Several days passed without Srandon experiencing another strange, unexplainable vision.  He kept his mind occupied by helping the king make arrangements for the upcoming gladiator tournament.  Dryleria stayed close to him, watching him and helping him to periodically replace the bandages on his legs until they healed.  In the presence of others, he fought to conceal his discomfort, so he would not have to explain it. 

Srandon and Dryleria were walking down the long corridor to King Zoris’ offices, to discuss the gladiatorial tournament with him.  Srandon’s slight limp was noticeable to only the princess.

“It’s good that you are keeping busy.  It keeps your mind occupied,” says Dryleria.

“Yes, planning for this tournament is definitely time-consuming.  I look forward to working with the gladiators when they arrive; it will be most exciting.  My own training has lapsed as of late, which is not good.  I must start exercising more.”

“Yes, that will good for you.”  Dryleria smiles.

“I hope that whatever it was that was happening to me is over now.  It seems to have passed.”

“Possibly,” whispers Dryleria, just as Mijir appears from around the corner of an adjoining hallway.

“Hey, you two!  I’ve been looking all over for you,” he announces.  Dryleria feels her breath quicken and her heart starts to thump loudly.  She lowers her head, slightly blushing.  Mijir is momentarily taken back with her innocent beauty.  Srandon notices the princess’ reaction to Mijir and this disturbs him.  His thoughts are interrupted.  “Srandon, are you up for a ride?  It is such a divine day, too good to waste.”

“I have business to tend to right now, but I shall meet you afterwards if you like.  Where shall we ride?”

“Along the stream perhaps; maybe we will race.  The cats do need their daily exercise,” states Mijir.

“If I weren’t mistaken, I’d say you were challenging me to a race!  If that’s so, I shall most definitely meet you shortly!”

Mijir chuckles to himself, shaking Srandon’s hand firmly.  “Good!  I will prepare our mounts and wait for you there.”  He starts to turn and hesitates, noticing the rosy flush of Dryleria’s cheeks.  He bows slightly towards her, raising the back of her delicate hand to his lips, and whispers, “Your Highness, it’s always a pleasure.”  Then he gently releases her hand, turns swiftly and disappears around the corner.

“Mijir,” she responds. 

Srandon glares at her inquisitively, “Whatever was that about?”

“I fear I do not know what you mean, my lord,” she answers, tauntingly.  She takes a few steps ahead of him.

He grabs her arm, stopping her.  Her back is still to him.  “Did I just now feel a keen sense of,” he pauses, thinking of the proper words to use, “secrecy between the two of you?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Surely, I am imagining things, correct?”

 

She turns to look at him, unable to offer an immediate response.  After a few moments, she answers, “Surely you do.”  She then pulls away from his grip on her arm and continues walking down the hallway.

“I do not like this, dear sister, not in the least bit!” he exclaims.

She pretends not to hear him.

“Do not walk away from me!” he yells.

“You are not my keeper!” she yells back, throwing her arms up in the air.

His fury mounting, Srandon turns on his heel abruptly and walks back in the direction whence he came.  Midway down the hall, he stops, falling to the floor on his knees, his dark cloak draped around him. Dryleria turns around.  Srandon lifts his hands to cover his eyes.  A sharp pain throbs at his brow, as quick visions of flames dart between visions of a grim field of charred flesh and bones in his head. 

 

                                                              ---------------

 

Staring into the hypnotic flames of the hearth, Briar’s trance carries her back in time to a field of ashes and decay.  She can feel the crushing of crisp, charred grass beneath her feet.  She can smell the stench of burning flesh in the air, and the screams of women and children being burned alive, echo through her mind.    

 She can see the smoke rising from the ground around her as she steps over the bloody remains of corpses in her path.  She slowly, cautiously reaches her hand to the clasp of the crossbow just behind her right shoulder.  She pulls the weapon out and brings it to her breast.  She steps lightly, sensing the presence of danger close to her.  As she turns, she hears faint whispers to the right of her.  She squats lower when she sees two men a short distance from her.  They, too, are lurking through the ashes, crossbows poised to shoot.  They don’t seem to notice her, but, instead, seem to look right through her.  The older of the two men looks familiar to Briar.

Then, behind her, from a distance, she hears a voice echo through the smoke.  She can barely make out the form of a figure lurched on a high, tree branch; his hands are stretched out in front of him.  A split second later, a grove of bushes on the other side of the two men, ignite in flames.  Then, a wall of flames burst from the ground between her and the two men.   Through the charred limbs of the trees, Briar can see the arrow cocked in the crossbow, aimed at the two men.  As she turns her weapon in Tedra’s direction, the arrow is released.  Almost instantly, she hears her father scream.

“Father!” she screams. 

Briar aims her weapon at Tedra, whose eyes seem to glare right through her.  He smiles wickedly at her.  In that same moment, a strong, robed arm comes up from behind her, lowering her weapon.

“Not here,” says the deep voice behind her.  “You cannot change the past.”  The presence behind her is almost comforting, protecting.  All she sees is the strong hand on her weapon and the huge emerald ring, which matches the emerald around her neck.  She turns back to Brark, who is kneeling beside the body of the prince. 

The tears trickle down her cheeks.  “Father,” she whispers.

Then the voice behind her speaks, “We cannot undo what is already passed.”  The robed figure lowers his hand as she turns toward him.  When she looks behind her, he is gone.  When she turns back, she is now standing directly behind her father, who is sobbing over the lifeless body of his friend.

“Father,” she whispers, the tears now streaming down her cheeks.

 

                                                          ------------

In that same instance, Brark jolts upright in his bed.  His eyes close, releasing the tears from beneath his lashes.

 

                                                   --------------

“Father!” cries Srandon, kneeling in the middle of the hallway.  Dryleria, having reached the doors to King Zoris’ offices, turns suddenly to her brother.  In that same instant, Zoris swings the doors open behind her, standing poised on the threshold. 

“Srandon,” he whispers.

Dryleria turns slowly to the king and notices a single tear from his eye drop to the floor.

“Go to him,” he says to her.

Dryleria rushes to her brother’s side, the ruffles of her long gown flowing behind her, almost like wings.  She kneels beside Srandon, who is sobbing into his clenched fists.  She is afraid to touch him, afraid of what she might see.  As he lowers his hands, she sees the tears in his eyes and the sadness in his features.

Srandon looks up at her, and then looks down the hallway to the king, who is still standing in the doorway.  His head is lowered; his royal robe falls loosely on his strong arms, which are holding the large doors open.  Zoris lowers his arms, allowing the doors to slowly close in front of him.  As they close, Srandon sees him grasp the emerald ring on his right hand.

 

                                                         ------------

 

Briar is kneeling on the floor of the small cabin, in front of the hearth.  The flames seem to throw shadows all around her.  As Brark nears her, he sees that she is clutching the crossbow in her hands.  She is shaking and tears are streaming down her cheeks.  He reaches out to touch her shoulder.

“I felt your pain when he died,” Briar whispers.  “I was there; I was your shadow on the ground, and the whisper in the wind.  I was the beat of your heart.”

“I felt you there.  I felt you in my heart, and I heard you in the wind. The pain I felt still lingers.”

“I wanted so badly to take away your pain at that moment,” she cries.  “I wanted to reach out to you, but I couldn’t.”

“I know.”

“I saw him in the trees, and I wanted to kill him then.”

“The time will come, soon.  The past is over, Briar; it is done.  But the future is yours.  You will create the future, and everyone around you will rejoice in it because of you.”

 

                                                        --------------

 

The high, vaulted ceilings of the castle cathedral were adorned with intricate engravings and murals, which depicted legendary teachings from the Oracle.  Several areas were left blank to depict future great events.  The Oracle created and added the events that it chose to be historical moments.  Anton’s death was added to this ongoing collage, and there had been nothing added to it since.  An elaborate pictorial narrative ran its course along the ceiling and walls of this enormous room.  Large stone pillars outlined the contours of the room.  Two massive ivory statues of powerful tigers guarded both the north and south entrances.   About midway up the height of the cathedral, lit candles seem to magically float, providing a mystical ambience in the room.  In the center of the room, below a circular opening high above, Srandon knelt before the great Oracle.  The Oracle was believed to embody the spirits of the forefathers.  The omnipotent knowledge deep within its crystalline form rang of legends and premonitions.  Its glowing lights spoke of secrets and hidden powers.  However, the spirits within it only seemed to communicate directly to certain people, Srandon being one of them.  Its power seemed to give him a special strength and will power.

As Srandon kneels before its greatness on one knee, his eyes lowered in thought, he considers the questions racing through his mind.  “I saw my father as he was dying,” whispers the prince, “What does this vision mean?”

There is a long, deafening silence.  Only the flickering of the candles can be heard echoing through the cathedral chambers.  Then the reply comes, like a whisper on the breeze, which rustles through the prince’s thick hair. 

“Possibly, your father’s spirit is trying to communicate with you.”  The voice fades off at the end.

“What is he trying to tell me?” asks Srandon.

Again, there is a long silence.  Then, a voice echoes through his head.

“As you turn the pages of time, whether you travel back in time to days passed, when your father was still alive, or whether you move forward in time to days that are yet to come, you will never be alone.  The spirits of your forefathers will guide you throughout your journeys; their knowledge will make you stronger. Through their eyes and their unique powers, you will become a powerful ruler of all men.  Through these visions, your father is beginning to show you the path, which you must take toward your future and the future of your people.  Do not fight or resist these visions; but, rather, absorb them and make them your own.  The strength of them comes from within your soul; the power of the forefathers’ knowledge will ultimately be your power.  Soon, you will discover all of these powers that are in you, as the son of Anton, and as the next king.  It is almost time to take your rightful stand in the realm; you must be ready.  Remember that.”  The voice fades away.

Srandon stands slowly, proudly before the Oracle.  “My time draws near,” he says, “I will not disappoint you, Father.”  His rich velvet cloak cascades to the floor from his strong shoulders.  His gloved hand firmly grips the jeweled sword handle at his waist.

“Yes,” comes the faint whisper from the corridors.

“Yes,” whispers the young princess, hiding in the shadows of the pillars along the wall.  Srandon turns slowly in her direction, pulling his sword from the scabbard.  He senses her presence in the room with him.

“Show yourself!”  He points his sword towards the shadows where she is hiding.  She steps out, into the candlelight.  “Why did you follow me here, Dryleria?”

“I have been worried about you, Srandon.  These strange things that have been happening to you are very concerning,” she replies.

“There’s no need for you to worry anymore.  My confusion has eased as certain questions have been answered.”

“I wish only to help you, Srandon,” she says.  Srandon replaces his sword in the scabbard, nodding to her.  She moves closer to him, placing her hand on his hand, holding the sword handle.  “I wish to return all that I have taken from you, your birthright, your position, and your glory.”

“In doing so, though, you have protected me.  You have placed your own life in danger, for me!”

“My life is expendable; yours is not!  You will be the true power of this kingdom, Srandon, beginning this moment!”  She gently pulls his sword out, releasing its silvery sheen, and beckons him to kneel once again before the Oracle.  She crosses in front of him, her long white gown brushing his face as she steps from beside him.  She faces him; his eyes are lowered.  At that moment, a beam of light shines down on them from the opening high above them in the ceiling.  The Oracle starts to glow deeply as the princess begins to speak. 

“I relinquish this vast kingdom to you, all of my riches, my estates, and my crown.”  She taps his right shoulder gently with the tip of the sword, before slowly moving it above his left shoulder.  “I give to you my life, as well as my honor and my devotion.  I give you the fellowship of my people.”

Srandon looks up at her.  Their eyes meet briefly as she smiles.  In that moment, it is no longer his sister standing before him; it is, instead, the apparition of his father, bathed in iridescent light.  His father lowers the tip of the sword to his left shoulder.  “I give to you the lives of my people,” whispers Anton.  Srandon lowers his eyes again.  “You will be their glorious king!” Srandon looks up and it is his sister standing before him again.  She hands him the sword, and motions for him to rise.  She then turns towards the Oracle, removes the crown from her head, and places it on the ground between the Oracle and Srandon.  She then steps aside.

“Take the crown and wear it proudly, as the prince that you are.  Show the world who you are!  They will follow a strong leader!  You no longer need the protection of this illusion we have created.  The power of the forefathers will be your protection, as will the power of your people.  I bow before you, Your Highness.”  She lowers herself to her knees beside him, and bows her head.

Srandon looks at the jeweled crown on the marble floor at his feet.  “Rise,” he tells her.  “This is not up to you to decide.  Grandfather has had good reason for keeping me hidden; only he can pronounce me as the next king.  Although your intentions are admirable, dear sister, unfortunately this illusion that you speak of must continue for the time being.  In due time, the people will know who I am.  What is important at this moment is that I know who I am, and that I know what my future entails.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Dryleria, I know what I must do.  So, take back the crown, and wear it for me, for now.”

She reluctantly takes the crown and replaces atop her head.  “Only for now,” she replies.  “And I will guard it well for you.”

 

He nods in response.  Dryleria turns and walks to the great doors of the cathedral, leaving Srandon to stand alone before the Oracle.  As the doors close behind her, he turns to face the crystal structure, entranced by the deep colored hues of it.

“She is pure at heart; she means well,” he says softly.

There is silence.  “Her power will protect you until the time comes for you to reveal your true identity,” responds the Oracle.  “And that time will come.”

 

                                                   ------------

 

    Scattered candles lit the small, dark bedroom.  In the center of the room, Briar slept quietly on her bed, peacefully.  The long golden curls of her hair cascaded across the pillow beside her.  Her soft white nightgown rested against the contours of her body, moving slightly each time she took a breath.  Her full, moist lips were slightly parted, resting against the back of her tiny hand on the pillow.  Her dreams were joyful and bright, filled with sunshine and laughter.  She could feel the warmth of the sun on her face and hear the echoes of people cheering.  She could feel the happiness soar through her as the sounds rushed through her body.  In her mind’s eye, she could see the vast arena, filled with spectators who were laughing and cheering.  In the center of the arena, she noticed a cluster of figures, one of who was kneeling on the ground.  The man kneeling was clothed in a richly adorned velvet cloak and shiny armor.  His long thick black hair was tied at the nape of his neck.  An older, bearded man, elegantly dressed in a long flowing robe, stood in front of him, holding above his head a glorious crown.  The crown’s jewels glimmered in the sunlight, as they seemed to magically reflect the light. 

Standing to either side of the two men were two more figures, one a woman, dressed in a long white gown trimmed in gold and precious jewels, and the other, a man dressed in decorated armor.  The woman’s long hair flowed down her back from the intricately woven jewels along her brow.  The man stood proudly with his hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his waist.  Briar could vaguely make out the facial features of any of the figures, although she could see the crown being lowered onto the younger man’s head as the crowd cheered loudly.

 

                                                     ---------------

 

Srandon stood, entranced by the Oracle’s mystical lights.  In the depths of its crystals, he could see the arena at Larso, and his own coronation ceremony.  He could see himself kneeling in the center of the arena floor, and a man standing before him, lowering the crown onto his head.  He could hear the roar of the crowd around him.  A woman, dressed elegantly in white and gold, stood at the man’s right and a man, dressed in the formal uniform of the Royal Legion, stood at his left.  Both were smiling.

 

                                                       -------------

 

Dressed in full regal armor, Srandon walked along the stream, which flowed along the south and east contours of the palace grounds.   His sword dangled from his belt; his red cloak came to his knees over his silver breastplate.  He stops when he reaches a small clearing next to the stream.

He draws his sword from its scabbard and grips it firmly with both hands, feeling the weight of it in his forearms and wrists.  His arms and shoulders become taut with each movement of the weapon through the air.  As his movements became quicker, Srandon feels the heat rising in the muscles of his thighs, almost massaging the soreness in them.  When he closes his eyes, the sword seems to glide from one hand to the other smoothly.  He feels like he is almost dancing with the sword, feeling its strength engulf his entire body.  He begins to envision the arena at Larso once again, filled with spectators.  He can hear the cheers from the crowd, above the clashing of metal against metal.  He can see the gladiators around him, contending against each other.

 

                                                        --------------

 

Briar stands alone in a deserted field of snow, dressed in full armor, with a black cloak extending down her back just below her knees.  She holds her sword up directly in front of her face before slicing at the artic air with it in a sideways motion.  As the weapon moves through the air, Briar moves with it, almost floating across the snow.  The white blanket beneath her feet blinds her, so she closes her eyes, seeing only the sword at first.  Then, she sees the arena at Larso and the applauding spectators all around her.  She sees the other gladiators on the arena floor; they, too, are dressed in full armor like her own.  She sees herself dancing on the sandy arena floor, swinging her sword with poise and swiftness, as she challenges the other contenders.

All of a sudden, Briar hesitates, when her sword meets his sword, and her sapphire eyes meet his soft silver gaze.

 

                                                           --------------

 

Suddenly, Srandon stops in mid-swing, when he sees the deep blueness of her eyes.  Her hypnotic trance makes him drop his sword on the ground; he can’t move for a moment as her soft gaze fills his soul.

 

                                                           --------------

 

After bringing her sword down to her side, Briar feels her hand move to the emerald stone dangling from her necklace.  His eyes follow her hand to the stone.

 

                                                       ------------

Srandon stares at the emerald, seeing the imperial symbol of Cirosa in its depths.  As he raises his hand to touch the stone, it vanishes, and he opens his eyes to the grass and the trees and the sparkling stream.  He looks down at his sword on the ground in front of him.

 

                                                       -------------

 

Briar peers around her at the emptiness.  The sword drops to the snowy floor beside her.  She then looks down at her right hand still clasping the emerald stone, which has begun to glow.  She looks around her for some trace of the stranger in her visions, but there’s nothing.  She is confused and anxious to know whom the stranger is.  She thinks possibly her father knows and rushes to find him.

 

                                                       -------------

Srandon hastens down the long hallway to the king’s offices, and knocks heavily on the door.  Moments later, the huge doors slowly swing open, and Zoris is seated behind his massive desk, with his back to the prince.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Srandon,” says the king.

“Why, Your Majesty?” beseeches Srandon.

“The tournament, of course.  It is approaching quickly.  We have little time left to prepare for the arrival of the competitors.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You seem distracted, Srandon.”  His back is still turned to the prince.

“I do not mean to be, Your Majesty.  The tournament is my first priority; I assure you.”

“Excellent.”  Zoris rises, turns to Srandon and steps around to the front of the desk, his hands clasped together in front of him.  Srandon can’t help but notice the huge emerald ring on his finger, a ring that has engraved in it the imperial symbol of Cirosa.  The ring is identical to the necklace from his vision.  Zoris looks down at the ring, realizing that Srandon is staring at it, anxiously.  “It is beautiful, isn’t it?” he asks Srandon.  “It will be yours one day, when you are the king.”

“There is something very special about that ring, isn’t there, Grandfather?”

 

“Yes, Srandon.  This ring had adorned the hands of many kings, your forefathers.  My father gave it to me long ago, and one day, I will give it to you, as my heir.”

Srandon steps closer to Zoris and bows deeply before him.  He gently takes the king’s hand in his and kisses the ring before he rises to his feet.  “Is this stone unique, or is there another one like it?”

“Why do you ask, Srandon?” questions Zoris, pulling his hand away and stepping to the side of the desk.

“I believe I have seen another one, identical to that stone, in the form of a necklace,” answers Srandon.

“A necklace?”

“Yes.”

Zoris ponders this for a moment in silence.  Then, he replies, “There was another emerald with the imperial symbol etched in it, but that stone has been lost for many years.”  The king hesitates.  “Where did you see this stone?”

“I had a vision, and I saw the emerald necklace around the neck of a girl, a young, beautiful girl.  She was one of the gladiators in the tournament.”

“She was a gladiator?”  Zoris smiles.  “And a thief, perhaps.”

“No, Your Majesty, I don’t think so.  She seemed to wear the necklace proudly, as if it had been made especially for her.”

“Really?  I wonder who this girl is.”

“I don’t know, Grandfather.  But, please, tell me, where was the emerald last seen before it disappeared?”

“It belonged to your father.  He gave it to the man, in whose arms he died.”

“Who was that man?”

“That man was the Commander of my Royal Legions.”  Zoris moves his hand to his forehead, slightly stumbling.  He braces himself on the edge of the desk.

“I know it hurts you to think about the past and about my father, but I must know where this man is now,” declares Srandon.

“He has not been seen or heard from in almost ten years, Srandon.  He disappeared after his wife was raped and murdered by the same man who killed your father.”  Zoris suddenly feels faint and moves to sit heavily in his chair.

“Forgive me, Grandfather, for distressing you.  I will leave you alone to rest.  There have been several visions, some of which I couldn’t figure out.  There were questions that needed to be answered; and somehow, I knew you had the answers.”

“I will answer what I can, Srandon, because I know that the visions you are having are real.  There is a reason why they are coming to you.  They are either guiding you to something or someone or someone is trying to communicate with you.”  Zoris can clearly see the strength and determination in his features to solve this riddle.

“The girl.”

“Possibly.”

“Thank you, Grandfather.  I will come back when you are rested, and we will discuss the plans for the tournament.”

“Yes.”

Srandon turns and walks to the doors.  He hesitates momentarily before leaving the room.  Zoris watches the doors close behind him; he is still sitting in the chair behind his desk.  He leans back and raises his right hand to stroke his beard, as he reminisces about the past. As he reflects, he can clearly see that day long ago when he arrived back at the palace, after having been gone for a short time on urgent business.  During his leave, Tedra had attacked the palace.  He arrived home to a city full of mayhem, people running frantically through the streets and hiding from the terror.  The palace grounds were in shambles; his guards lay slaughtered inside the gates.  He feared the horror of finding his dear queen terribly injured or dead.  As he rushed through the castle, screaming out her name, he was stopped by his Commander of the Royal Legions. 

“Your Majesty, the worst has happened!  We were attacked quickly and savagely, without warning.  Only a few of the guards at the front gate were killed.”  Brark tried to keep his composure.

“And the queen, where is she?”

“She is safe; I immediately hid her in the secret passageways with Srandon, once the attacks began.  My first priority was to protect everyone who was close to you.”

“Thank you, Brark.”  Zoris clasped his hands over Brark’s, whose jaws were clenched tightly. 

“I thought, at first, that you were the target of the attack, and that they didn’t know that you were gone.”

“He knew I was gone,” declared Zoris.

“I know that now.  It wasn’t you that he was after; it was I.  He knows that I have been searching for him since that day.”  Brark lowered his eyes in sadness.

“Brister,” whispered the king.

“He killed her,” muttered Brark.

“Forgive me, Brark, for not being here to protect her.”

“How could you know?”

“How about Briar?  Is she all right?” beseeched the king.

“Yes, Your Majesty, she is safe, for now.  But he will return one day, to kill her, too.  That is why I must take her away from this place, as far away as I can, where he cannot find her.  And possibly, with my leaving, the danger will no longer hover over your family.  I fear that as long as I am here, your life and the lives of your family are in danger, Your Majesty.  I cannot risk that; therefore, my child and I will be gone within the hour.”

“May the forefathers be with you, my friend!  I shall patiently wait for your safe return to us.  You are a part of this family also.”

“When I have built an army to defeat Tedra and when this danger is ended, maybe then I shall come home,” replied Brark, bowing before the king and kissing the back of his hand.

At that moment, a little girl, eight years of age, came running around the corner.  “Daddy, Daddy!  I couldn’t find you!  I was scared!”

“It’s okay, Sweetheart!  Daddy’s right here,” answered Brark, sweeping his little girl up into his strong arms and hugging her tightly.

“Take care of her, Brark; she is your first priority now!” exclaimed King Zoris, staring at the heap of long, golden curls piled on his shoulder and the tiny arms wrapped snuggly around his neck.

The memories in Zoris’ mind of that precious little girl had faded over the years, until now.  He had blocked out the past as much as he could.  With Srandon’s mention of visions of a girl, donning the emerald necklace of Anton, Zoris knew immediately who she was.  He continues to stroke his beard, feeling the hair intertwine around the emerald ring on his hand, as the voices of Srandon and Brark, from many years ago, echo through his head…she was a gladiator; she seemed to wear the necklace proudly, as if it had been made especially for her…when I have built an army that can defeat Tedra and when this danger has ended, maybe then I shall come home...  Zoris closes his eyes to rest.

 

                                                            -------------

 

“Mijir?  Are you in here?” calls Dryleria, as she enters the stables.  “Mijir?”

“I am over here, my lady.”

She passes by two stalls, which house giant black panthers, giant white tigers, and the giant Royal lions used for pulling the king’s Royal carriage.  She enters the third stall and finds Mijir saddling Srandon’s great white tiger, Hikon. 

“Why do you insist on taking part in these juvenile competitions with Srandon when you know the odds are stacked against you?  He insists on having the fastest, the strongest, and the best of everything.”

“Perhaps one day, I will beat him, and show him that having the best of everything is not always the winning way.”

“He doesn’t have the best of everything; you have the best woman in the land.”  She moves closer to him, puts her arms around his waist from behind, and kisses the back of his neck.

“You’re right; I do have the best woman!” declares Mijir, turning to face her.  He kisses her softly as he places his arms around her slender waist, and pulls her nearer.  She moves her lips from his momentarily to look down at the white smock tucked into his riding breeches.  As she moves her hand to the snaps at his shoulder, he gently lifts her chin to passionately kiss her lips again.  His fingers softly explore the silky tresses of her hair as he pulls her head gently back to kiss her neck.  He slowly unties the bodice of her dress and lightly slides his tongue down her shoulder toward her breasts.  His lips feel like fire against her breasts.  She moans heavily as his tongue traces circles around and over her nipples.  His hands move inside her dress and begin to knead the firm flesh of her buttocks, as he slowly drops to his knees in front of her. 

“Mijir?  Are we all saddled and ready?” Srandon hollers as he opens the stable door.

Dryleria frantically reties her dress just before she steps out of the stall, and almost bumps into Srandon.  Her face is flushed and she quickly mutters, “Srandon, I was just looking for you.”

Srandon looks at her curiously and says, “Well, you found me.  What is it that I can do for you?”

“I was just wondering if you are feeling any better,” she says, thinking quickly, and trying not to give any hint as to her real reason for being there.

“I’m feeling fine.”  Srandon turns to Mijir and asks, “Are you ready to lose again?”

“What will the stakes be this time?  One of your maidens again?” questions Mijir.

Dryleria, totally aghast, storms out of the stable.

 

                                                       --------------

Briar rushes to the cabin, swinging the door open, fiercely.  “Father!” she yells.

Brark is sitting in front of the hearth, his back to the door.  He hears her call his name, and answers, “I think you are ready now.”

“In my visions, there was a young man, a stranger.  When I looked into his eyes, the strangest feelings came over me.  I can’t explain them.”  She pauses.  “Who is this man, Daddy?”

“I am not sure of whom you speak, my child.  The visions you have are of your future.  As I told you once before, there will be many men in your future who will try to distract you.  You must not allow them to.  Possibly this man is one of them; if so, he may be dangerous to you.  Be careful, Briar.  Remember the words of the forefathers.”

 

                                                -----------------

 

A cloaked figure walks into the room and over to the table where Tedra is sitting, eating. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to report back to me for way too long.  Have you anything important to tell me?”

“There is going to be a tournament at the castle soon.  Supposedly, the best gladiators from all over the land are going to be there.  King Zoris is spending an awful lot of time planning this, so I have not seen much of him lately.  The young heir and I have spent some time getting to know each other much better.  She is a remarkable woman, to say the least.”

“What can you tell me of her and her actions in the past few days?”

“She could be quite a force to be reckoned with.”

“She is but a child!” exclaims Tedra.  “And I don’t feel that she is worthy of my consideration, neither now or even if she should take over the throne.” 

“You may be underestimating her, Master.  She is much more than meets the eye.”

“I will burn that bridge when I come to it!”

“I am sure you will, Master.”