Liam hit Shira a quick blow over the head, and waited until he felt her weight deaden, before he lifted her out of the room. He was itching to join Sir Baristan’s soldiers in their defeat of the Shark’s males, but he still needed to keep his cover. Togu, his father’s lieutenant of ambush quickly took Shira from him, and he went once again to fight along side his enemies. “Need some help!” Stark called out to him, and Liam snatched his dagger, still soaked in Leywin’s blood, and went up to assist him. Stark was surrounded by Sir Baristan’s males, and for a savage moment, Liam did not care if he killed any one of his father’s males. They were expendable, his father could replace them any time, they were not Sir Baristan’s blood. And it would serve his father right for forcing him into such exile, to fight along side his enemies. He rushed into the fray, stabbing down one of his father’s males who had put Stark in a precarious angle. “Thanks male!” Stark acknowledg

The birds were chirping out in some distant tree, but their melody still got to Shira, tingling her memory, reminding her of something, something she ought to know, something she ought not to have forgotten – but she had. Her memory teased her. Taunting her with what it was she wanted to remember, but just when it was within reach of her consciousness, it slipped again, far into the recesses of her brain. She could feel the cramps in her joints, and she got up, trying to stretch. It was only then that she noticed she was confined. Her hands were bound in front of her, but her feet were left free. She got up to her feet, it was a little awkward, but she was able to manage it. She turned around to survey her surrounding for the first time. She was in a stone walled room, and it was not very pretty. It would need flowers, and perhaps light curtains to shade the bright light that was coming in through the window, but not to dim it totally. She walked up to the slightly

Farok leaned against the bar table, as the inn keeper watched attentively, contemplating whether to pour him another goublet of wine even before asked. Farok ignored him. If he was poured more wine, he would drink it. If he was not, he would not ask. He had just led his tribe Warriors on a successful fight against a rival tribe, and as was customary, they deserved to celebrate. Their drinking and whoring would be paid from the spoils of war, the rest of which would be given to him, but Farok did not want it. The tribe he had fought with had suffered severe loss of their soldiers, and armory – and they were Walikan. He was simply weakening his own people from within, so that if they ever needed to face the Renaki in true warfare, the Renaki would battle a force that was no doubt less than it should have been. Farok thrived on violence. He loved it. His biggest, most cherished moments with Elana had been on the battle field. However, even though Farok cherished battles, he ha

Shira stepped outside to help the rest of the maids draw water from the well. Sir Baristan had said she was to earn her keep, and she was only too happy to do that. All around, the people stared at her strangely. She did not know why. Perhaps, they had sensed how empty she was, how unworthy. She was going to prove herself to them, to please them, all of them. As long as Sir Baristan wanted her to. The female who was drawing water from the well hurried off immediately she spotted her, but Shira was not detected. Very soon, they would all like her. She was going to die trying. She bent by the well, drew up the bucket that had been tied to a rope, and threw it back down again, with hopes that it would fill with water, but it didn’t. She remained like that, bent over the well, trying to get the bucket within to fill with water so that she could pull it up, but she must have been doing something very wrong, for the bucket never filled up. Perhaps even the bucket knew how worthl