Chapter 1-Waking dreams

The lamplight flickered across the map room walls, casting swaying shadows as the argument continued in earnest.

"We can't hit them so close to duke Verdeans territory, the mission might as well be a death sentence!." Exclaims a man, his rough cropped dirty blond hair falling into his slate grey eyes.

"Listen Owen, If we destroy the crossing between his territory and the marquis of Everett; then we buy ourselves more than a 2 week delay in troop movements. It will cripple communication between the main militant provinces." Argues a girl dressed in the simple garb of a bar maid, her long dark hair trailing down her back; golden hued skin flushed in frustration.

I shake my head in response, sighing as my head falls into my hands for the 3rd time tonight.

"There's still the ferry, it won't be that easy? What we need to do is wait, what we lack isn't the drive to act, it's information." I point out, attempting to curb the emotions of this conversation.

"Yah and what do you suppose we do about that?" Bites Owen, slamming a fist onto the heavy wooden table that makes up the centre piece of this room.

"I would suggest that you have patience. The Rogue received word through our communications that the resistance is attempting to insert a plant into the Dukes forces. We are to sit tight and await orders."

"Await orders!" Exclaims Rena, her amber eyes flashing and her golden skin gleaming in the lamp light. "What if the spy gets compromised, it could cost us just as much as any information he could bring."

"What if you get compromised Rena, or Owen, or me? How long do you think we could resist torture? Should we sit on our haunches and remain tactically blind just because it holds a risk? This life is a risk, everything we do could wind up with anyone of us, hanging from the end of a rope. I thought that you'd accepted that?" She hangs her head in response, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. It makes my heart twinge just a touch before I temp the feeling back down.

"I know…" She finally conceded, wiping at the corners of her eyes with one flared sleeve. "I just hate it! The waiting is the hardest part… I can handle the raids and the secrets. Even the handsy soldiers that visit the tavern, but the waiting… it gets to me." Owen nods along with her, his hard eyes showing rare sympathy. It is the first time they have agreed so far this evening. The two of them as different as a pot and a kettle.

"I know Rena, just know that whatever happens, we are with you." I stand to depart, my cloak billowing around me as I head for the door. before I pull it open I slip the half mask from my face and slide it into my satchel.

"Keep your eyes and ears peeled. Watch for the signal, this time it will be a flipped sign in the inns upstairs window." I tell them. They call out after me, but I have other things to attend to this evening. I give them a wave not even turning to look back at the small downstairs room. It is a grungy walk back to my simple quarters. The rain falls heavily, the streets a slick mess of mud and piss.

Here in the dark narrow streets of the midden, people empty chamber pots from high windows. Here in the midden every man and woman wears a cloak and many hide a blade. Most simply sport sharp edged kitchen knives, or the implements of a butcher. Few conceal a true sword, fewer still sport one of a quality, one such as mine.

I still wear my family Sigil on a cord around my neck and as I pound on the boarding house door the memory of that night slips unbidden into my waking thoughts.

A fist pounds on an inn keepers door, the owner dressed in fine armor, his long blond hair hanging lank in the rain. Its ends are stained a dirty red from the bloody slash at his shoulder and he growls in frustration at the lack of answer. Finally a candle flares to life in the upstairs and the patter of footsteps joins the rain as someone makes their way downstairs. The door creaks open and a man in his night wear comes into view, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I'm sorry we are currently closed for renovati…" the voice cuts off mid sentence, taking in the view before him. A knight stands blood drenched at the door, he pulls a small girl behind him. She is standing barefoot, blood still clinging to her hands and feet. Her nightdress is torn and stained, her eyes hollow.

"Sir Callahan?" The innkeeper asks squinting his eyes before a string of swears pours from his lips. He pulls us inside, shutting and latching the door behind us.

"The crown prince… is he?"the voice of the innkeeper had trailed off as he glanced at me. Sir Callahan nodded his head. His shoulders finally beginning to shake as tears trailed down his cheeks. I remember the look in his eyes and the darkness that ringed them, the stubble around his chin and the words that he'd said to me when the infection had long since taken hold.

"Listen to me little girl." He had told me as he burned with fever.

"You are a little boy that grew up in Green Bay. You obtained that token around your neck when you where 5 years old. A little girl who had stayed at your inn, gave it to you for safe keeping but she never returned. Your father named you Rowan, after the tree that grows in the front garden. Leave the name Isolde Byrne behind you. Never mention it to anyone and never forget who you were. If there is still a god in all his heights, you will grow tall and beautiful, just like your mother." He had told me before delirium took him. He had died hours later, foaming at the mouth from whatever poison had coated the sword that struck him.

The innkeeper had taken my hand and squeezed my little hand. As I perched by my knights bedside, my other hand still clutching fingers that were already going cold.

"I suppose I am all you have left." He had stated matter of fact, his lower city cant coming out in the face of stress. "I certainly can't seek out your uncle to care for you, now can I? Say, I've heard ye were musical, I don't suppose you'd like to learn to be a bard now? I know a lad who can teach yah, he's a bit of a crass sort. But he has always been loyal to his friends and he's one hell of a swordsman to boot." I had nodded my head as I stared hollowly at my fallen protector. Wondering absently at what happens to a person once they are dead.