Chapter 1

The fact that the two young boys never had had anyone to teach them the art of sword fighting – or other fighting for that matter – didn’t mean they couldn’t handle it. In fact, they had become quite skilled by training themselves their own way, using their own techniques, and watching others when they had the opportunity. To fight each other with swords was their favourite pastime. And though their swords were old and not nearly sharp enough to even slice bread, they had done the best out of it.

Calet Icen and his three years younger brother Rion lived with their father in a little house just outside town. Their mother had died not long after Rion was born, leaving the two boys alone with their father. Aron Icen, who was a baker, usually worked in a shop in the middle of the town, leaving the boys alone home most of the day. But they had never problems using the free time to their advantage.

Rion leapt at his older brother, trying to hit the sword out of his hand. But Calet took a step back and easily blocked the attack; sending Rion backwards so he landed on the ground. Calet laughed.

“You have to do better than that, little brother.” Rion quickly got to his feet, preparing another attack. Even though his brother was bigger and much stronger, Rion had the advantage of his smaller body and speed. It was easier for him to avoid sudden attacks. This time he was more careful; taking a small step to the right then swirled around with his sword, trying to hit low. Calet again blocked the attack with ease, and countered it with a quick swirl himself. The blade stopped less than an inch from Rion’s neck.

“You’re dead,” Calet said with a smile, lowering his sword. Rion rubbed his neck.

“Almost thought you wouldn’t be able to stop it a second there,” he said, giving a weak smile before taking his position again.

It was very important that the two boys were able to stop their swords before they hit each other, even though their swords were blunt, they could do heavy damage – even kill – with the right strength. The boys had trained for years; the time to be able to react and stop the sword – especially in the middle of a deadly swirl – was less than a second.

Again Rion was the one to start, and quickly, but carefully, he rushed forward. Pretending to hit low again, he suddenly swung his sword high, trying to hit Calet in the chest. Calet – noticing the danger just in time – turned away from the blow, but stumbled and had to drop his sword to gain balance again and avoid getting hit. He rolled around on the ground, picked up his sword again and got to his feet; barely blocking Rion’s third thrust. Calet let out a breath as Rion backed away again.

“You nearly had me there, little brother.” Rion smiled.

“I have beaten you before, you know. You’re not invincible.” Calet laughed, and the two boys again took their positions.

“Again,” Rion said. “You start.”

Calet took his time before leaping into an attack; judging the best way to go, their positions, and the way Rion held his sword; waiting for the thrust. Then he leapt forward; his sword held high, swirling towards his brother. Rion leapt to the side; blocking then trying a thrust of his own which was swiftly countered. For several minutes the two boys held it going, until at last Calet took a mighty swing towards Rion. Rion managed to block the blow with his sword, but the force was so strong that he was cast back; landing hard on the ground. Before he could react and get to his feet, Calet lowered his sword to Rion’s throat.

“You lost again,” he said, a bit out of breath. He lowered his sword, Rion glaring up at him while he tried to catch his breath.

“Seems you can’t beat me today, brother. Guess you have to train some more.” He laughed, but the laughter came to an abrupt end as he was pushed hard in the back, landing face first on the ground and dropping his sword. Quickly he turned around, only to find a sword tip an inch from his nose.

“You forgot to watch your back,” he heard a voice above him. “That did just cost you your life.”

Rion started to laugh beside him, and the sword was lowered from his face. Calet looked up and grinned; taking the outstretched hand offered him. Getting to his feet he looked into a smiling face with two clear blue eyes. Long golden blond hair was cascading down her shoulders, framing a perfectly oval face. Calet pulled his fingers though his short dark hair, his smile widening.

“Ilra, you scared the wits out of me there.” Ilra laughed.

“If you had remembered to watch your back, you wouldn’t be dead now,” she said, handing back his sword, hilt first. Rion had gotten to his feet too now, and stood beside his brother, his sword already safe in its scabbard.

“I guess you’re right,” Calet said, sheeting his own sword in the old leather scabbard he wore at his left hip. “But it is impossible to hear you approach, Ilra. You’re like the wind itself.” Ilra just laughed and walked with them towards their house.

Despite that he was warm and sweaty after the hard training, Calet was glad he had his heavy cloak to wrap around himself to hold out the cold chill that still hung in the air after the harsh winter that had just passed. The sun gave little warmth to the land, and here and there snow still covered the ground. Spring was late this year, and the first flowers had yet to force their way through the frozen ground. The fresh breeze felt good on his hot face as he walked, and he cast a glance towards Ilra. The sun was reflecting on her hair, making her look like an angel. Ilra saw him looking at her and smiled. But though the smile was warm, Calet thought he saw something else in her eyes before she turned to answer a question from Rion, but he could not say exactly what it was. Calet had known Ilra for almost five years now, right after she had moved to Tarién with her parents. They had become friend instantly, sharing many of the same interests and always having a lot of fun together. Rion was often with them too, and the tree friends were often seen together.

By the time they reached the brothers’ house, the sun had almost fallen behind the high trees that surrounded the clearing and lake that the little house viewed. The house was not very old, Aron had built it himself not long before Calet had been born. It was a one-floor building in dark timber, containing two bedrooms and a living room. Aron was not home yet, so the house stood dark and empty as they entered. Calet put some kindling in the fireplace, and when the flames caught he added some more logs, watching the fire licking the dry wood, warming the cold room. Rion took the kettle and went to fill it with water from the lake while Calet lit some candles to add a bit more light than the fire could provide. Ilra sat herself in a chair before the fire, warming her hands over the flames. When Calet was satisfied that the room had enough light, he settled down on the floor beside her. Rion soon came in with the kettle full with water and placed it over the dancing flames in the fireplace. Then he hurried outside, deciding to split some more logs while it was still light enough to see. Calet eased off his scabbard and leaned it against the wall. An old friend of their father had given them the old swords, including the scabbards. Ian was a sword maker, and a customer had given him the swords when buying new ones, saying he had no use for such old, blunt swords. Ian had offered to sharpen the pieces, but the costumer had just dismissed the offer, buying new expensive ones instead. Calet wondered if he should ask Ian if he could sharpen the swords for them, but it would probably cost money, which he did not have. Besides, it might be as well that they were blunt when practise with them as they did, making less chance that they hurt each other seriously.

“It feels like I have forgotten something,” Ilra suddenly said, jerking Calet out of his thoughts.

“Oh?” Calet asked.

“When I woke up this morning, I just felt like I had forgotten something really important. But I can’t remember what it is. It’s really frustrating.” Calet nodded, knowing perfectly well what she meant. “Maybe it has something to do with your parents? I mean, with your real parents.” Ilra nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

Just recently had she discovered that her parents through her nineteen years of life – Jahn and Lilly – were not her biologic parents at all. Just a few weeks ago they had told her the truth. They had found a young woman – they never got to know her name – out in the forest, badly hurt and about to give birth. Taking her with them home, she had given birth to a beautiful little girl, which she gave the name Ilra. The woman told them that Ilra’s father had died not long ago in a combat far to the east, and now the ones who killed him was after her too. And the baby. She couldn’t explain why, but Lilly and Jahn had still agreed to help her, even when she warned them of the danger this could involve. The woman died only an hour after the birth, after Lilly and Jahn had agreed to take care of the baby when she was gone. They then had been forced to leave in a hurry, for the woman’s hunters were close, and had followed her trail to their house.

All Ilra now had from her real mother, was a note she had slipped into the bundle with Ilra, which also contained the whereabouts to her money which she had buried. After Lilly and Jahn had told her all this, Jahn had taken her outside to the paddock where their two horses – Mea and Teen – were grassing peacefully. By the fence facing the forest, Jahn had started to dig in the earth, in the end producing a heavy pouch which he had given to her.

“This is what we found on the place explained on the paper she left us. Go on, open it.” Ilra had done so, and was astonished by the sight. She poured the contest out on the ground, staring at it. It contained hundreds of gold coins, with a few silver and bronze mixed in. She hadn’t believed anyone could own that much money.

“It is all yours, Ilra,” Jahn had said, bending down and helping her get the gold back into the pouch. “We have used very little of it, both agreeing that it belongs to you, not us.” Ilra was too astonished to speak at first.

“Why haven’t you told me this before? About everything?” Jahn had sighed, gotten to his feet and stretched his back.

“We wanted to, but we didn’t think you were ready at first. Then when you and Evan were attacked in the forest that time so many years ago, we knew they were still hunting you, and we wouldn’t scare you by telling you.” Here Ilra interrupted him.

“Hunting me? Who is hunting me?” Jahn had shaken his head, telling he truly didn’t know. All he knew was that it had to be the same people that killed her real parents. After the first attempt on killing Ilra, they had moved several times, hoping to shake off their followers. In the end it seemed like they had finally succeeded, but not before they were sure had they told Ilra about it.

“You better bury that gold again until you need it,” Jahn had said, gesturing to the pouch. Ilra nodded, quickly bending down and putting it back in the hole in the ground, then covering it. Still she was not sure what to believe, it was just so strange, the whole story.

Ilra was jerked back to the present by the sound of the door banging shut as Rion came into the room. Outside it was already dusk, and the fire had all but burned out while she had been in her own thoughts. Calet had apparently also been far away and wakened to life by Rion’s entering. Now he quickly placed some new logs in the fire, urging the last flame to eat on the new wood. Soon they could hear someone outside, and the door was opened as Aron entered the room. Aron was a big man, black haired and bearded, and to many he could appear scary until you saw the gentle look in his eyes and the broad smile that often featured his face. He smiled when he saw Ilra, lifting the sack from his shoulders and placing it on a stool by the table.

“Hi there Ilra.” Ilra returned the warm smile. Rising, she stretched and yawned. It was getting late, so she found her cloak and bid them all goodnight. Calet joined her for a while, following her to the path by the lake that would take her past her house.

“You take care now,” he said, giving her a hug which she returned. “Of course, you too,” she said. “And watch your back,” she winked, then turned and vanished into the forest.

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Ilra enjoyed walking in the forest, and the darkness did not shy her. She took her time, walking slowly between the trees, using her time to think. The fresh air – though cold – felt good, the soft wind a comfort on her face. She drew a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs. What her parents had told her still seemed like a dream to her. No matter what was the truth, she would always think of them as her parents, real or not.

By the time she neared her home it was complete dark, and the stars and crescent moon was shining brightly. The moon gave enough light for her to see the path she followed, and soon she could see the house between the trees. Light spilled from the windows, and she could see the shadows of her parents inside. Turning to the left, she followed another smaller path that lead past the house, ending at the enclosure where Mea and Teen were dosing. When hearing her approach, they both lifted their head and looked at her. Teen immediately trotted over to her when he recognized her, while Mea just watched her with suspicious eyes. Ilra stroke the gelding’s forehead, and soon Mea could not resist the thought of a pat and walked to them. There was little grass now, but the horses had plenty of hay to eat, and the little stream that ran through the enclosure was unfrozen now. Mea pushed Teen out of the way to get to Ilra’s hand, bending her head so she could scratch her behind the ear. As the insistent mare she was, she often bossed the uncertain Teen around when she could. Yet they were the best friends you could ever find.

Giving both the horses a last goodnight pat, Ilra followed the path back to the house, looking forward to warm herself before the fire.

Light spilled outside as she opened the door, and the warmth caressed her face. Getting inside she closed the door before the cold followed her. Lilly was standing before a small table kneading doe. In her late thirties, she was still an astonishing beautiful woman, her golden brown hair long and always loose. Her face was mild, and many men envied her husband. She smiled as she saw Ilra, but with her hands full of flour she could do little else. Jahn was not to be seen, so Ilra guessed he must be in one of the other rooms upstairs. Being a four roomed building, the house was much larger than the one to the Icen family. There was the main room downstairs, the little room they used to mostly store food and other supplies, and up the steep stairs were the two bedrooms.

Pulling off her cloak she made her way up the stairs to her room, with Lilly calling after her that supper would be ready soon. Well in her room she tossed the cloak on the bed and sat heavily in the chair by the window. The room wasn’t big, containing only a small table and chair, the bed and a little shelf with a few items. Brushing a lock of golden hair away from her face, she rose again and lifted a little box from the shelf. Sitting on the bed she opened it and took out the little paper note inside; the letter that her real mother had left her. All she had after her real parents. Unfolding the paper she read the words she by now knew by heart.

I will forever be thankful to you for taking care of my daughter. Even with the danger you knew followed me, you still wanted to help.

Ilra is the name her father wanted her to have, and I hope that is the name she will always remember. Maybe someday she will find her roots, if destiny wants it.

A little token of my gratitude; by the Avlan Lake – at the beginning of the south forest – follow a small trail about ten paces till you see a huge rock, here you will find a pouch buried under the bush to the left. Take this, it is all I have to give to help you. And again, thank you!

A soft nock on the door jerked Ilra out of her thoughts. The door opened and Lilly stepped into the room. “Hon, supper is ready.” Ilra nodded and made to put the paper back in its box. Lilly recognized the letter, and could also feel the uncertainness coming from Ilra. Sitting beside her on the bed she put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders.

“No matter who your real parents were, or what you might think, you will always be our daughter,” she said. “You will always be Ilra Hanier.” Ilra smiled, thankfully for the words she spoke. “Now,” Lilly continued, “we better get back down before the supper gets cold, or worse, before your father eats it all.” Ilra gave a small laugh and nodded. Lilly quickly went downstairs, while Ilra carefully folded the paper and gently put it back in the box. Placing it between two books in the shelf, she followed her mother downstairs. Seeing both her parents at the table, already arguing about who would get the end of the bread, Ilra smiled. No matter what, they were indeed her parents.