The long days of summer had come to an end. The leaves on the trees had begun to fade into brilliant hues of red and gold, and the days grew shorter and colder. And it was a time for harvest; this was a village where such farms and orchards were prevalent. The community was small and self-sufficient, situated within a day's march from the mountains, along a swift, cool river that flowed thence. To the west nearing the mountains, a forest began, and thence a few lumbermen dwelt and provided necessary lumber, as well as keeping any errant wild beasts from assailing the village. The village proper was situated atop a hill, and contained no more than a few buildings. It was here that the people would gather to trade, and to talk and enjoy a good drink, for it was here that there was a small inn.

The worthy innkeep was named Andras, the father of one child: a daughter, Cuilie. Long ago, in the days when the kingdom of Ceryn were still at war, he had been a bowman in the armies of the king. But now the land was at peace once again, for her great enemy had been defeated by the valour of the men of Ceryn, led by the great lord Drystan, the king. But Drystan grew old, and the lordship of his armies now passed to his two sons, Ryol and Tiernan. Both were mighty lords and warriors, unrivaled by any found in the kingdom of Ceryn. By the skill of their blades the few who would march against Ceryn were subdued. Yet it was said that Ryol was more beloved of the people, but Tiernan was more suitable to the kingship, whose will was the stronger and who would not be denied when he was set on something. Great love was there between the two brothers, but their father continued to put his trust in the victories of old, that were hard-won, and so there grew contention between the king and his sons.

Cuilie, having long been raised in a village that was untroubled by any rumours of war or outlaws, knew little of her father's past. Perhaps that was simply how her father chose to raise her, sheltering her from that which was. It was on an autumn's day much like this, that she first found her father's bow. Foresight, perhaps, or perhaps merely the desire not to wholly keep his daughter from his past, led Andras to teach Cuilie the art of archery. Having already a sharp eye, her skills with the craft grew swiftly, yet she had never yet wielded the bow against any living creature. Indeed the thought seldom occurred to her that this weapon was designed to end life.

Yet Andras, like the king, grew old. The strength failed his arms and fingers, and soon the years took their toll on the old innkeeper. So he had to rely more on his daughter to keep his inn functioning. She would not complain, of course. This was the only work she had ever known, and she had known it from a very young age. Such was her life. She was unconcerned with the events of the world, or so the villagers would have believed.

***

It was a cold autumn's day. The sun had almost vanished beyond the western horizon. Andras had left for the nearby trade-city of Erathil with a caravan of men, to sell some of the early fruits of the harvest, leaving Cuilie to maintain the inn. Only a few men were gathered about on this evening. She was pretending to keep busy by sweeping the floor, when the door suddenly flung open. A dead silence filled the inn.

He was tall and proud, carrying himself as if he were a mighty lord, though his clothes were worn as if with many leagues of travel. A sword hung at his belt, and at his back was slung a round shield. His boots were worn and caked with mud, and he himself looked as if he had been wandering for some time. As he stepped in, he dropped his pack on the floor and glanced about. "I need a room for the night," he said, proud but not demanding.

Nobody answered. "Is there none here from whom I can rent a room?"

Cuilie leaned the broom against the wall. She felt very small and very insignificant, and at the same time truly excited to have met such a traveler. "I can, my lord, if you'll follow me."

He hefted his bag across his shoulder again, and followed. His tread was heavy as he walked after her, and she fumbled for the keys. Slowly she unlocked one of the rooms and opened the door, then stepped inside, gesturing for him to enter. He seemed to do so, but paused when he was next to her once again. "How much, for the night?"

"Ten copper pieces, my lord."

He pressed a small pouch into her hand, and bid her keep whatever was left over, then dropped both pack and shield upon the bed. She looked at him. "Will you come to the common room? They will be curious."

"For a time." He spoke no further as she led him back to the common room, and seated himself not far from the men who were still gathered, and were now watching him intently, a mixture of suspicion and interest. "Cuilie!" called one. "Buy the man a drink, on me. Will you have us, sir?"

"Ask your questions. I will answer as I can."

The girl brought a mug, and set it on the table after taking a few coins from the man who had given her the instructions. She then returned to pretending to work sweeping the floor, near enough that she could listen in on the conversation.

***

He gave his name as Cathan, but his right name was Tiernan Cathan, son of Drystan king of Ceryn. The surname was his indeed, but known chiefly to those who dwelt in Ceryn or its near realms. This far from Ceryn proper, the king held little real power. Though in theory it was under the authority of Eanraig lord of Erathil, he paid little heed to this village, so long as it continued to supply goods for his city. For so he deemed was wise. He maintained legal power over all of his demesnes, but only over Erathil did he exercise that authority, so long as his lesser villages remained productive. As for Tiernan, he would have been surprised if any of these men save the village elders knew the name of their lord. But his name, he feared, would be known, and rumour of his departure should be a long time in reaching his father's ears.

He told no lies, though he kept much of the truth hidden in the shadows. He was a lord from Ceryn on errand outside of the realm's borders. His intentions were to remain for the night, and set out in the morning. What the errand was, he would not say, nor would he reveal his final destination or even whether he intended to return to Ceryn in the future.

"If any of you could offer aid--provisions or equipment--I would be most grateful. It must be a gift, for I have not the means to fund any great purchase. What say you, yea or nay?"

"You speak carefully, Cathan of Ceryn. Tell me. Who sent you on this quest? Is this an errand of the king?"

Tiernan looked at the man who spoke. All the while he had asked the most questions, and seemed the most skeptical. "It is not an errand of the king but of his younger son. The secrecy of my errand is vital. Yet you have not answered my question. Will you aid me?"

"We will consider it. You ask much and offer nothing in return. Meanwhile--" He was never allowed to finish his thought.

At that moment the door flung open again, and in there strode a woman, tall, fair and dark of hair, looking verily exhausted. Though Tiernan did not know her face, he knew that she must have come from Ceryn by his appearance, and an errand-rider, by her garb. Her eye caught Tiernan's, and she stared. "Hail, Tiernan Carthan son of Drystan king of Ceryn, and well met." At this greeting she collapsed.

"Hail, noble messenger of Ceryn, though I will not say well met." He walked up to the messenger and knelt beside her. "Is there a worthy worker of healing arts in this village? This woman is in need of immediate attention."

He rose and walked heavily away. For a while, there was no reaction. The king's son, here? Yet, all at once, there was a bustle of commotion behind him. He heard their words clearly, but understood little of it. It seemed that they discussed him, and the messenger, at once. Any hope of secrecy was lost, as soon as any word left this little village. But what could he do of it?

He shut the door to his room, and sunk onto the bed. There was a knock at his door, and a timid voice called out the name 'Cathan'.

"You may enter."

In stepped Cuilie. "The woman has been taken to the healer's. They say she had no horse when she came in."

"I shall see to it that she is well cared for before I leave. Is that all?"

The girl shook her head.

"I suppose the men also think me dishonest, now. They believe that my errand of secrecy, which does not come from the king, must be of some ill purpose. Why would I not use my title to gain their trust from the first? Now they doubt my intentions. Do I not speak rightly?" Tiernan stood and looked at her carefully. Would she understand? She did not hold a mistrusting look in her eyes.

"Some do. Not all." She sounded hesitant.

"And you?"

She did not respond. "I meant to ask earlier. While you're here, maybe I could show you around the village?"

"I am weary." He said nothing more for a while, as he thought. What did this messenger have to say? Perhaps they would get nothing from her for some time. Did she have her horse? Was she injured? "I will remain until the errand-rider can deliver her message. Tomorrow, though. You have my word on it. For now I wish to be left in peace."

"As you wish." She withdrew from the room and shut the door. Tiernan Cathan slumped onto the bed, and until sunrise the next day lay as if dead.