Stormfyre Chapter Seven

          Anyone who is interested: please check out the article posted on fantasy fiction on my blog roll. Glynn Young of Faith, Fiction, Friends is talking about fantasy authors of today and the message we convey, and Dragonsong is referenced. Check out his article at The High Calling. I am very glad for everyone who has tried Dragonsong out and found it to be an enjoyable novel. God bless!

 

          The house was deathly silent as Kamil crept closer to it. The rest of the common folk had nearly stampeded to the church, the sound of battle calling to them like a moth to the flame. Kamil found it was much easier to move with them out of the way. Still, he felt trepidation about entering the house, a lingering fear that he would enter and find his father laying on the floor looking as lifeless as the pair of men that Cameron killed. He quieted his labored breathing, cursing himself for his lack of spine. It seemed that he never found the courage to do what he should do. He silently vowed that he would change that. Gritting his teeth, Kamil stepped into the darkened arch of the door. Rain was falling in a light drizzle behind him and he thought to close the door behind him. The front room was a mess, wood splinters and toppled furniture adorning the floor wherever he looked.

            He was quiet taken aback when he saw two still forms on the floor. One was Andor, he knew by the white speckled hair on top of the man's head. The other was cloaked in the same black cowls that the others had on. Kamil prayed that the man was dead as he crept nearer his father. The door swinging open suddenly made his heart leap into his throat. He spun around to see Julia standing there, her face filled with concern.

            "I'm too late," he told her, "I didn't do anything but run from the house and now I'm too late to help him. I can't imagine what my father must think of me."

            "Stop that talk right now, Kamil Dravan! I know Andor well enough to know that the man would never hold blame over your head, and you should know just the same. He was protecting you so don't go feeling sorry for yourself just because you feared for your own life." Her tone was admonishing. Kamil bent his head and muttered an apology but Julia was already crossing the room and stooping over Andor's body. She placed her good hand on the man's throat, waited. She smiled broadly and faced Kamil.

            "Your father will be fine, Kamil. He took some injury to his head but it's nothing that bed rest and time won't see to."

            Kamil sighed relief, feeling the weight of guilt lift from him in a rush. He raced over to his father and sat beside him, stroking his hair. He laughed aloud, tears rolling down his cheeks.

            "My father always told me that I'm constantly in need of chastising. Thank you for being here, sister," Kamil took her hand and held it warmly. She smiled at him and nodded, then turned her gaze to the form of Andor's attacker. She rose to check on him but Kamil held her fast.

            "Leave him," Kamil hissed, "Who would care if he died? I sure wouldn't."

            "You say those words in anger," Julia assured him, pulling her hand away, "The One God teaches mercy, even to those that seem least deserving of it." She walked over to the man, hoping that her hands weren't shaking too badly as she knelt over him. She felt for the life beat, not knowing in her heart if she wanted to find it or would see it just as well if the man really were dead.

            "He lives," she stated, "His life beat is weak but I think that he will recover from his wound in time." Kamil snorted, not really caring if the man ever recovered. He fetched a blanket from the back room and returned with it, putting it over his father. He watched Julia work in the kitchen, heating water over the flame of the hearth to make tea for them. Please father, Kamil closed his eyes, clutched his father's hand. Please just get well.

           

            Damien and Cameron rode up the path that led to the Telba manor. Ferrin shifted from one side of the saddle to the other, taking in the sights around him. Black rolls of smoke still rose from the charred skeleton of the barn. The house, however, was far more alight. It seemed that the Telba family had decided to light every candle and lantern they owned and put it in every window. Servants moved to and fro from the front of the house. Some of them were burnt, a testament to the fire that raged earlier that evening. Cameron passed by the large oak in the middle of the front yard and saw a young boy, the stable hand, leaning against it, his face red and blistered from tongues of flame. The youth looked up at him and smiled a pained gesture that showed the boy hadn't given up hope. Cameron slipped off his saddle and knelt before him, Damien doing the same. The youth tried to stand on the last touch of strength that he had but Cameron made him stay where he was by placing a hand over his chest. The youth sank back to where he was.

            "Child, I want you to close your eyes, alright? Just close your eyes and all will be well," the priest swiped his hand over the boys face and he shut his eyes almost instantly. Damien closed his own eyes in prayer and placed his hands over the youth's frail chest. He raised his voice, head tilted to the heavens, "My lord and God, I beseech you, your humble servant, please grant me the strength to heal the hurt of this young man who only wishes to do your good in this world."

            Cameron watched with baited breath for any signs of the child changing. Then the red lessened in his over bright cheeks. Blisters that ran the length of his right arm faded to nothing, not even leaving a scar to show it had ever been. Color, normal healthy color, flooded back into the boy. In a moment he was as he had always been, young and alive, full of life. Cameron shook his head as he watched the boy stand, smiling broadly, and gaps missing in his teeth.

            "Thank you, father," the boy told him, "Thank you for making me feel better."

            "Think nothing of it, child. Now you had best find your parents. I'm sure that they're worried about where you are."

            "Okay," the boy laughed, running off toward the servant's housings, "Thank you, father!" he called back once more, and then vanished around the side of the house. Damien stood up, straightening his robes and shaking dirt from them. He turned to get on his horse, feeling the watchful eyes of Cameron on him.

            "I once watched a saevant do the very same thing with...a friend of mine, father. I have never heard of a holy man with such power to heal. Where did you come by such strength?"

            "The strength was something borrowed, and then gratefully returned to the one that lent it to me. The power is the One God, Cameron. I am only the vessel through which he uses that power."

            "And how are you to know that the power of 'Your God' and the power of the saevant aren't one and the same?" Cameron asked him, mounting his horse again.

            "It all comes down to faith," Damien replied, "Faith that there is the One God in the heavens and that he watches over all his children, caring for them. When things as these happen, it is all for the greater purpose of things, a play that only the One God is privy to. This is all I can tell you."

            "You'll have to forgive me, father, if I reject the idea of some being making us dance to whatever beat he calls. And as for his will," Cameron waved an arm to the smoldering barn, then to the panicked servants still running to complete tasks outside the house, "I find it hard to believe that any God would want this destruction to happen."

            "I cannot explain to those that are unwilling to listen to my words. Perhaps in time the One God will open your eyes for you, Cameron. Perhaps all he is waiting for is for you to ask him to do so."

            Cameron opted to say nothing, angered at the fact that the priest seemed to have answers for any question that he might ask. Instead he tapped Starn on the sides and rode up to the deck of the house. Edgar Rollint was the first to see him coming, he was outside on the right of the house, dropping sections of rolled up carpeting over the banister for other servants to take up and carry away. He dropped the section that he was carrying and ran to the front of the deck, rage boiling on his face. He cast and accusing gesture to Cameron, pointing and screaming at him in hoarse bellows.

            "This is your fault!" spittle flew from his lips and he swiped a hand over his mouth, wiping it his shirt as he continued, "You shouldn't have come here! This wouldn't a' happened if you never would'a come here! Just go away!" Cameron thought that the man was entertaining the idea of charging him when Devlin appeared from the open doorway.

            "Edgar! You stop that talk and come in the house now! Do not make me repeat what I have just said!"

            Edgar glowered, his face red with anger, with embarrassment. He stormed past Devlin and disappeared into the depths of the house. Devlin let his shoulders slump low when the servant was out of sight. His head craned to look at the deck. Damien could see blood splatters on the man's clothes even though he looked well. Damien dismounted, Ferrin following him from the horse this time.

            "Lord Telba, are you feeling well?" Damien approached him and put a hand on the man's shoulder to steady him. Devlin cast the father an appreciative glance and sighed. HIs face had etchings of pained loss there. Damien didn't even need to hear the words from him to know what went on this night.

            "Huros?"

            "He is gone, father, protecting the life of Kirstin."

            "Then your daughter is well?"

            "I have no daughter," Devlin growled lowly, breaking free of the priest's hold and stomping off the deck, making his way to the road beyond the house grounds. Damien watched him go, a look of puzzlement on his face that he didn't try to hide. Ferrin watched him go as well, but from the safety of being behind the priest's back. A smell rose from the man that left the deck of the house, a smell of danger in him. Ferrin feared that the man might do something violent. He breathed a sigh of relief when he couldn't see the man any longer. Another sound made the young man spin on his heel, not even touching the ground as he turned to look. A young golden haired woman was standing in the frame of the doorway, her emerald eyes marred by streaks of tears. Ferrin let down his guard, going over to the young woman and holding out his hand to shake. She looked startled to see him, like she hadn't even noticed that any of them were even standing on the deck. Hesitantly, she placed her hand in Ferrin's. He brought it up to mouth and kissed it, trying to be gentle about but bringing it up so fast that she gasped softly. She turned her head and smiled, saying something curt when he kissed her hand and he let it go, smiling at her. His grin could be very infectious, Damien had already noticed. It worked its magic on Kirstin as well, coaxing a grin from her that was more genuine.

            "Kirstin, are you alright? Were you injured tonight?" Damien questioned, moving Ferrin aside and stepping closer. Ferrin cast him a wide mouthed look, his jaw dropping at being so casually cast aside. He started to sign something about the priest's barn like manners but Cameron caught hold of him and held him, letting him know that he wasn't in the mood to deal with the youth's tirades. Ferrin decided that he would just stand there and watch the scene unfold.

            "I'm fine, father. I wasn't hurt at all. I hid in a crawl space when everything began to happen. It's my brother; he tried to help me, fought one of the men in his room while I listened. I could hear him scream... but there was nothing I could do.I felt so helpless," She began to sob again, holding her hands to her face, not wanting anyone to see the grief in her eyes. Damien put his hand on her shoulder, pursing his lips together. He cast aside his own heart ache at the moment and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. Speaking soft words in her ear he led her in the house, leaving Cameron to stand outside and watch.

            "At least the rain stopped," Cameron muttered to himself. After a second of hesitation he followed Devlin down the road, leaving Ferrin to as he wished on the deck. In the end the youth tagged after Cameron, curious to see where it was that they were going.

            Devlin finished his walk at the old church in the woods. He knew this path by heart. He had been the one to show it to Huros when the boy was eight years old, craving adventure. HIs father led him there, pretending that they were hunting monsters in lonely ruins, laughing and mock fighting alongside his son as they battled against impossible odds. It was always Huros that sacrificed himself in the end so that he could save his father from the monsters that lurked in the ruins.

            He felt betrayed that his son had thrown his life away saving one who was not his blood. Sure, Kirstin was his wife's blood, but not his. Never his. Now Huros was dead, killed by men whose purpose was unclear to him, whose motives seemed only to be causing him pain. Well, they succeeded if that's what they were after. He thought that his heart would soon burst from the loathing that he felt. Loathing at his wife for having a child before they married. Loathing toward the daughter that was never truly his. A daughter that he lied to, telling her that he was her blood father for the sake of Mirrian. But mostly loathing toward himself for saying the things he did; for reacting the way he did. Some father he was, turning his back when wife and child needed him the most. What did that make him, he pondered.

            "I thought I would find you out here."

            "You are a hard man to hear coming, Cameron," Devlin continued to stare at the church wall, where the Komin shaped window stood, casting a pallid glow on a section of the floor. All else was debris.

            "I suspect that a man doesn't listen so well when he has so much on his mind. Would you care to talk about it?"

            "There is nothing to discuss," Devlin lied to him. He couldn't bring himself to say that he was wrong to be so harsh in front of Kirstin. He couldn't imagine what she must have thought, hearing him say what he did to her. He closed his eyes, letting the breeze in the trees wash over him.

            "I remembered you said to me not so long ago that you love both of your children equally, Devlin. When was it that your opinion of Kirstin changed?" Devlin heard the footfalls coming closer now, crunching on the ground behind him.

            "It changed when I saw my son lying in a pool of his own blood. It changed when I heard her say that she was safe and sound when my Huros was being murdered. That was when it changed."

            "Would you rather that both of your children are dead, Devlin? Would you rather that?"

            "Yes! No!" He screamed at the night, "I fear I do not what I want! Huros is dead! He died in a noble manner! Should I then be thankful that he met his death with dignity?"

            "I never said that. No one is expecting you to embrace it either. But your daughter is waiting for you at your house, sobbing because she fears she lost both a brother and a father this night. Is that what you want her to believe?"

            "What do you know of this?" Devlin demanded, turning on Cameron angrily, "What will you ever know of the pain that I just endured?"

            "More than you might think, Devlin," Cameron replied coolly, "More than you might think." He paced away from the elder Telba, walking in the remains of the church. He stopped in the center of the room, a room of air walls and a sky ceiling, and looked toward him. Devlin faced him, nothing on his face. Emotion was carefully gone from it. The man had gone back to guarding his thoughts.

            "Stay here if you wish," Cameron waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, shaking his head in disgust, "If all you can do is wallow in self pity I'll leave you to it. Your family," he emphasized the word, "needs you. I will go to do what I can but I fear that I'll make a poor replacement for the father." He left him there, brushing past him at the wall of the old church, not looking back. He saw Ferrin ahead of him. The youth was kneeling in a hollow, trying his best not to be seen. Cameron marched right over to him, standing over the lip of the shallow hollow. A half rotted tree was right behind where Ferrin knelt. The youth was ankle deep in mucked water, giant grin plastered on his face.

            "Why were you spying on us?" Cameron asked.

            Ferrin shrugged then yawned and patted the soft earth under him, a blanket of moss that he had found.

            "You expect me to believe that you went out here, right by this old church so you could go to sleep?"

            Ferrin nodded hopefully.

            "Get up," Cameron ordered, "We're leaving Lord Telba here to think things through. That's what he needs." Ferrin stood, his jerkin dripping water, nails dirty from moving on his hands and knees in the mud. Ferrin swiped a hand through his shortly cut hair and stopped in mid swipe, recalling that his hands were dirty, Sighing, he resigned to follow Cameron out of the woods, more than happy to leave the angry man to whatever thoughts drove him.

            Damien was led upstairs by Kirstin. Edgar sat on the second step, head in his hands, talking to himself. Damien patted the man on his shoulder before continuing after Kirstin. Mirrian was at the top of the stairs, waiting for him. She looked tired, standing there wringing her hands at her lap. Her hair, much the color of her daughter's, was hanging out of a pony tail that she had put it in, rolling over her brow. Tear streaks were crusted over her face. Damien approached her, his hands folded.

            "How are you faring, Mirrian?" Damien kept his voice soft.

            "My son is dead, father. I fear that I'm not faring well."

            "My condolences. May I please be led to him so that I may administer the prayer of passing?" Kirstin led him past her mother to Huros' room. It was dark, quiet. The smell of spilt blood pervaded the area. Breathing calmly, Damien entered the room and felt for a stand where he could find a lantern to see with.

            "Here, father," Kirstin came back into the door of the room, keeping her feet from crossing the threshold. She held a lantern out by a metal handle, reaching for him. Damien smiled slightly, thanking her for the light.

            "You needn't stay in here, child. I am fine."

            "I'll...I'll be outside the door if you need anything, father," she told him. Damien nodded and closed the door behind him. He shook his head, thinking that even in her grief she still had presence of mind enough to be polite to visitors. And what a visit it was.

            Damien stepped closer to the body in the room, wrapped in a blanket pulled from the bed. A broken practice sword lay near him, a cold dead hand still reaching for it. Kicking the chunk of wood away, he knelt before the body and peeled the blanket back. Huros Telba stared back at him, blood flecked up his face. His mouth was a snarl of pain. Damien closed the eyes and put his hand on the dead youth's forehead. It was cold to the touch, not like the men in the village that Cameron had killed.

            "In the name of the One God I bid you peace and love everlasting in the next life. May your maker be fair in his judgment and all that is known of you be laid bare so that you cross the threshold in innocence as you entered this world. Peace be with you. Amen." Damien waited there, the weight of his task burdening him. He had been the priest for Hamla for nearly three years come this autumn and he had seen death before. Death of men and women that had grown old; passed on when their lives were done, the time in the world of man spent. This was the first time that he stood in the aftermath of violence, seeing the evil that man visited on man first hand.

            Was this some sign from his God? A sign of change? A warning? Damien couldn't tell; he could only feel the ache in him that filled his heart with sweet poison. Getting hold of himself he left the room. Kirstin stood there waiting for him, biting her lip with her upper teeth.

            "Thank you for coming at such an hour," Mirrian said to him, crossing from where she had stood by the stairs, "There are men injured at the servant houses if you would be kind enough to help them. And then there is Sara..."

            "Sara?" Kirstin asked, her eyes widening, "Has Sara been injured?"

            "Daughter, I fear that it goes a little beyond that," Mirrian consoled her, reaching out and taking her daughter close to her. This time there were no tears, only shock. Kirstin let herself be drawn close to her mother, placing her head against her mother's shoulder. Damien nodded, asking where Sara could be found.

            "In her bedroom. I placed a sheet over her as well. It was the least that I could do."

            "It was enough. Where is her bedroom?"
            "Travel down the southern stairs and take the first hall to the right. You will see two doors on your left after that. She is in the second room."

            "Thank you, Mirrian," Damien took hold of her hand, squeezed it, and then left for the downstairs room. A moment later Cameron came up the stairs with Ferrin behind him. The youth was wide eyed, oblivious to the women in front of him, mind racing with the wealth of surroundings he found himself in. He gathered if she could take just one of those paintings he saw hanging on the wall beside him he would have food for a month. Maybe longer. Rubbing his hands together he grinned slyly. Changing his looks quickly he jumped off to Cameron's side, standing beside him and casting off a considerate and sympathetic look. At least he hoped that's what it was.

            "Mistress," Cameron addressed her, "I trust that you're well?"

            "Kirstin and I are fine. By chance did you spy my husband? Is he near?"

            "Lord Telba is gone, having walked off to clear his head. I have a question, mistress."

            "What is it, Cameron?" she questioned, her tone just less than threatening.

            "These men were not poachers, mistress. They came armed with swords and the knowledge of how to use them. They came to this house with a purpose in mind. Your son died for this, mistress. He and Sara."

            "What are getting at?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

            "There was an attack in the village, mistress. This young man," with a hand he caught hold of Ferrin and thrust him forward. Ferrin smiled charmingly and waved at her before being drug back behind Cameron, "he and the father were being attacked at the church of all places when I got there to aid them. Why would four men infiltrate this small village and try to kill a priest and your son? I don't understand."

            "What makes you think that I do, Cameron? I don't think that I like the tone in your voice. Are you implying that I know something of this?" Cameron shrugged, turning on his heel and walking away. Ferrin stepped aside, flush against the wall. He felt the painting at his back, pricking at the paint. It was old, he thought. It had that smell about it. That meant that it was genuine. Ferrin began to scheme.

            "I just cannot place what is happening here. Why was it that Father Alohm was attacked?"

            "It was not I," said the father as he came back up the stairs, a white cloth in his hands," They were after Kamil Dravan. They were pursuing him to my church when I found him. He told me that they were attacking his father before they found him there. I sent Julia with him to look in at his father."

            Mirrian closed her eyes. Without saying a word her face told Cameron a story.

            "These weren't poachers, like I said. They were young men that had skill with blades. They had trim hair and clean shaven chins, the mark of a man that serves in the army." Mirrian gasped at the accusation and Damien scoffed. Ferrin eyes were growing larger by the second as he debated if he could fit the painting under his shirt.

            "Ridiculous!" Damien told him, "Why in the name of the One would the army have men come to Hamla under cover of dark and try to kill us?"

            "Like you said, they weren't after you. It was Kamil. You know Kamil does look an awful lot like Kirstin..."

            "Enough!" Mirrian screeched, making Kirstin and Ferrin both start. She stared daggers at Cameron, "I will not have you make such wild accusations in this house! You are no longer needed here, warrior! Go!"

            "I will hear the truth before we send Cameron anywhere, my wife," Devlin said from where he stood on the stairs. He had snuck upon them, content on listening to their words with impunity. He decided that he had heard enough. Mirrian wheeled on him, thrusting Kirstin behind her, pleading with him silently not to ask again. Devlin matched her gaze and held it.

            "Let us know the truth, Mirrian."

            "Go downstairs," Mirrian told Kirstin, holding her shoulders with both hands. Kirstin didn't argue, but turned to leave. Ferrin, who hadn't cared a wit about the conversation up until then, jumped in her way and held out his hand for her to take. She cast him a dubious look but Ferrin insisted, holding out his arm farther. She laced her arm around his and he led her down the stairs. When Mirrian saw that her daughter was gone from sight she bid the men to follow her.

            She led them to the bedroom that she shared with Devlin, a room that had seen them in argument and in love, where they had shared their life together. Now she would use this room to tell them the truth. She only prayed that the truth wasn't going to drive a stake between the remains of her family. Closing the door behind them, she clasped her hands before her and faced them.

            "I don't think that those men were here to hurt Huros," Mirrian began, taking care not to lock gazes with her husband.

            "What were they after, Mirrian? I was right, wasn't I? Those were soldiers. They were sent here to eliminate someone," he turned to face Lord Telba, "Tell me Devlin, have you fallen from the good graces of Dagoth?"

            "I have done nothing to merit this!" Devlin roared, balling his fists up, "I have been loyal to the kingdom and to the land! I've tithed when the autumn came about and never failed to pay the taxes when I needed to. How dare you accuse me of this! Bringing this hurt on my family!"

            "Husband!" Mirrian called out, interposing herself between him and Cameron. Lord Telba stalked away, muttering under his breath, smoothing his hair with quick strokes of his hand.        

            "Cameron simply seeks answers, beloved. You shouldn't hold it against him that he hasn't presence of mind enough to make his words less acidic."

            "I have to question the motives of these men," Damien said, taking a seat at a desk near the front of the room. He pulled the chair out and leaned against the back of it, regarding them all from where he sat, "What in the name of the One does Lord Telba have to do with Kamil? That was who they were after. I saw that with my own eyes, those men stalking him from his home, brazen enough to attempt killing him on the step of the One's church. I can't imagine that Kamil is also guilty of such a thing as you insinuate, Cameron."

            "I'll admit that," Cameron shrugged, "So what's the connection?" He turned his attention back to Mirrian.

            "It has to do with your daughter, doesn't it?"

            "It does."

            Devlin spun on his heel, eyes wide, intense. He came up behind his wife and turned her to face him. She met his stare with a matching one, not flinching. There was something on her face, an emotion that he couldn't gauge, and that bothered him. He had never had problems divining which emotion his wife was experiencing at the time, save for now. He let his hands fall from her. Mirrian turned from her husband, not saying a word, and faced Cameron and the priest.

            "What's the relation between Kamil and Kirstin?" Cameron questioned.

            "Kirstin," Mirrian began, "is Kamil's half-sister. On her father's side." Damien stared at her, a look of shock plain on his face. It was no more than Lord Telba's.

            "You're Kamil's mother?" Cameron asked, trying to clarify the situation.

            "No! Kamil had another mother. She left him long ago, left for the north, leaving him in the care of her husband at the time."

            "Andor?" Cameron offered.

            "Yes."

            "Then who is the girl's father? For that matter, who sired both of them?" Devlin sat down on the edge of his bed, fearing that the answer would be more then he could take. In his heart he had noticed the similarity between Kirstin and the boy, but he never thought anything of it. Kamil's mother had abandoned him to his father. That kind of thing happened from time to time. Such was life. He never bothered to ponder the woman's reason for fleeing. Now he wished that he didn't have to hear. But he stayed silent and listened, determined to see the conversation to its conclusion.

            "A nobleman came through this region years ago. He was dashing and charming. I was young, naive to the ways of life, barely eighteen at the time. In the few weeks that we shared together I grew to think that he truly loved me. I had those hopes shattered when Andor Dravan brought his new wife home from the city of Termantz, in the north. She had a new born with her. I myself was fast with child. Her name was Delia. She met with the nobleman, recognizing him as the father to her child."

            "I didn't know what to think, then," Mirrian lowered her head, feeling the shame that was so strong in her when she brought those memories out into the open, "He admitted it to me when I asked him about Delia. He told me that he bedded her, that she meant very little to him, just a passing fancy in the night. I feared that I may have been much the same to him. I asked if we would marry and he nearly burst out laughing."

            Devlin was there for her as she continued her tale, wrapping his arms around her, trying his best to block out the pain that the story was causing her. She clenched his hand, smiling at him gratefully, a tear rolling down one of her cheeks.

            "What happened then? He simply left you in such a predicament?" Damien voiced the question, finding it hard to believe that a man would be so callous as to put both the women in such a predicament.

            "He did. He told me that he never had any intention of taking a peasant girl as his wife and left me here, large with child and no family left to support me. I took up a job at the tavern, as a barmaid. If Devlin hadn't come into my life when he did, I fear that both my child and I would have..." she trailed off, her voice failing her.

            "As for the identity of the nobleman," she said when she had strength enough to talk again, "His name was Steelbreeze. Darius Steelbreeze."

            The room fell into dead silence at the revelation. Devlin closed his eyes, trying to blot out the news he just heard. Damien clasped his Komin and muttered a prayer to his God. Cameron stared hard at her. She was telling the truth, he knew. Now that it was all laid bare he could see it for what it was. Both Kamil and Mirrian's daughter had the spitting image of their father in their features, Kirstin's accented by her mother. He had long known that the king had been promiscuous in his youth, but to leave heirs to the kingdom littered about the land like stray pups. What was he thinking?

            "So you think that the attack tonight was an attempt to slay your daughter and Kamil? Why would Darius Steelbreeze want to kill his own flesh and blood?" Damien finally broke the silence with his question, making Devlin start.

            "It would make sense, wouldn't it? The man doesn't want bastard heirs showing up on his doorstep, claiming to be the king's child. That wouldn't look well in the eyes of the court or his people. I think that he finally became aware of the mistakes that he made in his youth and is rushing in now to correct the mistake."

            "Cameron!" Devlin snarled at him, his face coloring an ugly shade of red as he felt his wife shudder at the word 'bastard'. Cameron offered an apology for his rudeness to her and she accepted.

            "I know not why he chose now to do this," Mirrian told Cameron, "I never had any intention of ever letting Kirstin know the truth of the matter. Does the man think me so foolish? I wouldn't inflict that kind of hurt on my daughter, no matter what it took to keep the truth hidden from her."

            "And from me, my wife?" Devlin asked.

            "And from you. You never wanted to know the identity of the father so I never thought to tell you. Would it have made a difference when you asked for my hand in marriage?"

            "No," Devlin said truthfully, "It would not have. I love you no less now then the first day that I saw you in that tavern, scrubbing clean tables and swatting away drunkards wandering hands." She nestled against her husband's chest, feeling safer for a time, letting him give her the feeling of safety that she sought.

            "I'm sorry to ponder on the matter," Cameron began, "I believe when you say that you would hold the truth from Kirstin, but could you say that Andor would have done the same thing? Are you sure that he wouldn't tell Kamil the truth of his father? The heritage that could be his if he sought it?"

            "Andor loves that boy with all his heart. Kamil's the only thing left to remind him of the love he shared with Delia. I don't believe that he would spoil it with such bitter poison."

            "Name of the One," Damien suddenly whispered, dawning on something, obviously. Devlin cast him a strange look as the priest sighed deeply. Cameron turned to face the priest.

            "What is it, father?"

            "Have you heard the rumor that King Steelbreeze intends to wage war with the kingdom of Southcross?"

            "I have heard," Cameron said bitterly, "It seems the king's lust for power knows no bounds. This would never have come to pass if Mikal were still on the throne. He would never have attacked a neighboring country unprovoked."

            "I have heard other rumors, coming from travelling merchants that made their way through Hamla, heading south. They say that King Steelbreeze intends to seize the High Throne."

            "The High Throne?" Devlin repeated, "Is that not in the realm of Dynasty?"

            "It is."

            "Why in the world would the king wage war for the high throne? From what I have read of it, the High Father summons the worthy to it, to bond with it. But that has not happened for some time, has it not?"

            "Not for nearly three hundred years. The last man to take the High Throne was Bryan Stormfyre. He ruled from there for better than forty years. The man had no children."

            "That is not so surprising," Devlin said, "He was probably too busy with matters of ruling to take a wife."

            "It wasn't that," the priest assured him," Bryan Stormfyre was chosen by the One God, through a dream. The head of the chosen at the time, the High Father, was made known that he would come to him and lay claim to the High Throne to rule over all Umbriel with the wisdom of the One God."

            "What are you getting at?" Cameron asked, getting impatient with the father's story telling.

            "A man that lays claim to the High Throne was chosen by the One God, or should be. There is no reason that King Steelbreeze should have to wage war with Southcross. King Stonethrow should acquiesce to the wishes of the High Father. Unless...”

            "Unless?" Cameron prompted.

            "Unless the king is attempting to take the throne without the wish of the One God."

            The words filled the room, making the others fall into silence. Father Alohm watched the reaction of the others. Mirrian seemed to quietly contemplate what she had just heard, not sure what to make of it. Devlin was shocked, putting a hand to his bearded face and rubbing it. It seemed incomprehensible to him that the king would make such a move. Cameron didn't seem very phased by the news. His shoulders simply slumped as if another burden were suddenly cast on him. He looked very tired. Damien leaned further back into the chair, thinking that he could feel something of what Cameron was feeling.

            "What would the ramifications of such an act be?" Devlin finally asked softly.

            "I know not, for such matters are left to the Chosen in Dynasty. But there is one thing that I do know. And that is the man who takes the High Throne cannot have heirs, illegitimate or not, in his past. The High Throne can't be handed down to a son or daughter. That is the law of the land, as it has been for two thousand years. I believe that the king wants to eliminate Kirstin and Kamil so that he can take the throne."

            "That makes no sense!" Devlin exclaimed, "How does he think that killing his own children would alleviate the problem? Then he would be a murderer most foul, not something that the High Father would ever allow to ascend to Dynasty! And of the dream you spoke of, where the One comes to a man and selects him. How could this be if Darius is so unfit? Is that why Southcross intends to battle against him?"

            "I know not the answers to the questions you ask but I would like to know myself," Damien told him. There was a knock on the door followed by silence. Everyone turned their eyes to the closed door. Cameron told them all to be silent, and motioned them back. Hand on the hilt of his blade, he approached the door and grabbed the knob, pulling it open and stepping back. A nervous looking servant stood there, hands tucked into side pockets on his slacks and his face a bit pale from the sight of Cameron in his leather, hand on sword. The servant took a step back without thinking about it.

            "What is it?" Mirrian asked the man.

            "Guests are here," the servant told her, "Sister Julia and a young man from the village. She says that she needs to see the father."

            "Show them up," Mirrian told him. The servant did as he was bid, disappearing from the doorway and heading down the stairs. Cameron paced to the back of the room, parting a curtain that hung there and looking into the dark. He was sure that there was nothing more to fear this night, but he knew that it wasn't over, not if the father was right about what he spoke of. And it all sounded to right not to be right. The girl was in trouble, as was the boy, all because of the greed of one man. Cameron stood by the window, back to the rest of them, his face showing too much emotion for him to face them. He feared the father would see right into him, know the knowledge that he carried in him. If only Mikal hadn't died from the black fever, he thought. If only.

            Julia was the first in the room, walking over to Damien and clasping his hand warmly. She offered greetings to Lord Telba and his wife, and said a hello to Cameron that he barely heard. Kamil stood in the frame of the door, clothes ragged on him, hair falling in his face. Damien looked on him with pitying eyes, shaking his head.

            "How is your father?" the priest asked him.

            "Sister Julia took care of him. He's resting in the church. She said that it would be alright if we took him there, seeing as how he was still weak from being hurt in the fight."

            "That was fine," Damien assured him, patting the youth on the shoulder.

            "One of the men who attacked Andor still lives," Julia stated, "I had the black smith tie him to a pole inside his Shoppe to watch over him until I knew what to do about him. I thought he was too dangerous to leave lying in Andor's house." She looked up at the father, her eyes wide, "Did I do the right thing?"

            "You did just fine, child."

            Kamil entered the room and Damien closed the door once more, giving Mirrian a glance. She caught it, knowing what the priest wanted her to do without him saying a word. Sighing, fearing what the truth would do to her family still she only nodded back at him and asked Julia if she would be kind enough to fetch Kirstin for her. Julia said she would and left the room.

            Mirrian bid Kamil to sit beside her on the bed. He moved over to her, sitting down at the edge, feeling uneasy with the strange air that hung in the room. Devlin joined Cameron at the window, his head filled to bursting with his thoughts.

            "Tell me Kamil, do you remember anything of your mother?" Mirrian asked him.