Chapter one

A tribe at stake

The sequins on the dress twinkled in the fire light as Rawnie twisted and spun in a dance. Her cracked lips parted into a song and the few viewers clapped as her last note hung in the air. Rawnie smiled and bowed, setting an on cup and the front of the stage. She paused for a second behind the curtain, waiting for the cheery cling of coins falling into the cup. None came. Rawnie frowned and released the tie that held her long, black, hair back.

“Duncan, you’re on!” She whispered.

Duncan emerged from the darkness. His brown eyes smiled but his mouth was straight. “They are a tough crowd. Not even my singing could get them to drop a coin.” Said Rawnie watching Duncan frowned, his shaggy brown hair falling into his eyes.

“Well,” He finally replied, “My fortune-telling will.” He parted the curtains and walked out, bellowing, “The great Duncan is here! You young lady in front, yes you. Is your mother well?”

Rawnie tiptoed to the back of the stage where a little girl sat crying.

“Callie, what’s wrong?” Rawnie sat down by the little girl.

“A-at s-school a g-girl in m-my class made fun o-of me for b-being a g-gypsy.” Callie broke into more sobs.

Rawnie nodded understandingly. Rawnie, Duncan, and Callie were all part of a gypsy tribe. When Rawnie was in school, kids made fun of her for being a Gypsy. They called her mean names and beat her up after school.

Rawnie watched as Duncan returned from the stage. He smiled as a bunch of clings followed him.

“Okay Callie. Remember to slip the coin in your pocket when you point out the blue heron. And don’t worry about being a Gypsy. Everyone is just…jealous.” Callie nodded and slipped out of the curtains.

“Poor Callie. She is only seven and is already worrying about her heritage.” Rawnie whispered to Duncan.

The two slipped into the trees and merged with the caravans of the tribe.

“Hey! Rawnie, Duncan! Money?” The leader of the gypsies, Christi, put a demanding hand out. “Seven coins? That’s all?” she asked as the cup was handed to her.

“I am so sorry Christi. I even sang the dance of silver birds.”

Christi growled something and stomped off to collect coins from Callie who had just exited the stage. (Callie was the magician of the show, doing tricks like guessing what card is in the volunteer’s hand.) Duncan laughed. “What a puffer-fish.”

Abruptly a bell started to toll. Christi clapped her hands, the bells on her veil jingling eerily in the fog. “Gypsys, MOVE OUT!” She called out.

A mutter rose through the crowd. In the excitement, Rawnie lost sight of Duncan. She staggered through the crowed until she found her wagon. Thunderdance, the pony that pulled her cart, perked up as Rawnie slipped into the driver seat.

“Ha!” She giggled, slapping the reins.

The bells on the reins jangled and added to the chorus of horses and ponies that where stirring. Fancy ribbons that were braided into Thunderdance’s main and they waved in the wind as Thunderdance picked up her feathery hooves and started into a trot. The wagon lurched and Rawnie was off. The pastel of colors moved like the wind.

Duncan and his horse, Kinn, Moved in line beside Rawnie. “ Where is Callie ?” He asked, his eyes wide.

“Probably in her wagon with her mom.” Rawnie responded angrily. Her well-known temper flared for no real reason. Thunderdance wined at Kinn. Rawnie smiled. The two ponies knew each other as well as Duncan knew Rawnie. She couldn’t stay mad at him.

That night at campfire, a wail rose arose.. Rawnie recognizedthe voice ofCallies mother, Flora. “Callie?” Was the cry. “Where’s Callie?”

Callie's mother was in tears. Rawnie ran over to Christi. “Christi? Want me to ring the counsel bell.” She asked.

Christi nodded, returning to comforting the mother. Rawnie ran to Christi’s cart. Opening the door, Rawnie gasped. The wagon was filled with papers. Lots of papers. Rawnie picked one up, her eyes scanning the page:

Rawnie stared hard at the letter. Mika was Christi’s twin sister. What did she want with a small band of Gypsies. More like what did this Skarr want with them. And was Christi agreeing to it? She had always seemed a bit irritated with being a Gypsy, so was she selling the tribe away? And what was the price?

Rawnie folded the letter and tucked it in her pocket. She would have to warn the tribe. Rawnie grabbed the bell and ran out of the cart. She shook the ball in arhythmic pattern. The silver bell tolled out in the night.

“Brother, sisters, mothers, fathers, all of the age of speaking, come! News! News!” She cried, her voice matching that of the bell. People around her stirred. “Come on!” she cried and rushed to where Christi was sitting.

Rawnie passed the bell to the leader, Then she settled on the ground along with the rest of the Gypsy band.

“A young one, Callie, is missing. She…fell behind. We will continue to move. Who falls behind is left behind.”

Outraged, Callie’s mother cried, “If it were you or I we would have searched! Leaving one of our own in the dust? What are we?!” Murmurs of voices spoke up, supporting the mother.“

Yes but we are in the full fury of winter. We must continue, fast. If we get snowed in the mountains…” Snapped Christi.

“She’s right!” Someone yelled over the crowed. “Lose one of us or lose all?”

“All!” Cried Callie’s mom.

“ONE” Christi called back.

“ONE” the tribe shouted. All except Rawnie and the mother.“

We have spoken.” Christi howled bringing the meeting to a close.

Rawnie slept fitfully, dreams and cries haunted her sleep. When she awoke to the traveling bell, she shook at every sound.

Thunderdance was friskier then usual and Rawnie found herself snapping at anyone who tried to talk to her. The song of day slipped out of her throat as she steered Thunderdance through the rough terrain.

“Sweet, sweet daylight
Come and gather round’
Chase away my nightmares
Fill me with your sweet sound

Come! Come!
Follow me
Listen to my melody
Come! Come!
Sing away!
Sing, Sing the song of day!

Sweet, sweet daylight
Come and gather round’
Quince the nighttime worries
And bring this world around!”

Rawnie’s sweet voice swept in the wind.

Duncan joined in; He knew the song by heart. As the train of carts weaved in and out of the mountains, Rawnie whispered the story about the letter to him.

“Christi is trying to sell our tribe? She’s a leader!” Duncan cried, fuming.

Rawnie gave him a stern look and her eyes swept to Christi’s cart, not nine paces away.

Christi looked carefree on her seat, leading Magik and King, her draft ponies, along, but her hazel-nut eyes glared at Duncan and Rawnie with suspicion.

“Great, Duncan. Now she is on to us.” Rawnie leaned back in her seat, slapping the rains against Thunderdance’s hindquarters.

“Temper, Temper! Tut, tut Rawnie.” Duncan chuckled to Kinn. He was too busy thinking to notice Christi’s sly glance at a cooking knife, as she slid it into her bag.

Rawnie heard the call as she awoke. “Here ye! Here ye! Six ‘o’clock and one is dead!” the Gypsy herald called into the mist. Grabbing a red robe, Rawnie slipped into the fog.

“Who is it?” Rawnie asked, glancing at the people around her.

“Duncan.” The herald hollered to Rawnie. “Duncan is dead!”

Chapter two

Games

Rawnie’s heart stopped. No. Not Duncan. Rawnie felt tears slip down her cheeks. No. Christi slipped next silent as a owl.

“What a shame.” She murmured. Then her eyes lit up with something that Rawnie had never seen before. “Too bad You’re next.” Rawnie spun around; the bells woven in her hair rattling angrily.

“MURDERER!” she shrieked, outraged. The onlookers glanced around uneasily. “Christi? No surly not.” Callie’s mother muttered.

Christi put on a mask of sadness. “Me? No not Duncan. I fear Rawnie did it. I mean, her temper flares up like a fire on dry grass. And we all heard her shrieking last night.”

The assembling mob turned to Rawnie. “It was her!” They chanted. “NO!”

She pleaded, feeling the tide of war change. “I would never harm him! Honestly!”

“I say we lock her up!” Christi cheered.

Her eyes flickered at Rawnie. A sneer touched her lip. “Lock her up for good!”

Rawnie cried for hours. The chains that bound her to the caravans were rusted with age and use. The metal cut her skin whenever she moved. Rawnie felt sadder then she felt when her mother had died. Christi would probably murder her in the night. Rawnie trusted her voice to help her escape. Calling on her powers, Rawnie begin to sing.

“A silver bird, with wings of gold
This is how the story’s told
Caged among the dead and things
Its voice was silent, doth it sings

Its song was blamed for brother’s death
Said to crush his very breath
But framed and chained it will rebel back
And the bird, he fled once the sky went black”

The word clinked in the wood, searching for something to unlock. Rawnies’s words had in a way, freed the bird. And in turn, the bird freed her. With a satisfying “Click” the chain fell to the floor.

Rawnie leapt up and ran to the door. Her voice broke the lock and Rawnie charged into the shadows of the night. Her felt her eyes adjust slowly, the lids switching views, finding the best for the dark…THERE! The vision of darkness flooded the trees like a strobe light.

Rawnie crawled away from the red lanterns of the gypsy tribe. Sluggishly she squirmed through the mud and sludge of the wetlands that hid in the shade of the trees. She fell into a particularly deep puddle and try as she might, could not move herself.

“Help!” she screeched, giving away her presence. But the camp was too far, and daybreak would not come for many hours.

Rawnie thoughtof using her magic voice to escape, but the creaks and groansthat emerged from her had no magic whatsoever.

Finally, Rawnie gave up. She stopped her struggles to await her oncoming doom.

A bird sung sweetly, perched on a soggy branch about twelve feet above Rawnie. Her song was short, the notes split.

Rawnie awoketo this and her amazed eyes widened when she spotted a man standing not two feet from where Rawnie’s mud puddle began.

“A bit stuck eh?” He asked inquiringly.

“Yes, could you get me out?” She stuttered, still amazed.

“Maybe. But if I did…what would you do to return the favor?” Rawnie sighed. The question was a common greeting among the Trod-folk, the people of the swamplands. Their trickery was famous and all the Gypsies were taught to avoid them.

“I will do…anything.” Rawnie replied, already realizing she hadmade a mistake.

“Ah, good.” Rawnie felt the mud release her and she slipped out.

As she turned to leave, the man’s cane found its way to her feet, and Rawnie tripped, sprawling into an awkward position.

“Good. Now, time for a game.” He said. Rawnie turned her head.

“No…oh…uh-oh.” She had no excuse. After all, the Trod-folk DID have a favor to be repaid to him.

“What kind of game? Little Sue and Grace? Touch the mongoose? Tree race?” asked Rawnie.

“No my dear, a game of knowledge. If I win, you become my servant until the day you die. If you win, I let you free. Deal? Oh wait, you can’t refuse!” The Trod-folk laughed merrily, and scooped Rawnie to his side.

“Ug.” spat Rawnie, pushing away.

“Aw, well, you might as well sit down. This is a game of three questions. Answer correctly and you win, answer incorrectly and…” A tight rope fell around Rawnie’s neck. Rawnie struggled, but the rope grew tighter. Soon she stopped and looked into the fern green eyes of her captor.

“Begin” She demanded.

“Ah yes. Now, first question…or should I say riddle?” The Trod-folk laughed again. “I was walking along a path. Going to the city to buy me a new pair of shoes.” The man wiggled his bare toes in delight before continuing, “I came to a sign-post. Two men stood there, clad in a robes of red, as red as the sun. Now, there are two types of people in those parts. People from the town of lies, and people from the town of truth. All them from lie-town only told lies. Those folks from truth-city told nothing but the truth. Well, I was at a fork in that er’ road and I needed to know which way to go. What question could I ask them, to find out which way to go?”

Rawnie froze. Her heart pumped as fast as a fox with a hound on its tail. But she knew the answer. It was a riddle Duncan told all the time.

“Well, if you asked one of them, what the other would say, they would tell you the wrong road. For example, if you asked the truth teller, he would know the lie man would say the wrong road, so he would point to the wrong road. If you asked the lie man, he would know the truth man would say the right road, so he would say the wrong road! Then to get that pair of shoes you obviously never got, you would go the opposite way the people told you!”

The Trod-folk looked downfallen. “Correct.” he sighed. Then brightened up. “But this next one is sure to get you! Well, I continued down the road and I met another man. He had seven sisters and they each had fourteen daughters, the little girls had twenty-one cats, the twenty-one cats had twenty-eight kittens. How many people where going to town?”

Another easy question. Rawnie had heard that very question about one hundred times. “One.” She growled.

“Aw. You’re no fun. But I have one YOU can’t answer!” The Trod-folk sneered. “What is my name?”

Rawnie’s jaw fell open. “What? That’s not fair! It’s not a riddle!” She screeched.

“Ah! But remember, I said QUESTIONS originally!”

Rawnie started scanning her brain. Could it be Jack? Bill? Sam? Dave? Erick? Tom? Rawnie felt tears welling up in her eyes. The Trod-folk watched interested.

“Don’t cry lass!” He sung joyfully. His eyes danced. Then, for the first time, Rawnie noticed a long jagged scar stretching across his face. It was in the shape of a S. Rawnie then knew who he was. Her mind felt like a hurricane, trying to get the information to her lips as fast it could.

“Skarr.” She murmured in an undertone.

The mans eyes widened. “How...What?” he whispered. Rawnie slipped the rope off her neck and ran.

The moment took an eternity. Her feet raced along the ground, mud and leaves gathering on her soles.

The Trod-folk watched her run. His flashing eyes darted back and forth. “Well, well, well! My little Gypsy girl knows who I am. But she might just be…my leverage I need to get that tribe.” Skarr disintegrated into the mist, until only his emerald eyes were visible in the fog.

The fire was a unfriendly sight.

Rawnie had run as fast as she could, to get away from Skarr but all her attempts lead her back to the caravans of the Gypsy tribe. Duncan, poor Duncan brought murderous memories to Rawnie, and even though it was only two nights ago that…it…happened, it seemed like decades.

After returning to the tribe a third time, Rawnie was spotted.

“Rawnie!” Flora, Callie’s mom, called out in joy. Wait…joy? Rawnie approached with caution, but no angry threats where called out, and in the mass of happy faces, Rawnie could not spot Christi’s.

Flora ran up, her spotted dress dragging old leaves up with it.

“Your back!”

Rawnie frowned. Obviously she was missing something.

“I don’t get it. Last time I was here you were an angry mob. You, my best friends, locked me up!” Anger and sadness mixed in a flurry of tears.

Flora was silent as the world after a new snow.

“Rawnie,” She finally chirped, “That is Christi’s influence. She is a murrmerer. Her words are of power. She has a gift of bending one’s will. We all witnessed what was happening, but our voices and bodies where not our own. Christi had, well, possessed us.”

Rawnie had heard of the gift of murmuring. She had her own form of it, just with a different name. Crooning was a type of murmur, but instead of speech, it was in songs. The few people who had known Amira, Rawnie’s mother, said she too had the gift of crooning.

“Christi fled that night, knowing her powers over us where short. She left you locked up. By the time we came to free you, you were gone.” Flora sighed.

“But there is good news!” Piped up Bryce, the tribe’s hunter. “Duncan and Callie both are alive. Christi is holding them hostage.”

Relief is the best feeling in the world. Even if the news was only half good, Rawnie swelled.

“Duncan? Alive?” Her heart sang…but they where still held hostage. “Get me Thunderdance. I am leaving you again and riding to save them!” Rawnie demanded. Flora and Bryce exchanged uneasy glances.

“Rawnie, you are our new leader.” A younger member squealed in delight.

Rawnie somehow had been expecting that she would be crowned.

“Long live queen Rawnie!” Flora yelled out, after an awkward silence. “Long live the Queen!”

Rawnie, even being just fourteen, had been crowned the queen…the Gypsy queen./p>

Chapter three

Playing with Illusions

Rawnie glared at the sun.

The wind from the east blew the smells of danger towards the foot-weary Gypsies.

The tribe had been on the move since sun up, heading towards the Thunder Plains. The Thunder Plains where uncharted, and beyond them were the Dwarfen mines of Ask’bar.

“Rawnie, the smell of Trolls has been trailing us since we crossed the bog.” Erin, the head huntress growled in a whisper.

Rawnie’s eyes flashed a slight fear.

“Arm the men and women. Children in the carts and tell the magic bearing ones to stay in the back.” Erin scrabbled away to bid her command.

Rawnie looked over the Gypsies with a last minute haste. The make-shift warriors stood still, the mages calling on their magic and meditating before the fight.

Rawnie snatched a bow and dipped a arrow in Bledheart, a poison. Her arrow tip smeared with the poison and a good shot, could take down a Troll in a few hits.

Mace, a scout, ran to her. His breath was ragged and his Quiver was empty.

“Trolls, seven of them. Harald, Kya, and Vin fell behind.” He heaved.

Rawnie shuddered and passed him a iron broadsword.

“May luck be with you.” She sighed. Just then, there was a smash of wood on wood and the famous snarl of an angry troll.

“All mages at the back. Ready magic. Archers take your pick before letting the arrows loose. Swordsmen, attack the largest.” Erin shouted at the band. Her red robe was splattered with mud and all signs of her being a gypsy had dropped.

Rawnie smiled and charged forward to were the first row of fighters where advancing into the woods. The cry rang out again and Rawnie straightened her back, pulling the bow string to her ear, her eye targeting the first troll.

Trolls are big ugly brutes. Like their cousins, the Ogres, Trolls are large green skinned animals, dumb to the bone. But if well trained, they can be killing machines.

Rawnie let the arrow loose. It pierced the Trolls skin, the poison sinking into its blood.

Erin pulled to Rawnie’s side, adding her own arrow to the small collection gathering on the Trolls face.

“Charge!” Mace hollered, leading the Gypsies to the Troll.

Rawnie redrew an arrow, placing it in the bow.

“Erin, move in. The six other trolls are somewhere around here. If this troll falls…” Rawnie could only imagine the anger in the other rolls.

“Mages! Fire!” Flora called from her spot alongside the battle mages. A wave of fire, water, and vines hit the Troll, making him stumble into...

“Another troll!” Rawnie gasped.

On the shoulder of the second beast was a man. His garments were that of a sorcerer. Purple robes billowed in the wind. His gray eyes flashed in anger as the falling Troll smashed to the ground.

“Rawnie of the Gypsies.” He sneered.

Rawnie blinked slowly. Who was this…man that knew her name like an old friend.

“I do not know you. State your name and reason for attack.” She hissed carefully.

The man smiled warily. “Rawnie. Did Horkbreath attack you? I think not! I believe none of your Gypsies were harmed.”

Rawnie felt a pang of realization. But her hard temper and stubbornness drove her fire on.

“But if I speak correctly, Mace’s men died, under the influence of that Horkbreath.” She accused.

“Ah, but once again, you made the first move. I am Lais. I seek your companionship. Skarr has killed my brother, Abir. Abir and I trained in illusion craft at the university. I wish to avenge his death. My trolls will do no harm to you so long as you do no harm to them.” He bowed low, his cloak sweeping along the trolls shoulder. He slid down the Trolls arm and on to the ground. Rawnie took a step back.

“Lais. Come if you wish but us Gypsies are much different then the people at the University,” Rawnie warned. Lais smiled.

“You speak of illusions” Erin questioned.

“Ah yes. Illusion Craft is one of the lesser known magic’s of this world. It is the craft of making something not there, appear to the victims eye” Lais responded with a sly glance at Rawnie.

“I see…” Erin muttered, though she did not see at all.

“Let me show you.” Lais laughed, his slender arms waving into a complex pattern.

Rawnie blinked.

In the place of Lais was a unicorn. Its mane was as white as snow under the full moon and yet, something was wrong…

“Your eyes!” Rawnie scolded. “You didn’t change your eyes.”

The illusion faded into the air. Lais grinned. “Alas, the one thing I cannot change.” He murmured sadly.

“Your Highness!” Mace stammered, running up to Rawnie with no breath.

“Mystaag is ahead.” “Mystaag?” asked Lais suspiciously. “The trolls will not go there it is out of there territory.” He grunted a few things and the trolls left. Then he turned to face Rawnie again. “But why Mystaag?”

Rawnie did not answer.

The great town of Mystaag was in the middle of the Thunder Plains. The city was huge, and it had the largest army in the whole country. The city was guarded by eighteen inch thick marble walls. Even the great gate was made of the muti-colored stone.

Rawnie kicked Thunderdance in the sides, clicking her tongue. The tribe of travelers looked warily at the fortress.

“State your name!” a guard called down to the group in a stone-cold monotone.

“Rawnie of the Gypsies. This here is Lais and Erin. We wish entrance to Mystaag and desire to speak with your King.” Rawnie cried.

“Enter!” boomed the guard.

The stone gate begin to move. There was a creaking of stressed wood levers and a click of iron gears. Two mules pulled on their harness, helping the clockwork smooth gears. Rawnie waved to the Gypsies and charged into the white city.

Skarr paced back and forth inside the city of Mystaag. Christi, at his side, rolled her eyes.

“Skarr, if you wish to know if Rawnie is here, don’t wait for the lumbering guards, go there yourself. That’s the only way stuff will get done.” She spat, exasperated.

“Shut it gypsy” Skarr snapped. His phantom green eyes glared at a servant that wandered past the pair.

“Christi. I am leaving for the Ask’ bar mines now. I want the king dead in two days. Then take Magik and King, your draft horses, and flee. When my dark knights come, they will leave none alive,” Skarr demanded before turning on his heel and stalking into the shadows.

“Jerk,” She snarled after him before turning to the king’s private chambers.

Rawnie bowed low, her forehead tenderly touching the ground at the kings feet. “

Your highness, King Simon the Ninth, I fear you have an enemy” Lais called out over Rawnie’s muttering. He didn’t bother to bow.

“Um…okay.” The king hummed, examining his nails.

“What he means is there is this man named Skarr-“ Erin started to say.

“-um. Ya. His name is scar? As in like, this is my battle scar?” Giggled the king.

“HE’S GOING TO KILL YOU! HE IS IN THIS TOWN RIGHT NOW!” Rawnie screamed.

Both Erin and Lais turned to stare at Rawnie.

“How do you know?” Hissed Lais.

Rawnie turned to them. “I had this dream…” she muttered.

“A dream? Fool.” King Simon growled. “Dismissed.”

“What?” Rawnie cried as Erin snatched her arm.

“When he comes, may you be shot with bledheart!” She cried.

Once out of the throne room Rawnie frowned, tears falling from her eyes. “

Rawnie, it’s fine. He’ll probably be all right” Erin shushed.

“Ya, even if he is threatened to be killed with Bledheart.” Lais sniffed disdainfully.

As the trio walked along the corridor back to there wing of the castle, a dark hooded figure stopped them.

“We meet again.” The figure sneered.

It pulled the hood off its head gingerly. “Prepare to die!” Christi snarled.

Rawnie smiled, glancing first at Erin who was pulling a bow out of her cloak, to Lais who was waving his arms in complex patterns. She slid a sword from its sheath, and held it in front of her.

“I think not.” She laughed, and lunged.

Chapter four

Ask’bar

The first thing that happened was an explosion when Rawnie’s sword hit the force field that Callie had rushed to pull up around her, there was a explosion of sparks.

“Fire.” Muttered Christi. Flames erupted from the ground around Rawnie.

“Ah!” She cried in surprise, stepping backwards.

A zip of an arrow whizzed in Rawnie’s ear as Erin let a poisoned arrow loose. Again, it hit and shattered.

“Fools. I am Christi!” Christi bawled.

“Um, we know that. You were our leader for the past nine years.” Erin snickered, letting another arrow loose, only to shatter.

“This fiend is your leader?” Lais asked, still waving his arms. He seemed surprised…and afraid.

“Yes. And I was the best they’ll ever have!” Christi hissed. Her fire flared up, making Rawnie back against the wall.

‘Wait’ thought Rawnie. ‘I can sing.’ Rawnie opened her mouth and words flowed out, quenching the fire with a wave of navy blue.

“Huh?” Christi barked in surprise. Her eyes flared happily. “Die.”

Lais screamed, unleashing a illusion. If Rawnie had not known better, she would have thought the ruby-red dragon that filled up the hall was real. Lais disappeared, the only trace of him in the newly formed dragon’s eyes.

Christi's face was a mixture of surprise and fear.

Rawnie took the opportunity to lunge in with another song. The force of her words brought another tidal wave sweeping through the palace hall. Erin added her lethal arrows to the fray.

“Skarr! I have failed you!” Christi cried as she fell crippled to the ground. The illusion faded to a winded Lais. “Well, that was not too hard.” He wheezed.

“He’s right…” Erin burbled gently.

“Of course I’m right.” Lais sniffed, examining the ground around the body of Callie.

Mace came running down the hall, freezing as he spotted Christi’s body.

“Great Goddess of Mystaag!” He exclaimed.

“Christi was going to murder Simon. Even if he didn’t deserve it, we saved his life.”

Rawnie explained.

Erin frowned, reaching into Christi’s pocket. She pulled a paper out of it.

“Hey! Take a look at this!” she hushed the group.

Dearest sister,

I have reached Mystaag. Skarr wants me to kill the king.
All is going as planned.
Kill Duncan and Callie.
Find Rawnie and finish her off too.

Christi

Lais looked from Rawnie to Mace to Erin.

“Time to go to the mines.” He affirmed.

“Mace, get the Gypsies ready to go. We are going to the mines. Now.” Rawnie commanded.

Erin grinned. “The mines eh?” she asked.

Lais smiled too. “Watch out Skarr. Seeing is believing.”

Rawnie nodded happily. Her lips parted into the song her mother had taught her.

“One hundred years ago
The dwarf of Ask’bar mines
Drew a sword of awesome power
and sealed it with a magic sign

the power it held was great
the fear it held, alas
but as for the Dwarf and the sword
his home a tomb of brass”

Rawnie frowned.

Erin looked up, worried.

Lais wiped the grin off his face and his strange eyes turned to her. “Rawnie?”

But Rawnie was not paying attention. Her mind was set on a picture…one she could not erase.“I think…I think Mystaag is going to be attacked.” She prophesized. “Na. Mystaag is a powerful city. It will fall to no one’s power.”

Lais sighed. But as Rawnie stepped over the body of her old leader, she knew that soon more would add to it.

Thunderdance’s cry rang through the city.

“MOVE OUT!” Mace roared over the ringing of bells.

Lais sat confidently on King, Christi’s horse. Erin upon Jasper, cantered in a circle around the Gypsy tribe, counting numbers.

Rawnie watched the city fade into the mist. Her heart was thumping like a fawns. The Ask’bar mines sat in the shadow of Mount Fygar. A large shadow hovered over the series of caves in the rocky face of the cliffs.

“All here your Highness.” Erin told Rawnie.

“Yes.” Rawnie signaled to Mace and Lais. “I fear Skarr’s Dark Knights are going to attack Mystaag. I have a plan to prevent that, no matter how outnumbered we are. But I need Callie and Duncan to work it. Mace, stay here. If any attack is made, come fetch me at once.”

“Yes your highness.” Mace nodded.

“But-“ Lais started to say, but Rawnie was already shouting more orders.

“Flora, I want mages meditating. I expect in a few days there shall be a huge fight. Now, make for Ask’bar as fast as you can!” And with that, Rawnie clicked Thunderdance into a full gallop as a few snowflakes began to litter the ground.

Erin shivered as the blizzard became a white out. The blistering cold and ice made the tribe feel bitter. Moods where at the end of the line and tempers flared.

“Rawnie, this is stupid!” A mother cried, her short-sleeved tunic frozen to her body.

“I say we turn back!” a hunter barked.

“No! Ask’bar is ahead. Do you not see the beacon of Ganor?” Rawnie hollered back over the noise of the wind.

Indeed the beacon of Ganor flashed in the darkness. It was like a lighthouse on land, guiding wiry travelers through the snow.

Rawnie approached the door with caution, and pushed. The iron door swung open on its hinge’s, as smooth as if it had been oiled a minute before.

“Hello traveler? How can I help you?” Rawnie looked down, and there was a Dwarf. The Dwarfs orange beard was outlined with frost. As the Dwarf spoke, It eyed the travelers weapons.

“This way.” It finally instructed.

Rawnie followed the Dwarf with Erin by her side. The mines where warm. As they walked down corridor after corridor, Rawnie spoke up about Callie.

“Do you have a child by the name of Callie?” She asked casually.

“Or Duncan?” Erin peeped, already realizing she had overdone it.

“Yes. They are here.” The Dwarf (whose name was Gnashheart) opened a door exposing two figures tied to chairs.

“Um, Skarr sent us to get them.” Flora piped up.

‘Smart’ thought Rawnie.

“Are ye sure? I have strict orders to keep um’ tied up.” Gnashheart looked around unsure. The figures in the corner wiggled slightly. A muffled shout emerged from the dark figure of Duncan.

“But I know who you are!” The dwarf barked suddenly. “Rawnie of the Gypsys.”

“No I am no-“

Too late to lie. “Fine. Enjoy your stay!” Gnashheart shoved Rawnie and Erin and Lais into the chamber, snapping the door shut behind them.

“Don’t fret Rawnie! We’ll save you!” Flora screeched from the other side of the door.

“In your dreams!” snickered Gnashheart.

Rawnie pounded on the door. Erin at her side, bashed her fists against the stone slab.

“Save your energy. They would have made sure that it won’t budge.” Lais yawned, settling alongside the huddled figure of Callie.

“Lais! Let Callie free! Untie her!” Rawnie snapped at Lais.

“Maybe we should free ourselves first!” Lais spat back.

“Stop!” Cried Erin, glancing first at Lais and the at Rawnie.

“STAY OUT OF THIS!” Demanded Rawnie and Lais in unity.

“I was just-“ Erin sniffed.

“Muffff!” blabbed Duncan.

“WHAT?” Rawnie roared, spinning on her heel to face the figure in the corner.

“Mufff…mum…mfffff.”

“Take his bounds off.”

“Do this, do that.”

“DO IT!”

“Gosh”

Rawnie rolled her eyes in frustration. As the binding ropes slipped off Duncan, she asked carefully, “Well?”

“I think we should slip out the widow.” Her old friend said cautiously.

“Way ahead of you!” Lais laughed, hauling himself out the broken window, and into the snow.

Chapter five

The fall of Mystagg

Flora was easy to find. She and the rest of her Mages had marked their window with a red flare.

“Lais, can you help me get to that window, we can help Flora and the others escape. If I stand on your shoulders, I should make it.”

Lais gave her a look that was as cold as the ice around there bare feet.

“Please?” she added, downfallen.

“Yes. What are friends for?” The illusionist knelt down so Rawnie could get on his shoulders.

“Knife” She called down to Erin. “Please,” She added as a afterthought.

“Here.” Erin huffed.

“…er…thanks.” Rawnie whispered and started chipping away at the window. Floras face soon appeared in it.

With a quick mumble of a word, the ice around the frame melted. The mage pushed it open, allowing the cold air in.

“Come…” Panted Rawnie as she fell from Lais shoulders into a deep darkness.

Mace, at first only heard it, a deep booming sound coming from the mountains. Soon he saw them, a mass of dark muddled figures moving through the Thunder Plains.

“Ready the trebuchet!” A great voice screeched over the boom of thousands of footsteps. A trebuchet is a giant sling. The ammo is huge boulders that would crumble the cities walls in a hit. Mace knew who these bold people where.

The Dark Knights had come.

Mace watched as the army of royal knights poured out of Mystaag. He watched as the Dark Knights over came the royal knights, flowing into the marble city.

He watched as the townsfolk where killed for not surrendering their children.

He watched as the Dark Knights poured black paint and oil over the white walls of Mystaag, turning the beautiful city into a grotesque stronghold for the enemy. Mace watched all of this.

“Rawnie…Rawnie?”

Rawnie’s eyelids flickered. A double-image of Erin hovered over her.

“She’s awake!” Erin bayed happily.

Suddenly Mace was standing over her too.

“Mace?” she asked, tilting her head in question.

“Mystaag has fallen.” He hissed.

“Mystaag…” Rawnie echoed. Her head ached badly. Mystaag?

“Yes. What ever should we do?” Flora worried, glancing nervously to the front of the cave that the gypsies had made into a rest stop. Outside the wind howled. Lais crept over to Rawnies side. “We are asking you for a plan.” He gulped.

“Told ya so.” Rawnie giggled.

Everyone stared at her in disgust.

“Um…one thousand people just died. The Dark Knights and lord Skarr have dyed the walls black. NOT a laughing matter.” Mace snarled.

“Okay, okay!” Rawnie shushed.

Suddenly a light flickered on in her head. “Duncan, Mace, Erin. This is what we do…”

Lais moved swiftly. His heart pounded like a rabbit in a hunter’s trap. Lais knew rabbits would sometimes chew there own leg off to escape danger. Lais hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

The Thunder Plains were filled with snow. But even the swirling wind could not hide the gruesome bodies of fallen solders. Lais was glad to see a few Black Knights bodies among the endless thousands of royal knights.

“Lais. We need shelter. Think you could make a force field to keep this snow out?” Rawnie asked.

That girl again. Lais knew she was trying to be kind, but he felt a temper behind his usually…kind of humble self.

“Sure.” Lais stated, wooden-faced.

“Okay then. Do your stuff.” Rawnie responded before turning to talk with Erin.

Lais chanted silently, calling on the power around him. A red bubble formed around the gypsy tribe.

“Thanks.” Rawnie chuckled.

“No problem.” Lied Lais.

Suddenly there was a blast of mage light. “Who dares to sit atop Skarr’s plains!” a female voice boomed.

“I, Rawnie of the gypsies. Show yourself!”

A form materialized in front of Rawnie. The slender figure wore a cloak like Lais, meaning she was from the University.

“Mika.” Lais murmured in awe.

Mika turned to face Lais. “Brother!” She cried before falling into his arms.

Chapter six

A clash of wills

“Mika is your sister?” Flora was the first to recover.

“Yes. My younger sister.” Lais woofed, pulling the black braids of the girl.

“If Mika is your sister, Christi is your sister too.” Erin exclaimed.

“Half-sister.” Lais spat, “And an evil one at that.”

“Is Amir well? I have not seen your twin since you went off to the University.”

Lais glanced at the ground. “He died.” He finally coughed.

“Oh…” Mika frowned.

Rawnie recovered at last, closing her jaw as a bit of drool rolled off her tongue.

“Mika…Christie…Lais? Did you know all this when we killed her?” She rasped.

“Yes. Christie and I where never…close.” Lais grinned.

Mika turned suddenly with such ferocity that Lais jumped back. “I’m supposed to be killing you.” She snarled in a slurred voice.

“Can we post-pone that to Friday, I am overbooked right now.” Lais blabbed, backing against the wall of his bubble.

“Die scum.” Mika sneered, throwing a blast of fire at the mage.”

“Mika!” Lais scolded returning the blaze with one of his own, “You know you’re not supposed to play with fire.”

“I am not playing, match-fingers.” Mika howled, slinging more and more embers at Lais.

“Match-fingers? Last time I saw you it was sea-toes.” Lais mocked, sending a cerulean wave at his sister.

“Or maybe forest-feet!” Mika growled, blood-lust filling her little body. Vines met fire. Water met vines. Fire met water.

“Die!”

“Breath your last breath!”

“Scum!”

Lais fell to his knees. “Truce!”

“HA! Even your younger beat you. Prepare to die.” Mika took a step forward.

A small ball of water formed in her hands.

Lais started weaving complex patterns with his hands.

“Any last words?” Asked Mika, approaching slowly with a figure of a great duty.

“Yes in fact.” Lais mewed, looking up from his waving. “Avast!”

The illusion was huge. A tower of ice spindled up Mika’s body.

“Like ice carvings?” He asked, forming an illusion of a giant ice dragon.

Mika froze on the spot. “What the-“

“I always was a better sport!” Lais laughed before lunging.

Lais’s illusion was that of a fire demon. The huge body of the monster had embers in it’s sides, and fire spurted out of its mouth. Grotesque horns sprouted out of the monsters head and the booming breath of the illusion sent an imaginary wave of heat over the few people who watched.

Mika then and there died of fear.

The illusion faded away. Lais stood grinning, a wide cheeky smile spread on his face.

“Did you see that?!” Lais snickered.

“Yes! You where a fire demon…not literally, but clear enough to kill…her.” Rawnie laughed.

“No stupid! My eyes didn’t change!” Lais was grinning from ear to ear.

“Okay…” Rawnie frowned. “But that was awesome!”

Lais smiled again, more weak and strained this time. “Thanks Rawnie.”

The heat of the bubble faded as Lais passed out cold.

“The tributes are still up.” Mace reported.

“Okay. fetch the ropes.” Lais commanded.

“Sharpen your swords!” Erin cried to the rest of the gypsies.

Rawnie herself was busy filling her quiver with Bledheart covered arrows.

Several of the Mages where covering their bodies with black paint. Flora was busy meditating.

“Ready?” Flora asked Rawnie nervously.

“Yep.” Rawnie replied feeling butterflies flying around in her stomach.

Rawnie slipped onto Thunderdance and rode up to the now black gate.

“Halt!” Snapped the Black Knight posted at the gate. “State your name.”

“Rain of the Ask’bar mines. I have a message for Skarr.” Lied Rawnie.

“Rain? We have no scheduled appointment for Rain.” The guard mumbled.

Rawnie had been expecting this. “It is urgent. About the prisoners.” That got him. The eerily familiar creaking of gears and clockwork clinked as the black gate opened.

Thunderdance trotted into the stronghold, his footsteps the only sound in the village. “You can see Skarr tomorrow.” The guard instructed. “Okay.” Rawnie replied, knowing that by “tomorrow” it would be too late.

Lais called on his power, making the clouds turn dark and lightning pierce the sky.

Skarr’s men ran about, collecting iron swords that would rust otherwise. Now was the time for the ‘black mages’

“Wish us luck.” Flora clucked at Lais, her blue eyes flickering to the ground.

“I wish you luck.” Lais mocked, pushing Flora into the guards view.

“Help me! I am an poor traveler. I wish to join the Black mages of Skarr” Flora lied, saying the lines she had repeated over and over the night before.

“Come.” The guard ordered, opening the gate of Mystaag.

“I like what you have done to Mystaag with the color and all.” Flora commented, stepping through the gates with the rest of the mages in black.

“Lord Skarr has renamed the city Doomheart.” The guard spat in disgust, as if the name ‘Mystaag’ was an evil word.

“Yes, yes. Doomheart is a much better name.” Flora replied, shivering at the thought. And the mages stepped through the gate, putting step two into action.

Skarr’s chambers were large. In the place of King Simons throne was a wicked looking chair, painted black with carvings of dragons heads and skulls along its arms and legs.

“Ah, Rawnie. Glad you could make it.” Skarr laughed as Rawnie entered.

“I am not Rawnie…” Rawnie tried to lie, but Skarr waved her words away.

“I already knew the prisoners had escaped. If you where smart enough to notice, the beckon went out after you left.”

Rawnie had not noticed at all.

“Now. Where are the others?” Skarr demanded.

Good. He didn’t know they where already in the castle.

“Hiding.” Rawnie stalled.

“I see.” Skarr tilted his head, looking out the stain glass window. “Nice weather were having?”

Rawnie was relieved Skarr didn’t know the rain and thunder were illusions. Skarr stood up. “I don’t want your tribe anymore.” He cooed, his green eyes flickering to Rawnie. “I only want you. You have something I want…” Skarr was circling Rawnie slowly, like a lion deciding on where…and when to pounce.

“What do you want?” Rawnie asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

“Your voice.” Skarr stopped walking. His green eyes flashed in a strange greed. “Sing.”

Rawnie then knew Skarr was a murmerer. Every bone in her body wanted to sing for her enemy. But a small voice in her head cried out, something was wrong. The little voice was drowned out and as Rawnie started to sing, she knew, deep, deep in her heart, that she was defeated.

Chapter seven

Skarr

“Mother, father, moon and sky
winter cold and summer dry
bless ,me, save me, hide me so
protect me as I live and grow.!”

Rawnie sung. Skarr stood still, paralyzed by the sweet sound. And as Rawnie sang, her mind cleared a little bit, and she felt herself slip from Skarr’s grasp. Her voice wavered a bit, but Skarr didn’t notice. He watched Rawnie in fascination.

The pale blue moon sat lazily in the horizon. As Rawnie sang, she watched the moon go dark.

“Sir! Look! A lunar eclipse!” One of the guards hollered in awe, looking out the window onto the pitch black world.

Skarr stood up, and Rawnie stopped her song in mid-word.

“It’s an omen of luck.” Mumbled Skarr. His face was…dead…serous.

‘For me.’ Rawnie thought quietly to herself.

A knock on the door disrupted the moment.

“Lord Skarr. We found this mage in the field.” The voice called through the stone door.

Skarr’s eyes flickered to Rawnie, but he remained calm. “Bring him in.” The door was shoved open, to reveal a feisty looking Lais in the arms of two sweating soldiers.

When Lais eyes fell on Skarr, a long line of insults spilled out of his mouth.

“Now that’s not very nice, is it?” Skarr asked as the voice of Lais creased.

The mage was plopped down next to Rawnie.

“Nice illusion, with the moon and all.” Rawnie commented politely to Lais.

“Problem is…I didn’t do it.” Lais replied under his breath.

Flora looked over her mages carefully. She knew, number-wise, the Gypsies were outnumbered. But in smarts…the team might just win.

“It’s time.” She muttered to Callie.

The mages started small chants as each cast a sleeping spell over the guards in the courtyard.

Silently, the mages slit their throats.

“This is cruel!” Callie gagged, sidestepping a fallen mans body that already wreaked of decay.

“They would have done it to you in a heartbeat.” Flora replied to Callie.

“This way.” The mages split up, some heading to the barracks and others charging into the castle.

The war had begun.

Skarr stalked towards Lais.

“Ranwie, want to play a game?” He asked.

“No.” Rawnie snorted.

“Too bad.” Skarr snatched up Lais and put a knife to his throat, pressing gently.

“I’ll ask you questions. Every time you answer one incorrect, I press this knife a wee bit harder.” Skarr sneered.

Lais struggled violently.

“Skarr. Drop him.” Rawnie unsheathed her sword, and charged.

Skarr used Lais as a shield, moving to the side and throwing Lais at Rawnie.

“Bad move girlie.” Skarr drew a sword too.

Both of the blades crashed in a clink of iorn.

Lais wiggled into the corner, calling up a illusion.

“Oh! This is so fun! I love games!” Skarr laughed.

Rawnie remained silent, waiting for an opening.

Lais illusion flared up. It was that of a serpent. The illusion slinked up Skarr’s leg, bearing fangs as purple saliva dripped from its lethal teeth. Skarr didn’t even flinch. He kept fighting, pushing Rawnie back against the wall.

“Prepare to die.” He slurped.

Lais tried another illusion. He created a spitting image of Christi.

“W-what?” Skarr asked, reacting immediately and reaching out to touch the copy.

“Skarr. Why did you do this to me? Why?” Lais made the image say.

Skarr’s eyes dropped to the ground. “I was just…you see…”

“Yes Skarr. I do see. I SEE THAT YOU’RE A MURDER!” The Christi screeched.

Rawnie watched with contentment. To see her enemy cowering under a dead friend. Even better a FAKE dead friend.

“Christi! Forgive me!” Skarr cried.

Rawnie took the opportunity to jump onto Skarr, chopping dangerously near his neck.

The illusion flickered out, like a candle out with the wind.

A bead of blood rolled down Skarr’s forehead. “You cheated.” He spat. “You used my worst fear against me…why?”

Lais moved to Rawnie’s side.

“I like playing games.” She sneered, before killing her worst enemy.

Flora wiped her sword on the grass.

“Nasty.” Duncan gagged, glaring at the blood in the dew-filled grass.

“Get used to it boy. It’s war.” Flora snickered.

“Yes, but still…” Duncan made noises like he was throwing-up

“Callie, no!” Mace called to the figure running through the bodies.

“I am okay. I am eight now!” Snapped Callie.

“Yes girl. That’s what I am afraid of.” Mace bowed his head.

“Callie!” Flora cried, hugging her daughter tightly.

Rawnie watched this all from atop the wall of Mystaag. She knew she should feel happy, but it felt as if her quest was only half-finished.

“What are you fretting about?” Lais asked, appearing out of the dawn fog.

“I just feel as if I have more to do.” Rawnie muttered.

“You probably do. King Simon wants you to be his chief adviser though, if you feel like settling in.”

“Work for him? I would rather fight Skarr again!” Rawnie laughed. Then her face hardened. “But the thing I just can’t figure out is why he wanted me to sing for him.”

“You have a very pretty voice.” Lais commented.

“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

“Maybe he wanted to…harness your power.” Lais added.

“What?”

“You know, harness it, or find a cure?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Lais sighed. “Skarr was afraid of people that weren’t afraid of him. He was terrified of Christi because she never feared him.”

Rawnie nodded slightly. She was beginning to get the picture.

“So he wanted you to sing so he could understand your power. He wanted to find a way to prevent it. He knew if he could steal your voice, he could also steal your bravery.” Rawnie smiled and began to hum absentmindedly.

Lais smiled too and added in the words.

And together the pair walked down into the courtyard and began to sing.