When the strangers walked into the common room of the small inn in Robin's Nest, the whole room fell silent. Katalla was sitting with her brother at a far table, and she looked up and fell silent with the rest. Strangers came seldom to their little town and those they saw rarely carried weapons.

There were three of them, two women and a man, all wearing dark cloaks. The man was slight and good looking, with light brown hair and an easy grace. His companions were a study in opposites with one being serious tall and dark and the other small blond and smiling. They all walked as if they knew how to use the swords at their hips.

Katalla watched as they shook the rain off of their cloaks and headed to an unoccupied table. She wondered who they were and why they were in Robin's Nest. She swore to herself that she'd get a chance to talk to them before she went home that night.

After a few minutes, the patronage in the room resumed their normal conversations. Katalla continued to watch the strangers, their heads together, whispering to one another. Periodically, the man's eyes would scan the room or glance toward the entrance. Other than that, though, the trio ignored everyone else completely.

Katalla's mind worked frantically. What were they doing here? Who were they? What did they want? The possibilities that burst into her mind staggered her, and she wanted so much to be listening to what they were all saying.

"Kat?" said her brother, waving his hand in front of her face and blocking her view of the strangers. She realized that he'd been saying something to her, and she had no idea what it was.

"Huh?" Was all she could think to say.

"Please tell me you're not daydreaming again. You know how Father frowns on it."

"Glinn..." she protested with an embarrassed grin. The three strangers had ordered drinks, and Katalla was sure that the small blond woman was looking at her.

No, she amended to herself. Not me. Glinn.

"I was saying," Glinn continued, "that we should stop by the stables on the way home and get some grain for the horses. We're almost out."

"Mm-hmm," she replied absently. There was something about that woman, who was now staring openly at them. At Glinn.

"Enough!" Glinn snapped. "They're strangers. Let them do what they came to do so they can leave Robin's Nest as quickly as they can."

"That woman is watching you."

"What?" He craned his neck so he could see behind him, but the woman was again involved in whatever discussion the strangers were having. "No she's not. You're imagining things." He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out two silver coins for the meal, placing them on the table. "Let's go. It's getting late."

"I want to talk to them," Katalla protested. She rose from her chair and began toward the strangers' table. The man and the blond woman both looked her way for an instant. She was sure of it.

"No, Kat. It's time to go." Glinn reached out to grab her arm. He would drag her right out of the inn if he had to. He'd done it before.

"I just want to--" She cut herself off. The man and blond woman were both watching her, but the other seat at the table was now empty. "Where did she go?"

A moment later, the dark-haired woman answered her question. She had taken hold of Glinn's outstretched hand and was now tying it to the other one behind his back.

"Glinn Spar, I am taking you into custody by order of His Majesty, Prince Benjin."

The other two strangers rose from their chairs, and walked quickly to the door outside. The inn was again silent, watching the scene unfold before them. Katalla, shocked both at the sudden appearance of the woman and the words she had spoken, could only stare dumbfounded as the woman took her brother out of the inn to join her comrades.

She didn't know how long she stood there, just staring at the door. Surprise had knocked her almost senseless. When she could move again, she quickly glanced around the common room. Most stared, and those that didn't were whispering together in excited voices. Katalla gulped.

What was going on? Her brother arrested? Glinn? She couldn't believe it. What crime could he have commited?

With a last glance around at people who she had known her whole life, people who at this moment seemed like strangers, she ran to the door.

The ancient piece of wood banged against the side of the building as she burst out into the fading sunshine. The three members of the King's Lions were getting ready to mount their horses. Glinn was astride one of them, his normally tanned skin the color of parchment. His hands had been tied to the saddle's pommel and the tall, dark haired woman who was preparing the horse kept giving him sharp eyed glances.

"Wait!" Katalla yelled. "There's been a mistake! Don't take my brother, he's done nothing wrong."

Both women ignored her as they mounted their horses, the dark haired woman behind Glinn. The man, however, turned to see who had spoken. He studied Katalla for a moment, his blue eyes surprisingly kind.

"We have an order for his arrest," he explained softly, his voice patient.

"But why? What has he done?"

"We are not at liberty to discuss that," the man replied as gently as he could.

"This is ludicrous!" said the dark-haired woman. "Shi-ka. Chak-ta cho!"

For a moment Katalla stared at the woman, and then realization dawned on her. She felt as if the wind had been knocked from her chest. "You speak Euridian," she said, then turned back to the man. "Who are you people? The King doesn't allow Euridians into his guard."

The man threw an annoyed glance at the woman, then gestured placatingly to Katalla. "No more questions. It is not safe."

Ignoring him, Katalla approached the woman who had spoken Euridian. "How do you know that language?" she demanded.

In reply, the woman drew her sword and placed it lightly but threateningly on Katalla's shoulder. "Shuriff gave you a directive, child. I suggest you move along now before we arrest you as well."

Helpless, she gave Glinn one last look before he was taken away forever. He looked terrified and defeated. He didn't look at her, keeping his eyes on his hands now that they were in front of him again.

"Don't despair, Glinn," she encouraged. "Father will know what to do."

"No!" Glinn said, startled. His eyes had become wide as saucers. "Tell Father I ran away. Tell him I was murdered. Tell him anything but the truth!"

She could not believe her ears. "Are you out of your mind? He has to know!"

He turned sharply to her. "Promise me, Kat. You must forget what you have witnessed. For everyone's sake." The warning in his voice was evident, but she couldn't quite grasp his underlying meaning. "As far as you're concerned, I died in the tavern."

The man who had tried to be kind, the one known as Shuriff, mounted his horse and looked sadly upon Katalla's confused face. The expression he wore was one that spoke volumes of the devastation his job had caused. Families had been torn apart by his duty, and here was yet another. He turned his horse Southward and began to ride. The two women, Glinn with them, followed.

Moments later, Katalla had retrieved her horse from the stables and was riding after them.

Katalla rode at a slow canter, knowing that there was no fork in the road between Robin's Nest and the next town. She did not want the Lions to know that she was following them. It wasn't that she thought they would hurt her, exactly...not for just following them. But there was a glimmer of doubt in her thought. That glimmer was enough to make her want to not be seen.

As she rode, her mind went over her situation in her mind. How would her parents react when neither of their children made it home tonight? Would those in the common room go against Glinn's wishes and tell them everything? Chances were they would. And what would her mother and father make of the scene? The two of them were simple farmer folk, less worldly even than Katalla herself, and she had been no further than Swallowton.

A scream from ahead broke Katalla's thoughts from any regrets she had in not telling her parents that she was leaving. Without hesitating, she slapped her heels sharply against Amon's sides. His stride quickened and she leaned forward to avoid overhanging branches.

She just had time to wish that she had thought to bring something to use as a weapon before she turned a corner and reigned Amon in surprise.

Glinn stared down at his hands and prayed hopelessly. Klee-ay-lee, the Laughing Goddess, was less merciful than her name might indicate. Perhaps this...situation was merely the goddess's idea of a joke, he thought bitterly. And these false guards that surrounded him now, were they the final clincher to her foul humor?

"Klee-ay-lee, if there is any pity in your divine mind, show it now, I beg you," he entreated, but kept his prayer silent. If the goddess wished to hear his prayer, she would. He could do no more. And yet he knew even as he completed his request, he could still sense the brightening flame of his sister's presence behind them. Go back, you stupid girl! Go back! Would you have your life ruined now? But Katalla paid him as much mind as Klee-ay-lee ever had.

The horse came to an abrupt halt, and he surely would have fallen off if his hands hadn't been tied to the pommel. The Euridian woman slid off and cut his hands free from the saddle with a frighteningly careless whip off her dagger. He dismounted, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the snow, and avoiding eye contact.

She yanked his hair and jerked his face up to hers. "My father was killed by mage-scum such as you," she spat.

"I've never killed anyone," Glinn protested, but he might have been speaking to a stone for all the change in expression she showed.

"Nihau," Shuriff said softly, placing one hand on her arm. "Be easy and calm. We must do our assigned task, but it shows a lack of honor to take so savage a pleasure in it."

She was taller than Shuriff; Euridians tend towards height, and her rage was like a bright sun just within her chest. Glinn could feel its pulsing heat. She glared at Shuriff, but released Glinn and shoved him towards her companion.

"What's going to happen now?" he asked.

The older man fixed him with bright blue eyes. "What do you imagine will soon happen, mage?" There might have been pity, even kindness in his voice, but Glinn knew that it meant nothing. Shuriff would do his duty, no matter how distasteful he might find it.

He lowered his eyes, ever-hungry despair swallowing him whole. He could hear Nihau rustling around in one of the saddle bags, searching for something. The inevitable thoughts of fighting back, breaking free, running away, filled his mind, but he knew it was pointless. Even assuming he could get away, an unlikely proposition at best, what then? There was no where to run. Home would provide no safety, and might bring others into danger. And he would need a shelter; winter had already begun. It was only a matter of time before the snows began. And what of food? And clothing? It was hopeless, truly hopeless. He sank down onto the cold ground, trying to ignore the approaching presence of his sister, praying that this would all be over before she would arrive.

Nihau suddenly appeared in front of him. "This is just a formality," she said sharply, the words obviously rehearsed. "It may hurt. Don't struggle." She reached for his forehead, a dark red stone in her hand. It was flat, and cut in a shape like a strangely stretched hexagon.

When it touched his skin, white painful lights exploded behind his eyes. Hot fire blazed across his face, and he cried out, fighting to get away.

Strong arms caught his flailing hands with ease and he heard Shuriff say, "I'll take it that this was a positive identification?"

"Indeed," Nihau replied.

Glinn opened his eyes wearily. The stone had turned black. "What...?" he asked.

"You are indeed a mage. We just needed final confirmation. Executions without such final proof can get...messy, later on."

His head was throbbing, probably just an aftereffect of the stone, but even through the painful beats he could sense his sister, nearly upon them now.

"Adata, your duty awaits," Shuriff said.

The blond woman approached. Her eyes were bright and cheerful, her smile sincere and genuine. Glinn realized she was completely mad.

"Have you any last words?" she chirped.

Katalla! Nearly here! Oh, Klee-ay-lee, stop her, protect her! "Make it swift," he said.

The sword swooped up in a new-moons arc.

"No!" Katalla's voice broke across the movement. "Stop! Glinn!"

"Ki nos-tay doe la! Stupid girl!" Nihau hissed. "Interfering in this is high treason, punishable by death!"

Glinn suddenly felt that bright sun of rage within Nihau erupt and spill out, filling her body with a fatal, pulsing strength. Her sword was out, she was reaching for Katalla.

He never really planned it out. Not really. Everything just kind of came together in one unholy rush of fear and anger. A streak of fire leapt from his empty hands and shot between Nihau and his sister.

That was when chaos truly escaped.

A man, completely swathed in a dark cloak, appeared. He placed an arm on Glinn's shoulder and the fire cut off in the blink of an eye. "Good work, for a fledgling," the man murmured, his voice as low as rushing thunder, "but Uncle Death awaits you here. You must come with me, if you would escape him."

"Katalla," he answered, mind reeling. "My sister, what of her?"

The man reached out one elongated arm and snagged her.

"Stop!" Shuriff was yelling. "All mage-born are subject to execution, under His Majesty's orders! You must stop."

"Foolish little man. Look beyond your sniveling monarch. You can be more than this."

A rush of wind, a flash of lightening that seemed to kiss his cheek, and they were gone.

The calm silence was a stark contrast to the chaotic din they had just escaped. Katalla still wasn't sure how they had gotten away, or who this stranger was, garbed in clothing as black as the midnight sky. All she knew for sure was that, wherever they were, this was completely unfamiliar territory to her.

The stranger, nearly invisible in the quickly-deepening darkness, led them down a poorly-marked path. Glinn followed him silently, lost in thought, with Katalla bringing up the rear. Her own thoughts were a mishmash of confusion and worry. They had been having supper only a few hours before! How could the fabric of her entire life have shifted so rapidly? Mother and Father had to be insane with concern by now. What would they think when they learned of Glinn's capture by the King's own personal guard?

Then there was Glinn. Why had they wanted him? How had he made fire appear like that? And what was that strange mark on his forehead? So many things didn't make sense.

To make matters even worse was that Amon, her trusted friend and companion on many a journey, was at the mercy of those three insane people. Would they be able to track him back to home? She shuddered at the possibility.

So focused on her thoughts was she, that she nearly bumped into Glinn when he and the stranger stopped. Just ahead lay a small log cottage, the chimney spewing a thin stream of smoke. The chill suddenly became more noticable, and she shivered, wishing she were home, snuggled in her warm bed with a book.

The stranger turned to them, and a look of immense sorrow passed over his handsome face as his eyes rested on her. "People call me Raven, and I'm truly sorry you had to become involved," he said. "Come inside where it's warm. We have a lot to talk about."

Glinn nodded absently and rubbed at the mark on his head for the thousandth time. Katalla put an arm around his shoulders as they followed Raven to the door of the cozy-looking cottage.

Inside, her eyes widened with incredulity. From the outside, the cottage had looked small and quaint. Inside was another matter entirely. The receiving area alone seemed twice the size. Doors to the left and right led to other areas of the dwelling, and directly ahead -- a staircase! Stepping backward, Katalla looked at the exterior again, mentally comparing its size to what she could easily see through the open doorway. It simply wasn't possible!

"Please come in, Katalla," Raven said with an amused smile. "I promise you that I will explain everything."

She nodded numbly, returning to the foyer. Raven closed the door, which had somehow become a rich cherry instead of the plain pine it had been coming in, and led them through the left door into a kitchen area. A kettle boiled in the fireplace, and the aroma of beef stew filled the room. Even though she had eaten not that long before, her stomach rumbled.

Raven gestured to the medium-sized table in the middle of the room, where three steaming bowls awaited them. She sat across from Glinn, and Raven took his place at the head of the table, between them.

In spite of her inexplicable hunger, she didn't touch the food. Instead, she turned to Raven, who was looking at her expectantly.

"What the hell happened back there?" she nearly screamed at him.

"That," came the calm reply, "was a failed execution."

Katalla was taken aback. Execution? Glinn?

"The current ruler," continued Raven, "believes the Mage-folk to be born of evil. Pompous, arrogant fool." He looked over to Glinn, who was staring into his bowl, rubbing his head.

"What's that mark there?" Katalla asked.

"It's an ancient symbol. In the old days, before magic began to die out, a few misguided souls attempted to harness powers beyond their control. What resulted was a war that nearly wiped out all Mage-folk. The others went into hiding. Unfortunately, some of the non-Mages wanted to finish what the warring factions had started. A special stone was created that would identify a Mage. This symbol was a side-effect of identification. In the past, anyone with this marking would be marked for life, short as it often turned out to be. Luckily, though, we know how to unmark people."

He smiled as he clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth with vigor. A faint glow began to appear on the palms, and he placed one on Glinn's forehead. When the glow subsided, Raven removed his hand. The mark was gone.

"After some years of fighting -- with massive casualties on both sides, I hasten to add -- a shaky peace was formed. There were some people who wanted to continue the hostilities, but their cries for war quickly died down. For ten centuries, the truce had remained. Only the most learned among us even know the tales anymore."

Katalla was impressed, though she showed no sign of this on her face as she asked her next question. "What does any of this have to do with my brother?"

"You're a bright girl. You tell me."

"Nothing!" she shouted, even though she didn't believe it herself. "My brother isn't some wizard. Even if he was, he's no threat to the Royal family!"

"Be quiet, Kat," Glinn said without conviction. "You don't know half of what you're talking about."

Raven turned his attention to the young man on his left. "You are a difficult person to trace, Glinn Spar. If not for your act of pyrotechnic desperation, I would never have found you." Almost to himself, he added, "I'm concerned with how easily the Tri-Cutioners found you."

"I was right!" Katalla bellowed. "They weren't Lions after all! No official Royal Guard would have a Euridian in their midst."

"Bright, but naive," Raven commented. "Those three were of the King's Lions, alright. They just weren't of the kind you're used to seeing. They belong to an elite group known as Tri-Cutioners. They always work in teams of three. One is the Identifier, one is the Restrainer, and the third performs the dirty deed. I can tell you from experience, too, that your Executioner -- Adata -- takes particular pleasure in her work."

"How did they find out about me?" asked Glinn. "I didn't even know it myself until three weeks ago."

"What?" Katalla asked in shock. "You mean they're right?"

Raven placed a comforting hand over hers. "Things aren't quite what they seem right now, Katalla. Your brother -- or, to be precise, your adopted brother -- has more secrets than even he knows. The ancient war is returning, thanks to your king and his idiot sons. And Glinn here is to play a pivotal role."

"I don't understand," Glinn said. "I'm just a farmer's son."

"No," Raven argued. "You're much more than that. Your parents -- your real parents -- sent you to Robin's Nest to ensure our survival. After your birth, the Prophets began to have visions of blood and death. They saw the leaders of the Mage-folk slain, and the rest of us scattered, to be slaughtered at the leisure of the Royal family. The Mage-king sent his son to live in a tiny town, hoping it would be far enough away to be outside the notice of the human leaders. Eventually, if the prophetic visions did come true, there would be one who could reunite our people."

"Are you saying...?" Katalla thought she was beginning to understand, but... It just wasn't possible. Was it?

"Two months ago, in a bid to rekindle the burning hatred between Mage and Human, King Jerran sent an invasion force into the heart of our kingdom. We were taken completely by surprise, and the entire leadership infrastructure was destroyed. The King and Queen were the last to fall, fighting to their very last breaths. Thus were the prophecies fulfilled. Even as we speak, the remnants of our people have begun to relocate all over the world. It's only a matter of time before Jerran, Benjin, and that dolt Makka execute every last mage-born that remains."

"And you think I can help somehow?" wondered Glinn. "Doing what? Decoy duty?"

Raven shook his head but smiled. "You were the one sent to Robin's Nest, the tiny town. You are the one who will reunite our people and bring peace with the humans."

"No..."

"You are Glinn Danvia, King of the Mage-folk."

"You are the son of a King, and must learn to act like it!"

Thousands of miles away from Raven's home, across wild uncharted icy mountains, beyond a seemingly endless moor of stubbled grasses and stone, within a castle precariously perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the sea, the young man listened to the tired old refrain. Prince Makka could nearly recite it along with his father's chamberlain.

"This has to stop! I'm glad you take so personal an interest in your father's affairs concerning the Mage-born, but you are to confine your influence to more refined, more verbal methods! It is unseemly for Jerran's son to personally execute anyone! You are to watch, to oversee, to lead, not to do!" Pegroom took an aggrieved breath and glared at the back of his young liege's head. Makka sat in the window seat of the bay window, gazing out over the ocean as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"Are you even listening to me?" the chamberlain demanded.

Makka turned to face him. The young man's smile could have melted stone, but his voice could have cut it open. "What is it that frightens you so about me, Pegroom?" he asked softly. "Is it that I insist on doing things for myself? Or that I do them so well?"

"My lord..."

Makka drew his sword. "For I know that I do, all that I do, very well. I am a good executioner, am I not?" The point of his sword played about the chamberlain's face.

Pegroom shut his eyes but held his ground. "No one disputes your skill, Majesty, merely your wisdom in choosing to wield it."

"You think me foolish?" the prince teased, his blade coming to rest in the other's throat.

Pegroom opened his eyes and met Makka's squarely. "I think that for an intelligent man, you do some surprisingly stupid things." He waited, half expecting the sudden lunge that would sever his jugular vein.

Makka laughed and lowered his sword. "You're an honest man, Pegroom. What a strange thing to find, here and now." He sheathed the weapon and turned back to the window. The amusement left his voice as he added, "Perhaps you will be less offended by my actions if you bother to remember the motivations for them." His tone was gravely and harsh, and Pegroom knew he was remembering Caroline.

"My lord, we all loved the princess dearly, but..."

"But nothing," Makka said carelessly. "If you loved the princess so well, you would stop at nothing, let alone petty matters of etiquette, to avenge her."

"Your sister would not have wished you to become what you are," Pegroom murmured.

"How dare you pretend to have known her well enough to speculate upon her wishes!" The prince was pacing furiously, his blue eyes bright, long dark hair in a tangle behind him.

"No loving sister would have wanted her brother to become a human beast!"

"I only..."

"Look at yourself in the mirror, man! You're a hairless wolf that stands on two legs, but I can see the blood in your mouth even now! And you lie to everyone, even yourself, if you claim that you kill to avenge the dead!" Pegroom was nearly shouting. He paused to take a soothing breath, then continued more calmly, "You murder, so as to appease the blood lust."

"You risk much, Pegroom, by saying this to me," the prince said softly, pausing in his pendulum walk. "Do you align yourself with the enemy now? Would you have me stop eliminating the Mages?"

"I would that every Mage-born would crumble into to dust at this very moment," Pegroom said fervently, "But if we are to execute them, we must to it legally, by the book. There must be no room for disputes. There must be no base onto which a resistance can be built. If you continue on as you have been doing, there will be an outcry from the citizenry."

Makka leaned against the wall, his blue eyes narrowed in a frown. "You're leading up to something, Pegroom. Out with it."

"Majesty, when you execute a man, you don't start by cutting off his fingers and toes. You aim for his heart. If your father were to die, Benjin would become king. If he were to die, you would become king, but if you were to die, the country would be left leaderless. We would easily be defeated. We have already destroyed the Mage-King, but what of his heir or heirs? They may try to reunite the Mages into one unified force. We could not stand against them then. But if we cut out their heart now, they will flail, and be easily defeated."

Makka smiled. "I was right about you Pegroom. You are indeed a very honest man, and I believe that you see truly on this matter." He toyed with the handle of his sword. "I will take your advice," he decided. "Tomorrow, a force will go out in search of the new Mage-king."

Glinn lay in the largest bed he had ever seen, his body enclosed by silk, the walls covered by beautiful tapestries. All the beauty was lost on him, though, as he mulled over what he had been told. He knew that nearby his sister also lay, and he wondered if she could find sleep.

It was a lot to take in. He was a simple young man who toiled to help his father make enough to live on. Like his relatives, he worked hard and played hard when he could. All he knew was the simple village of Robin's Nest, and all he wanted in life was to marry Lleura and settle down to work the soil for the rest of his life. Or, it had been all he wanted until just three weeks before.

Scared to death, that's what he had been. It had started out as a simple day. He got up and ate breakfast, then went out to milk the cows. As he was walking to the barn, he noticed that he felt a little strange. That was the only way he knew how to explain it. Things spun a little and the world seemed to sharpen and lose focus both at the same time. He stumbled and had a little trouble righting himself. That was when he realized that he could feel --another word that seemed inadequate--his mother and his sister. Their emotions were there in his mind where just moments ago he had been alone. His body had gone numb with fright, and he didn't know what to do.

Knowing the way their king felt about mages, Glinn had kept his knowledge to himself, fighting every day to keep the pressing minds at bay. His family's emotions were strongest; most people he couldn't feel unless they were within a few feet. Even so, going to the inn for something to eat had become almost painful. It made him slightly snappish with Katalla, though she hadn't seemed to notice.

Until his hands had shot fire, Glinn didn't know he could do anything else.

And now he had everything Raven had told him to deal with. How could he be someone so different from who he thought? Could he ever really be this prince person when all he knew were the backfields of Robin's Nest? And how was he--barely seventeen--supposed to accomplish all that had suddenly been put on his shoulders? What was he going to do?

Eventually, despite his racing thoughts, Glinn achieved sleep, but it was a troubled and restless one.

"STOP!"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Makka wondered why people ever bothered to scream things like that. Had there ever been even one incident in recorded history when some sort of verbal protest had actually prevented anything?

This was no exception.

Caroline raised up her hands in front of her face, thin shields of skin and bone to ward of the shaft of magic dropping inexorably towards her. The mage's face was a study in sadism, eyes alight with pleasure.

The magic struck her, coating her figure in a pulsating glow.

Makka's sword slid neatly between the mage's ribs. He fell silently.

Caroline didn't move. She stood, hands still raised in defense against the blow that had already landed. Her face was frozen in terror, mouth slightly open in a silent, endless scream.

"Caroline!" He was at her side in seconds, seconds too late.

She didn't move.

Her brother grasped her wrists and tried to lower them. They stayed, as though carved from stone. "Caroline...oh please...Caroline, answer me!" He begged, he threatened, he cajoled her, but she never even blinked, or breathed. "Oh Caroline...don't do this," Makka whispered helplessly. He slowly slid down to his knees and wept silently...

...only to come awake, finding himself in the middle of the armory. He shook his head blearily. Had he been walking in his sleep again? Must have been. It might almost have been easier if Caroline had actually died. But this half-life she had been left with haunted him more relentlessly than any ghost could have.

Gods, if only that dream would leave him already. But he knew it wouldn't. Not until every mage in the land was destroyed. Only then would he be able to sleep.

Katalla woke up feeling slightly disoriented. At first, she couldn't remember where she was and the shock of not seeing her small and simple but cheerful room confused her. It started even before she opened her eyes, with the feeling of something soft and comfortable beneath her. Above her was something equally soft, something that enveloped and warmed her. This is what made her eyes pop open.

The room around her was white with tapestries of small animals and joy filled children's faces. Nearby, a window shone with the light of early morning, and a shaft of it rested on the bottom of Katalla's bed.

"Wh...?" she whispered groggily, wondering at her strongly feminine surroundings. She didn't remember ever seeing anything this nice in all her life.

Then it hit her with the weight of a blow. Glinn. With the thought of what they had learned the night before, Kat jumped out of bed, her bare feet barely noticing the plush carpeting beneath them. She hurried across the room, her long nightdress fluttering around her.

When she reached the door, she yanked it open, startling someone who was about to open it from the other side. The girl, about Kat's own age, let out a squeak and jumped backwards, almost dropping the cloth in her arms.

"Where's my brother?" Katalla asked.

The girl didn't meet her eyes, as was proper for a servant. It made Kat squirm. At home, her status would have been about the same as the girl's. "His Highness is taking his bath, My Lady. Lord Raven has asked me to bring you these clothes. A bath also has been fixed for you. If you will follow?"

This time, the girl did meet her eyes, looking for an answer to her question. Katalla gave a short nod and stepped out into the hallway. The shock of the cold stones almost made her jump back into the warm room.

The servant girl noticed. "There should be some slippers under your bed, My Lady. They will keep your feet warm."

"Thanks," Katalla said, this time following her impulse. Once inside, she turned back to the girl. "What should I call you?"

"My name is Torra, ma'am."

"Torra," Katalla repeated aloud, as much for herself as to put the girl at ease. "I like that name."

The young servant blushed at the compliment, and, keeping her eyes to the floor, led the way to the washroom, where steam rose from the gleaming silver tub in the center of the room. Torra placed the cloth towels she had been carrying onto a stool near the head of the tub, closed the washroom's door, and gestured for Katalla to remove her night clothes.

Katalla hesitated. Was she supposed to just take her clothes off in front of this other person? What was going to happen after that? Would the girl have to bathe her? The mere thought made her very uncomfortable, though knowing that Glinn would be going through this same thing lightened her mood a little.

Fortunately, as soon as the clothing was in Torra's outstretched arms, the girl took her leave of the "princess" and allowed Katalla to enjoy her bath in silence. The hot water washed away her cares as it did the grime that had accumulated on her body during the previous evening's strange journey.

After what seemed too short a time, a light knock came to the door. Torra opened the door a crack and slipped inside, holding the most beautiful dress Katalla had ever seen in her life! It was a deep blue dress made of crushed velvet -- or silk or satin; Katalla had no real point of reference -- with many different layers. It would fit snugly in the right places and billow in other places. There was definitely a bright side to this whole business.

She nearly leaped out of the tub. After a quick -- yet thorough -- drying, she stepped into the dress. It was a perfect fit. Turning to the looking glass on the wall, she admired herself. She really did look like royalty. That is, except for her stringy wet hair that stuck in clumps to her face and neck.

"Please follow me, My Lady," Torra instructed before leading her back to her chamber.

Torra was firm but gentle, an expert in the technique of hair brushing. Unlike the times Mother brushed her hair for her, Torra's brush didn't pull at her hair. She felt only the smooth motions as the brush massaged her scalp. After a few minutes, she was so relaxed that she thought she might go back to sleep right here on the bench in front of the vanity.

A harsh knock at the chamber door broke the spell of comfort, and Glinn's voice on the other side sent panic through her veins.

"Kat, open up! It's urgent!"

She stood to open the door, but Torra was already there, shooting her a questioning look. Katalla nodded, and the door flew open. Glinn burst into the room.

"Kat, we have to go. Right now."

"Go? Where? Why?"

His face was flushed, and he was out of breath. These two elements looked entirely out of place to the rest of the picture her brother presented. He wore a suit that was finer than anything the richest men in Robin's Nest could afford. Its color was a blue that matched her own dress. His hair, which was longer than their parents preferred, was brushed nicely, with nary a strand out of place. If she thought she looked regal in her dress, Glinn was truly a portrait of Kingly presence.

So what had him so upset?

"We're needed at home. Father... they..."

"Calm down. Breathe. Tell me slowly."

She could tell it was a struggle, but he did just as she said, taking deep breaths in his effort to be clear. "I had a vision. This was different than the things that happened before. It was..." He fought to find the words he wanted. "It was as if what I saw hadn't happened yet."

"What did you see?" Katalla wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer, but with his manner, she needed to hear it.

"It's the King's Lions," he said. "Those Tri-Cutioner people. I saw them in our house. We have to go home and warn our parents."

He turned to rush out of her room, though it didn't seem like he'd care if she chose not to follow. She caught him when he reached the door leading to the forest outside. "What did you see?" she repeated. "What happened that has you in such a state?"

His eyes, so full of fright that she wanted to turn away, drilled into her. When he finally answered her, the certainty in his voice chilled her as much as his words.

"When they can't find me, they're going to kill Father."