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    The Collars of Phaleran
    The Collars of Phaleran
    The Collars of Phaleran
    Ebook801 pages10 hours

    The Collars of Phaleran

    By Ashley Abbiss

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    The life she knew ended in an orgy of violence on a lonely road. She’s so confused she’s ‎not even entirely sure who she is any more, and now, according to prophecy, she’s supposed ‎to save the world. The gods have got to be kidding! Don’t they?‎

    Niari has lost absolutely everything. The life she knew, her beloved father, even her ‎liberty; they’re all gone. The only thing that keeps her sane as she tries to work through it all is ‎the friendship she strikes up with another young woman. But when Niari takes Carlitha’s ‎advice and tries to take control of the situation, it all blows up in her face in spectacular ‎fashion. Suddenly she’s supposed to save the world!‎

    But how do you save the world when you don’t even know how to save yourself?‎

    And the gods are not exactly making things easy: ‎

    Carlitha threw her hands in the air. "I just love this," she said to no-one in particular. "We ‎have to go to the Isle. At least we know that much, I suppose. But when we get there we have to ‎find a tomb that no-one's ever been able to find. Then we're supposed to return the eye, but no-‎one knows what the eye is or where we're supposed to put it. And all this so we can find some ‎so-called treasures which are actually weapons, but nobody knows what sort of weapons they ‎are or what they do. And then after all that we have to find a bunch of strangers who are ‎supposed to help us, and then figure out what to do with these treasures so we can fight the ‎Cult with them. Have I left anything out?"‎
    ‎"No, I think you've just about covered it."‎
    ‎"Oh good. We wouldn't want it to get complicated, would we?"‎

    Together, the two friends set out on a journey full of surprises. Not least of those is ‎Niari’s adoption by a runiac, the legendary ancestor of both the dog and wolf. She discovers ‎that she can speak to him, and he decides to accompany them on their impossible quest. ‎Having a runiac for a guard dog definitely gives a girl an edge, but will it be enough? They’re ‎about to find out, as the prophecy drives them inexorably toward a confrontation they can’t ‎avoid. There simply isn’t a way to escape destiny, and they are destiny’s daughters.‎

    The Collars of Phaleran is an epic fantasy adventure in the best tradition of sword and ‎sorcery. Here you’ll find legendary lost magical jewels, animals that can communicate with ‎humans, a quest of the gods, a cartload of magic, and even a dragon, though he may not be ‎quite what you were expecting. Plus, of course, two young women doing their best to be ‎strong and courageous in the face of impossible odds. Why not join them?‎

    Although it is the first book in a series, The Collars of Phaleran is a complete story in ‎itself and can be read as a standalone novel.‎

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAshley Abbiss
    Release dateJun 3, 2016
    ISBN9781311813442
    The Collars of Phaleran
    Author

    Ashley Abbiss

    Hello there. I’m Ashley Abbiss. ‎I live and write in beautiful New Zealand, where I live with one large dog, who looks nothing ‎like Friend from my Daughters of Destiny books. She is, however, almost as intelligent and definitely as ‎opinionated, and if she can’t quite speak in the way Friend does to Niari, that doesn’t really ‎hold her back much!‎I write fantasy, mostly of the epic variety. Let me say right up front that if you’re looking for a quick read, you’re in the wrong place. But if you like a substantial, ‎satisfying story that you can really get your teeth into, stick with me. I may have something ‎you’ll enjoy. There’s no graphic sex in my books. If that’s what you want, you’ll have to look ‎elsewhere. There is violence, and there is swearing, though mostly of the ‘s/he swore’ variety, ‎nothing overly graphic or offensive. I also write about strong, independent female characters, ‎so if your taste runs to something more macho, or something more frilly and helpless, this may ‎not be the place for you. ‎I’ve always loved wandering in different worlds, be they fantasy or science fiction, although ‎lately I tend to prefer fantasy. The only proviso is that they have to be believable worlds, ‎worlds that feel real, that have depth and scope – and they must, absolutely must be fun to ‎visit. I read for escape and entertainment, and I don’t really want to escape from this world ‎into one even grimmer. Trouble, tension, and danger I can deal with, what sort of story would ‎there be without them? Where would Pern be without Thread, Frodo without Sauron, Harry ‎Potter without Voldemort? But there has to be hope, and there has to be a light touch. Happy ‎ever after does have a lot going for it, even if initially it’s only a very small light at the end of ‎a long, dark tunnel. My personal favourites include Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy, Anne ‎McCaffrey’s Pern series, and the fantasies of David Eddings, and lately, they’ve been joined ‎by J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and a few others. Of those, David Eddings was probably my ‎greatest inspiration.‎I began to wonder if I could create my own world, one just as believable and multi-layered as ‎theirs. Could I create a world with its own history, geography, social structure, deities, and all ‎the rest? One that hung together? That a reader could believe in? It became a challenge, one I ‎really wanted to see if I could meet. So I dusted off my writing skills, learned a few more, ‎cranked up the imagination, and got busy. I’d always been good at creative writing, but ‎though I’d made a few attempts to write after I left school, none of them came to anything. ‎That was until I started writing fantasy. Suddenly, I knew I’d come home. ‎I quickly discovered that I’m not the sort of writer who can plan a book (or a world!) before I ‎start. I just can’t do it. But I can create characters, and suddenly the characters took on a ‎reality of their own and took over the stories, often to the extent that they actually surprised ‎me. And the stories worked. Their world worked. Sometimes I had to go back and fix the ‎odd contradiction, but mostly it worked and was very natural and organic. Even though my ‎first attempts were pitiful, I knew I’d found where I belong. I persevered, I learned, I wrote. ‎I discovered that the characters are key for me. Once I get them right, they tell their own ‎story. I was away. There were dark days during which my stories became my refuge, my ‎characters my friends. And I kept writing. There were happy times when I didn’t need a ‎refuge, but my characters were still my friends, and they drew me inexorably back. I kept ‎writing. ‎And now, I hope my characters may become your friends too, my worlds ones where you also ‎like to walk; perhaps even your refuge from dark days. Come join me in a world where magic ‎is real and the gods are near, where beasts talk and men and women achieve things they never ‎dreamed they could. But most of all, come and have fun! ‎Happy reading.‎Ash.‎

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      The Collars of Phaleran - Ashley Abbiss

      ‎

      PART ONE

      NIARI

      CHAPTER ONE

      It was an almost perfect late spring day. The ‎fields ‎‎of northwest Nebreth drowsed in near-summer ‎‎‎temperatures. The brown ribbon of the road wound its ‎‎‎leisurely way through gently rolling country filled ‎‎‎with lush pastures where brown and white cattle ‎‎‎dozed in the unexpected warmth. ‎

      Even the breeze had died. True, there was possible ‎‎‎trouble brewing in the build-up of dark clouds over ‎‎‎the ridge to the west, but the man who had stopped ‎‎‎under the little stone bridge to eat his lunch beside the ‎‎‎stream knew nothing of that. Lulled by the warmth ‎‎‎and the peace, serenaded by the sleepy droning of ‎‎‎insects and the gurgle of the stream, he too slept.‎

      He woke with a start some time later as the peace ‎‎‎was abruptly shattered. Cries and shouts accompanied ‎‎‎by the clash of weapons carried clearly to him from ‎‎‎the direction of the crossroads he had passed earlier. ‎

      Leaping to his feet, he crossed the stream in a ‎‎couple ‎of bounds, loosening his sword in its sheath as ‎‎he ‎went. He scrambled up the further bank and ‎‎worked ‎his way rapidly along until he reached a spot ‎‎where he ‎could climb up onto the road.‎

      The traveller was just debating the wisdom of ‎‎‎going back to the crossroads to see what was ‎‎‎happening when a horse crested a hill some way ahead ‎‎‎and plunged down toward the bridge at full gallop, a ‎‎‎woman clinging precariously to its back. ‎

      Three other ‎riders were in hot pursuit, drawn ‎‎weapons apparent ‎even at this distance. It was ‎‎immediately obvious ‎what must be happening. This ‎‎region, and particularly ‎this road, was notorious as a ‎‎favourite haunt of ‎bandits. The party to which this ‎‎woman belonged ‎must have run afoul of a band. ‎

      The traveller lost sight ‎of all four riders ‎‎momentarily since the road here ‎wound up and down ‎‎over a series of low hills, but as ‎they reappeared at the ‎‎crest of a nearer hill, it was ‎apparent that the pursuers, ‎‎though still some way ‎behind her, were steadily ‎‎closing on the woman. ‎

      It ‎was also apparent that the lead rider was not a ‎‎‎particularly skilled horsewoman, and as he crouched ‎‎‎behind a handy bush, still unsure what to do, the ‎‎‎watching man rather thought the outcome of this ‎‎‎chase was simply a matter of time.‎

      And indeed, as the leading horse drew abreast of ‎‎‎where he crouched, it stumbled and the woman was ‎‎‎thrown. She landed heavily and lay still, while the ‎‎‎horse bolted across the bridge and away down the ‎‎‎road. ‎

      The bandits were out of sight for the moment. ‎The ‎‎man hesitated only an instant, then sprang from ‎hiding ‎‎and dashed across to where the woman lay. ‎She was ‎‎conscious, just dazed and winded. He helped ‎her up ‎‎and off the road, and the two huddled under ‎the ‎‎bridge as the horsemen passed above them with a ‎‎‎deafening clatter of hooves against the stone.‎

      ‎Are you all right? the man asked as they ‎‎‎clambered out of their hiding place.‎

      The woman nodded. Just a bit battered and ‎‎‎bruised, she said, rubbing an elbow. You’ve saved ‎‎‎my life. I’m grateful. She looked at the ground, ‎‎‎obviously troubled.‎

      With a terrible sinking feeling, the man realised ‎‎‎the implications of what had just happened. This was ‎‎‎Nebreth, and Nebreth had its own peculiar code of ‎‎‎honour, enshrined in both civil and religious law. He ‎‎‎had just saved this woman's life. ‎

      Now she owed him ‎for that life. If she couldn't ‎‎pay him the blood price, ‎she would be bound by both ‎‎law and honour to serve ‎him as his 'blood slave' until ‎‎she had discharged that ‎debt. It wasn't real slavery, of ‎‎course, not as the word ‎was understood in other ‎‎countries. ‎

      She couldn't be ‎sold, for instance, or used ‎‎sexually. He could beat her, ‎but only within strict ‎‎limits. If he wounded her ‎seriously the contract would ‎‎be null and void. And ‎there would be a defined ‎‎period of service, after ‎which she would be free. ‎

      But for that period she ‎would be bound to serve ‎‎him, and he would be ‎equally bound to accept her ‎‎service. Her demeanour ‎suggested strongly that this ‎‎was not going to be a nice ‎straightforward cash ‎‎transaction. He briefly closed his ‎eyes, suppressing an ‎‎urge to sigh.‎

      ‎Have they taken everything? he asked, trying ‎‎‎hard to keep the desperation out of his voice. Have ‎‎‎you no one who can help you?‎

      The woman looked up at him, her eyes brimming ‎‎‎with tears, and then her shoulders drooped as she ‎‎looked ‎at the ground once more. Her voice was small ‎‎and ‎shaky when she replied. ‎

      ‎My father would gladly ‎have paid the blood ‎‎price for me, but the bandits ‎killed him back there. He ‎‎was all the family I had. ‎She was crying as she knelt ‎‎at his feet and spoke the ‎formal words in a strained ‎‎whisper. My name is ‎Niari, Master. I am your servant ‎‎until my debt is ‎paid.‎

      The man looked down at her bowed head as a ‎‎‎hundred fears and suspicions chased each other ‎‎‎through his head. A little money would have been ‎‎‎welcome, but this he didn’t need. It was a ‎‎‎complication he couldn’t afford, but he couldn’t ‎‎‎refuse without shaming the woman and losing honour ‎‎‎himself. ‎

      There was simply no way around it. He was ‎as ‎‎trapped as she was. For a fleeting moment, he ‎wished ‎‎he had left her on the road. Anger and ‎frustration ‎‎overflowed.‎

      ‎Get up, woman! And don’t call me master. My ‎‎‎name is Arneel.‎

      Niari stood up and took a look at the man to ‎‎‎whom she now belonged. Impossible to say how old ‎‎‎he was. From the way he moved, she would have ‎‎‎guessed his age at not much more than hers, but his ‎‎‎eyes were much older. ‎

      The rest of his face could have ‎been any age, the ‎‎skin tanned and weathered by ‎exposure to the ‎‎elements. He was tall and lean with ‎sandy hair and ‎‎hazel eyes, and there was a grim set to ‎his mouth that ‎‎wasn't encouraging. Definitely not a ‎man to be ‎‎crossed, she decided. ‎

      There was something ‎about him, a kind of tension, ‎‎that spoke to her of ‎violence simmering just below the ‎‎surface, and it ‎frightened her. She didn't think she ‎‎was going to like ‎him much.‎

      The clouds that had been massing behind the ‎‎‎western ridge were now racing across the sky and the ‎‎‎light was fading. The wind was freshening and it was ‎‎‎becoming colder.‎

      ‎We’ll have to hurry, Arneel said brusquely. ‎‎‎‎There’s a storm coming. He climbed back down the ‎‎‎bank and retrieved his pack and cloak. When he ‎‎‎rejoined Niari, she was shivering.‎ ‎Do you have a ‎‎pack?‎

      ‎I did have. I think it’s still back there on the ‎‎‎road. She looked at Arneel with eyes that threatened ‎‎‎to overflow again any second. I can’t go back there, I ‎‎‎can’t. ‎

      Tears rolled down her cheeks. Arneel looked at ‎‎‎her with pursed lips. Niari took a step back, alarmed ‎‎‎by the look in his eyes.‎

      ‎Stay here then! And stop that infernal crying. ‎‎‎He stamped off down the road, leaving Niari staring ‎‎‎after him.‎

      The first fat drops of rain were falling as Niari ‎‎‎watched Arneel head off down the road. She crawled ‎‎into the shelter of a ‎nearby bush and sat down to wait, ‎‎angry and upset. ‎She rather thought paying this debt ‎‎would be hard. ‎

      ‎She squirmed back further into the shelter of the ‎‎bush ‎and gave herself up to grief and self-pity. Her ‎‎whole ‎world had ended in a few moments of violence ‎‎at the ‎crossroads.‎

      Just a few days ago, she had thought her life ‎‎would ‎go on forever just as it was. Then her father ‎‎had ‎insisted that she come along on this trip with him, ‎‎the ‎first time in her life that she had left her home, and ‎‎‎already it had become a journey into nightmare. ‎

      Now, ‎enslaved to this man, she began to wonder ‎‎when, or ‎even if, she would ever see her home and her ‎‎friends ‎again. The next few years stretched dark and ‎‎‎heavy before her like the storm clouds above her head.‎

      In a flash of lightning, she saw Arneel trudging ‎‎‎back along the road, his shoulders hunched against the ‎‎‎wind and driving rain, and hastily pulled herself ‎‎‎together, dashing away the tears with the back of her ‎‎‎hand. He tossed a pack and cloak down at her feet ‎‎‎and crawled into the shelter of the bush beside her.‎

      ‎I found what I could. Everything was scattered ‎‎‎in the mud. Most of the clothes are slashed and ‎‎‎ripped. That’s the only cloak that’s still usable.‎

      Niari wrapped the cloak about her, pulling it close ‎‎‎against the wind.‎

      ‎It was my father's. It’ll be fine. She ran her ‎‎‎hands over the dark blue wool of the cloak, then took ‎‎‎a breath, gathering her courage. I suppose there was ‎‎‎no one...?‎

      Arneel shook his head. Four dead, he said ‎‎‎shortly. "Two look like ruffians. The other two are ‎‎‎both older men, one of medium height, clean-shaven ‎‎‎with sandy hair, the other tall and thin with dark hair ‎‎‎and a short beard streaked with grey

      Niari nodded numbly. Kiran and my father, she ‎‎‎identified them.‎

      This first squall of rain seemed to be over, but the ‎‎‎thunder sounded even closer if anything and the ‎‎‎lightning flashes were becoming more frequent. ‎‎‎Arneel squatted on his haunches, peering at the ‎‎‎lowering sky.‎

      ‎We’ll have to find better shelter before this storm ‎‎‎really hits. I remember seeing a stand of trees over ‎‎‎there in the fields. We’ll make for that.‎

      A premature dusk had already darkened into ‎‎‎night, and it was a slow stumbling walk picking their ‎‎‎way across the rough ground in the pitch blackness, ‎‎‎while the storm increased in fury. At last, they ‎‎reached ‎the shelter of the wood and crawled under ‎‎the bushes ‎that grew thickly beneath the trees. They ‎‎found it ‎quite warm and dry and settled down to wait ‎‎out the ‎storm, which raged for most of the night. They ‎‎slept ‎little and soon became cramped and ‎‎uncomfortable.‎

      ‎Who were the people the bandits killed? Arneel ‎‎‎asked after a while. You said one was your father?‎

      ‎My adopted father and his friend.‎

      ‎And there is no one you could go to?‎

      Was there a tinge of hopefulness in that question? ‎‎‎Niari looked down at her hands. Well, at least the ‎‎‎feeling was mutual. No one. He was all I had in the ‎‎‎world.‎

      ‎What about your real parents?‎

      ‎Dead. My father found me as a baby lying on the ‎‎‎road. My real parents had been killed by bandits.‎

      ‎But didn’t you try to find your relatives?‎

      ‎Father tried, of course, but they were strangers, ‎‎‎just passing through on a journey, and no one knew ‎‎‎anything about them. It was hopeless. There was a ‎‎‎long brooding silence before Arneel spoke again.‎

      ‎Well, it looks as if we’re stuck with one another.‎

      ‎Don’t worry, I’ll find some way to pay you the ‎‎‎price.‎

      Slowly the wind and rain abated, and the world ‎‎‎became quiet again. Arneel rummaged in his pack and ‎‎‎brought out food. When they had eaten, they dozed ‎‎‎as best they could in their cramped quarters until ‎‎‎morning.‎

      They emerged from their hiding place to a clear ‎‎‎blue sky, the pale, washed-out blue that comes after a ‎‎‎storm, and stood stretching cramped limbs and aching ‎‎‎muscles in a world sodden with the rain. The earthy ‎‎‎smell of wet vegetation was all about them. ‎

      However, ‎birds were singing in the trees, and it ‎‎promised to be a ‎fair day. They ate breakfast, then ‎‎shouldered their ‎packs and set out. Arneel told Niari ‎‎they were heading ‎for a village about a day’s walk ‎‎east of the crossroads.‎

      Around midmorning, they crossed a river, and ‎‎‎shortly after, they began to see the first signs of ‎‎‎habitation, a few scattered farmhouses surrounded by ‎‎‎neat fields. Around noon they came to a small ‎‎‎watercourse which ran through a thicket of trees close ‎‎‎to the road and turned aside to find a place under the ‎‎‎trees where they could rest and take some food.‎

      As they stepped out onto the road again, they ‎‎were ‎almost run down by a company of horsemen ‎‎who ‎swept down the road at full gallop in the ‎‎direction of ‎the village.‎

      ‎Overlord’s men. I wonder what they’re after. ‎‎‎Arneel stepped into the road and watched the riders ‎‎‎disappear into the distance.‎

      They set out again, but Niari noticed that the ‎‎‎appearance of the Overlord's men seemed to have ‎‎‎unsettled Arneel. He seemed nervous as they ‎‎‎approached the village. ‎

      Finally, they topped a hill and ‎could see it at last, ‎‎a small huddle of buildings lying ‎on either side of the ‎‎road in a flat plain some way ‎ahead. Though he tried ‎‎to hide it, Niari could feel ‎Arneel relaxing as it became ‎‎clear that the Overlord's ‎men had ridden on through ‎‎and weren't in the village. ‎

      CHAPTER TWO

      Niari was beginning to be a little curious about her ‎‎new ‎owner, but for now, she was more curious about ‎‎the ‎village, the first hint of civilisation she had seen ‎‎for ‎days. Wisps of smoke curled above the houses, ‎‎and it ‎had a friendly, homely look to it. She liked it, ‎‎but that ‎might have had more to do with the prospect ‎‎of a hot ‎meal and a warm bath than the village itself. ‎‎She ‎followed Arneel eagerly down the hill.‎

      It was almost dark when they finally reached it. ‎‎‎The village was little more than a double row of solid ‎‎‎stone houses that flanked the road, though off to the ‎‎‎left was a well-worn patch of grass that served as a ‎‎‎village square, and a few buildings stood about this.

      It ‎was to one of these that they were directed ‎‎when ‎Arneel asked a passer-by where the priesthouse ‎‎was. ‎Niari followed Arneel across the open space and ‎‎into ‎its dim interior, her knees beginning to quake. It ‎‎was ‎in there that her bondage would be formalised. ‎

      In just ‎a few minutes she would know just how ‎‎long she was ‎going to have to serve Arneel in order to ‎‎repay him for ‎saving her life. An ancient priestess ‎‎appeared from ‎behind a screen and approached them.‎

      ‎What do you wish in the house of Elithim?‎

      ‎There is the matter of a blood pledge between ‎‎‎us, Arneel explained. The words need to be ‎‎‎spoken.‎

      ‎This man saved my life, Niari acknowledged, ‎‎‎stepping forward to stand beside him.‎

      It was the most humiliating time of Niari’s life. ‎‎‎When she had to bring Arneel water from the well to ‎‎‎signify her service it wasn’t so bad, but when she had ‎‎‎to kneel and kiss his feet in token of humility, she ‎‎‎almost rebelled. ‎

      She hardly heard Arneel speak his ‎part. She felt ‎‎too miserable. Her train of thought was ‎broken by ‎‎Arneel’s touch on her shoulder, her signal ‎to rise. ‎‎Standing, she moved back so that she was ‎slightly ‎‎behind him, the position of a slave. ‎

      The ‎priestess spoke her piece now, outlining to ‎‎each of ‎them their duties and responsibilities, and the ‎‎terms of ‎the contract. Niari was to serve Arneel for ‎‎five years, ‎or until such time as she could afford to ‎‎buy her ‎freedom. The price was twenty gold pieces. ‎‎Niari ‎hardly listened. It was the standard contract. ‎‎‎Everybody knew the terms. The reading of them now ‎‎‎was just a formality.‎

      At last, the ceremony was over, all the words had ‎‎‎been said, and Arneel led his slave off to the room he ‎‎‎had obtained in the guest house run by the priestesses. ‎‎‎A young priestess brought them food and arranged for ‎‎‎a bath to be made ready when they had eaten. ‎

      Niari ‎had to wait on Arneel while he ate his fill, as ‎‎befitted ‎her new position, then she was allowed what ‎‎was left. ‎Luckily the priestess had brought plenty. ‎‎Niari was ‎famished.‎ While she was eating, Arneel ‎‎went off to take his ‎bath. ‎

      Left to her own devices for a little while, Niari ‎‎‎went through her pack and took a good look at the ‎‎‎clothes Arneel had salvaged. Most of them were ‎‎‎completely ruined. She thought she could save one ‎‎‎skirt if she could find a needle and thread, and ‎‎‎perhaps one of the shirts, but that would take more ‎‎‎work. ‎

      The clothes she had on were also torn, and the ‎‎‎whole lot badly needed a wash. The priestess came ‎‎‎back to collect the plates while Niari was busy, and ‎‎‎she begged a needle and thread from her and found ‎‎‎out where she could wash the clothes when she had ‎‎‎finished.‎

      When Arneel returned from his bath, she was ‎‎‎already busy with her mending. He stood for a ‎‎‎moment watching her, then to her horror, he scooped ‎‎‎up the pile of soiled and torn clothes and threw them ‎‎‎into the fire. Snatching the skirt she was holding, he ‎‎‎sent it after the others. Niari sat gaping at the fire.‎

      ‎Those were all the clothes I had, she said when ‎‎‎she found her voice.‎

      ‎No servant of mine is going to walk around ‎‎‎looking like a beggar. Tomorrow I’ll buy you new ‎‎‎ones. Go and have your bath. You’re filthy. ‎

      She ‎went, feeling quite stunned. The man was ‎‎totally ‎bewildering.‎

      When she got back to the room, Niari found ‎‎‎Arneel already asleep. She found her comb in the ‎‎‎bottom of her pack, broken but still usable, and spent ‎‎‎some time tugging the knots out of her long dark hair, ‎‎‎and picking out the twigs and leaves that were still ‎‎‎tangled in it even though she'd just washed it. ‎

      She ‎shuddered to think what a scarecrow she ‎‎must have ‎looked before. As she worked, she ‎‎concentrated on ‎wondering what sort of clothes might ‎‎be available ‎here in this village, determined not to ‎‎think of the ‎events of the last few days. ‎

      They didn't improve with ‎thinking about, and it ‎‎was an exercise absolutely ‎guaranteed to depress her. ‎‎She finished with her hair. ‎Then she crawled into bed ‎‎and was almost instantly ‎asleep.‎

      When she awoke, Niari found that it was quite ‎‎‎late, and Arneel was gone. The remains of breakfast ‎‎‎lay on the table. She rose and dressed quickly, feeling ‎‎‎guilty. She should have been up to serve her master. ‎‎‎She picked at the food and waited for Arneel to come ‎‎‎back. Shortly he came through the door followed by ‎‎‎one of the village women carrying an armload of ‎‎‎clothes.‎

      ‎You’re up, I see. Good. I let you sleep this ‎‎‎morning because you were obviously tired, but don’t ‎‎‎make a habit of it. This is Errah. She’s brought some ‎‎‎clothes for you. You may choose what you like. He ‎‎‎went out again, leaving Niari with Errah.‎

      ‎Your master says you are to choose three changes ‎‎‎of clothes, whatever you like, said Errah as she put ‎‎‎the clothing down on the bed. I hear you were ‎‎‎attacked by bandits and all yours were ruined. The ‎‎‎mountain roads have always been a favourite haunt of ‎‎‎bandits. There’s not much in the way of law around ‎‎‎here to stop them, I’m afraid. You’re one of the lucky ‎‎‎ones. At least you’re alive.‎

      ‎I don’t feel lucky. The only people I had in the ‎‎‎world were killed back there on the road. Now I have ‎‎‎no one. Niari stopped, biting her lip against the tears ‎‎‎that pricked her eyes.‎

      ‎It’s hard, I know, said Errah gently, laying her ‎‎‎hand on Niari’s arm. Some of the men are going out ‎‎‎this morning with your master to bring back the ‎‎‎bodies. There’ll be a funeral for them tomorrow. So ‎‎‎we'd better get on and choose you some clothes to ‎‎‎wear. You'll want to honour them appropriately. She ‎‎‎smiled kindly at Niari and turned to the clothing.‎

      Niari spent the day with Errah and the other ‎‎‎village women and returned to the priesthouse in the ‎‎‎late afternoon laden down with gifts. It seemed ‎that ‎‎Errah had told them of Niari’s misfortune, and ‎they all ‎‎wanted to do what they could to help. ‎

      There ‎were all sorts of trinkets, combs, pins, ‎‎scarves, and ties for ‎her hair, but to Niari’s mind, the ‎‎greatest treasure was a ‎length of cloth, complete with ‎‎needles and thread for ‎the sewing and a handful of ‎‎silks and beads for the ‎embroidery. ‎

      She was glad to find that Arneel wasn’t ‎back yet. ‎‎She sat on the bed clutching her treasures ‎and wept ‎‎her gratitude. The women’s generosity ‎overwhelmed ‎‎her. These weren’t wealthy folk, yet ‎they’d all given ‎‎what they could. Somehow, someday, ‎she vowed, she ‎‎would return and repay them in kind.‎

      Dinner was late that night because the men didn't ‎‎‎return with the bodies until almost dinner time. By the ‎‎‎time they were properly laid out in front of the altar in ‎‎‎the priesthouse to await their burial the next day, it ‎‎‎was quite late. ‎

      When he had eaten, Arneel went out. ‎Niari ate her ‎‎dinner, and then gathered up the plates to ‎take back to ‎‎the kitchen. The night had turned chilly, ‎and she ‎‎grabbed her cloak before stepping outside. ‎

      As ‎she swung it about her shoulders, something ‎‎bumped ‎against her leg. Frowning, she took it off ‎‎again and ‎examined the hem. There was a hard lump ‎‎near the ‎corner. Perhaps a stone had got into the hem ‎‎‎somehow. ‎Looking more closely, she saw that the hem ‎‎had ‎been unpicked along a section and roughly ‎‎stitched ‎together again. ‎

      She was puzzled. She always did her ‎father’s ‎‎mending, and this definitely wasn’t her work. ‎There ‎‎seemed to be only one explanation, but she ‎couldn’t ‎‎think of anything her father owned that was ‎valuable ‎‎enough to hide like this. ‎

      Why should he want ‎to hide it anyway? Niari felt ‎‎around the object again. ‎It wasn't large. She worked it ‎‎up toward the top of the ‎hem and pulled at the ‎‎stitching, loosening it enough ‎for her to push the ‎‎object through. Grasping the end ‎of a silver chain, she ‎‎tugged at it. ‎

      It took some more ‎working at the stitching before ‎‎she could free what ‎was attached to it, but at last, she ‎‎carefully pulled it ‎out.‎ What hung on the end of the ‎‎chain, shining in the ‎light as it spun, brought a gasp of ‎‎horror from her lips. ‎She dropped what she held. With ‎‎trembling hands, ‎she picked it up again and clasped it ‎‎tightly.‎

      ‎Oh no! she whispered. Oh, sweet goddess!‎

      No wonder it had been hidden. Suddenly she ‎‎‎understood why they had left their home so hurriedly ‎‎‎and so secretly. But what was her father doing with ‎‎‎this in his possession? Glancing anxiously around, she ‎‎‎tucked the thing back into the hem of the cloak, ‎‎‎tugging at the stitching until she was sure the object ‎‎‎was secure. ‎

      She couldn’t believe it. Not her father. He ‎‎‎wouldn’t. He couldn’t. There had to be another ‎‎‎explanation. The friend who had travelled with them? ‎‎‎But she had known Kiran all her life too, and she ‎‎‎couldn’t believe it of him either.‎

      ‎What do I do now? she asked the air, but there ‎‎‎was no answer forthcoming.‎

      When she had pulled herself together a little, she ‎‎‎rose and wrapped herself in the cloak again. Taking ‎‎‎the dishes, she returned them to the kitchen and ‎‎‎headed for the outskirts of the village. Perhaps a walk ‎‎‎would clear her head. Right now, she was too shaken ‎‎‎to think. ‎

      A fresh breeze had sprung up. Niari was glad ‎of ‎‎the cloak, but now she knew the secret it ‎concealed, ‎‎she was constantly aware of the slight ‎weight in the ‎‎corner of the hem as it rubbed against ‎her leg. ‎

      She found herself jumping at every tiny sound ‎‎‎until finally she gave up and returned to the room. It ‎‎‎was empty. Crawling into bed, she lay trying to make ‎‎‎sense of what she had discovered until at last, she fell ‎‎‎asleep.‎

      When she woke in the morning, it was to find that ‎‎‎her mind was clearer. Now that she was over the first ‎‎‎shock, she was able to think things through properly. ‎‎‎Remarks that had puzzled her and little things that ‎‎‎had happened before they left home began to make ‎‎‎some sense to her. ‎

      By the time she'd served Arneel his ‎breakfast and ‎‎returned the dishes to the kitchen, she ‎had reached a ‎‎decision. She thought she understood ‎now, and she ‎‎knew what to do. The only problem ‎would be finding ‎‎the opportunity now that she was no ‎longer free. She ‎‎would just have to hold on to the ‎thing until she could ‎‎work something out. She ‎certainly couldn’t tell ‎‎anyone about it.‎

      That afternoon they buried Kiran and her father ‎‎‎and with them the last vestiges of Niari's old life. The ‎‎‎next morning, she and Arneel left the village.‎

      ‎Where are we going? ‎

      Niari had been trudging ‎along the road behind ‎‎Arneel for over an hour. They ‎had now climbed to the ‎‎rim of the valley in which the ‎village lay.‎

      ‎To visit an old man and his sister who live at the ‎‎‎edge of the forest. Arneel pointed ahead. It’s a long ‎‎‎way, so we’d better be getting on.‎ ‎

      They reached the tiny cottage at sunset. Sitting on ‎‎‎the porch enjoying the last rays of the sun was a man ‎‎‎who looked as old as the forest itself.‎ His arms and ‎‎legs were like knobbly sticks. His hair was wispy, and ‎‎his face wrinkled like a walnut. The eyes set in that ‎‎face, however, were bright with intelligence and a zest ‎‎for life.‎

      ‎I was told in the village that I would find the ‎‎‎lore master Vorneth here, Arneel said, addressing the ‎‎‎old man. My name is Arneel.‎

      ‎I'm Vorneth, The old man smiled merrily. ‎‎‎‎Come in, my friends, come in. It’s almost time for ‎‎‎the evening meal. You can eat with us and then we’ll ‎‎‎talk. We don’t get so many visitors these days. ‎

      He ‎led the way into the house. Inside it was warm ‎‎and ‎brightly lit, and the smell of stew rose from a pot ‎‎over ‎the fire to fill the whole place with an appetising ‎‎‎aroma. Niari liked it at once. As they entered, an old ‎‎‎woman came to meet them.‎

      ‎Ah, Genia. We have visitors. Is there enough in ‎‎‎the pot to feed them?‎

      ‎Of course. But who are our guests? You haven’t ‎‎‎introduced them, Vorneth.‎

      ‎I'm Arneel, Arneel said, stepping forward, and ‎‎‎this is Niari.‎

      ‎We expected you the day before yesterday, ‎‎‎Arneel. You’re both welcome. Come, Niari, help me ‎‎‎set the table. Genia bustled off, and Niari followed.‎

      As she helped Genia set the table, Niari could hear ‎‎‎Arneel and Vorneth talking in low tones. They’d gone ‎‎‎back out onto the porch, but the window was open, ‎‎‎and their voices carried clearly to her ears.‎

      ‎Who’s the woman? I expected you to be alone.‎

      ‎That’s why I’m late. I found her on the road, ‎‎‎with a band of outlaws chasing her. Now she’s my ‎‎‎blood slave.‎

      ‎That’s a complication we could do without, ‎‎‎Vorneth said with a sigh, as he settled himself in his ‎‎‎chair.‎

      ‎I know. But what was I to do, Vorneth? Leave ‎‎‎her to the bandits? And I couldn’t refuse her service ‎‎‎since she had no money to pay the blood price. ‎‎‎Unfortunately, I’m stuck with her. We’ll just have to ‎‎‎make the best of it.‎

      ‎Can’t you get rid of her? She must have some ‎‎‎relatives somewhere.‎

      ‎She says not.‎

      ‎That’s strange.‎

      ‎Yes. I’m afraid, Vorneth. I’ll have to be very ‎‎‎careful. And there are Overlord’s men on the roads.‎

      ‎Yes, there’ve been several reports of them in the ‎‎area ‎in the last few days.‎

      CHAPTER THREE

      They were interrupted by Genia calling them to ‎‎‎dinner. For a time, no one spoke, each intent on their ‎‎‎food. ‎

      As he pushed his plate away at last, Vorneth ‎‎‎sighed with contentment, and picking up his mug of ‎‎‎ale, turned to Arneel.‎ ‎Well, now it’s time to talk. Tell ‎‎us what you ‎know of the world. I rarely go beyond ‎‎this valley ‎now, and news doesn’t reach us here very ‎‎often.‎

      ‎I’ll tell you what I can, Arneel answered. It’s ‎‎‎widely rumoured that the Overlord Malvas will soon ‎‎‎declare himself emperor.‎

      ‎That’s hardly a surprise.‎

      ‎He’s made an alliance with Chranil of Dawpenel. ‎‎‎He’s to marry Chranil’s daughter next summer.‎

      ‎And she’ll be queen when her father dies, so that ‎‎‎will give Malvas control of Dawpenel, as well as ‎‎‎Nebreth and Harran, Vorneth nodded. A clever ‎‎move on his part.‎

      ‎Yes. And Bava of Falodirian has sued for peace, ‎‎‎so I’ve heard. I’m not sure what’s happening in ‎‎‎Entroth now, though the last I heard Hichor was still ‎‎‎holding his borders secure.‎

      ‎That won’t last long now that Malvas has control ‎‎‎of Harran, Vorneth said. He’ll be hard-pressed on ‎‎two fronts.‎

      ‎Genalan of Crinnan has sent men to help him, ‎‎Aanek said. ‎Hichor has sworn that he’ll never ‎‎surrender to Malvas. ‎He blames him for the deaths of ‎‎Jermethra and her ‎family. He believes his cousin’s ‎‎accident was ‎engineered by Malvas so he would get ‎‎the throne.‎

      ‎He’s very likely right, but just try proving it, ‎‎Vorneth said. And ‎what of the lands to the south?‎

      ‎I’ve heard little from there. Methron of Kerath ‎‎‎and Queen Nelya of Bish keep to themselves these ‎‎‎days and few travellers come north now. But Malvas ‎‎‎won’t ignore them forever. Now he has Dawpenel and ‎‎‎Falodirian in his grasp, he’s bound to start looking ‎‎‎south soon.‎

      Vorneth sat stroking his chin thoughtfully. At last, ‎‎‎he heaved a great sigh and refilled everyone’s mug ‎‎‎with ale. Where will it end, I wonder? But what of ‎‎‎this land, my friend? What's happening here in ‎‎‎Nebreth?‎

      Arneel shrugged. The usual. The people are being ‎‎‎bled dry to pay for the campaigns. The taxes have ‎‎‎increased so much that many can barely meet them, ‎‎and more and more people are being conscripted into ‎‎the army. I’ve heard of men and women as young as ‎‎fifteen being called up. ‎There’s great hardship and ‎‎resentment.‎

      ‎Yes. It’s hard on the people. I know of many ‎‎‎who have been turned off their land to starve because ‎‎‎they couldn’t meet their quotas. More and more of the ‎‎‎rightful lords are being replaced by Malvas’ ‎‎‎supporters. The people can’t take much more. I’m ‎‎‎afraid it will end in civil war.‎

      ‎That may not be such a bad thing, Arneel said ‎‎‎grimly. It couldn't make things much worse, and at ‎‎‎least then there'd be a chance of getting rid of ‎‎‎Malvas.‎

      ‎We’re entering dark times, Vorneth nodded ‎‎‎gloomily.‎

      ‎Yes, said Genia. There’s great trouble brewing. ‎‎‎I’ve seen it, but I can’t see how it will end. I can’t ‎‎‎read the signs. Their meaning is hidden from me.‎

      ‎My sister’s a seer, Vorneth explained. There ‎‎‎are few to match her. If she can’t interpret the signs, ‎‎‎it’s unlikely that anyone else can. But it’s getting late, ‎‎‎and we haven’t yet discussed the errand that brought ‎‎‎you here.‎

      ‎As you say, it’s late, Arneel replied, with a ‎‎sidelong glance at Niari. We’ve ‎travelled a long way ‎‎today, and Niari’s tired.‎

      ‎I’m sorry, Genia replied. I wasn’t thinking. ‎‎‎Come on, Niari, I’ll show you where you are to sleep.‎

      She led Niari up into a tiny loft and showed her to ‎‎‎a narrow but comfortable-looking bed under a ‎‎‎window. Left alone, Niari put her pack on the floor ‎‎‎and took out her comb. ‎

      She stood looking out of the ‎window as she ‎‎combed her hair. She had the distinct ‎impression that ‎‎she had just been got rid of. She ‎wondered why. And ‎‎what was Arneel afraid of? ‎

      ‎Something was going on that she wasn't supposed ‎‎to ‎know about, and that made her very curious, ‎‎‎especially since her fate was now bound up with ‎‎‎Arneel's and anything that involved him automatically ‎‎‎involved her too.‎

      Niari looked at the bed. She was very tired. ‎‎‎Slowly she undressed, crawled under the covers and ‎‎‎closed her eyes. The bed was comfortable and warm, ‎‎‎but she couldn’t sleep. ‎

      Gradually, she became aware ‎of the sound of ‎‎voices drifting up to her from below. ‎Feeling a little ‎‎guilty, she listened.‎

      ‎What do you know about the Collars of ‎‎‎Phaleran? That was Arneel’s voice.‎

      ‎Now you’ve done it, Genia chuckled. ‎‎That’s ‎‎Vorneth’s favourite story. He never misses a ‎chance to ‎‎tell it.‎

      ‎It’s an important part of our history! Vorneth ‎‎‎retorted.‎

      ‎I'm just teasing, Genia laughed fondly. Go ‎‎‎ahead and tell Arneel the story.‎

      ‎Phaleran lived on the western borders of what is ‎‎‎now Nebreth, Vorneth's voice rumbled. "He was the ‎‎‎greatest sorcerer who ever lived. The legends are full ‎‎‎of accounts of his deeds. He had special powers over ‎‎‎nature and was able to stop floods and droughts, ‎‎‎forest fires, and even earthquakes according to some ‎‎‎stories. ‎

      ‎"Now, in those days there were four major powers ‎‎in this part of ‎the world: Kalithria, Volandris, Bentris, ‎‎‎and Delantrin. Phaleran gave freely of his knowledge ‎‎‎and his powers to any who needed his aid. He was ‎‎‎respected not just for his power, but also for his ‎‎‎wisdom, and was often called upon to settle disputes ‎‎‎between the nations. ‎

      ‎"There wasn't a treaty signed or a ‎royal marriage ‎‎contracted without the approval of ‎Phaleran. But for ‎‎all his power, he was still a man, and ‎in time he began ‎‎to grow old and frail and was no ‎longer able to travel ‎‎as he had when he was younger. ‎

      ‎"Then, one winter, Phaleran became ill and was ‎‎unable ‎to go to Kalithria when they called for his help. ‎‎There ‎were disastrous floods in Kalithria and ‎‎Volandris. It ‎took the two countries years to recover.‎

      ‎"After that disaster, Phaleran began to turn his ‎‎mind to ‎finding a way to help the people without the ‎‎need for ‎him to come himself. He decided to forge ‎‎four ‎magical collars, one for each of the nations. They ‎‎were ‎fabulous things, made of gold and each set with ‎‎gems.‎

      ‎"When he had finished them, Phaleran placed in ‎‎each ‎one a fifth part of his power. The final fifth he ‎‎kept to see ‎him through what remained of his life. He ‎‎presented ‎one of the Collars to the monarch of each ‎‎country. ‎Then he retired to his mountain retreat, ‎‎confident that ‎the lands would be well looked after. ‎

      ‎"But it wasn’t ‎long before the rulers realised that ‎‎they had been ‎given a powerful weapon. Rather than ‎‎using the ‎Collars as Phaleran had intended, they began ‎‎to use ‎their power to oppress their people and each ‎‎other. ‎Poliria of Delantrin, in particular, set out to ‎‎build ‎herself an empire. ‎

      ‎"Dathin of Bentris died ‎mysteriously, and his ‎‎collar disappeared. It was ‎widely rumoured that it was ‎‎Poliria’s doing, but ‎nothing could be proved. Kalithria ‎‎and Volandris ‎formed an alliance against her and ‎‎appealed to ‎Phaleran for help. The nations were on the ‎‎brink of a ‎terrible war.‎ ‎

      ‎"When Phaleran heard what was happening, he ‎‎‎was heartbroken. He knew he had to stop what was ‎‎happening, but he no ‎longer had the power. Though he ‎‎was by now very ill, ‎he set out on a long journey to ‎‎find help, taking just ‎one servant with him. ‎

      ‎"He was afraid to tell anyone ‎else where he was ‎‎going. He knew that Poliria would ‎do all she could to ‎‎stop him if she found out. ‎Together, Phaleran and his ‎‎servant travelled for many ‎weeks and through many ‎‎dangers until they reached ‎the eastern borders of the ‎‎land that is now known as ‎Crinnan. ‎

      ‎"There they sought out the sorceress Anarede, ‎a ‎‎long-time friend of Phaleran, and the only person in ‎‎‎the world who could match him in power. The three ‎‎‎set about forging a fifth collar, a master collar. ‎‎‎Phaleran placed in it the remainder of his power, and ‎‎‎Anarede added to that a portion of hers, on the ‎‎‎promise that the collar would be returned to her when ‎‎‎its task was completed.‎

      ‎"Now the collar was ready, but a new problem ‎‎arose. They could find no ‎champion to carry it against ‎‎Poliria. Phaleran was too ‎old and weak, and it had ‎‎always been the plan for ‎Anarede and the wearer of ‎‎the collar to work together. ‎

      ‎"The whole idea behind the collar was to double ‎‎their ‎power. That advantage would be lost if Anarede ‎‎wore ‎it. They offered the collar to various people, but ‎‎they ‎were all reluctant to accept it. For one thing, ‎‎there was ‎a great deal of power contained in the ‎‎collar, and there ‎was some doubt as to how easy it ‎‎would be to control. ‎

      ‎"Also, a rumour had begun to go around to the ‎‎effect ‎that the original Collars had affected the minds ‎‎of the ‎people who wore them, and that was what had ‎‎caused ‎all the trouble. No one was willing to risk their ‎‎sanity ‎by accepting the new collar. ‎

      ‎"They were at an impasse. ‎They had a weapon ‎‎with the potential to overcome ‎Poliria, but they could ‎‎find no one willing to wield it.‎ ‎

      ‎"Then Phaleran died. His servant, Dalmia, was ‎‎‎heartbroken. Now that she had lost her master, she ‎‎‎volunteered to be the bearer of the collar. ‎

      ‎"Dalmia and ‎Anarede set out on the long journey ‎‎back to Kalithria. ‎It was a difficult journey, for by ‎‎then Poliria had ‎learned of their quest, and they were ‎‎forced far out of ‎their way to avoid the pursuit. They ‎‎arrived back at ‎Phaleran’s home six months after he ‎‎and Dalmia had ‎left, to find the situation had grown ‎‎much worse. ‎

      ‎"Poliria had taken control of Bentris and was ‎‎attacking ‎Volandris and Kalithria. Morralin of ‎‎Volandris had ‎been killed in battle, and his collar had ‎‎been taken by ‎his son, who had hidden it, afraid that ‎‎it would fall ‎into Poliria’s hands. ‎

      ‎"The son had then also fallen in ‎battle without ‎‎telling anyone where he had put the ‎collar. To this day ‎‎it has never been found. Poliria had ‎tried to use the ‎‎collar of Bentris, not knowing that ‎Phaleran had ‎‎placed protective spells on the Collars, ‎and it had been ‎‎destroyed. ‎

      ‎"That left only the collar of ‎Kalithria, and when ‎‎Dalmia and Anarede went to visit ‎Queen Kirriah, she ‎‎begged them to take the collar, for ‎she saw it as a ‎‎curse and blamed it for all the trouble.‎ ‎

      ‎"Dalmia and Anarede took the collar and hid it in ‎‎‎a safe place. Remaining in hiding, they used the power ‎‎‎of the new collar to frustrate Poliria’s plans. This they ‎‎‎did for many months until at last, Poliria discovered ‎‎‎where they were. ‎

      ‎"They met on the plain in Delantrin ‎which was in ‎‎later times known as the Plain of ‎Dalmia. There they ‎‎faced each other, Poliria on the ‎west, and Dalmia and ‎‎Anarede on the east. There was ‎a great battle of ‎‎magic. There were floods and ‎tempests, and the ‎‎common folk fled. ‎

      ‎"For eight days ‎the battle raged. Lightning seared ‎‎the ground, rocks ‎and hillsides crumbled, the earth ‎‎quaked and great ‎fissures were opened, out of which ‎‎came flaming rock. ‎The smoke and steam of that ‎‎conflict could be seen as ‎far away as the borders of ‎‎Kiriath, and the people hid, fearing that the end of the ‎‎world had ‎come. ‎

      ‎"At last, on the eighth day of the conflict, ‎‎‎Anarede fell into a fissure that opened at her feet. ‎‎‎Dalmia, so weary that she could hardly stand, and ‎‎‎almost mad with sorrow and fear, channelled all her ‎‎‎sorrow and hatred through the collar in one last effort, ‎‎‎calling down lightning from the sky upon Poliria.‎

      ‎"Now, although Poliria knew about the collar, she ‎‎‎seems to have considered Anarede, whom she knew ‎‎‎to be a sorceress of great power, to be her main ‎‎‎opponent. Seeing Anarede fall, Poliria had relaxed her ‎‎‎concentration, and she was struck down by Dalmia's ‎‎‎attack. ‎

      ‎"So Poliria was finally defeated, yet the cost ‎had ‎‎been enormous. Most of Delantrin and a good ‎part of ‎‎Bentris were devastated, and ever since those ‎lands ‎‎have been known as the Lost Lands. No one ‎lives ‎‎there, no one goes there. ‎

      ‎"They are accursed. No ‎crops will grow there, and ‎‎some say they are inhabited ‎by monsters and ghosts. ‎‎The people who lived there ‎were forced to move out ‎‎and abandon the land or ‎starve. ‎

      ‎"When the people dared to come to the battle site, ‎‎‎they found nothing of Poliria or her collar but charred ‎‎‎remains, and they found Dalmia lying as though dead. ‎‎‎It was a long time before she recovered, and she was ‎‎‎much changed by her ordeal. ‎

      ‎"It is said that she never ‎smiled again but went ‎‎about always as though in ‎mourning. She stayed with ‎‎the people for some ‎months, using the power of the ‎‎collar to remedy what ‎she could of the ills Poliria had ‎‎caused, but when the ‎work was done she disappeared, ‎‎taking the Collars ‎with her. ‎

      ‎So the Collars were gone from the world. ‎Life ‎‎went on as it had before, and slowly the story ‎passed ‎‎out of memory and into legend. But there is a ‎‎‎prophecy that one day the Collars will return to ‎‎‎trouble the world again.‎

      ‎The prophecy of Omal, Arneel said. Vorneth ‎‎‎nodded. And the Collars have never been found? ‎

      The old man shook his head.‎ ‎No. Though there ‎‎are records in the most ancient ‎books, some of them ‎‎written by Dalmia herself, and ‎it’s said there are clues ‎‎to the hiding places of the ‎Collars contained in those ‎‎accounts.‎

      ‎Where may these books be found? Arneel ‎‎‎asked, leaning forward.‎

      ‎It would be most unwise to go looking for the ‎‎‎Collars, my friend, Vorneth said gravely. It would ‎‎‎be a great mistake to bring such evil back to the ‎‎‎world.‎

      ‎But the Collars themselves are not evil.‎

      ‎Nothing is evil in and of itself. But such power ‎‎corrupts, ‎and therefore they bring evil. Leave them ‎‎alone, ‎Arneel.‎

      ‎I can’t. You must tell me what you know of ‎‎‎these records, Vorneth. I must know. ‎

      Vorneth looked ‎hard at Arneel, then across to his ‎‎sister, and sighed a ‎long, weary sigh.‎

      ‎We’ll discuss it in the morning. But please, my ‎‎‎friend, consider carefully what you may unleash upon ‎‎‎the world.‎

      ‎I know the dangers. But I’ll think about it. I ‎‎‎promise.‎

      When Arneel finally climbed the stairs to the loft, ‎‎‎Niari was sound asleep. He took a tattered parchment ‎‎‎from the pocket of his cloak and laid it out on the bed. ‎‎‎He spent a long time bent over it, his face grim as he ‎‎‎peered at the words written on it, repeating them to ‎‎‎himself under his breath. At length, he folded the ‎‎‎parchment again, replaced it in his cloak, and went to ‎‎‎bed. He lay awake for a long time.‎

      CHAPTER FOUR

      After breakfast the next morning, Vorneth found ‎‎‎Arneel sitting on the porch, staring moodily out across ‎‎‎the fields. He looked up as Vorneth approached, then ‎‎‎went back to staring.‎

      ‎You’re troubled.‎

      ‎I’m afraid, Vorneth. I’m afraid I won’t be strong ‎‎‎enough to see this through.‎

      ‎You’ll find the strength when it’s needed, don’t ‎‎‎worry. Have you thought about what we discussed ‎‎‎last night?‎

      ‎Yes. That’s partly why I’m afraid. I must know, ‎‎‎Vorneth. Walk with me for a while and I’ll tell you ‎‎‎why.‎

      They stayed with Genia and Vorneth that night ‎‎‎also since rain moved in shortly after midmorning. ‎The ‎‎evening was spent by the fire listening to some ‎more ‎‎of Vorneth’s stories. He knew a great deal of ‎lore, and ‎‎he had a way of making the stories come to ‎life. It ‎‎was late when they finally said good night and ‎went ‎‎to bed.‎

      The next morning the rain had blown on over, and ‎‎‎Arneel insisted that they really must be going, though ‎‎‎Vorneth pressed him to stay a little longer.‎

      ‎Well, if you must go, you must, he said sadly. ‎‎‎‎But I still don’t see what you hope to achieve. Even ‎‎‎if you do find the Collars, remember they are ‎‎‎protected. If anyone other than a direct descendant of ‎‎‎the original monarch tries to use them, they will be ‎‎‎destroyed. Poliria found that out when she tried to use ‎‎‎the Collar of Bentris. Be careful.‎

      ‎I will.‎

      ‎I expect you’ll go straight to Onnian. There’s a ‎‎‎shortcut through the forest that will save you a day. ‎‎‎I’ll explain it to you.‎

      ‎That would be a great help, Arneel agreed.‎

      They left after the noon meal, their packs full of ‎‎‎supplies that Vorneth and Genia insisted on giving ‎‎‎them. As she followed Arneel through the gate, Niari ‎‎‎had plenty to think about. Apparently, her owner was ‎‎‎on some sort of quest to find the Collars of Phaleran! ‎

      He seemed fairly sane to her, but what sane man ‎‎went ‎about chasing legends? Niari shrugged. There ‎‎was ‎nothing she could do about it. She was bound to ‎‎serve ‎Arneel, and if that meant following him all over ‎‎the ‎world chasing rainbows, that was what she would ‎‎have ‎to do. ‎

      At least she could take comfort in the ‎knowledge ‎‎that if he showed signs of being dangerous ‎she could ‎‎appeal to the nearest priesthouse for an ‎annulment of ‎‎the contract. Meantime, she would just ‎have to watch, ‎‎wait and learn as much as she could. ‎With a sigh, she ‎‎adjusted the straps on her pack and ‎followed Arneel ‎‎into the forest.‎

      Niari liked the forest. It was airy and open, and ‎‎‎birds sang in the trees. The trail was clear and easy to ‎‎‎follow, and the light was cool and green, the patches ‎‎‎of sunlight that cut across their path from time to time ‎‎‎seeming very bright in comparison.‎

      ‎Where to now? she asked Arneel.‎

      ‎To the temple at Onnian. I want to visit their ‎‎‎libraries.‎

      Arneel seemed quite relaxed, even chatty, and ‎‎‎Niari seized the chance to draw him out a bit as they ‎‎‎walked. She learned that he came from Entroth, near ‎‎‎the border with Nebreth.‎

      ‎Your accent isn’t Entrothian, she observed. Is ‎‎‎that because you lived near the border?‎

      ‎Partly. The border people speak their own ‎‎‎dialect, and the accent is different from the interior of ‎‎‎the country. But I lived here in Nebreth until I was ‎‎‎ten, and that probably has a lot to do with it.‎

      ‎What’s Entroth like?‎

      ‎It’s rather like Nebreth, but more rugged and ‎‎‎more heavily forested, probably because the ‎‎‎population's smaller. The climate's fairly similar, ‎‎‎maybe just a little warmer and wetter.‎

      ‎Will we be going back there when you’ve ‎‎‎finished your business here?‎

      ‎I don’t think I’ll ever go back. There was a tinge ‎‎‎of sadness in Arneel’s voice. Abruptly, he changed the ‎‎‎subject. Wouldn’t you like to find out where you ‎‎‎belong?‎

      The question took Niari by surprise. I never really ‎‎‎thought about it. I always felt that I belonged where I ‎‎‎was, with my foster father. I never knew anything ‎‎‎about my own parents, and I was too young when ‎‎‎they died to have ever missed them.‎

      ‎Where did you live?‎

      ‎A small community north of where you found ‎‎‎me. The people farm and fish. I lived there all my life. ‎‎‎I wish we’d never left.‎

      ‎Don’t start crying again! I can’t stand people ‎‎‎who cry.‎

      ‎I’m not, she lied, and blinked back the tears ‎‎‎fiercely. She couldn’t stand people who were afraid of ‎‎‎a little honest emotion. What are you looking for in ‎‎‎the libraries at Onnian? she asked, wanting to hear it ‎‎‎confirmed from his own lips.‎

      ‎None of your business, Arneel snapped and ‎‎‎walked on ahead as if to reinforce to her that the ‎‎‎conversation was at an end. ‎

      Niari stared at him, a little ‎hurt. Then she ‎‎shrugged. Okay, so it was a big secret ‎that he was ‎‎after the Collars of Phaleran. She'd ‎thought he'd ‎‎realised she was there when Vorneth ‎talked to him ‎‎about them that morning, but apparently ‎not. ‎

      Well, if that was the way he wanted it, that was ‎‎‎fine by her. She trudged on, feeling slightly huffy. ‎‎‎And just to make her day complete, it was beginning ‎‎‎to rain again.‎

      That night, Niari lay trying to sleep, wondering ‎‎‎how long they were going to spend on the road before ‎‎‎Arneel finally returned home. She realised he had ‎‎‎never told her where he lived, or even if he had a ‎‎‎home. He had mentioned Entroth, but he had also said ‎‎‎that he didn’t intend to go back there. ‎

      He hadn’t ‎really told her anything about himself ‎‎at all. Were they ‎going to wander around the country ‎‎forever? And if ‎that happened, would she ever get the ‎‎chance to do ‎what she must and get rid of the burden ‎‎her father ‎had left her? ‎

      It worried her constantly. Every time she ‎wore the ‎‎cloak, she was aware of the weight in the ‎hem, and it ‎‎seemed to be getting heavier as the days ‎passed. She ‎‎wished she could be rid of the thing. She ‎rolled over ‎‎and drifted into a troubled dream.‎

      Niari wasn’t sure why she woke. She didn’t think ‎‎‎she’d slept very long. Arneel was still up, bending ‎‎‎over something on the ground, holding a flaming piece ‎‎‎of wood from the campfire aloft in one hand as a ‎‎‎torch. He hadn’t noticed her stir. She lay still, ‎‎‎watching through half-closed lids. ‎

      He appeared to be ‎examining something. Niari’s ‎‎curiosity was aroused. ‎She knew he was looking for ‎‎the Collars of Phaleran, ‎of course, but that madcap ‎‎quest didn't explain the ‎overheard comments between ‎‎him and Vorneth that ‎seemed to indicate that he was ‎‎‎– well – afraid of her. ‎

      And it certainly didn't explain why the presence ‎‎of ‎Overlord's men on the roads made him nervous. It ‎‎was ‎that reaction to the Overlord's men that ‎‎concerned her ‎the most. If he was up to something ‎‎that was likely to get ‎him into trouble with the ‎‎Overlord; something ‎subversive, say, then it wasn't ‎‎just his life and liberty ‎on the line any longer, was it? ‎

      She would be implicated ‎too. This wasn't just ‎‎about curiosity. It was about ‎protecting herself, and to ‎‎do that she needed to know ‎what he was up to.‎ No ‎‎one liked the Overlord much, and it was ‎certainly true ‎‎that his incessant demands for money to ‎fund his ‎‎expansionist wars had caused immense ‎hardship for ‎‎the common people. ‎

      But the simple fact ‎was that, love him or hate him ‎‎since most of the royal ‎family had been drowned ‎‎along with Queen Jermethra ‎when the royal barge ‎‎sank, Malvas was the legitimate ‎ruler of Nebreth. ‎

      True, there was rumoured to be a ‎missing heir ‎‎somewhere. In fact, Malvas himself had ‎fuelled those ‎‎rumours by refusing to accept the title of ‎king and ‎‎instituting a search for any other descendants ‎of the ‎‎royal family. ‎

      But it had been five years since ‎Jermethra's death, ‎‎and no such heir had been found. ‎Dissenters ‎‎whispered that if an heir did exist, it was ‎probably ‎‎very wise of him not to allow himself to be ‎found. But ‎‎that was just the usual windy speculation ‎and wishful ‎‎thinking. ‎

      Anyway, the person most ‎people thought of when ‎‎the heir was mentioned had ‎gone missing many years ‎‎ago and was almost ‎certainly dead since he hadn't ‎‎come forward when ‎Jermethra died. Malvas' search ‎‎had turned up ‎nothing. ‎

      There just was no way around the fact that ‎Malvas ‎‎had a perfect right to the throne. Niari did not ‎want to ‎‎be implicated in some treasonous plot. She ‎wished she ‎‎could see what Arneel was looking at, but ‎she didn’t ‎‎dare move. ‎

      Arneel scratched his head, ‎straightened, and Niari ‎‎saw him pick up what looked ‎like a parchment, and ‎‎fold it with great care. He ‎turned toward her, and she ‎‎closed her eyes quickly. ‎She heard him move and ‎‎dared another peek, just in ‎time to see him put his ‎‎cloak down. ‎

      She closed her ‎eyes again, listening to the small ‎‎sounds as Arneel ‎readied himself for bed.‎ Finally, it ‎‎went quiet, but it was a long time before ‎she got up ‎‎the courage to move. Cautiously, she raised ‎her head. ‎‎Arneel appeared to be sound asleep. ‎

      Still, she ‎lay, afraid to move, wondering if she ‎‎was doing the ‎right thing. She didn't consider herself ‎‎a bold person, ‎and she shuddered to think what would ‎‎happen if ‎Arneel caught her snooping. What if the ‎‎parchment ‎wasn't what she thought but was ‎‎something personal, ‎a love letter, say? ‎

      Yet she had to know what she'd got ‎herself ‎‎involved in. The arguments went round and ‎round in ‎‎her head. Finally, she worked up the courage.‎ She sat ‎‎up. There was no movement from Arneel. Taking a ‎‎‎deep breath, she crept across to

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