1

“Gods’s blood but look at these idiots smile and act like all is well when we are celebrating the day of the great dragon massacre.”

All over Arlankis was celebration and festivity as everybody, man, woman, children, and babies, excitedly got ready to celebrate the day of the Dragon, a day celebrated to mark the liberation of men from dragons. Banners and colorful clothes hung on pieces of ropes were strung high in decoration on the streets. Clothes had been cut and tied in strips to form ferocious dragons hanging off ropes strung to buildings and little children poked at the dragons with sticks. The market echoed with the sounds of the smiths’ hammers as they beat metal into swords and daggers for the knights who would participate in the week-long display of strength during the celebration, reenacting notable battles during the Great War. Surcoats, chain mails, and armour were made and old ones were repaired. It was the biggest celebration in all of Arlankis regardless of division. Well, it was the most important for the higher caliber of Arlankis but it wasn’t for the lowly slaves. And these slaves were known as Baryns.

There was another division in Arlankis known as the Sefers. They were formerly Baryns but betraying their kin earned them Sefers status. They were above the Baryns and only slightly below the Arlankis.

A chuckle rang out softly. “Mare, do we have a choice? If we do not pretend to be happy what would you have us do?”

“Kill the king,” Mare said vehemently. She was seven and ten and her brown eyes flashed gold flecks. “Take the throne and bring the new dawn.”

“If it were that easy,” her companion said.

She turned from the sight of the festivities around them to give him a cold glare. “It is possible. Tonight will see that happen. With you on our side, we will never lose, Veren.”

Veren cluck his tongue at her. “Lower your voice or the plan just might not work!”

“Leave Mare be. She is right,” another voice with them said. It was the last friend, Llod. “Tonight when the festivities begin we hatch our plan.”

Though all three friends were of the same age, Mare was the assumed leader for her hotheadedness. She was more famous than the other two as she got into a lot of trouble more than they did. But she looked up to Veren because he was the biggest among them, his shoulders were filled out, as was his chest. He was also the tallest but he spoke the least.

The third person however though tall was nowhere as handsome or wise as Veren and he went with whatever Mare did so he got into a lot of trouble too.

“I wish I had your confidence,” Veren muttered under his breath.

Mare continued to glare. “What does that mean?”

He simply shrugged and waved off her question. “Tonight we kill the king.”

In the shade in which they stayed sitting apart from the crowd, there was a sudden movement and all three friends jolted, looking back to see their worst enemy; Polen Angrip.

He wasn’t dressed in their simple thread-bare woolen tunic instead he wore a fine soft cotton tunic and a scarlet robe even though the sun was high in the sky.

With dark eyes and dark Baryn good looks, he stretched his lips into an evil smile, one that was only heightened by the faint scar running from his cheek to his neck. He was no older than the three friends. On his robe was pinned a gold seal; a dagger with thorns curving up the short blade. It was a sign that differentiated Sefers from Baryn even though they shared the same physical dark looks.

“Are slaves not supposed to be on the fields working or serving their betters?” he snared.

Mare grimaced at him as her eyes dropped to the emblem on his robe. “Are traitors not supposed to be hanging for their crimes? What do you want now Polen? Have you come to betray more of your kind?”

“You still have that mouth on you, Foal.”

It was a name he called her to insult her for her given name which was similar to a horse’s.

A knight was coming toward them with a scowl on his face as he beheld them sitting instead of working like the rest of the Baryns.

“We should join the others,” Veren said as he started to rise. Polen put a hand on his shoulder with a very pleased look on his face.

“Let me show you the power you get when you betray your kind,” he said a few moments before the knight was upon them.

“Baryns,” he sneered. “Why do you sit idle?” his hand was already reaching for the leather whip on his waist.

“Halt!” Polen ordered coming out of the shadows of the shade. “They are with me.”

The knight took one look at the seal on his robe his lips still curled in disgust but he had no choice but to nod and walk away from them.

Polen turned to the others and gave them a triumphant smile. “The power you yield when you are no longer Baryn.”

“You delude yourself, scum,” Mare said as she rose to her feet and gave a mock bow to him. “If you please, my lord, we slaves must be joining our kinds to prepare for the festivities.”

Before she could take a step his hand reached out to grab her arm. “Where is your gratitude?”

“Find it in the grave of the many Baryns your father and the rest of your family killed.”

He jerked her arm so that she was standing so close to him and his breath fell on her face. She raised her arm to hit him but Veren held her hand back knowing that the punishment for that would be severe. Polen gave her a triumphant smile.

“You will be my bride, Mare and you will breed me children like mere women like you are supposed to.”

She spat in his face. “Over my dead body,” she said as she jerked her hand off his grip. As she turned to go her worn veil fell off her head to reveal her long, black, glossy hair.

Polen reached out and grabbed a handful to yank her back. Pain shot through her head but she ground her teeth. She would not give him the satisfaction of letting him know how much it hurt.

While Llod cowered Veren gripped Polen’s wrist and staring into his eyes said in a low voice, “Leave her alone,” he said.

As Polen’s hand dropped to his side blood spurted out of Veren’s nose causing Mare to forget her pain for a second as she hurried to press her veil to his nose the stop the bleeding.

“I am fine,” he mumbled into her veil. Looking at Polen he said in a much softer voice, “Leave us be and go your way.” More blood spurted out of his nose turning Mare’s veil a dull shade of red.

Polen walked off with a snare, making a rude gesture at Mare as he did.

“My father will pay a huge sum to make you my bride.”

“Because no other woman will suffer your horrible presence unless they are bought,” she said under her breath. When Veren groaned she turned to him with concern. “You still bleed?” she asked.

“From time to time. Come,” he dropped her veil from his nose and placed the unsoiled part of it back to cover her hair. “Forget about me, let’s go make preparations for the night. Better to execute your plans today before the heat of the festivities prevents it.”