The Passers Trilogy Box Set

THE PASSERS BOX SET

LORETTA LAIRD

WWW.LUMINOSITYPUBLISHING.COM

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Cover: The Passers

Introduction: The Passers

Quote: The Passers

Prologue

Revenge

Lambord Redfear

Realisation

Old Wounds

Dreams Lost

Training Begins

History Lesson

Goodbyes to Some

Emeraldon

Training

The Hamlet of Verdalia

Progress Report

Word is Out

Woodland Round Up

Home Sweet Home

The Freegan Rise

Servant’s Call

The Fire Hills of Dargoon

Battle Looms

Face to Face

Ride to Victory

A New World

On The Run

Destiny Fulfilled

Cover: The Change

Introduction: The Change

New Life

The Second Conference of Barveyn

The Box of Truth

Missing

Decisions Are Made

Captive

The Time of the Sun

Varyon

The Moon of the Crops

Let the Games Commence

The Feast of the Warriors

Demon’s Drop

The Hunter and the Hunted

Reunited

The Earken Tumble

The Conference Meets

Trial by Water

Fond Farewells

Cover: Passing On

Introduction: Passing On

Jadehollow

Jadesbain

The Birth of Ved

A Welcome Visit

The Fortress of Zergain

New Recruits

Grave News

Departure

Dargoon

Journey Home

Back to Barveyn

An Unexpected Delay

A New Threat

An Army Marches

Back at Barveyn

Epilogue

Author Biography

End Credits

LUMINOSITY PUBLISHING LLP

THE PASSERS BOX SET

Copyright © June 2016 Loretta Laird

ISBN: 978-1-910899-84-7

Cover Art by Poppy Designs

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this literary work may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

THE PASSERS

The Passers, Book One

At the time of Awakening, Jadara is awakened to her own destiny. She is the one who has been foretold to bring about the time of Change in the land of Fellnesia.

Meanwhile, the evil Greenflack tries to expand his reign of terror by enslaving the peaceful freegan; noble beasts from The Fire Hills of Dargoon.

With the help of the Passers, she begins to know courage and love in this heady mix of adventure and romance. Will true love conquer all in this epic quest?

The Passers

"They ride around with eyes of brown,

And souls within their skin.

When deaths abound, you’ll hear their cry,

Make haste and let them in."

Prologue

The wind blew fiercely as the giant, panting horse galloped relentlessly through the deserted plain. Dark was falling fast, and that meant that creatures far more terrifying than those in pursuit would soon abound. Shelter needed to be found, and none knew this better than the grim-faced warrior who rode with such fury. The trust he had witnessed in the emerald eyes of his passenger haunted him with each passing league. A man could get lost in those eyes, a luxury he could ill afford. At least not until he’d found shelter, he found himself thinking with a wolfish grin.

The day had started well enough with an early wash in possibly the coldest water he had ever experienced. He and his men had gathered in the modest marketplace unaware, or perhaps unconcerned, with the wary glances of mothers as they sent their children inside or the wistful looks of several passing maidens as they found excuse after excuse to pass through the town’s central square. They were making ready to leave.

The Passers never lingered in any place beyond a few starred nights. The danger both to the men and the local population was too great and their responsibilities to the land too vast. The people of this hamlet known as Jadehollow were the ruling kin-folk of the Air Element. Their aged king had passed and been returned to the elements and his Primary Mate, Oakina, was set to rule in his place until her daughter partnered with a Primary Mate and took on the role.

The process had been overseen by The Passers, hence their brief stay in the town, and had been a thoroughly dignified and solemn procedure with the grace that they had come to expect from the gentle, tree-dwelling folk of Jadehollow. Their royal kin-folk were adored by the people resulting in the richest land in the realm. The Passers were invited out of a deep-rooted respect for their calling and as a deterrent for any rival tribe who may foolishly think to intervene with the way things were done in Fellnesia. From time to time, a greedy group of kin-folk might have interfered with the order of life, but never with the Passers present. That is, until today.

Unbeknown to The Passers, a claimant to the throne order of Jadehollow was making his way towards the peaceful hamlet. He, a certain Greenflack, was a cousin to the deceased and next in the male lineage for the throne. He was now armed and in charge of an army five hundred strong. This army was awaiting the order to strike. Their primary target—one Princess Fernella.

The order was to crush any remaining opposition and take control. Greenflack, although a greedy and ambitious man, was clever. He knew of the presence of The Passers. He would never have expected his cousin to overlook the age-old rituals of passing, and that could never be achieved without the timeless role of The Passers. He also knew that The Passers would be leaving sometime soon—gold really does buy you anything including kin-folk’s loyalty—thus leaving the town defenceless and unsuspecting.

His only regret was that the lovely Fernella would not become his Primary Mate. Her on-going mortality was just too big a threat.

Greenflack, in his arrogance, had made one fatal flaw—ignoring the total fear and respect that The Passers’ very presence inspired. They had no need of gold; just their role in the very fabric of Fellnesia equalled their freedom and dominance into any corner of society. Their warrior-like forms and tattooed markings coupled with a mysterious lifestyle gave them the awe of deities.

As Princess Fernella arrived in the market square to formally and respectfully dismiss the guests, Aquarion, the local blacksmith—a man very down on his luck since the arrival of a skilled wood crafter—could stand the guilt no longer. One glance at the dancing green eyes and the elegant glide of the royal princess as she walked towards The Passers, greeting everyone by name, was enough for his resolve to vanish and his humanity to dominate. He rushed towards The Passers, ready to confess.

A wall of bronzed muscled flesh blocked his path, and he stumbled back, feeling like he’d struck a stone wall. He gazed up into fierce brown eyes, barely visible through the copper markings that adorned the faces, which were glaring back at him, frowning at the scrutiny.

I–I… must speak with your leader, he choked. A–a–attack!

The men were brushed aside like flies as their leader, Lambord Redfear, emerged. If the wall of men were enough to induce nightmares, then this man was like the very devil himself, and he was in no mood for a prolonged visit. He towered head and shoulders above Aquarion and was almost double his width. He wore the customary woven cloak of The Passers, slung over his naked shoulder and secured with an intricate silver broach. His young face was weathered from a lifetime spent exposed to the elements yet his lively brown eyes reflected his true age.

He was the youngest king ever to rule The Passers, having succeeded his own father five snows before when fever robbed the band of nomadic warriors of their leader. Lambord then just twenty-seven, took control of the men. He had proven his loyalty every day since and was soon hailed the most just and worthy king the men had ever served. Each of the mighty giants would willingly lay down his life for their ruler, and he would return the honour for any of them. Thus, the band of brethren travelled around the land of Fellnesia assisting the souls to pass to their new form as was fitting to the Element of their kin.

Lambord now loomed menacingly above the troubled wood crafter.

Spit it out, man! he growled. What is all this talk of attack?

By now Fernella had arrived on the scene and was resting her arm lightly on the arm of Aquarion ready to defend him, her subject, against this bear of a man who was clearly intimidating one of her beloved people. She turned on the Passer, her eyes ablaze with anger, sparks flashing in the emerald irises. Not a trace of fear was there which, for a moment, took the breath from the warrior king. He gazed back, momentarily forgetting that word ‘attack.’ The look that met his seemed to tear at his very soul. He quickly blinked and cursed himself for being in the same place for too long. It always began to stir up passions in his men, and the urge to set down roots. He was usually immune to such thoughts; usually content to satisfy a physical desire only.

He shook his head, banishing his worries, and returned his awareness to the angry eyes before him.

Well? she demanded.

Well, what? he bit back, determined to meet this vixen on his terms.

What do you have to say to my friend here? Why are you being such a bully?

He spluttered, aghast at the accusation. Me? He was the one shouting about an attack.

By now, it had all become too much for Aquarion. The loyalty that his princess was showing him, standing up to this barbarian made his betrayal more real. He broke down in tears, his shoulders racked with sobs.

Eventually, the sorry tale unfolded, and Aquarion was dismissed to be taken to a holding place to await trial. He could not stomach a glance at the lady Fernella, whose downcast head and pale hue were more than enough punishment to haunt his dreams. His moment of weakness would destroy the very fabric of the society that he had played his part in so gratefully, the society where his children had been raised and the place where his Primary Mate had been returned to the element of air.

I owe you an apology, she whispered. I just never thought for one minute… her voice trailed off. He heard her sharp intake of breath and witnessed her head shoot bolt upright, a determined look appearing upon her face.

Battle! she stated. We must go into battle.

Impressed by her mighty words yet realistic about the chances of a grieving town against a trained army, Lambord Redfear made a decision. A decision that would cause him more trouble than he could ever envisage. A decision that would change the very fabric of the society that he worked so hard to protect; a decision that became his destiny and the destiny of many who came after him. In truth, it was a decision that went against the very code of The Passers yet seemed to fulfil their very existence.

He decided to rescue her.

He caught up with Fernella about a hundred yards from her tree dwelling. She was preparing to collect her battle armour and sword bow. He hurriedly outlined his plan to remove her from danger, stressing the importance of her survival. She disagreed vehemently and tried to force her way past his burly frame. With a laugh, he swung her up onto his shoulder, whistled for his horse and leapt astride. Just as the distant sound of metal clashing with metal reached their ears, they were cantering out, passing the last house and entering the forest beyond.

Despite her pounding fists on his back, despite all her orders, cries and finally pleas to return her to fight and, if necessary, die with her people, they did not pause. Not until they reached a distant mountain top did he decrease the pace. There he brought the horse about and pointed towards a burning settlement in the distance.

Look! he instructed. Turning her face with his fingers under her chin, he repeated Look! Your home.

Tears filled her eyes, giving them the image of a clear pool before they overflowed.

Why? she asked. Why?

Greed, he answered, respecting this woman enough to address her with honesty. A claim to your land and a plan to kill you. They won’t rest now until you are found and destroyed. I will take you to a place where you will be protected. A land such as yours, where people are true and kind of heart. There we will plan to reclaim your land and liberate your people. You were no good to them dead. You alone are the true heiress to your kin-folk.

As she gazed into his dark eyes, he saw a look of trust that caused an unfamiliar knot of emotion deep within his throat. She nodded and managed a grateful smile. Thank you.

Later, after a weary ride, they found a cave secluded in the side of a steep mountain. The air was thinning, and there was a sharp chill that crept about them. Lambord made short work of starting a small fire, enough to warm them but not to attract attention.

Shy now, aware of the proximity between them, she quietly sat and watched the flames dancing and making patterns. She shuddered as she thought of the flames engulfing her precious home and tears once again sprung to her eyes. Mistaking her trembling for cold, Lambord draped a fur around her shoulder, tucking it in under her as she sat.

Where is it we are going? she enquired as calmly as if they were out on a day trip. We are a long way from the Air Element kin-folk.

You would not be safe there, he warned. I am taking you to the mountains, just beyond this one as a matter of fact. My sister lives there with her Primary Mate. He is Water.

She gasped, for the first time showing signs of fear. Water? They will never accept me.

Stories and rumours are the best defence. He smiled kindly. When we learn to fear then we rarely explore the world, he added mysteriously. The people of Turonia are simple folk ruled over by a worthy chief, Harmish Greywater. He is my brother in all but name and will open his home to you. His kin-folk will then follow his lead. You will be safe.

Fernella sighed and suppressed a yawn, nodding both to his calming words and with the heaviness that sleep brings. She shivered; this time with cold, and Lambord moved towards her, opening his arms to swallow up her tiny frame. She turned towards him to offer her thanks then gasped as his breath reached her face in a gentle caress. He was so close now. She began to wonder what it would feel like to have those lips on hers. She did not have to wonder for long.

He leaned in towards her, seemingly mesmerised by the depth of her eyes and the beauty that would be his this night. With a quiet sigh, she offered her consent.

Revenge

She’s nowhere, my Lord. A young man with long, fair hair approached with a timid step. He was concerned about the news that he had to deliver, news that the princess Fernella had eluded them. Cool green eyes regarded the messenger with contempt.

A maiden has escaped from a mighty army with no trace? he roared. With a movement as swift as lightning striking, Greenflack drew his sword and impaled the youth. The corpse crumpled to the ground as Greenflack stalked away.

Unacceptable! he muttered.

Surveying the carnage all around him, Greenflack allowed himself a moment of pure delight. He had conquered the elusive hamlet of Jadehollow despite the presence of The Passers. No one was left to contest his claim. The Passers lay scattered and lifeless at his feet. The kin-folk cowered in their dwellings as his men enjoyed the spoils of the battle. Maidens were had, be they willing or unwilling; his men paid no heed. Their urges would be sated this night regardless.

Greenflack stepped across the body of Aquarion, impaled by the sword of Greenflack’s first officer.

Traitor. Greenflack spat a globule of moisture onto the corpse.

A raven-haired man approached with the air of one used to his own authority. His eyes scanned the bloodbath and took in the power hungry gaze of his Lord.

Greenflack, he greeted his superior with a brotherly gesture. We have a situation I’d like you to attend to personally.

Greenflack spun around, at once intrigued. For Em to require his presence, it must be interesting indeed.

Lead on! he ordered brusquely.

Stepping almost daintily between the bodies, the men moved towards a small hut as if performing a macabre dance. They pushed open a rickety wooden door, which swung on its rusty hinges with a creak.

Inside the small dwelling crouched a figure that Greenflack had heard of only in boyhood tales. Its smooth scaled head protruded from a hunched body. The figure, although human in shape, glowed with a silvery radiance. It rasped as it rocked, staring straight into the small fire that lit the cramped space.

Dolchie! breathed Greenflack, gasping for air in the confined room.

His heart hammered in his chest, his earlier joy replaced by terror. The Dolchie were rumoured to foretell what was to come. It was said that they saw the colour of a man’s soul and all whose destiny they revealed would ever after fear their magic. Their revelations were said to entwine with the lives of those chosen, and the predicted future would shape the present. Greenflack had imagined them to be a legend, but here he was gazing upon the gruesome truth.

Greenflack, hissed a gravelly voice emanating from the creature before him. Come closer to the glow of the flame. You are indeed chosen by the Dolchie to hear your destiny.

Greenflack listened; his mouth gaped in horror.

A day will come when your reign will end. One who joins the worlds will defeat you; a Passer, yet so much more. She is the three that has been spoken of since the dawn of time. The Change is coming, and your end will be swift, Greenflack. Draw on the freegan at your peril. They are more than your frail mind can control. You will rue this day, the day you became ruler of Jadehollow, for it is not your destiny. You dare to defy fate, and you will pay the price with your very soul.

The Dolchie gasped for air and its rocking intensified. Pain! it screamed. So much pain!

The screams reverberated around the small hut as Greenflack burst out gasping for clean breaths of air. He leaned heavily on the wooden frame that held the entry point.

Kill it! he snarled at Em. Find the princess and kill that… that thing.

Em’s face paled at the prospect of murder. He was many unpleasant things, but cold-blooded killing never sat well with him.

Coward! sneered Greenflack, casting a disgusted look at his pallid companion. Pushing his way back into the hut, he strode across the room and reached out towards the curled up figure. Grasping its neck with his powerful hands he twisted, fuelled by a burning fury. The snap that ensued sickened Em’s very soul.

A surge of brutal energy coursed through Greenflack’s body, a sensation he had never experienced before. The essence of the Dolchie seemed to pass into him. He felt a burning rage and silver shards sparked from an aura that surrounded him. He felt an emotion beyond anger and it filled him with ecstasy. Gasping for air once more, Greenflack burst from the hut, splintering the frame as his glowing form forced its way into the daylight. A trail of silver interlaced his flesh and settled in a spiralled twist over his body.

Rage still consuming him, Greenflack turned to Em. Fail me again and it will be your neck that is severed. Now find me Fernella!

Not waiting to be told twice, Em raced off to mount his horse. He was an experienced tracker and soon picked up the trail of hoof prints on the dusty track. Hoof prints too large for an Air Dweller. A Passer’s horse had left the hamlet, of that he was sure.

Greenflack considered the prophecy he had heard. Freegans were an option he had not considered. They were creatures of old. They had been part of Fellnesia since the dawn of time. Their power and fiery essence could be very valuable to him. If he could harness such power, he could truly conquer the whole of Fellnesia. Greed filled his vile heart as he sought a way to harness their spirit to his will. A surge of raw energy filled him, and he glimpsed himself touching the flesh of a freegan. The thrill that ensued convinced him of his plan. The Dolchie must have transported their energy to him, and he would use it to foresee his own path.

Crowing with arrogance, Greenflack made ready to trek to the Fire Hills of Dargoon. There he would face the freegan and bend them to his will. Fernella would be stopped, and his reign would begin. A slow smile spread over his scarred face as he rode north.

Lambord Redfear

Lambord Redfear had never experienced a feeling akin to that which he felt when he left Fernella in the mountain hamlet of Turonia. He knew that his sibling Drew, and her Primary Mate, Harmish Greywater, would care for her. He had seen it in their eyes as they greeted the two weary travellers on their arrival late last night. Childless from an unfortunate ailment that had cursed his sister since the time of her first bleed, they had lived as guardians for an assortment of waifs and strays ranging from injured animals to orphaned youngsters. Kind-eyed and always ready with a hot meal and a word of comfort, Drew and Harmish presided over their kin with fairness and harmony.

The small hamlet of Turonia was perched almost precariously on the side of the tallest mountain in Fellnesia. It was accessed by a winding pass that was hard to negotiate on the best of days and totally impassable for most of the snows. This made it the perfect place to secure a princess who was in hiding from a terrible threat to her life. Lambord knew enough about Greenflack’s type to know that he would want one of only two things from a pretty rival to the throne order—instant death or a life as his mate, the latter being a far more gruesome option in Lambord’s opinion.

Although he was not able to take a Primary Mate himself, he had no intention of allowing this beautiful green-eyed girl to be mated with another. The nights spent in caves along the route to Turonia had awakened him to how it would be to take a Primary Mate, and a little piece of him would never again feel fully satisfied with his life as a nomadic Passer.

Lambord now sat at the bottom of the mountain looking up at the little dwelling that he’d just departed. He was reluctant to leave yet knew that his duty was to the men that he had left behind. The Passers did not abandon their own, his father had taught him that, but he had known that his destiny lay entwined with the Air Princess. He’d known as soon as he beheld her, eyes blazing as she’d sprung to the defence of Aquarion. It was as if he was back with the Dolchie when it had foretold his own fate. Foretold the part that he must play in bringing about The Change.

* * * *

Long ago, a woman mated with a Passer and bore him a son. This was a rare occurrence in Fellnesia as The Passers were not permitted to take a Primary Mate. That son was Lambord. As a young boy with unruly curls and wide brown eyes, Lambord was taken from his mother. He was claimed by the order and hailed as their next king. From then on his training ensued and he was schooled in weaponry, history and, of course, passing.

Lambord had taken to the fighting well. He was a natural swordsman and bested many of the more experienced men by the time he had grown hair on his chin.

Passing was another issue. He shuddered and shied away from the presence of souls as they searched for a willing vessel to carry them to their resting place. Lambord was eager to sport the intricate bronze marks that were left as a constant reminder to the bearer of his fight, but he balked at the thought of another’s soul entering his body for the duration of the passing.

It was with a strong sense of unease that Lambord first entered the tree dwelling of the dying man. The Passers had been summoned to Carster, an Air dwelling deep in the central forests of Fellnesia, slightly south of Jadehollow. Their kin-chief, Grenite, had been ailing and had sent word to fetch The Passers. A death meant a passing ceremony where a day was spent in grief then a celebration for the life and the safe passing of the soul followed. This could last for many more days and was a chance to celebrate the lives of the living as well as the passing of the soul. Many Primary Mates were selected at these occasions, and many more casual matings occurred. A life created at such an event was surely a life blessed.

Lambord covered his mouth with distaste as the pungent odour of death assaulted his senses. The old man lay swaddled in cloth and curled up as he would have looked in birth. His bed was carved with markings depicting tree-dwelling creatures and leaves, carved with the care and love associated with this kin.

Lambord started as he recognised the presence of the man’s essence trying to escape the failing frame of age. It surged with a powerful force and leapt through the air as it felt the Passer enter. Unprepared for the onslaught of energy, Lambord was thrown to the floor. He shook his head, not quite certain what had transpired. A warm glow tingled in his arm and spread up through his body bursting into every part of his form. A snake-like pattern encircled his wrist and spread up towards his shoulder, leaving a permanent trail of dark copper colour. It stopped just under his armpit, spiralling around his muscled contours.

Lambord felt his mind close as it had been trained to do. Souls were to be transported only. They were not allowed to penetrate the mind of The Passer. Lambord could hear the thoughts of the dying man and see his life story unfold before his eyes. A large tear fell down the Passer’s cheek as he saw the pain and loss that death evokes.

Struggling to his feet, Lambord sensed another’s presence in the room. He turned quickly, ready to draw his hook sword from its place at his side. A silver glow in the corner of the room stopped his action dead.

Dolchie!

The silver shape hissed and rocked, pulling itself closer to Lambord.

Passer King, it whispered. Yours is the destiny I tell.

But I am not the king, he corrected. This is my first Passing.

King you are, boy, it continued murmuring with a reptilian voice. Eyes of green will seek you out. That is the life you must preserve. She must be saved. The Change is within. Three worlds meet.

The creature closed its bulging eyes and fell silent.

What green eyes? demanded Lambord. Who must I save? Where and when?

His questions fell into the room and met silence. The Dolchie spoke no more. Lambord pushed his way out into the light, catching his breath as the fresh air bombarded his lungs. He stood gulping great mouthfuls of the sweet air of the forest. Within him, an eager soul craved his resting place. Lambord could see the place, a quiet glen dappled with the sun’s light. The trickle of a stream played sweet music into the tranquil space.

Lambord set off into the forest striding purposefully. He had a few leagues to go, but he knew his path. Two burly men followed the young Passer. They hung back, but their presence offered the support and protection required. The boy was proving himself a just and worthy addition and the men were already as loyal to him as they were to his father, the king.

The sun had travelled a fair way across the sky when Lambord finally pushed his way into a clearing and stopped. The fading light gave the clearing an ethereal glow. Lambord looked around for the guidance of the older men. It had felt right up until now, but suddenly he was unsure. The enormity of his part in the circle of life seemed to loom like an insurmountable force. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, and he felt soothed.

You feel despair, lad. It is just the soul making its final adjustment to death. It tries to hold on for one last moment but then it will be gone. Be strong, lad, and just let it pass.

Lambord smiled his thanks to Roughier, his favourite tutor. The smile died on his lips as a spasm caught him unaware, and he sank to his knees. Howling like a wounded animal, Lambord felt a sensation like his insides were being ripped from his body. A rush of wind followed, and Lambord fell forward onto the damp green grass. He lay still, unaccustomed to the helplessness he felt. Two strong arms pulled him to his feet and held him tight.

That’s it, lad. That’s it. He’s free now. Your part is done.

Roughier held the younger man close, despite his manly bulk. The first passing could take its toll, he knew that well. They stood for a few moments, embracing when another tattooed body burst through the clearing.

Lambord, your father, the king… He’s dead. Messengers have just arrived. His horse threw him off, and his head hit a rock. They found him leagues from here. He was cold. There was nothing they could do. The men have gone to collect him. Come!

Lambord made it back to the hamlet and gazed at the man he had called king and father. He lay regally on an ornately carved wooden bed. Roughier leaned in to absorb the soul, a pattern that resembled the fortress battlements appearing boldly on his chest as he did so.

We need to leave, he instructed. If that is your order, my Lord, he added quickly, looking to Lambord for confirmation.

Lambord looked around at the circle of grim-faced men. They bowed their heads respectfully at their new king.

We ride! It was the first order that Lambord, King of The Passers gave.

* * * *

Now, looking up at the hamlet of Turonia, Lambord knew that he had played his part in The Change. Whatever that girl was destined to do or become, his part in that journey was done. Lambord’s task now was to find his men and regroup. Their fortress, all be it abandoned, would no longer be safe. Greenflack was sure to search for the girl there. Lambord took one last look at the mountain sanctuary where he had left a small piece of his heart. He dug his heels into the flanks of his horse and galloped away.

Two green eyes surveyed him from a rocky concealment. Watching his retreating figure, the onlooker then turned towards the mountain pass and proceeded to ascend.

Realisation

It scarcely seemed like time had passed, yet seven awakenings had come in the land of Fellnesia. In the mountain dwelling of Turonia, a small girl, Jadara, was hidden from view. She could hear the thundering of hooves approaching the hamlet up the winding mountain pass but had learnt to hide at that sound, as her mother had taught her. Jadara knew not why, yet with each stranger’s approach, she was concealed from view.

Her own wise theory—and one supported by her co-conspirator and greatest friend, Thanly—was that something had gone wrong with her eyes. They shone and sparkled like the eyes of her kin yet were a muddy brown colour. Thanly often remarked that she needed to bathe more. He added, with the wisdom of his eight years, that if she managed to remove the grime, her eyes would surely shine blue like the rest of the kin-folk.

Jadara had tried. Her face had stayed red for a week after the scouring she had subjected herself to. Yet brown her eyes remained. The amber glints that sparked in them when she was angered reminded Thanly of the fires they would gather around to protect themselves from the chill of the snows. He secretly thought that Jadara’s eyes were rather splendid and was envious of their depths. Yet he would have rather been buried in ice than admit that to his devoted friend.

Her mother, grandmother and grandfather consoled Jadara’s wails. They praised her beauty and assured her that her eyes were just as they were supposed to be. Her mother would hold her close by the light of the fire and tell her tales of princesses and kin-folk far away. Jadara adored her mother and would not have been adverse to eyes the colour of new grass like hers, but all she had were muddy brown ones that resembled the mountain pass after the rain. It was a pain she bore at the tender age of six and a half.

Not once, though, did such anguish deter her from her favourite pursuits of tree climbing, fighting, and hunting. Thanly joined her in all but the scaling of the eark trees. He just did not seem to have the skills required and ended up slipping to the bottom in an ungainly heap. Thus, Jadara was able to claim her revenge for his taunts about her unfortunate eyes.

So, as the horsemen galloped by, those wide brown eyes peered out from behind the grey stone wall. It was a wall that went some way to supporting the ramshackle hut, an exclusive design for the mountain regions of Fellnesia. Those eyes stared out in wonder and awe as The Passers arrived in town.

Mothers shooed their young ones inside, and fathers rushed out to greet the travellers as brothers, as friends. Doe-eyed girls suddenly eager to run errands sought any opportunity to wander past in the hope of attracting the attentions of the ruggedly handsome strangers who promised a life of adventure and escape from the toil that mountain life could bring.

Pots were soon boiling, and the fresh smell of mutton broth and freshly baked bread filled the air. Ale ran as freely as the flow of the mountain streams. There was a festive atmosphere these nomads were able to conjure up on arrival at any small dwelling with the skill of enchanters.

Night fell to the sounds of storytelling and dance. Maidens were flushed with the onset of sexual awakenings coupled with crafty sips of the strongly brewed mead and intoxicated with the men’s tales of adventures of far off lands and oceans.

The small child sat unseen now, concealed beneath a laden table, watching, listening, and wondering. Her brown hair, unkempt and tangled, curled around her face, framing those amazing eyes that seemed to shimmer in the dancing light of the fire. She would not be missed this night. The hut would likely not be searched, but if it were, her cunning ruse of plumping her sleeping mat with padding was bound to work. It had on many other occasions, occasions where she and Thanly had explored the moonlight tracks around the mountains or taken torches to investigate the tunnels beneath.

She could see from her vantage point that her mother, Fernella, had other things to think about, like the strangely familiar warrior who was demanding her undivided attention. This Passer was unlike the rest. His broad shoulders and bronzed skin contrasted with the terrifying and intricate markings that covered his arms and chest. They were the markings of a great warrior, a leader of men, yet his eyes were soft. His manner was unlike the burly, boisterous nature of his men. He sat apart from the others, at a distance from the crowd, looking deep into the emerald green eyes of her mother, whispering words that she could not make out from her hiding place. His damp hair framed his face in soft waves and his eyes, the colour of autumn leaves, twinkled in the depths of his weathered face.

He laughed out loud as a blush appeared across her mother’s cheeks, the rumbling sound reaching her ears like approaching thunder. The girl, one Jadara Elicia Greywater, daughter of Fernella Greywater and adopted granddaughter of the late kin-folk Chief Harmish Greywater, shivered, unable to tear her gaze from the scene before her.

Harmish would have challenged any man who dared to suggest that this child and her mother were anything but kin to him and had done since the day Fernella mysteriously arrived in the hamlet that nestled on a flat ledge at the side of the Highyet Mountain. Its curve of huts and lofty location shielded its inhabitants from harm. It was, in fact, the perfect place for the true and rightful heir of Jadehollow to birth her child and stay hidden from the evil that hunted her. Plainly Fernella was of the Air, her emerald eyes betrayed her birthright, but Harmish claimed her and fiercely protected her and her daughter until his death.

As suddenly as these things are prone to happen, the scene that the unruly child was so content to watch became a scene in which she took an active role, as providence, or fate, played a hand. This hand came in the form of a small, seemingly harmless mouse. It was a harvest mouse just going about its nightly business yet playing a part in the destiny of this unaware and innocent young child.

The mouse had begun its journey from its cosy nest, drawn out by the sweet aroma of food. It ran quickly under the table—the table that concealed Jadara. It followed its nose towards the scent, towards fate. Unbeknown to that small, grey rodent, it was to become the instrument for change. Change in the life of Jadara.

The scream that ensued was enough to wake the dead, or so said the local hags many days later, determined to embellish the events with each new telling. A little jumble of curls and cloth shot out from under the table and straight into the unwitting arms of one Lambord Redfear, warrior king of The Passers. Being of strong mind and even stronger limb, he scooped up the terrified child and met, eye to identical eye, a startling revelation. His magnificent head raised and those chocolate eyes bored into the very soul of Fernella. His brows lifted in just one single question. In contrast, Fernella’s head bowed, the blush deepening upon her silky cheeks.

Mum, said the sorry child, sniffing. It was a mouse, Mum. You know I don’t like them mouses. Large salty tears fell as Jadara, blissfully unaware of the awkward situation, continued to sob. Her thin shoulders shook as she sniffed and hiccupped