As of 1/6/19, this story is being revamped and rewritten.


"Too low," Halt called from the wooden post he was slouched against. The grim Ranger had roused his apprentice Rowan at the crack of dawn that morning for archery practice.

Throughout the morning of training Rowan had grown accustomed to Halt's quiet corrections to his horrid shots. This time however Rowan had thought his shot was pretty decent. The arrow had lunged free of Rowan's bow smoothly, hissing through the air and slamming into the target board with a satisfying thwack. If anything, it had flown high of his mark, not low.

"Too low? What am I aiming at?"

Halt shook his head, "Not you, that shot was better, you hit the board this time. I meant Crowley."

The Ranger Commandant, who had been practicing alongside Rowan for the better half of the morning, peered around Rowan to give Halt a questioning look. Crowley had suffered an injury to his shoulder recently and his skill with a bow had deteriorated greatly while the wound healed. Crowley had been struggling to regain his prowess by practicing at his cabin each morning. He wasn't used to an audience, especially a critical one.

"I'm just a little sore," Crowley said.

Rowan glanced at Crowley's target where the black shafted arrow lodged in the three-inch-thick target board. Even when injured the older Ranger shot better than Rowan did.

"I think it may be time for a break," Halt said as he eyed his Commandant.

Crowley shrugged and winced as the movement sent a sudden flare of pain slithering through his right shoulder. Crowley could already guess what Halt was going to say, and he didn't want to hear it. He spoke first, his voice short and his tone clipped. "I'm fine," but it was clear that he wasn't.

"We'll take a break," Halt said firmly. "The King's Council starts in just a few hours. We still have time to get lunch beforehand." Halt's eyes gestured to Rowan now too, and the apprentice stifled a sigh of inner relief at the turn of events. Rowan despised practicing his archery, and the prospect of food made his stomach want to roar with anticipation.


The tavern that Crowley took them to was a lot to Rowan's liking. Well lit, airy, and just a touch on the warm side. The bartender, a beardless man in his late thirties, was well acquainted with Crowley and it wasn't long before they were seated at a relatively secluded table against one wall. The hearth fire burned with a gentle crackle several feet away, warming Rowan even further. He settled comfortably, savoring the brush of heat against his skin.

"Are you going to the Council?" Crowley asked Halt as the Commandant idly sipped at his coffee. Halt shrugged.

Rowan quietly worked through his breakfast, trying desperately to hide his interest in the conversation. The King's Council was a gathering of the realm's brightest minds and greatest warriors. They had begun meeting more about more frequently as attacks by the Cult of Day became more and more frequent. Rowan's hands shook with excitement at the thought of attending one of the meetings with his mentor.

"I heard that the Shadow's have been going lately," Halt said with an expression devoid of interest.

"Strider attends on their behalf. She's quite..." Crowley struggled to find a kind word for the female warrior. "Interesting."

Halt cocked an eyebrow at his Commandant. Rowan leaned forward to hear more about the woman. He and Halt had fought alongside her in Redmont fief not long ago.

Crowley shook his head, "She's surprisingly diplomatic, but she's also... Familiar."

Halt eyed Crowley critically, "What kind of familiar?"

Crowley tapped his fingers along the wooden table in agitation. "I want to say that I know her from somewhere else. I just can't put my finger on it yet. What's her first name? Her real name?"

Halt shrugged, "I don't think I know it. Every Shadow goes by a nickname."

"It's Jane," Rowan said quietly. Crowley looked at the apprentice in surprise. Rowan hurried to explain. "A month or two ago, when we met them, I heard Fell call her Jane."

"Jane… Jane… Jane…" Crowley muttered. "That's it! I know her!" Halt raised an eyebrow at his friend. "She's the daughter of a mountain lord."

"You're certain?" Halt asked.

"Fairly," Crowley said. "There are several mountain lords I believe, I can't say for sure who her father is."

Rowan's thoughts raced, "Why wouldn't she tell you she was a noble?"

A look passed between Halt and Crowley, and then Halt rose and waved at his companions to follow. "I think I'd like to ask her myself."


The castle of Araluen's central courtyard was packed with the day to day business of a Kingdom preparing for war. The cobbled courtyard was full of knights, castle guards, messengers, shop keepers, and traders. Halt cut through the crowd easily, gliding his way towards the main entrance. He waited alone in the shadows near the heavy oak doors for Strider to arrive. His apprentice was off to visit with his older brother who lived and worked in the castle, and Crowley had been called to meet with the King before the council. Halt would speak to Strider alone and relay his findings to his Commandant when time permitted.

Although it hadn't been very long since Halt had seen her, she looked different than he remembered. Her dark hair was swept back into a ponytail that had once been longer. Her shirt and breeches were neat and well fitted as opposed to the loose tunics she had worn before. A grey cloak swung easily from her shoulders and blocked Halt's view of the knives he knew she carried. Halt took this in with a quick sweep of his gaze when he spotted her in the crowd. The biggest difference about her was in the way she carried herself.

Strider had always been a small woman, but she walked through the courtyard as if she were six feet tall. She didn't duck her head at the occasional stares from people in the crowd around her, nor did she meet their gaze to confront them. She walked with a purpose, as if she belonged in Castle Araluen. Her performance was convincing, and many greeted her kindly in passing as they went about their day.

Halt waited until she was no more than a few feet away from the entrance before he stepped out from his hiding place.

"Halt," she said in mild surprise as she slowed, a smile on her face. She was unsure of how to greet the Ranger and hesitated before holding out her hand. "It's good to see you," she said.

"It's good to see you as well," Halt said as he took the woman's hand. He shook her hand as he would shake the hand of a men-at-arms or a knight, although he held on a big longer than he would have normally. He'd fought alongside Strider months ago and had grown fond of her. "I'm glad you look well."

"Thanks," she said. "What brings you to the castle?"

"Business, of a sort," Halt said. He gestured for Strider to follow him as he turned and began to head into the castle. "I'm here to attend the council, but I was hoping I could speak to you first."

"Well, here I am," Strider said. "What can I do for you?"

"I think it would be better if we could speak somewhere more private," Halt said. The Ranger led the way into the castle's main entry before heading down a side corridor that led out into one of the gardens. They walked in silence for a few moments, passing low stone benches and well-manicured flower beds.

"Where did you say you were from again?" Halt asked once they'd put a good amount of distance between themselves and any prying ears.

"From the mountains," Strider said.

"Rockfall fief?"

Strider nodded, and while she had been relaxed during their walk Halt sensed a subtle shift in her demeanor. "Yes, I lived in Rockfall for a time."

"Why did you leave?" Halt asked.

For a moment Strider simply studied the grim Ranger with a wary expression. "Halt..." She faltered, unsure of how to continue.

"It's not often you're speechless," Halt remarked.

Strider pursed her lips, "What is it you think you know about me?"

It was Halt's turn to pause and eye his companion. She was an enigma in more ways than one. She was a female warrior who had climbed the ranks of a group of thieves and mercenaries, and while Halt liked her, he wasn't sure how much he could trust her.

"I know you wouldn't want to do anything to upset the alliance you and Fell have worked so hard to build," Halt said. "The King trusts you and if there is anything about yourself or your heritage he doesn't know it's in your best interest to tell us."

Strider looked away from Halt. "One of the rules we live by as Shadows is that your past doesn't matter. When you join you pick a new name and you leave your past behind. Most Shadows join because they don't want to be who they were anymore."

"You can change your name," Halt said quietly. "But it won't change who you were."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Halt shook his grizzled head, and Strider gave vent to a quiet sigh. "It doesn't matter, Halt, but if you have to know I'll tell you. Just give me a day or two, there is someone else I need to tell, and I want them to hear it first."

"I'm going to hold you to your word," Halt said.

"I've no doubt you will," Strider said. "We'd better head to the council, I'm sure it's starting soon."


The King's Council was gathered in a large and airy room with a dominating table of thick and sturdy wood in the center. The dark wood was polished and gleamed in the sunlight that poured in through open windows alongside one wall. Across the table were maps of Araluen in all shapes and sizes on paper both worn and new with markings in various colors. At the far end of the table sat the King, a tall and broad-shouldered man with blonde hair and piercing green eyes. He was busy studying a map critically while the rest of the Council seated around him discussed matters about the coming war.

Strider and Halt had made it to the council early despite their conversation in the garden. They had walked together in silence, but when they arrived Halt nodded his grizzled head once before leaving Strider to her own devices. The council usually never sat in the same seats, and Strider chose a place towards the middle of the table across from a man wearing a blue embroidered tunic. The garment bore a sigil of bird who's wings appeared to be spread where it was stretched tight across the man's chest. The man's tunic stood out in alarming contrast against his red beard.

"Murray," she said as she pulled out her chair.

"Strider," the man regarded her the way one might regard something stuck to the bottom of their boot. "Is there no other seat you would prefer above the one you've chosen?"

"None at all," Strider shot back as she made herself comfortable. "What is the purpose of coming to this council if I can't sit across from you?"

"Now, now, play nice children." A stack of books thundered onto the council table beside Strider, and a tall and thin man with silver hair slid into the seat beside her. The man wore long black robes and a diamond pendant at his neck. "I will separate the both of you if we cannot all be civil."

"I am nothing if not civil, Clark," Murray insisted.

Strider fought down a snort of derision, garnering another severe look from Murray. "What is the topic of debate for tonight?"

Clark opened one of his books and began to shuffle through a sheaf of papers tucked under the cover. "Apparently there have been more reports of Cult forces dawdling around the border of Redmont."

"Where are they even coming from?" Murray asked aloud.

"We can only speculate as to where they are coming from, the decision we need to make tonight is how to address the appearance of these new forces."

Around them the council room was quickly filling with knights, nobles, and other individuals the King had deemed important enough to attend the council. They were settling at the table and laying out sheets of parchments. Servants bustled in and out, placing inkwells and quills down the length of the table for the councilmen.

Before Murray, Clark, and Strider could continue their discussion the King stood at the far end of the table and raised a hand for silence.

"It's good to see all of you here again," King Duncan announced. "We're meeting today to discuss how best to handle the Cult's presence in Redmont."

"Haven't they been cleared from the fief already?" A councilmen asked.

Duncan nodded, "We had believed they were gone, but there have been more parties of the Cult gathering at the edge of Redmont fief near the mountains."

There were quiet murmurings at this, and the King waited patiently for them to die down before he continued. "We need to come up with a plan to address this. We need men-at-arms you can spare to be sent to aid Redmont fief, the scouts have said..."

Strider bothered Clark for a sheet of loose parchment and a quill and wrote down the King's information as he shared it. She recorded the number of soldiers they suspected were outside of Redmont and how many they thought they would need to defend the fief. When he was done speaking the council dissolved into conversation as pockets of knights and noblemen began to work out how they could aid Redmont fief.

"My fief can contribute twenty men-at-arms and a handful of scouts," Murray said from the other side of the table. He raised his eyes from the parchment he was writing on and waited expectantly for Strider's response.

"I'll have to double check with Fell, but the Shadows only got a handful altogether that we could send to Redmont."

Murray scoffed, "Five? That's all this alliance has brought this kingdom, five measly men."

Strider tapped her quill against the side of the inkwell. "Sometimes quality is better than quantity, Murray."

"Children," Clark said in a mock warning tone as he scribbled down the numbers they had shared. "Play nice."

Murray opened his mouth to reply before shutting it abruptly. His gaze had moved away from Strider and Clark to look at the door. Strider turned as the room began to fall silent of its own accord. A servant had approached the King and was talking rapidly into his ear. Suddenly a man burst forward into the council room with two castle guards hot on his heels. He was dressed in a pair of britches and a tunic dark with dust from riding. He had a scraggly beard that grew better on one side than the other, and a wide brimmed hat he'd pushed back on his head.

"This can't wait, I need to speak to him now," the man said as he shook off the castle guard. It wasn't until he spoke that Strider recognized him.

King Duncan rose from his chair. "And who am I speaking to?"

The castle guards moved to stand on either side of the man, ready to take him out of the council room if their monarch asked them to.

"I'm Gradiny Crewe, of Cragon's Keep," the man said. "I've come to tell you that the Baron of Rockfall fief is planning to kill you."


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