

“When will you go?”  Asked Maryn.  Her voice was heavy with denied sleep.

“Tomorrow,” Aleyn returned Maryn’s yawn.  She sighed and closed her eyes.

Maryn watched her sleepily for several minutes, her own eyes drooping and finally closing. She drooped sideways beside Aleyn, her breathing slow and soft.  Aleyn watched her roommate for several moments, the fear dying in her mind as she watched the sleeping child.   Aleyn rose and straightened Maryn under the covers and shoved her bag beneath the cot.  Aleyn, exhausted as well slid beneath the covers and fell quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep, curled beside Maryn.

Rowen sat up awake in his room, waiting for dawn.  Today was the Doiran festival.  Basically it was just another way for his parents to honor his esteemed brother Enden, the next king and his eldest brother.  If the ceremony hadn’t been eons old, Rowen would have thought his parents had made it up especially for Enden.  All Rowen really did was sit there with a plastered look of reverence on his face while everyone praised Enden, who enjoyed every bit of it.  Rowen figured that if he made some excuse, he could be allowed to escape the threat of death from boredom and to run off to the forest.  He could feel its tug on him even now, while it slept, an urge to run through moss-covered trees and over hill, through it’s mighty kingdom.  It was like an itch you yearn to scratch.  Now it wasn’t that he disliked Enden.  Quite the contrary, Enden was his favorite brother, but…when the forest called, as it was to him now, you couldn’t help but listen.  A beam of light peaked through the window and Rowen rose to dress.  He pulled on his best trousers and tunic, made from purple wool and put on his freshly shined boots.  (He had stayed up last night shining them with wax until his hand developed a cramp).  Into a sack he packed a green and brown tunic, vest and matching pair of trousers along with hunting boots and an extra blanket.  Smiling to himself, he walked over to the wardrobe across the room and opened its doors.  Inside was a munitions-style storage area, stocked with various weapons and items that might be useful while hunting.  His favorite bow and 2 others were hung in the back along with an assortment of quivers of arrows.  Stored neatly in drawers were assorted blades, ranging in size from daggers the length of his hand to swords that had they hung from his belt would reach his mid-shin.  Pinned to the door were three spears; one of each made elegantly of oak, ebony and ash with different types of heads.  Rowen’s selected one with a small tear shaped blade and grabbed on an afterthought a small dagger.  From a shelf to the left he picked a small pewter jug with a screw-on cap, roughly the size of a quart jug.  Placing the dagger and jug in the bag and the spear beside it he smiled, satisfied and went through the door for his morning meal.

Aleyn’s eyes fluttered open into unaccustomed sunlight.  The usual dread floating in her mind, she sat up.  She uncurled herself from Maryn and dressed drowsily in the men’s clothes she had set out the night before. She was almost out her door when she realized what she’d done with her groggy, morning mind.  She was leaving.  In the pre-dawn light she checked her dress, she hadn’t even noticed what she was putting on. Silently she crouched beside the bed and snatched the sack out from beneath it.  Standing straight she looked about the room for a moment.  She sighed at herself and tied her hair back in an attempt to hide her feminine feature of long hair.  She smiled at the still asleep Maryn and slipped out the door, making barely a sound. 

Rowen had to fight hard the urge to allow his head to fall back against the chair in which he sat.  His father, King Stavnard, an agéd elf with hair that reached down past his shoulders, droned on in his deep low voice. Enden, in dress of deep crimson, sat in a gilt chair at the front of the room, thoroughly enjoying the praise directed at him.  

‘20 minutes,’ thought Rowen to himself, smiling at the hopeful thought.  His father continued Enden’s benedictional praise and Rowen’s eyes fluttered shut.  A sharp tug at his left ear startled him awake and his eyes snapped open.  His younger sister, Robyn, was glaring at him out of the corner of her eye.

“You know better,” she accused through tight lips. 

Rowen smirked slightly and returned his attention to his brother. 

“Aethe Torendi Tande,” Stavnard spoke in the ancient tongue, the room resonating every syllable.

  Rowen closed his eyes, rocking his body to the rhythm.  He could feel those on either side of him doing the same as the chamber itself joined in

“Troquar Devran Terlander!” the room spoke as one, the tones echoing in Rowen’s ears.

Silence.  Enden stood, and everyone stood with him.  He embraced his siblings (Robyn squeezing him in a especially bear-like hug) and kissed his mother lightly on the cheek, her face wet with tears.  He stopped at his father, bowed formally and left the room, leaving silence behind him.  Rowen sighed; finding all this fuss over his brother unneeded, and let Robyn lead him angrily out of the hall by the shirt.

Free.  The word floated across Aleyn’s mind like butterflies over a spring meadow.  She couldn’t believe she actually had done it.  Aleyn had flown from her captors, and was now walking; of her own free will, through a sun-lit forest. It seemed like she had sauntered out of a fairy tale.  The morning dew hadn’t gone so everything around her seemed to sparkle and gleam like the very floor was sprinkled with diamonds.  Aleyn walked through the forest, viewing it with new eyes.  Now she was Aleyn of the Forest, Aleyn that could take care of herself.  She would set up something somewhere, pick mushrooms, and catch fish, whatever. She just didn’t care. It simply didn’t matter as long as she was free.  Aleyn found some moss to sit on, and leaned up against a stump.  Sunlight filtered through the treetops and danced on her face.  Slowly she fell into a light, dream-filled sleep.

“Rowen! I can’t believe you fell asleep during the ceremony!” She regarded him angrily with pale blue eyes, “I should tell mother.” Robyn was 300 years younger than Rowen even though she was almost 2 inches taller than him.  She also had the regal air down to an art.  But when she laughed, like a shimmering waterfall, you couldn’t help but jump right in.

Rowen’s smiled at his younger sister, her long ebony hair all tasseled from her tossing it angrily. He knew he couldn’t say anything to change her mind.  Yet.

“Now Robyn. You know very well I wasn’t sleeping,” Rowen soothed, “ I was listening with my eyes closed.” 

“Were you now?” Robyn pointed an accusing finger; “ this is an important ceremony for our dear brother…it was very disrespectful of you to…’listen with your eyes closed’.”  She poked his chest a little harder than necessary.  Rowen was almost positive he would receive a bruise from her today

Rowen lowered his gaze and stared at his shoes…the picture of the guilty child, “I’m sorry,” he whined. “I won’t ever do it again,” he raised a hand and grinned, “honest.” 

Robyn rolled her eyes and giggled.  “Well your lucky you’re my favorite,” she poked him playfully in the ribs, “or I’d have really told mother.”

“Tell me what Robyn Exnid Tarkis?”

Robyn’s eyes grew wide with terror and surprise at the sound of her mother’s voice and her full name.

Queen Tryni, Robyn and Rowen’s mother, had walked silently up behind them.  She was a soft person, short and thin, with long elegant ebony hair that Rowen, Enden and Robyn had inherited.  (It was often joked that Demarn came completely from their father’s side of the family.)  Though she was far shorter than all of her children, Robyn and Rowen cowered before her in terror.  Robyn’s pale blue eyes searched the room for a diversion.  (She hadn’t actually intended to tell on Rowen.)

“Um…yeah I was going to tell you that err… Enden looked very handsome in that tunic you wove for him, mother.” 

Tryni smiled wisely as Robyn looked over her mother’s shoulder at Rowen, whose brow was furrowed in nervous terror.  “Thank you dear, but as I have told you before, look someone in the eye when you speak.”  She gently lifted Robyn’s chin so her face was level with hers (well…her forehead)

Robyn looked down into the piercing blue eyes she had inherited.  Her lip quivered and her will broke, “Rowen was sleeping during the ceremony.”  Horror struck, Robyn looked to Rowen, who nodded with false solemnity.

Tryni’s anger didn’t show on her face, but it was evident in her eyes.  “Rowen you are dismissed from the celebrations and feast this evening.  Go to your rooms.  If you get hungry go to the kitchens.” There was no anger in her voice, only an eerie steadiness.  Rowen nodded, winked to Robyn and took a left down the north corridor, seizing a green bag from behind a statue en route.  

Aleyn’s dreams were full of blurred images, old faces and colors.  One image would run into the next, swirling in a churning pool of shades.  Images of the forest, Maryn, Madam Warnk and her long dead mother swirled into a mass of blurred colors and mixed sounds.  She tossed and turned until she fell sideways onto the grass.  Curled in a ball, she shivered in the warm sunlight.