Chapter One

Chapter 1

            “Bend yar knees, tuck ye elbows in,” the Master drill sergeant yelled in his guttural voice.  When the student failed to comply, the bear of a man swung an arm like a tree limb and sent the boy cart wheeling sideways.  Sprawled out on the ground, the stunned student waited for the “death blow” he knew was coming to end the bout.  When it didn’t come he slowly glanced up, the muscles in his neck tense from the way he had landed.  What he saw though scared him more than it usually did.  He cringed as he took in all six feet eleven inches of the Master drill sergeant.  From such a low angle the Master drill sergeant looked even more formidable, if that was possible, than he always did.

            He crossed his (burly) arms against a vast expanse of leather covered chest with brown locks (bushing) up and out of the hole for his neck.  One hand contained a wooden stick resembling a bastard sword, down to the hilt and pommel.  The (rank/position) stared down (description of nose) his goatee bristling like a walrus’ mustache as his breathing became ladened with (his trademark) anger.

            “Wha’ d’ya think yar doin’?” the Master drill sergeant bellowed at the prone body at his feet.  “When yar given  ‘n order by yar superior ye listen without hesitation.  Now, if ye woulda kept yar knees bent, ye should ‘ave been able ter get outta the way.  But knowin’ ya ya’d just’ve gone ova’ easier.  That blow woulda killed ya if I ‘adn’t held back.”  An unchecked snigger broke the pause in the Master drill sergeant’s rant.  “Ye think it’s so funny, do ya…name?”  The boy who had been snickering’s face went pale white, almost transparent, and stuck out against his cream tunic.  “Name, enter the circle.  Name, you’re dismissed.”  Name left rubbing his neck to join the rest of his (class/year) mates around the edge of the sparring circle.  Everyone around the culprit shifted away from him, leaving a wide gap on either side of him.  He began scuttling forward towards the looming giant of a man.  They squared off holding their practice bastard swords in the ready position.  They waited.  Name waited because he was scared out of his wits, the Master drill sergeant waited because he knew his pupil would break.  He was right.  Name rushed forward as he panicked, lunging, trying to stab the Master drill sergeant.  The Master drill sergeant sidestepped the lunge at the last second with unexpected quickness for his size and build.  Name stood back up out of his lunge.  Which was a mistake.  The Master drill sergeant swept the flat of his practice blade at the back of name’s legs.  Name’s knees buckled from the impact of the blade on the back of them.  As soon as the students legs had closed around the blade, the Master drill sergeant wrenched the blade up and forward simultaneously.  Name preformed three consecutive back flips and landed first on his face with a sickening crunch.  The rest of his body followed in a wave like action and flopped onto the ground. 

            “Yar legs are gone from th’ knees down.  Fight from yar knees.”

            Name grasped the sword he had somehow managed to hold onto.  He pushed himself up to his knees and raised his feet up in the air, fearing what would happen if he didn’t.  The Master drill sergeant circled around his “fallen” pupil declaring in a booming voice, “I thought I had made it clear,” he swung his sword indifferently at name, who was just able to block the blow, “that there will be order durin’ lessons with me.” 

            Sweat was pouring off name’s body, stinging his eyes and making it harder to defend himself.  The muscles in his thighs started trembling from the effort of keeping his balance and from turning so that he could face his opponent.  The Master drill sergeant stopped his circling and turned his back to name.  “In battle, followin’ orders, breakin’ silence, these can all lead to yar death or the death of the man nex’ t’ya.  As yee’all see here, the man who broke silence is now wounded from the knees down.  He cannot move as fas’ as his opponent.  He can no longer even runaway if he wanted ter.”  Name was leaning forward on his hands, panting from the effort of standing on his knees and the beating he was taking.  “O’ ya, an’ the other rule you must always remember is,” he paused in his lecture and looked the students in front of him in the face.  “To take every openin’ yar opponent gives ya.”  As he shouted, the Master drill sergeant spun around and brought his wooden sword crashing into name’s shoulders with lightning speed.  “Yar arms are gone, now wha’ do ya do?”  Name just stared in shock, frozen.  The Master drill sergeant walked up to the “legless and armless” pupil and poked him in the forehead with the tip of his practice sword.  “Dead.”

            Name fell to his side, his chest heaving.  None of the other students moved from the safety of the circle to lend any assistance.

            “I see you’re still as ruthless as ever, Bernard.” 

            Lady Madeleine glided into the practice circle.  Her immaculate dress, wrapped around her slender body never getting a speck of dirt on it shimmered in the noon sun, encompassing her in the sun’s light.  A smile of pearls graced her tanned face, which was an anomaly among the politicians and rulers of every land and government.  She always stuck out amongst the upper classes and the government officials who kept themselves inside and out of the sun.  Some of the wealthier had servants who even carried (parasils) for them.  But, Lady Madeleine made it a habit to be outside: whether it was watching the army drill, or the orphans practice weaponry and riding, to check up on the year’s crops, or any other number of things.

            She stood toe to toe, at least as much as Bernard’s girth would allow her to, and stared up into his indifferent eyes.

            He winked at her.  But it was lost upon the students surrounding them.  “It’s fur their own good, ma’am.”

            “You need not preach to me that your educational choices are the right way.  Only, if I may be so (rude/naïve/presumptuous/arrogant/etc) as to make a suggestion, I think that it may be beneficial for them to not only see what shouldn’t be done, but also the correct way of things.”

            “As always, ma’am, yee are mos’ correct.”  Bernard turned his face away and barked, “Arkeir, enter the circle.  And will you three go and remove your fool of a comrade from my circle.”  Everyone cringed except the student that the Master Drill Sergeant had called out and Lady Madeleine.  The three students hastened to get name out of the circle as fast as they could, without injuring him further.

Arkeir, Description.  As soon as Arkeir was an exact eight feet away, he kicked the dry sand like dirt with his boot, aiming a cloud at his opponent.  The Master drill sergeant began moving to his right, only to be met by Arkeir who had been moving that way since he had tried his luck at what some would consider underhand trickery.  Their wooden swords met with a resounding crack.  They pushed off each other.  Arkeir, being the weaker of the two, was sent back through the air skidding on his feet when he landed.  Bernard covered the distance with his unnatural speed as soon as Arkeir had landed.  Arkeir quickly rolled to his right shoulder, blocking a downward overhead swing as he turned over.  Another cloud of sand and dried dirt flew though the air, as Arkeir released a fistful of dirt he had snatched while rolling and parrying.  This time, however, the sand connected with Bernard’s eyes.  He spat into one hand, wiping furiously at them, moving the whole time, his sword out in front of him.  Arkeir saw his opening and sprinted at his blinded opponent.  Bernard hearing his footsteps scratch over the dirt swung his sword in a horizontal arch, but Arkeir came under it, low and fast.  As Bernard’s sword went by overhead, Arkeir came up, pulling with both of his hands and arms to send his sword in an upward swing.  His momentum carried him up the height of Bernard, the tip of his sword aimed under Bernard’s jaw.  When the sword tip was a hairsbreadth away, the Master drill sergeant bent over backwards to avoid the uppercut.  As quick as a viper, Bernard’s freehand shot out and grasped Arkeir’s ankle.  Bring both his arm and body forward; Bernard hurled Arkeir over the ring of students, and the fence they stood behind.  Arkeir nearly completed three consecutive back flips, but before completing the third he landed on his back, skipping like a stone thrown onto a lake for several feet before he rolled backwards and came up on his foot and knee, still skidding.  The Master drill sergeant hurdled the fence with the agility of a deer.  The students and Lady Madeleine hurried to be able to see how the rest of the bout would play out.  For another thirty minutes, the combatants traded blow for counterblow, ducking, twirling, diving and performing any other kind of maneuver that they could to try and catch their opponent off balance.  Grabbing the practice sword with both hands, Bernard swung with all his might at Arkeir’s hips.  Squatting, Arkeir dropped to the ground preparing to let the force of the blow carry him to a new spot.  But, Bernard’s sword found a small fracture in Arkeir’s sword and with an explosion of splinters, shattered the sword at the point of impact.

            “Stop!”

            Bernard’s sword hung motionless, a bead of sweat connecting it to Arkeir’s temple.  Both Arkeir and the Master drill sergeant stood panting, unable to move.  They stared at each other for a long moment and then looked around at the silent audience.  All eyes were frozen on them, but quickly flicked to Lady Madeleine, whose hand was raised.  “Relax.”  Both Arkeir’s and Bernard’s bodies went limp as every muscle in their body loosened.  “Release.”  The wooded practice sword dropped out of Bernard’s hands as if he hadn’t been holding it at all.  He quickly followed it, so that he lay prone next to Arkeir, who had similarly fallen from where he had knelt.  The only sound that broke the silence was the breathing of both Arkeir and Bernard, which was slowing from its previous intensity.  Lady Madeleine clapped her hands together several times as she said, “Wonderful, gentlemen, absolutely wonderful.  It’s always a pleasure to see a student give you a run for you pay, Bernard.  The students around the circle stared at her and each other incredulously.

            What is she playing at? Arkeir thought.  He nearly killed me; he would have killed me if she hadn’t stopped his sword.  “Thank ye, ma’am.  Now if you’d be so kind as to release us,” Bernard slurred out from behind lacks lips and tongue.

            “Oh, it’ll be wearing off any second now.  I didn’t make it that powerful.  Just enough so that you wouldn’t accidentally continue with your swing.”  Already Arkeir could feel a slight tingling in his toes that began to wind up his feet.  He wiggled them and when he saw Bernard climb to his feet, he attempted to stand also.  His knees wobbled and knocked together as he tried not to fall.  Which he failed at doing, when one of his knees collided with the other, knocking them both sideways.  But just as he was certain he’d end up getting a face full of dirt in front of all his year mates, the Master drill sergeant grabbed him by the back of cream tunic, which was now a light hue of brown from all the mingled sweat and dirt.  Lady Madeleine looked at him from a raised nose, “he’s never been attacked magically before.”  Her lips pressed together in a severe line, all of Lady Madeleine’s previous delighted demeanor had disappeared.  “That is… disappointing.”  Arkeir looked up at Bernard who stared at Lady Madeleine without any emotion, his face a stoic mask.  Her gown billowed in waves as she swept away without another word. 

Lady Madeleine continued gliding away from the practice area, her shimmering, white gown trailing behind her made not a sound as it passed over the grass, deeply perturbed.  She couldn’t understand why though.  The bout between Bernard and Arkeir, his best pupil bar none, had been one of the best displays of swordsmanship she’d ever seen, including the Order’s Demon Trackers, whose job was to scour the land of all the filthy beings and anyone who assisted them, who also seconded as her elite guard.  He’s even better than most of them and he’s only sixteen years old, she thought.  But still she could not bring herself to comprehend why this fact bothered her so. 

            She continued on towards an immense building, made out of the same (limestone, marble, white stone) as wall that surrounded it, with windows recessed inside carved frames that depicted the architectural style of the time it was built.  The window lay within the wall with a frame that curved out from it that stopped and continued into an identical, yet larger frame. They were both four inches thick.  The flat, narrow frame encased the glass and flowed seamlessly outward to join with the rest of the wall.  No thief or assassin would find a hand hold around the frames.  The gate ahead of her was open, as there were no threats, nor any reason to believe that something would happen which would require for them to be down.  Night was still some time off, but since it was the spring she had requested that the gates be kept open anyway.  This way the cool nighttime breezes could glide through the inner halls, corridors and chambers of the immense structure which supported most of the Order’s armed forces, the (senate), guest quarters, and the palace, which includes the current leader’s personal quarters.  The (Queen) had also seen fit to replace most of the emptiness of the west wing with an orphanage.  (DESCRIBE ORPHANAGE???)

                                                   Need more?

Both guards were male this watch and had just relieved their female and male (counterparts) a few moments earlier.  The Order Templars’ society did not discriminate between sexes, which included the military.  In fact most of the women could best the majority of, if not all of, the males in combat.  Their helmets were identical, made out of polished steel with an intricate red pattern, which resembled a vine, making its way around the surface of the helmet.  Their hinged, angled faceplates were down making identifying them by their face alone impossible, unless you could tell by the two inches of open space between the individual plates.  A ridge ran down the middle of the helmet’s entire length until it came to the neck, where the single piece of metal became narrow strips of plate to provide an ample amount of movement.  Besides their helmets and the red and gold standard, depicting a gold, eight pointed star, its bottom point the longest out of the eight with the vertical and horizontal points being half its length, the four diagonal points were again half the length of the horizontal and upper vertical points, on the red background of their shields and the rectangular cloth they wore draped over their armor, everything was different.  The guard on the left stood at attention with his halberd out in front of him.  He also wore a short sword at his waist and a small round shield across his back.  His chain mail shirt hung slightly below his waist, where his belt held it from going a little bit lower, and was met by metal plate leggings.  His arms were covered in arm harnesses fully encasing them in plate armor.   The other guard, a little slimmer than his partner, wore similar armor, but not entirely.  Instead of wearing a full arm harness, he only sported vambraces, which only protected the outside of his forearm, and a couter to protect his elbows.  He wore no armor of any kind on his legs, presumably to allow him to move faster and with greater ease.  This inference, if anyone cared to make it, could have been perceived by the face that his weapon of choice was the rapier, whose cutlass was the standard guard, no coin was wasted on making it look fancy.  Instead its owner had his money put into the perfecting of its balance and make.  A small buckler was the only other type of defense visible on the rapier bearing guard. 

                                                Will Add More

As soon as Lady Madeleine strolled into the garden, a shadow separated itself from those created by the high protective walls that surrounded the gardens which encircled the tower in the center of the grounds.

            “Hello, Vander,” Lady Madeleine said casually.

            The shadow’s face broke into a smile.  “As always my lady, you continue to amaze me with your ability to recognize when one of our stealthier members is around.”  Vander was the (commander/leader) of the near legendary Demon Trackers of the Order Templars.  During the (Great War) he had created the group as an experiment, to combat the demons and their growing human and otherwise, supporters.  The special force was handpicked by Vander and then trained by him or the greatest masters of the time, depending on where they showed the most potential and excelled the fastest.  Each member was generally only a single or bi-specialist with a handful of them even exceeding the extraordinary members who could boast of being a specialist in two areas.  Vander was one of these select few.  However many specialties they had, the Demon Trackers all had one thing in common, they were deadly assassins, able to kill almost any enemy.

            Vander fell in step with Lady Madeleine, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes.  She sighed.  “Well, don’t just stare at me.  Go ahead and speak what’s on your mind.”

            Vander pressed his lips into a severely straight line, his entire expression quickly becoming more worried.  “With all do respect, my lady, I noticed that you are doing it again.”

            She turned her expressionless face towards him.  “Doing what again?” she asked, her voice void of emotion.  They continued down the (cobble stone) path passing a variety of different plants and flowers of different hues.

            “My lady, you’re becoming stoic again, and correct me if I’m wrong but you generally only do that when you’re deep in thought or worried.”

            “I’m always worried, Vander.  You of all people should know that.”

            “Granted, but you never get like this unless your worried more than you usually are.”

            “Wait until we get inside.”

            The corner of Vander’s lips twitched up in an unnoticeable smile.  “Yes, my lady.”

            Vander and Lady Madeleine turned right and stepped between two cheery blossom trees, their soft (pink/white) petals fluttering down in the breeze.  Another pair of guards, bearing their individual arms and armor, flanked an ornate oak door.  They saluted the two (companions/strollers/etc), their eyes still scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger.  Lady Madeleine laid a hand on both of the guards’ shoulder as she passed between them, Vander following merely nodded in acknowledgement.  The door opened as Lady Madeleine whispered a word of command.  The brilliance of the room struck them as they entered and Vander closed the door behind them.  The walls, gilded with flecks of gold, reflected the lights of many candles on the walls, casting a soft glow on the pink and lavender theme of the room.  A stained oak writing desk stood near the window so that the person seated at it could look out upon the inner gardens.  A rose (couch, Lairse, chaselounge thing) surrounded by (lavender flowers) sat against the wall to their right as they entered the room, an undulating trail of incense rising from the table next to it added its scent to the perfume of the blossoms.  A book rested next to the (incense holder), Vander made his way over to it as Lady Madeleine moved to remove her high heeled shoes.

            He picked up the lovingly worn book and glanced at its title.  “Still reading these children’s stories, my lady,” he remarked facetiously.  It was no question, he knew full well that ever since her childhood she had never loved anything more than her books, and The Tales of Gordon was her favorite of them all.

            Lady Madeleine was seated, rubbing her sore and stockinged feet.  “If I remember correctly oh fearsome slayer of monsters,” she shot back with the same amount of sarcasm, “It was you who introduced that same book to me all those years ago.  And if memory serves, you were more in love with them than myself.”

            A smirk crossed his face as he reverently placed the book back on the table reminicising of simpler times when he and the woman barley eight feet from him used to sneak off, skipping their respective studies so that they could meet at a cave that they had found to the east of their city of Madeleine.  Vander had been a farm boy then.  In the mornings he’d work in the fields and in the livestock pens.  Then, at night he’d go to the nearest church of the One God, which is the local religion, and be taught by the priests that lived there. 

            The then Princess Madeleine had an altogether different lifestyle than that of the younger Vander.  From barely the time after she awoke, until almost right before she fell asleep, Madeleine was always in one class or another.  Always just her and her teacher, unless it was deemed necessary for her to participate in a group effort which was always done with the children of the richest personas. 

            The first meeting had shocked them both, but since Vander was used to people and Madeleine was used to hiding her emotions behind a mask of proper etiquette, they both got over the surprise of seeing someone where they thought they were alone, in their own way.  They sat staring at each other until the young Vander finally asked, “What’s your name?  I’ve never seen you before today.  Do you usually come here?”  His excitement and chattiness caught the quiet Princess Madeleine off guard, since she was used to people talking in turns, and then usually only one sentence at a time.  Vander stared at her with his large eyes as clear and blue as the ice that formed over the Lake (Reneera/Reneerva/Reeneera) every winter.  They seemed to look into her, rather than at her, using her own (color) eyes as a window to look down into her current feelings and thoughts.  They reminded her of the icicles that hung from the eaves troughs that hung around the roof of the palace, where they’d eventually break and the younger princess would snatch them up and prod the guards in the back when they weren’t looking, squeeling with laughter as she hid behind one bush or another guard.  They’d turn around in circles, playing along, and yell at each other as if it was the other guard who had done it or who was laughing.  Before someone else could get in trouble though, she would always jump out and shout ‘no siwwy, it was me!’

            Yet, the “prodding” wasn’t an uncomfortable sensation.  She didn’t feel violated by the fact that this stranger seemed to be searching her personal thoughts and emotions.  Instead of closing herself off, like she usually did whenever someone new tried talking with her, she answered, “My name is Madeleine.”

            “That’s a very pretty name,” he stated, staring at her with even more awe in his sparkling eyes.  “But I guess someone as pretty as you are should have a name just as pretty, if you don’t mind mine saying so.” 

            Madeleine’s breath caught, she was used to ambassadors and servants always commenting on how beautiful she was and they had always seemed sincere, at least the servants had, but never had anyone said it the way this boy had. 

            When she didn’t respond, he quickly looked down at the dirt they were both kneeling on inside the hollow that formed under the roots of the tree, that equaled their, until now, secret place.  “I meant no offense,” he said ashamed, the worry in his voice indicating the depth of his sorrow and sincerity.

            She reached out with one of her ivory, manicured hands and rested it on his face, rough and weathered from constantly being out in the elements on his parents’ farm.  “Please,” she said, unsure of herself at first.  “Please look up at me.”

            He kept his head bowed, and shook his head ruefully refusing to meet her gaze.  “What’s your name then?” she asked softly so as to convey that she had taken no offense. 

            He muttered something under his breath.  “I beg your pardon but is that noise you just made your name?”

            Unable to help himself he smiled a most mischevious smile, which was highlighted by they way he looked up through his eyelashes at her.  “No, of course it isn’t.  My name is Vander.”

            Removing her hand from his face she held it out to him so that the back of her hand was facing up towards him.  “It is very nice to make your aquantince Vander.”  He looked at her perplexed for a second, but then dumbfounded expression  broke into a grin that caused Madeleine’s insides to squirm. 

            “No no no,” he stated taking her fingers with his hand and pulling them up so he could press his lips, warm against the cool skin of the back of her hand.  And then, looking up at her finished, “the pleasure is all mine.”

            From that day forward, Vander and Lady Madeleine had met daily at their hiding spot under the (walnut tree east of the city walls).  For hours they’d go about teaching each other the lessons that they’d been learning.  Vander taught Lady Madeleine about farming, from his experiences in the field, and about religion, mathematics, and everything else that he was learning at the church of the (One God) which he went to every night to learn. 

            Lady Madeleine would then teach him about etiquette, diplomacy, speech, debate, politics, and the myriad of other classes that she was forced to take day in and day out at the palace. 

            But, even more special than the time they spent teaching each other, was the time that they spent talking about books, swapping personal stories, and trading their beloved books, which they both explained was the ultimate sign of trust for them. 

            They met at their secret cave beneath the tree for well over a month, Vander continually waking up before dawn to finish his chores early and Lady Madeleine repeatedly made up excuses, forged notes, or found ways to sneak out of classes. 

            (Then one day) Lady Madeleine didn’t show up at the normal time.  This had become the norm, for as she continued to miss classes and show up missing from the entire inner and outer complex of the palace, the security had been tightened.  So he waited.  It soon became apparent to the young Vander that it had been in vain, because even after he should have been at and left the church for his nightly lessons, she still had not shown up or given him any sign. 

            He left, his heart heavy, his eyes downcast heading for home.  But, as he got closer he could hear shouting becoming more and more distinct.  Smoke and its odor wafted up and on to the hills, the scent of overcooked meat bringing a heart stopping tang with it.  He ran, following the trail left by the (odors) since he was unable to see the column of smoke rising into the night sky.  He was prepared to assist in anyway possible, having been on several bucket brigades in his short life.  What he wasn’t prepared for was the fact that it was his farmhouse that was the source of the smoke. 

            He stood like a statue of a dumbstruck boy, gaping at the scene before him.  His house had been transformed into a bonfire, lighting the area around it for several tens of yards.  Soldiers and archers surrounded the inferno in formation. 

            A dark, winged shape, more like a shadow than an actually being, detached itself from the flames and with a shriek it hurled a fire ball randomly at the waiting soldiers.  They shifted then, attempting to avoid being struck by the flames, which gave the shadow its chance to get away.  It flew, two bodies dangling from its claws, over the gap it had created, until another shout rent the night and it became illuminated by a ball of magical light.  It shrieked again, shattering whatever windows had not already been broken.  Archers and soldiers dropped their weapons to the ground, the civilian crowd themselves fell, all clamping their hands over their ears to block out the horrible sound.  “Shoot!  Shoot!” commanded the magician. And the handful of archers that had managed to hold onto their bows released their arrows at the demon, for all could see what it was, in conjunction with a small lightning bolt that shot out from the ground under the demon.  Struck by shaft and lightning, the demon dropped out of the air, its charges landing limply with a hard thump inches away.  The soldiers charged and hacked at the grotesque and charred remains of the demon, dismembering it out of fear that it may only be stunned or tricking them.  Only then did the peasants and other farmers begin to form the resemblance of a bucket brigade line with the help of the soldiers. 

            Vander, dragging his feet across the ground, the dry dirt rasping under his soft leather soles, made his way over to the three corpses in a trance.  He stared at them, unable to tell his father apart from his mother.  His knees, weak from shock gave out then and he kneeled at their sides continuing over onto his side where he began to shake, tears streaming down his face and into the dirt.  “They will be missed,” said a voice from above Vander.  He rolled over to look up at the magician who also had a tear following the many contours of his face.  “They were you parents?”

            Vander, unable to speak, nodded.

            “Have you no other family members or friends with whom you can stay with?”

            He thought about it this last question in the smallest part of his brain that was still able to function.  None of the other farming families could take him in, even if he could work for his own food and still provide a surplus for them to sell.  And beyond the girl named…no…she had abandoned him.

            He shook his head the loneliness finally taking hold of his torn and shattered heart and compressing it under its dark and smothering weight.

            The somber look of the magician was lost upon Vander.  For the magician had truly wished that he could take the boy in, even if it meant lying and forcing him into an apprenticeship, but it was impossible, he couldn’t forsake his duty and honor.  He left Vander there and began to help in any way that he could with the putting out of the fires and (getting rid) of the demon’s corpse. 

            A small funeral was held, financed by the church.  Only a few came on that rainy day when fall is just starting to turn into winter.  The wind, blusterous as it is at this time of year, made it even colder than usual.  Without hope, without love, and without a home, the young Vander became a street urchin living off what scraps he could find and, in the most extreme cases, steal.  He even started sneaking in to taverns at night, sleeping by the banked coals for warmth.

            A year or so passed and he had moved out to the tree where he used to meet with the Lady Madeleine.  It was easier than always having to sneak in and out of places, that and it didn’t require him to stay up until everyone had gone to bed or wake up before the cooks arrived.  He could go to sleep when he wanted and stay asleep for as long as his rumbling stomach would allow.

            However, his thirst for knowledge could not be quenched by this lifestyle so he would slip into bookstores to read what he could.  He would never think of removing a book from the store, even if meant to return it.  

            One day, he was just putting a book back on the shelf when the shopkeeper came down his aisle.  Vander had been so engrossed with the book he was reading which taught the reader all about the art of negotiating that he didn’t notice the man as he usually did.  Thinking that he was trying to steal one of his books the shopkeeper quickly drove him out of the store.  Letting him know how lucky he was that he wasn’t going to tell a constable or the guard.  Out on the street, Vander peered into the shop’s window, his nose and hands pressed against the glass. 

            “Why don’t you go in?” a kind voice asked.

            The voice, which resembled tinkling wind chimes, woke a memory in the depths of the darkest recesses of Vander’s mind.  He slowly turned to see a gorgeous girl, a pink and white dress bedecked with a few ribbons covering her shaping body, looking at him.  She smiled at him and motioned towards the door.  “I’m sure you’d rather look at the books on the inside than not out here.  I promise it’s much more enjoyable.”

            Movement caught his attention and he looked past her to see four armed guards with one of the captains of the guard joining them.  He looked back at her, his stone gray eyes boring into her (blue/green) ones.  Without a word he turned and walked off his raggedy and holey clothes barely holding together.

            “I’ll have my men arrest that vermin for his insolence, ma’am,” the captain assured her.

            “Maybe then, I should have you arrested for detaining an innocent child that deserves our sympathy and not our spite.”  She continued to stare off at the retreating figure of the shadow of the child she once knew and said, “I rather feel like going back to the palace.  And then I wish to go on a walk, alone.”

            Later that afternoon Lady Madeleine sat outside of their old hiding spot, having already been inside and seen the amount of inhabiting that had been going on, she knew that Vander had to be living there now.  “I know you can probable here me,” she called out to nothing.  And it was true, he could hear her.  Vander sat in the bushes a little distance away from where Lady Madeleine sat.  “Well, you’ll find a note inside our favorite book.”  With that Lady Madeleine got up and left, tears streaming down her dignified face.  Vander followed her for a while, making sure that she had truly left and wasn’t about to turn around and surprise him. 

            When he entered the hallow, he noticed a basket of food and containers of water which he dug into greedily at first and then slowed down so that he could conserve these new stores.  He opened up the book at the top of the pile of the contents of the basket and opened it to its title page where it read in black ink The Tales of Gordon.  A folded piece of parchment fell out and he placed the book, with deliberate carefulness onto the new folded blanket in the corner.  Opening the note, his hands shaking with nervousness, he read and re-read her note which contained the lines

Dear Vander,

            I apologize dearly for not somehow informing you that I would no longer be able to meet you.  After the last time I had sneaked out, Father had made sure that I could never do it again.  He set a guard to follow me wherever I went, except the privy of course, but then he sat right outside of it.  I wasn’t even allowed to go outside the walls, even if I had the entire army with me!  I do hope that you will forgive me.  I will be at that book store tomorrow at around noon hour.  I will stay for as long as possible. Tell the guard who you are looking for and they will come to get me.  I’ve made sure that they will consist of only women.          

            Yours truly,

            Madeleine

            Vander placed the note back within the pages of the book he had found it in and sat in silence.  He sat, cross-legged, until the stars shone bright in the sky, moving only to place himself out onto the hillock, his back against their tree, his eyes on the stars as if he were searching them for the answers to his infinite questions. 

            The next day, Lady Madeleine, as she had promised, arrived at the bookstore before noon, however, hoping that she would see Vander coming towards her and would not have to venture into the store.  But he did not show up and was still absent even after she had left, the stars then full in the sky.

            You can imagine her shock then when she entered her room to find him sitting cross-legged on the floor in the darkest corner of her sleeping quarters.  She was about to scream when a calloused hand fell gently across her mouth to stifle whatever noise might come forth.

            “Shhhhh,” he whispered.  “It’s me, promise you won’t scream?”

            She nodded, her breathing accerlerated.

            “I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth,” he instructed her under his breath.  “Don’t speak unless it’s going to be a whisper, but make sure you’ve calmed down first, understand?”

            She nodded again, her breathing slowing as the shock began to leave her system.

            Vander took his hand away and backed as far away from Lady Madeleine as was possible to give her some room.  After a few seconds she had composed herself and turning on him asked, “What in the twelve hells was that about you bugger?”  These were very unlady like things for her to be saying, especially for the queen-to-be but being the one who had taught her most of what she knew, Vander wasn’t surprised to hear her use them at a time like this. 

            Before he could answer her first question she shot off, “And why weren’t you at the bookstore?  Was that just to get back at me?”

            “Of course not,” he whispered uneasily.  “I was still thinking when the noon bell rang and by then I figured it was better to just figure out a way in here then try to get to you there.  It seems I made the right decision.”

            Unable to continue being angry she crossed the room to where he stood with his head bowed.  When he finally looked up she threw her arms around him, putting her face into his dirt smudged neck. 

            Taken back by this sudden change of emotions he didn’t return the hug at once.  And then realizing what was going on, he tried pushing back from her.  “I smell horrible I’m sure,” he argued.

            “I’ve got a cold.”  Her voice was muffled by their proximity and his neck.

            “I bet it can penetrate that cold of yours.”

            “I’ve lost my sense of smell.”

            “I’m dirty.”

            “So am I.”

            Seeing that she was smiling contentedly he gave in, especially since he had lost all of their debates.  Now he returned her hug and breathed in her scent, the lavender scent of her hair tickling his nose and warming, along with her slender body pressed against his, those darkest most pained regions of his memory, obliterating the walls he had placed around that place which he kept secluded.           

            “I’ve missed you,” she breathed onto his chest.

            Unable to form words around the lump in his throat he merely squeezed her tighter to his frail frame, the motion speaking more than his words ever could have.

            He continued to sneak in to her room every night.  Nothing held him back.  Not even the torrential downpour and gales that threatened to destroy the entire city.  Thatched roofs were torn apart, clay tiles were blown off to shatter through windows and against the walls of building.  Even the guard was scarcely seen out on the parripots/walls.  But Vander had still scaled them, using the darkness and the storm to his advantage.  Twice he had nearly been blown off the wall, and a third time as he attempted to get from one roof to another.  Once he had gotten inside, Lady Madeleine, shocked by the fact that he had risked the storm, ran around the room straightening it in her embarrassment for not realizing the depth of his commitment.  She even, with a great amount of arguing on Vander’s part, toweled him dry on the spot, scolding him like a concerned mother.

            Night after night for a month Vander would sneak in to Madeleine’s quarters, where she would have food and drink prepared for him, which she’d sneak either from her father’s table or from the kitchens.  They continued to grow close, being that they were the only friends that either of them had, until one night, as Vander made looked out of the window to see that a guard had decided to sit right below Madeleine’s bedroom window.  “Oh for the love of the One God,” he had muttered.

            “What is that?” Lady Madeleine had asked sleepily from the covers of her bed.  She sat up, bleary eyed trying to get her eyes to adjust to the light of the moon.

            “Nothing, Madeleine.  Only, this horse’s arse is sitting right below your window.”

            Madeleine threw the covers off, completely awake in that instant, and ran to stand beside Vander.  She peered out of the window and pulled her head back in, shutting the window as she did so.  The window made the faintest click as it banged ever so slightly against its frame. “Try to be as quiet as a flea and ya end up sounding like that of donkey’s fart.”

            Vander giggled boyishly at the saying he often used on her when she made a loud noise while trying to be quiet.  “You’ll have to go through the halls if he doesn’t leave soon,” Madeleine told him.  “Father has been checking up on me lately.  It’s because the day that my mother died is coming up soon…”  She looked out at the moon Evenstier, (waxing/waning) in the sky.

            Vander stepped toward her and wrapped his arms around her, his new clothes covering him more than the old rags he had been wearing weeks before.  “Madeleine,” he whispered soothingly, the side of face resting softly on top of her feather down, (auburn) trustles.

            “She was by the river…and…and.”  She became chocked up with sobs, until she nearly simultaneously gathered her control.  “She fell in and drowned.  We know this because we found her basket floating in the middle of the lake and because we found her shoe stuck in between two stones near the edge of the river.”  Her voice may not have trembled, but her body betrayed her, shaking until finally she was limp in his arms.  “And so now you know.”

            He continued to hold her, pulling far enough away to be able to kiss the crown of her head, breathing in her scent as he did so. 

            “Time to go, Vander.”

            He pulled the rest of the way from her and kissed her forehead.  He slid his hand down her arm, barely touching her.  And as he walked away her arm raised up until only the fingertips of their outstretched arms were touching and then, turning away, he opened the door. 

            He shut it silently and began to creep down the nearly dark corridor.  Without warning, the torches began to blaze all around him and several soldiers came from either side of the hall.  Shield bearers brought up the front, their (Full shields) barely a centimeter above the floor covered all but the top of their heads and spanned the entire width of the hallway.  Archers stood behind them, their bows trained on him, arrow heads placed between each shield bearer. 

            Vander froze crouched in between the pressing walls of guards.  He was too far away from Madeleine’s door.  He’d never make it there in time before an arrow, or worse yet arrows, tore into him.  Or was he?

            But before he could even shift his weight, the walls of guards stopped, one of them parting to allow a man dressed in chain mail over velvet pajamas the color of the King’s standard.  The King! thought Vander.

            The King stood his bastard sword at the ready.  “What are you doing here, boy?” his deep voice rumbled down the silent hall.  His voice echoed and then died, replaced again by the silence.  They waited there, suspended in time, each heartbeat an eternity, each breath taking an era to draw and release. 

            Then, the door to Madeleine’s sleeping quarters flew open, causing half the arrows to become aimed at this new, assumed, combatant.  Lady Madeleine, in her gown, came billowing out in a fury.  “What is the meaning of this?” she yelled and then stood frozen like the rest of them.  The guards quickly averted their eyes in respect to the princess.  Vander tried then to make his escape, but the King, unembarrassed by his daughter’s lack of proper clothing had already crossed the gap to Vander.  He seized him around the collar and tossed him towards a pair of guards behind him. 

            “Take this…this thief, this assassin, this boy to the cells in the barracks.  He will await judgment there.”  With that the King and the guard began to form up around Vander and their liege lord. 

            “Stop!” shrieked a horrified Madeleine.

            The King and his guard halted and he made his way back to her, instructing the guards holding the struggling culprit to follow him.  “What is it my, dear?” he asked kindly bending down on one knee.

            She began to cry.  She cried tears that had been held back for years.  Years filled with lonliness as she continued her days alone in her classes, years filled with grief from the loss of her mother, and years of despair as her father became ever more busy, never seeming to have time for his only child.  “I took it upon myself…to…to…”

            “Now, now, dear,” the King said patting his daughter’s hand.  “Just calm down and…”

            Shaking her head, hair and tears flying, she yelled through the sobs, “I will not calm down.”  She stared her father, the most powerful man on the continent, and maybe even the world, people said and declared, “I have taken it upon myself to turn the West Wing into an orphanage.  Mother would have wanted it.  Vander here is the first of the orphans.  If you will remember his parents were killed in a demon attack on a farm at the very edge of the city a (year ago).  He has been living on the streets and even outside of the walls.  He was having a nightmare and came to me for comfort.  It’s a very scary experience staying in a new and different place you know.”

            She set her face with the stubbornness only a child can muster.  The King stared back into her eyes.  Some would venture to call what his daughter was portraying as stubbornness, others even insolence.  But he knew otherwise.  He knew that this was the strong willedness that she had gained from her late mother. 

            The King stood and stared down at his daughter.  His eyes had gone soft and had gained back some of the sparkle that she remembered them having when her mother was still alive.  “Please forgive me, Vander,” he said still not turning around, all harshness gone from his voice.  Vander and the guards stopped struggling, all of them dumbstruck by what the King had just said. 

            He turned then beaming at the boy in front of him and the guards caught in mid-struggle.  The King held out his arms as if to embrace the one he had just called a thief and an assassin intoning, “I was not aware that I had a new child.  You will understand this misunderstanding I am sure.  Without being informed before hand, I had to do what I thought was necessary to protect my daughter.”  He placed his thick hands on Vander’s slender shoulders, “I am sure that she wished to test her idea before announcing it tomorrow inside the senate.”

            Unable to speak, Vander merely gawked, as the guards did, at the King who smiled broadly at him.  “Come, I am sure that your new bed is exactly what you need right now.  And maybe,” he said that twinkle showing even more.  “A quick bedtime story to chase away your fears.”  The king spun Vander around and pulling him in close to his body, began to make his way down the hall, instructing the guard to return to their barracks, apologizing for the false alarm. 

            Vander glanced back, around the King’s large arm to stare in disbelief at Madeleine, who could only stare off at them, tears of joy, covering her face as she herself, beamed.

            “Vander?  Vander, what’s wrong.” 

            Shaking his head to clear his thoughts Vander looked up at Queen Madeleine who had moved from the edge of her bed and had only moved halfway across the room towards him.  “I’m sorry,” he said glancing back down at the book, trailing a finger across its cover.  “Nostalgia, took hold of me and I was…” he paused trying to decide the best way to put what had just happened.

            “And you were transported back to the beginning,” Madeleine finished for him.

            He smiled.  The smile said what may have sounded insincere, for if he would have used words to express what his smile said he would have said, “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”  And with that he crossed the rest of the gap between them.