Eric Luchsieria clambered onto the lowest branch of the tree. He checked his belt to see if he had dropped anything - his fingers slipped through the tight space between his belt and pants. Satisfied, he ceased groping and stared up the dark crown of the tree, blending into the unlit night sky.

Shivering a bit, he pulled his tunic tighter around his body. Then, after glancing several times backwards, he swung up onto high branches swiftly – as high as he could.

Picking out a broad and sturdy branch, he climbed onto that and perched on it. Eric fumbled for two things – his bottle of hot spiced tea and what his family called a 'night close-up vision object' (for now, for they could not agree on a name for it yet) , something which belonged to only his family. It allowed one to see far away objects clearly in the night without light.

He peered into the object and scanned the area once, rather nervously. Strictly speaking, he was not supposed to be scouting in this area, there was nothing that held the interests of his family now as they gathered their troops to attack the last stronghold of the Schlusig, the only barrier to the throne, and to the progress of the kingdom.

There were only trees in the forested landscapes, their leaves edged with the silver light of the moon that had risen high above. It was a full moon tonight, and the season's end, so the silver globe suspended close to Ardeth, blotting out the faint twinkles of the stars that usually decorated the sky. The heat vapour clung close to the crown of the trees, twisting his view.

Eric took a swig out of his bottle, letting the sweet taste spread throughout the mouth, and the heat of the drink warm his stomach. He shivered again, despite the hot night. He was sick – the only reason why he was left to himself in the camp without being assigned scouting missions this night. But he had a pressing matter and he had slipped out of the camp without permission.

He pressed the object close to the bridge of his nose and stared harder at a dark circle of trees. There, he could barely see a lone fire flickering.

Eric pressed a button on the gadget, magnifying the scene.

Dark clothed people were walking about, carrying small pieces of burning sticks. They were packing up to move.

Eric counted them. There were some thirty adults and around the same number of youths and children. Eric scanned for his object of interest. There! A little girl clambered upon the back of an old man. She was laughing as she bit into some bun.

Eric watched them for a while as the group of people disappeared into thicker part of the forest before leaning back, fastening the object onto his belt and gulped down the rest of his drink.

At least she is safe, he thought of the little girl. At least for now she would be.

Relieved, he slid down the trunk of the tree and started back for his camp.


Ebener Schlusig paused. His right hand froze halfway in mid-air with his quill as his left hand groped for a dagger under his desk. He looked around the study as he expected anyone of the cursed Luchsieria family to spring upon him at any moment through any of the big windows that covered most of the walls of the room. The door creaked open and much to Ebener’s annoyance, it was only his daughter, Averisa, who threaded in.

“Shame on you!” his hand slammed the dagger onto his desk. “Shame on you for scaring your father!”

“Oh father…” Averisa looked plainly disinterested in whether she had scared her father or not. “You have been scared everyday for the last ten years. Shouldn’t you get used to it by now?”

“What do you want?” Ebener demanded. His eyes met with Averisa’s, and she turned her eyes away from her father. But it was Ebener who apologised, heat rising in his cheeks. “I know you were just trying to lighten things up…I’m sorry, daughter.”

Averisa stared at the floor and shifted her foot around nervously.

Ebener studied his daughter carefully.

Averisa used to be the dainty one in the family, almost a replica of her mother, with soft hazel eyes and lovely auburn hair – the epitome of a little princess. That was, of course, before they had her involved in the war – most reluctantly. It pained Ebener to see Averisa's eyes dark and weary.

At first Averisa was the only a baby-sitter, to help the women take care of those younger than her; Only appointed to take care of her cousins and siblings. She was only a small child on her own then, and learned only basic medical aid and self-defence. The thought of having his daughter on the battlefield had never crossed Ebener's mind, and it was unthinkable to place women on the field.

They had been fine all along, losing some, winning more, but when the Luchsieria and their allies pushed into their territories, Averisa had insisted on learning more than what she had been taught, She wanted to be of more use to her father. It had saddened her to see her father worn out night after night; Staying up late to plot defence and attacks, and waking up early - if he had even slept – to oversee the movements and listen to the scouts' reports.

Ebener had hesitantly allow Averisa to join military training despite protests from the rest of the family, but he was the head, and they had to heed his words. Even then, the only time Averisa was allowed to hold a sword was when she was helping to clean it. She was given a staff, but Averisa did not mind the weapon, and endeavoured to master the fighting skills.

Slowly her hair lost its sheen and her skin became rough from training. Her hair – Ebener was saddest about this – her long beautiful locks were brutally chopped off to make fighting and moving about more convenient for her.

She was his dearest daughter and he had tried all means to prevent that transformation in his daughter, but he had no choice.

The war had changed all of their lives.

Now, from any other view, Averisa looked like a boy.

Yet his daughter – his daughter took up her role proudly and seriously.

For there were no one to take over those who fell in the heat of battles - No one to help the injured escape while nursing the necessary wounds.

There were no one to guard the children from danger - But Averisa herself. She could do all these.

“What do you think, sir?”

“Of what?” he asked. He felt uneasy as his daughter switched from talking casually to formally. “Really Averisa, if you expect me to understand anything you say, stop talking in cryptic.” Ebener leaned forward, his arms resting on the warm mahogany table.

“They say Luchsieria is going to attack us—in our own home. They’re going to raid us,” Averisa’s voice trembled.

“And who might ‘they’ be?” Ebener inquired, with a calm look on his face. But his voice betrayed his feelings. It was quivering.

“Our scouts, sir--”

“Where’s your mother? Does she know of this?” Ebener cut in.

“No, of course not sir.”

“Good. The last thing we need is the whole household panicking.”

“So what do we do?” Averisa asked her father.

“Where are your siblings?” Ebener asked.

“Perhaps with mother in the sewing room.”

“Get your staff, Averisa. You wait in the hall with the others. I’ll tell your mother gently.” Ebener stood up. “Get all your cousins, and those…able-body and well enough, to fall in the hall also.”

“Yes, right away, sir.” Averisa turned to go.

“You know we must be careful, Averisa,” He said gravely. “How many of our relatives have died? This might be our last stand..”

Averisa was silent, and then - “Yes,” Averisa nodded. “I know…I will take my leave now, if you wish.”

“Go and make haste.”


Averisa left the warmth of her father’s study. At once the chill of winter crept up to her, its fingers freezing her ears. Averisa rubbed her hands longing for fire.

The moon had already risen and the light shone through the large windows. Peering outside, she could see smoke rising from the outer gates at the foot of the hill.

The house of Ebener Schlusig was built atop a hill surrounded by forests. There were three main walls that defended the house. The first outer wall wound around the whole area of the estate, including the river Obelran. In the hundreds of acres land, small villages sprung in the plains, compounding into small farming communities. The second outer gates were the ones that guard the hill where the Schlusig family houses were located. Forests act as extra defence. The last were the inner gates of the houses. Ebener Schlusig, being the heir of Horace Schlusig, lived in the manor located at the very top of the hill – Hundfich Estate – with the tallest and grandest gates ever.

The Fortress.

Averisa pushed open a low door. The armoury was dark and musty. Where there used to be old memorabilia tucked away, were now swords, shields and all sorts of military equipment. Averisa coughed a little as she entered the basement of the manor.

“I hate this,” she mumbled the same old complaint. But it was always the same. There was nothing she could do, nor the king could do. “Old ass, just dying like that and leaving us to be fighting each other,” she swore.

The king had died a couple of years before Averisa had been born, naming no heir, having none himself, leaving several noble families fighting for the control of the kingdom. Now, only the Schlusig and Luchsieria families with their allies remained. The others perished in either of their hands. Even so, the Schlusig lost a little day by day.

She stopped to look at herself in the mirror as she walked past it. Her hand reached out to touch the cool surface of the mirror before turning abruptly to the corner of the room where her staff leaned.

“The war has been cruel to us all. But it is a fight for Right.”

Averisa turned around, whipping her staff at the direction of the voice. “Who’s that?”

“You’re fast,” a tall figure emerged from the shadows of the room. “So, Uncle Ebener chose you to fight among us.”

“Seth.” Averisa lowered her staff. "You are supposed to fall in with others in the hall."

“I was going to fetch my sword. I have told the others to assemble in the hall.” Second-Cousin Seth smiled tiredly at Averisa. Seth was tall and looked young for his age. He was, in fact, nearly Ebener's age and if Averisa hadn't known him better, she would have called him 'uncle' like the rest of their little cousins called him.

Averisa watched him gather his sword. “I have been wondering about the war,” She ventured.

He turned to Averisa, “The war?”

Averisa nodded.

“We have the right to the kingdom. We have obligations to protect it. Luchsieria, who have used the Betrayer's knowledge will bring down the wrath of Heavens upon our people. And then…”

“Then?” Averisa asked.

“Our people will suffer under the rule of Luchsieria. Don’t ever forget that, Averisa. The Kingdom needs us. We alone should rule our people.”

“And do you really believe that?” Averisa asked.

“Believe what?” Seth countered.

“That we alone have the right to this kingdom?”

“But of course,” Seth took his sword and practised a few moves. “Why do you ask?” he stared at Averisa. “Do you think I am a traitor? Do you think I will open the doors to Luchsieria and let them annihilate us?”

Averisa smiled. “Of course not. It just warms my heart to hear you say those words. They lend me strength.”

“Then I am glad.”

Averisa looked at her gaunt cousin, his face was black from the soil of the their lands. But his eyes were darker still. “Can we win this?” She wondered.

“It will be hard,” was Seth’s reply and he climbed out of the basement.
Averisa called out to him. “They’ll be hiding here will they?”

“Our mothers and the children?” Seth asked. Averisa nodded. “They’ll be hiding in here.” Seth turned around and fixed his eyes on the surroundings of the armoury. "They think this is a game of hide and seek. Yes, I wished I hadn’t known war; bloodshed, fear, killing…I wish I am still a child – No, it can’t get any worser than hiding above.” Seth gestured to the windows. "We have to keep an eye on our future." Seth turned, his back to Averisa again.

“I fear,” Averisa confessed.

“We all have fears.” Seth started walking towards the hall where they were to assemble.

“I had a dream some ten days ago. I dreamt that,” Averisa hesitated, “that this happened.”

“What?”

“This-” Averisa gestured around them. “-about Luchsieria attacking us at our house.” Averisa’s voice quivered. “We lost, Seth—everyone…gone.”

“It is but a dream Averisa. We will win—no need to fear unnecessarily.” Seth reassured her. “Hurry now. Those filthy usurpers might be sneaking up on us even as we speak now.”

“Seth—it is a premonition. I know it—I feel it.” Averisa hastened her pace. However, a portrait caught her eye and she paused to look at it. It was one of her great-grandmother Athena, still young in her twenty summers. Legend had it that magic died along with her, never to be revived again.

Averisa had always been mesmerised by this particular portrait. It was the skill of the artist – though Athena’s face was emotionless, her blue eyes were wrought with pain…it seemed like she had gone through something that was too painful—so painful that it was indescribable.

Averisa had always idolised Athena too; For all the rumours about scandals that Athena was involved, Averisa truly looked up to her great-grandmother.

Averisa bowed her head and whispered. “Great-grandmother Athena. What have we led ourselves to? I am sure we will lose…”

“Yes you will lose, my child…” A voice seemed to echo in Averisa’s mind.

“What are we to do?” Averisa asked. But to that question, there was no reply. Averisa tiptoed to kiss the likeness of her great-grandmother on the cheek. Her lips brushed against the texture of the canvas, and for a moment, Averisa thought that part of the canvas was truly her great-grandmother, alive. “Good bye my great-grandmother and my hero. We will not see each other again—I think.”

“Farewell my child and my hero.”

Averisa walked away.


Layll Luchsieria looked up sharply from the map that she had been observing, nearly scattering the small pieces that represented the different forces of her army that she had meticulously arranged throughout the parchment.

Her guest met the point of her sword right between his eyes.

“I'm in your trust, remember?” He said coolly to the dark haired woman, as he flicked his long blond hair aside from his face.

Layll whipped back the sword and sheathed it by her side. “Outside?” she mouthed to tall youth glancing towards the entrance of her tent.

Derian Luchsieria sauntered to a chair at the table and sat down unceremoniously, his legs spread out before him. He pointed to the entrance and let his thumb meet his forefinger, indicating the 'alright' sign for a few seconds before setting down his elbows on the table.

“Anything new?” Layll asked.

“We've got them completely surrounded, just like you've planned,” Derian replied, with a tinge of pride. “After tonight, you'll be the queen! And I'll be a prince!”

Layll sat down on another chair, positioning herself so that she could reach her sword quickly, “I might not be.”

“I can't imagine why not,” Derian replied, studying his godmother. She was well into her thirties, but her swordplay was almost unmatchable and she was a brilliant tactician. The fact was, their family had been losing in the war until she had worked out a battle and they had won. Initially, it was a gamble that their war council gave his aunt another battle to think through, but when she had led them to win that battle and a few more others with minimal losses, the council had put their trust into her to control the whole army.

“Because I married into the family,” Layll frowned. “Some of your relatives might not like it.”

“But most do,” Derian insisted. “I'm really proud of you.”

Layll laughed lightly, “You sound like a parent.”

“A pity Uncle couldn't see you like this. I'm sure he'd be proud of you as well,” Derian commented, referring to Layll's husband.

Layll's face darkened slightly at the thought of her husband. He had died years ago when the war started, At that time, they were but newly wed after a long courtship, and he had gone off to the battlefield, never to return. She had been left alone, a lonely bride, in a family she barely knew. Her own family was weak – they had been annihilated shortly before her own husband died. Layll had sworn then, to stop the war the quickest and most humanely as she could. She did not want anyone else to know her loneliness and pain as she had known – to lose one's lover, sister, brother, parents, family, friends...

But the war dragged on, and on, no one was willing to concede. No one wanted to.

There were many nights that Layll had laid on her bed, burying head into her pillows, crying out of frustration over the stupidity of Nobles in general.

“Our messenger?” asked Layll.

“They sent him back whole with a refusal.”

Layll heaved a sigh. At least the Schlusigs were honourable.

There had been instances when the messengers that she had sent to parley were returned with a refusal – in pieces. Sometimes it was only their heads that made it back to the camp.

Layll studied the pieces before her. The Schlusigs were predictable. If everything went right, she should be able to finish this battle with minimal losses on both sides very soon. Her dungeons would be full of course, but for those who would be willing to cooperate would be given their lands back.

“Aunt...” Derian started.

“Derian, you know that some people don't agree with my war policies, you included. So these people will resist my ascension to the throne,' Layll cut him off. It was true, to many in the family, the more dead foes they had, the better life would be. Layll would only push for them to be captured alive. The less sadness, the better. “I will not talk of the throne right now.”

Derian nodded as Layll leaned towards him and whispered. “You do know that some people are planning to get rid of me 'accidentally'. Do be careful Derian, or you might find yourself dead. You are my godson after all.”

Derian nodded again and kissed his aunt's fingers.

“You may leave."


Eric jumped over the make-shift wooden barrier and landed silently onto the earth. Before the sentry turned his head, Eric had already slipped into the shadows of a tent. He wait a few minutes before walking out of the shadows, pretending that he had been there all along.

"Why, Eric, don't think I didn't see you sneaking into the camp like the traitorous scum you are," said a mocking voice.

Eric whipped about, his fingers running sliding across his belt, touching the various objects hidden or hanging on his belt before selecting and drawing his empty bottle.

"I was trying to find more tea," he glared at the owner of the voice, holding out the bottle. "I'm sick, remember? Brother." He spat out the last word like a profanity.

Derian walked up to his half-brother and leaned in close to him. "Liar," he remarked. "You've been out straddling some more of those rebel bitches."

Instinctively, Eric backhanded Derian, causing him to stagger backwards. "How dare you!" Eric cried out, his voice shaking with fury, tears nearly welling in his eyes, as a painful memory touched his heart. "You bastard!" Eric cast his bottle aside and gripped the front of Derian's shirt and throttled him.

Derian stared into Eric's tearful eyes with his cold ones, then kneed Eric in the stomach. "You dare hit your elder?" Derian growled, wiping the blood that had trickled from the cut in his mouth that he received when Eric had backhanded him. "You're the one with a bastard child."

"You are not my elder, you beast!" Eric shouted. "I have no bastard child! She was my wife! MY WIFE!" Eric roared and went at Derian again.

"Wife? What wife?" Derian laughed as he dodged Eric's attacks. "I can report you."

"You dare!" Eric replied furiously, a tinge of fear crept in with the anger.

"I wonder who will they believe? The closest associate of the queen-to-be or the lying traitorous scum who fathered a rebel's child, freed at the mercy of the queen-to-be?" Derian mused aloud, deliberating provoke. His fist connected with Eric's jaw. Eric replied him with a punch to the nose.

"What's going on?" a voice cried out, disturbing the fight between the two youths. "Break it up! All fit fighters are to fall in NOW."

"I'll be back later," Derian scowled at Eric and ran off.

Eric swayed a little as he bent down to pick up his bottle. His surroundings blurred before his eyes. Then, already at the end of his strength, he dropped onto the ground, unconscious.


“Where have you been? I knew your father shouldn’t have put a girl on the battlefield,” Averisa's uncle Henry spat as he inspected his sword. “You should have been down at the basement.”

“I can fight, uncle.” Averisa said softly. “Don’t we need every able-bodied person?”

“What an insult to our ancestors! That we have degraded ourselves to putting females on the battlefield.” He glared. "Your father's father would turn in his grave! Not that I can do anything now."

Averisa stared at the ground, carefully keeping her face blank of whatever feelings she was having.

"You do know that this is not a game? There will be no one to cover your back. You cover your own back or else…" he sheathed his sword.

“Or else what, uncle? I'll die?” Averisa said quietly. “I know that.”
Through his runny blue eyes, Henry stared at the defiant youth who stood proudly with her staff in her hands. “You don't comprehend death, girl!”

“Don't talk to me of death uncle. I know it very well!” Averisa retorted, unable to hold her anger anymore. Her eyes flashed angrily. "I may be a child but I know what is important and what is a matter of life and death! This is a matter of life and death." She gestured sharply around her.

“They’re coming. They’re coming!” The hoarse voice of a scout cut clearly through the air and the windows exploded and shards of glass flew through the air. It was the last thing Averisa was truly conscious of: glass, and the body of a scout falling through one of the windows; his body twitched as life was sucked out of him.