Evening had falling over the city of Thylara, bathing the homes and towers with the soft, pink afterglow of the setting sun. While other Titans were busy preparing dinner for themselves, Annallya was at work preparing herself for a night of pure dread. Simply thinking about what would soon be taking place over the next few hours was enough to cause her stomach to sink within her. As such, she poured great effort into managing her appearance. This was to be her first war council, and it was imperative that she appear as regal as one would expect of a future advisor to the Queen. She had dressed in her usual white robe, with her red, sash-like belt at her waist, creating a skirt out of the bottom that stopped just short of her knees. Over top of this she wore her armor, which consisted of a breastplate of pure steel, vembrages, greaves, and pauldrons, all of a plain design. At her waist hung her sword, ready to be used to kill herself if one thing should go wrong this night. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Annallya briefly entertained the notion that she may be overthinking just a tad bit.

After spending a solid five minutes fussing over the proper style for her hair alone, she finally pulled herself away from the mirror. “How do I look?” she asked.

Gaelin looked up from the gigantic desk he was sitting on and eyed her up and down. “Like you’re going to wring someone’s neck, but be pretty while you do it.”

The giantess narrowed her eyes at him. “By flames but I should be wringing your neck for talking me into such a foolhardy plan.”

“As I recall, this was your plan.” he countered.

“My plan only involved having you around to keep watch over me while I did all of the work.” she reminded him. “Not galavant about the palace alone.”

Gaelin pondered that for a moment. “Huh, you know when you use the word galavant, it makes it sound all heroic. Fancy that.” he mused.

Annallya sighed. “I am serious Gaelin-”

“So am I,” he interrupted. The tone of his voice darkened to match his words. “I’ve looked at this from all angles and this is the only way we have a chance of succeeding. And I will put everything I have on the line to make sure that happens.”

The titan averted her eyes, looking downcast at the floor. “What if you are caught?” she quietly asked.

But the swordsman seemed unfazed by the question. “Then you march over to Rhollan and tell him that I paid my debt.”

For a moment neither of them spoke a word, until Annallya looked back up. “You truly think that I look pretty?”

Gaelin paused as he thought back to the off handed comment he had made earlier. “Huh, suppose I did say that. That’s unusual for me...”

“Yes it is,” she agreed with a smile. “But I could grow used to it.”

Perhaps Annallya had spent so much time fussing over her outfit so that it would distract her from her worrying. Or, she grudgingly admitted, she had wanted to look good in front of Gaelin. Earlier this morning, when Annallya had gone to his house to take him to the palace, Gaelin had emerged looking as she had never seen him before. He wore a white shirt and dark trousers, perhaps the cleanest pair she had ever seen him wear, tucked into a good pair of boots. Over top of the shirt was a black tunic, with his signature dark leather hooded coat draped over his shoulder. Even more unusual were the new items he carried with him. One of which was an item Annallya had never believed she would see him carry: a sword.

Hidden away in its sheath, she could see nothing of the blade, other than how the body of the sword must curve slightly. The handle was beautiful in it’s simplicity, padded in a cloth like material that was as blue as sapphires. The golden pommel split off into two hilt guards that extended diagonally upwards towards the blade. Looking at just the handle and pommel, the sword appeared brand new. The worn and scarred sheath, however, told a different story. In addition to the sword, Gaelin also wore a length of red rope wrapped around his left forearm, covering from his wrist to half the length of his forearm. Pinned to the rope was a golden, four-pointed star. When she had inquired after them, he had brushed the matter aside.

“They’re just some old relics.” he had said.

All in all, he had looked so . . . so dashing, especially once he had taken up his quiver and bow. When Annallya had looked at him, standing before her, tall, and bearing the resolve of a man ready to go about a difficult task, she could not help but be reminded of the heroes from the Whistler’s tales. Standing before him, dressed in her armor, ready to walk in the presence of generals and royalty, she wondered if he saw anything similar when he looked at her.

Annallya shook her head. This was no time to be clouding her mind with such ridiculous notions. She had a part to play in all of this. Looking out at the window, she could see the light outside grow dimmer. With a deep breath, the Titan steeled herself.

“It is time.” she told him.

Gaelin nodded. Annallya hesitantly approached the diminutive man and grasped him in one hand. With her other hand she lifted her skirt, exposing a thin strip of cloth, tied to the inside of her robes in a hammock-like fashion, just next to her left thigh. She brought Gaelin over to this makeshift seat, and allowed him the chance to secure himself. The swordsman settled into the hammock as if it were a saddle to ride on.

“All set,” he told her.

Annallya tried her best to give him a confident smile. “Simply keep your hands to yourself, and I shall try to walk smoothly.”

“I should have given you some wine to steady yourself, then.” he retorted.

“I thought the idea of this was for me to not make a scene this night.” she reminded him.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked with a shrug.

Rather than answer that, Annallya allowed her skirt to fall over him, completely obstructing him from view. At her full height, Gaelin was small enough to fit right against her leg without it being noticable to anyone not looking for him. All she had to do was not act as if she were smuggling a tiny man beneath her skirt as she strolled about the palace. She sighed. Far too much of this plan was easier said than done. Without further delay, Annallya proceeded into the hallway. The majority of guards she would have normally seen along her way were noticeably absent this evening. This did little to reassure her, as she knew exactly where they would be. Rather than worry herself over what was already too late for her to change, the Titan kept walking until she had arrived at a door. She was about to knock, when the door opened before her suddenly enough to cause her to flinch. Fortunately Annallya managed to control herself in time so that her mother did not notice.

Oragale Rhaolin was dressed in the finest robes of an advisor this evening. A dress of both blue and white cascaded down the length of her body like a waterfall of silk. Draped over her shoulders was a blue silken shawl with the insignia of her station woven into the design. In her left hand she held a satchel containing an assortment of books, charts, and various documents. In her right hand she held her red wood staff, another signifier of her station as advisor to the Queen.

“Mother,” Annallya said in greeting, giving a respectful bow of the head.

“Annallya,” her mother warmly replied. Her mother had been in a noticeably improved mood these past few days. She took a minute to inspect her daughter from head to foot, appraising her appearance. “Perfectly presentable. I am happy to see that you are taking your responsibilities seriously.

Annallya smiled in return. “Thank you mother. I want very much to be taken seriously at my first council.”

“Phaw, worry little over such things for now.” her mother replied. “All of the officials and generals are aware that you and Thoren are yet young. Simply watch and listen carefully, and they will see that you have come to learn, and will take you to be maturing.”

“I shall,” she assured her, all the while trying to ignore the itching sensation travelling down her leg. Taking the satchel from her mother’s hand, she slung it over her shoulder, and gestured to the side. “After you, mother.”

With a nod of satisfaction, Mistress Rhaolin proceeded down the hall, with her daughter trailing just to the right and behind her, like a guard of honor. Very slowly, Annallya brushed her hand over her skirt, just by her thigh, and felt nothing. Gaelin was no longer there.

The plan had officially begun.

Do not die, you Sun forsaken idiot. She thought.

*************************************************************************************

Gaelin had done a bit of travelling in his earlier years. He had seen a few sights and experienced a few stories worthy to be told over a mug of ale. So to be carried in a cloth sling beneath the skirt of a Titan that he himself had mentored . . . that was a new one for him. Definitely not something he had expected to be doing when he had woken up.

It was an uncomfortably intimate experience at that. True Annallya and he were about the same age yet, because of his role as a mentor to her, he had always seen her as a student. Someone to keep at arm's length in any and all personal sense. So sitting by her side, literally right next to her undergarments, was a good mile past personal. A good mile past proper. If he managed to get out of this alive, no one in the village must ever hear of this part of the story. They disapproved of him enough back there. Blazing embers but he wished he had brought something to drink with him. Annallya had made him promise to go about this sober. He didn’t see much the point of that. The way her enormous leg brushed him back and forth as she walked was akin to drinking an entire bottle of rum, while on a ship. After a minute or so, she stopped walking, and Gaelin could hear the voice of an older woman: her mother. Gaelin had never before met, or even glimpsed at Annallya’s mother. However, if any of her off-handed remarks about the woman were anything to be trust, he had best keep it that way.

Now that they had begun talking, Gaelin took that as his que to begin. With all of the strength he could muster, he gripped the cloth of Annallya’s skirt, and began lifting himself from his saddled position. He had to work slowly, as he didn’t want to draw her mother’s attention to the rustling fabric. Once both of his legs were out, Gaelin hung forty feet in the air, supported by nothing but his own fingers and arms. Now for the hard part, climbing down. The work was slow, and required a hefty amount of upper body strength. Gaelin had been careful to make sure that his descent had placed him exactly at the back of Annallya’s thigh so that, by the time his body had begun to drop passed the hem of her skirt, her leg still hid him from Mistress Rhaolin’s sight. Steadying himself with a deep breath, Gaelin released his grip, and dropped towards the floor.

He was not a moment too soon in grabbing the leather straps of her sandals, which wound their way up the giantess’s calves. Because of their criss crossed pattern, Gaelin finally had a foothold to support himself on. The last bit of climbing was quick and easy. Just as he had reached her ankle, Annallya’s massive body turned to the side, allowing her mother to walk ahead of her. Gaelin dropped to the ground without so much as a sound, watching as the two colossal Titans walked away. He was now on his own. Alone in the halls, Gaelin took a minute to absorb the vastness of the scene around him. Here he was, surrounded on all sides by giganticness, a presence so immense that the mere thought of how big everything was in comparison to him was enough to almost crush him. And yet, it didn’t matter at all to him. He came here to do a job, to right a wrong. It didn’t matter how big the task before him loomed. It needed to be done.

With a steady breath, Gaelin Val’ Saida sprinted for the door of Mistress Rhaolin’s chambers, and slid right underneath the gap just above the floor. He was greeted by the sight of an immaculately furnished bedroom, housing a bed that could easily fit the entirety of Sol-har on its surface. Bookcases, tapestries, and ornate weapons decorated walls tall enough to have defended Nephrotora itself. Off to the far side of the room next to the bed, at a distance that must have been a quarter of a mile, was a night table. Gaelin reached into an inner pocket within his coat, and withdrew an simple spyglass. Sure enough, a cube shaped metal cage rested on the table. Tucking the spyglass back into his coat, Gaelin took off at a jog for the other side of the room. Despite all of the moving about, the foam at the bottom of his quiver kept his arrows in place. As he drew close to his destination, Gaelin removed the bow from his back and selected an arrow. Right when he was almost at the base of the forty foot tall night table, the swordsman stopped. In one fluid, practiced motion he notched the arrow and drew the bow back till his thumb was just touching the corner of his mouth. He aimed high, judging the distance on sight and adjusting the angle, and released. The arrow flew straight into the air at a sixty degree angle, climbing higher and higher until it had surpassed the edge of the table. With its momentum being lost to gravity, and the heavy tip weighing it down, the arrow plummeted back towards the earth, embedding itself deeply within the wood of the night table. This arrow had been specially crafted for a purpose such as this. Its tip was shaped like a four pronged claw, with each tip barbed so that it holds on tight to whatever it sticks into. The entire arrowhead is made to be especially heavy, requiring a powerful bow and extra calculation when aiming, so that when it lands, the head sinks deeply into a wooden surface. Tied to the metal head, the part of the arrow least likely to break, was seventy feet of light rope. Gaelin grinned as the length dangling just in front of him. It seems he had brought plenty. If the rest of the night went this smoothly, he just might make it out of this alive.

Slinging his bow back on his back, Gaelin climbed the rope, reaching the top in only a few short minutes. Just as he reached the summit of the night table, and hoisted himself up, Gaelin was found himself face to face with his first student. Andrill stood against the near wall of the cage, his hands holding the bars in a white knuckle grip. He was dressed in a good red coat that looked freshly washed, albeit slept in,a lace shirt, black trousers, and good boots. His hair had grown longer, but his beard looked freshly trimmed. His face was the hardest to look at. It looked more taut and hollow than Gaelin had remembered. His skin had grown pale as well, reflecting on the little time he had spent in direct sunlight. It was a sickly appearance, yet it was his eyes that were the worst. The look in his eye, the wide eyed disbelief of a man facing down a fate he had not dared consider, looked very much like a man gazing upon death itself. Andrill must be thinking that he was facing a phantom or delusion, rather than escape. It hurt to look at.

“A flock of vultures mentioned there was a corpse up here,” Gaelin said, breaking the silence. “They didn’t tell me they’d already been picking at it.”

The young man in the cage sucked in a breath. “Gaelin.” he whispered. “ . . . You’re- . . . you’re here . . .”

“Took a wrong turn looking for the bathroom.” he replied walking up to the cage. Reaching through the bars, Gaelin gripped his young friend’s shoulder, reassuring him that he was in fact real. Andrill reacted in kind, grasping onto his old mentor’s shoulder, arms shaking. “Blazing embers, what have they been feeding you? Birdseed and water?”

Despite his haggard appearance, Andrill managed a weak smile. “Certainly not peaches.”

Gaelin returned the smile in kind. “Good man. They never broke you.”

“We can debate that later.” he replied. “What are you doing here? Did they Offer you up?”

“I came to rescue you,” Gaelin answered. “It was Annallya’s idea. We’re getting you all out, tonight.”

Andrill’s eyes widened. “A-all?”

He nodded. “Everyone in the palace. They all go home with us, starting with you. Stand back.”

Andrill did as he was instructed, and watched in wide eyed amazement as Gaelin drew his sword. This was Andrill’s first time ever seeing him wield a real blade. The steel was beautifully wrought, and cleaned to perfection. Not a scratch marred its surface. It curved in the style of a saber, coming to a fine point. The swordsman steadied himself in a stance Andrill was all too familiar with. Poised on the balls of his feet, Gaelin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Before Andrill could even register that the man had moved, he attacked. The cages were designed to be opened in one of two ways. Spring loaded locks could open up the entire ceiling, allowing a full sized Titan to reach her hand inside, or tiny metal doors that could be locked with a key could allow a human sized Titan to enter the cage without any difficulty. In a blur of motion Gaelin drove the tip of his sword into the keyhole of the lock. There was a quick sound of snapping metal, and the door popped open. Andrill stood staring at the unlocked door, leading to a freedom he had long since given up hope of ever seeing. It was enough to bring a tear to his eye.

Not one to waste time, Gaelin quickly pushed past him, striding up to the human sized bed Andrill had just been sleeping on. He began removing sheets, arranging them on the bed in the shape of a human underneath the blanket. Once that was done, he ushered them both outside, and shut the door carefully, so that it wouldn’t swing back open.

“If the blessings of the Stars are with us, that’ll keep her fooled until morning.” he muttered. “If not, it’ll still buy us enough time to get out of here.”

“But won’t they just go back to the village and look for us?” Andrill protested.

Gaelin shook his head. “The great thing about this plan is that no one expects a Titan to be helping us get out. They’ll assume you all got out on your own, and’ll spend all of their time searching the palace, maybe even the city. That should buy us at least a day of time, maybe a few days or weeks.”

“What about after that?” he asked.

Gaelin paused, drawing in a deep breath. “I don’t know, but we can figure something out. All I know is, this needed to be done.”

Andrill nodded without hesitation.

“Take the rope and climb down.” Gaelin instructed. “Then I’ll remove it and use the bedsheets. We can’t leave behind any clue for them to follow. And by the Stars, that’s not going to be easy.”

Andrill looked longingly at the rope leading down to the floor. Freedom. His freedom. Just when he had believed that the Sun and Stars had abandoned him to his fate, they had brought him hope. Tears threatened to overwhelm him in the moment. Until a light slap across the face brought his mind back into focus.

“Hey!” Gaelin sharply muttered. “There’ll be time for that when we’ve lived through this. But right now there are at least a dozen other people we need to break out, and I can’t do it alone. I need a strong set of arms, and a stronger will. I need my friend. Can I count on that?”

Despite the pain of the past few months threatening to beat him down again, despite the sharp memories of Mistress Rhaolin’s punishments and even more terrible ‘rewards’, Andrill found strength returning to his limbs. For the first time in a long time, he wore a brave, genuine smile on his lips. Gaelin answered with a wolfish grin.

“Good man. Now let’s get to work.”

*************************************************************************************

Annallya entered the Queen’s reception room on the heels of her mother, looking as serious as a personal guard in her armor. The reception room was a mostly empty chamber, adorned with tapestries and paintings of all kinds. Stained glass windows allowed a modest amount of light to shine through,bringing to life the images of past Queens and battles painted on their polished surface. At the far wall sat the Queen’s throne, beautifully wrought from gold and precious stones. On this throne sat the Queen herself.

Queen Phelonous was a mirror image of her daughter. Dark skin the color of chocolate gave away very little sign of her actual age, making it difficult to tell how old she really was. Her glossy black hair fell to her shoulder, framing a beautiful, oval shaped face. Dark eyes gazed down a small nose at the two approaching women, while her delicate lips formed a line across her mouth. She wore purple and gold robes, signifying her as royalty, while the golden crown of Thylara, an intricately wrought ring, encircled her forehead. At her right hand stood Thoren, likewise dressed in purple robes, without any gold, marking her as princess, but not yet Queen. Like Annallya, since Thoren did not yet hold any official station of authority, she wore her armor overtop her robes. Her hair was held up by a silver pin adorned with rubies, making her look as mature and serious as Annallya hope that she herself looked. Five armed guards stood by on either side of the throne, impassive and ready to move at a moments notice.

The mother and daughter stopped before the throne and bowed. Mistress Rhaolin only gave a deep bow of the head, placing her hand over her heart. This was significant, as she was the only woman in Thylara who could give the Queen such a casual show of respect, denoting her as a second in authority. Annallya bowed in the manner her mother had taught her, bending almost ninety degrees at the waist, then straightening up and slamming her right fist against her left forearm, much after the military style of saluting. The Queen nodded to them and rose.

“I would be honored to have the wisdom of my most trusted advisor with me this evening.” she announced, her voice carrying with it the weight of years of authority. “We have much to discuss. Follow me.”

The Queen, while flanked by her guards, led the three other women to a door off to the side of the throne room. Following a short hallway, the group emerged within the small war chamber. There already assembled were generals and captains of the Thylaran military. Upon the group’s entrance, each one stood at attention and bowed formally to the Queen. All the while, the guards took up stations around the room.

“Respected generals and captains,” the Queen greeted. “I thank you for attending. Much is happening, and I seek your wisdom. Let us begin.”

The war chamber was a small room, reserved only for the most elite and highest ranking members of the Thylaran military. A large table took up much of the room. On it rested a scaled replica of the entire city of Thylara, as well as at least ten scaled miles of the surrounding land. The women within the room gathered around this table and began discussing reports. Annallya and Thoren stood side by side, away from the table so as not to disturb the conversation.

“You look very nice,” Thoren whispered.

“As do you, though I hope you also feel as nervous as I do.” Annallya replied. All the while, the two friends never diverted their eyes from the table.

“I feel as if humans were running amuck in my stomach.” Thoren agreed.

“I hope Naela is not one of them,” she told her. “I rather like her.”

“You are simply jealous because your pet does not dance.”

Annallya grinned mischievously. “Oh believe me, he dances.”

Thoren cast her a side glance but grinned. “Have you any idea what this meeting will be about? It sounds quite important.”

“From the snippets I have managed to pull from my mother, it sounds as if Thylara will be going to war again soon.”

Thoren sighed as quietly as possible. “Thank the Stars.” she murmured in a sarcastic voice. “It is becoming too quiet around here.”

*************************************************************************************

“I thought you said it would be quiet around here!” Andrill sharply whispered into his companion’s ear.

They had just barely managed to avoid a patrolling group of guards for the fifth time since they had set out. It had been almost an hour since Annallya had left Gaelin to attend the war council, a meeting which she had claimed could take as much as two hours time to complete. That left them at least another hour to navigate the palace, find their second destination, and then meet Annallya back in her room. At least, that’s what the plan is supposed to have been. Groups of two to five guards have been roaming the halls. They had managed to avoid being spotted so far by taking cover behind tapestries and beneath doors, remaining hidden underneath the door itself rather than cross fully over into the next room. Scattered throughout the halls as well were assortments of decorative pieces of art, such as ceramic bowls and glass ornaments, held on beautifully carved wooden stands. These stands as well made for good cover.

“She told me that there wouldn’t be many patrols in the halls.” he affirmed.

“So then what’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but I think something’s happening that she isn’t aware of.” Gaelin noted. “I get the feeling that they’re looking out for something.”

“Us?” Andrill asked.

Gaelin shook his head. “They’re not looking at the ground.”

“No but they could still easily spot us if we’re not careful.” he said.

“I know, we’ve got to do something about that.” Gaelin agreed. “We can’t travel in a group like this.”

“Any ideas?” Andrill asked.

“Only bad ones.” his friend replied.

“My favorite kind,” the younger man muttered.

“Follow me,” Gaelin instructed.

He led Andrill over to a particularly tall stand which held a stained glass vase, painted to look like a stunning landscape. The two men easily climbed the carved stand, finding plenty of hand and foot holds to make use of. Once they had reached the top, Gaelin took up his bow and notched that special arrow of his. Taking aim, he sent the arrow sailing across the hall towards a woven tapestry. The arrow pierced straight through the thick material at the top, penetrating just deep enough that the barbs caught.

“Will that be strong enough to hold us?” Andrill asked.

“Don’t know, but no choice either.” he simply stated.

With a nod, Andrill gripped the rope. The two men shared a deep breath of apprehension, before leaping from the giant stand. The worst part about the experience was not so much as the sensation of rapidly falling, but the fact that they could not afford to utter so much as a peep while they flew through the air. The world around them lurched forward at an incredible velocity. Had the tapestry not been made of such soft material they very well might have dropped to the floor on impact. As such, they hit the wall on the opposite side of the hallway with barely an audible THUMP. For a moment the two men hung still, clutching the rope for dear life.

“Please tell me we won’t ever have to do that again.” Andrill pleaded.

Gaelin only gave him a level stare. “If you’re going to be like this the whole time, you’re going back in that cage.”

He began climbing upwards as quickly as possible, with Andrill following close behind. Just before he reached the arrow, Gaelin drew his belt knife, and began to cut hand and foot holds in the tapestry. He collected his rope and arrow after Andrill had switched over to using the same foot holds, and together the two men made their way towards the very top. Once there, the immense wooden beams that ran all along the hallway ceilings, would be well within reach. Just before reaching them, however, Gaelin and Andrill froze. The steady rhythm of sandaled feet marching in unison began to echo from around a corner.

“Hurry!” Gaelin hissed.

The knife wielding swordsman cut into the thick cloth with unbridled vigor. He practically lept for the fringe of the tapestry as soon as it was within reach, Andrill was not far behind him. The sound of marching continued to increase, they were not completely out of sight yet. If they had gone for the wooden beams, they would have been seen trying to lift themselves up to them. With his instincts taking full control, Gaelin swung his entire body around, and behind the tapestry, hanging onto the top with his arms. Andrill mirrored his movements, just as it sounded as if the marching guards had turned a corner. Their arms still stuck out above the tapestry, but the fact that they were so small, and very high up, should prevent anyone who did not know where to look from spotting them. At least, that’s what Gaelin told himself. It seemed to take forever for the guards to make their way passed the tapestry where the little humans hung. When it finally sounded as if the last Titan had walked passed them, Gaelin hazarded a glance. Poking his head above the wall of cloth, he was surprised to see a formation of six guards marching down the hall away from them. With the danger passed, they finished their climb. After hoisting themselves up, the two men sat down for a moment, catching their breaths and admiring the palace.

“Six guards,” he recounted. “Six.”

“Something’s going on,” Andrill guessed. “Something important.”

“Yes, but we don’t have time to figure it out. We’ve got maybe an hour before she’s done.” he explained. “Come on. We can make up for lost time by not having to hide from anyone up here.”

Perched on the ceiling of a Titan palace, which rose to a staggering height of almost 300 ft, the two friends stood up and sprinted along the wooden beams as if death itself were at their heels, or rather underneath of their heels.

*************************************************************************************

There war council proceeded much as Annallya had expected it to. The generals around her spoke of recent activities of the city, as well as her ‘neighboring’ cities. Neighboring in Titan terms meant little more than sharing borders. Each city was hardly neighborly. They only took breaks from fighting, picking new fights when the memories of past conflicts began to grow dim. As such, each city had to keep special tabs on her neighbors. Annallya and Thoren spent the better part of an hour listening to estimates of military strength, soldier numbers, resources, and the like. All in all, it was dreadfully boring.

Which made it all the more strange when she considered how intent the Queen and her mother appeared. Annallya could not place her finger on it, it was little more than a nagging feeling, but something was off. Queen Phelonous and her mother looked upon the map as if it were on fire, and would trade an intense look with each other every now and then. Annallya glanced sideways at Thoren, and found her looking back. She had noticed as well.

The last general to speak had just finished giving a report about one of Thylara’s closer neighbors, the city Nashvani. When she had concluded, the Queen held up a hand, stalling all further reports. “Oragale, you approached me in confident earlier, telling me of concerns you have received from Nashvani. Would you like to share these with us?”

Oragale Rhaolin nodded to her friend. “Daughter, if you would please?”

Annallya stepped up next to her mother, holding out the satchel that she had been carrying for her this evening. Mistress Rhaolin reached inside and withdrew a small pack of folded envelopes, displaying them for the room as Annallya stepped back again.

“These reports have been sent to me from our newest spy within the city.” she explained for the assembly. “For those that are unaware, she only recently has gained a position as a scribe in their court, and so her information is limited and must be scrutinized thoroughly.”

She paused a moment to allow them to consider her next words more carefully. “However, given the reports we have all read as to Nashvani’s activities and latest imports received, I believe that her words may have great merit.”

“Are the Nashvans preparing to make war with us?” asked Falia, Second ranking High General of the Thylaran military.

“Not quite,” Mistress Rhaolin replied. “Judging from earlier reports of the movement of their troops and supplies, I believe that they plan to besiege the city of Soajen to the west. Were this true, then Nashvan would be seriously open to a counter attack.”

Looking up from the city model, which she had been glancing at through the entire meeting, she met the gaze of every military mind in the room. “Ladies, should we begin making preparations now, we may yet have the opportunity to extend our borders to another city.”

*************************************************************************************

“Of course this had to be the room we’re looking for.” Andrill cursed. “The one set of doors in the palace humans can’t break into.”

He and Gaelin looked down from the ceiling beams upon the doors of their destination. Behind them were the other palace ‘pets’, kept caged for their disciplinary training. Had Andrill not already been in the care of Mistress Rhaolin, he too would have been trapped there with them.

“You know this room?” Gaelin asked.

He nodded. “It’s the room where they bring all of the pets that live in the palace to discipline them.”

“Discipline?”

The younger man grimaced. “Teach them to be better pets.”

“Sun blinded witches.” Gaelin swore. “You’ve been in there?”

“When they first brought me here, I spent a week inside.” Andrill explained. “The door scrapes the ground, so we can’t crawl underneath. We’d need a month to cut through it.”

Gaelin nodded. “Yet I notice that they didn’t do anything about the top of the door.”

Andrill looked at him, then to the door. Sure enough there was a sizable gap between the wood of the door and the stone surrounding it. Sizable enough to even crawl through.

“Ok, but once we’re inside, how do we-”

Before he could even finish that sentence, Gaelin shot an arrow towards the top of the door, creating another rope bridge for them to cross, one that sloped downwards, stopping just above the doors gap.

“Let me worry about that,” he assured Andrill, handing the younger man his bow. Gaelin then removed his sheath, with the sword still inside, from his belt. Firmly planting another arrow into the wooden beams, he tied down the rope. “Whatever happens, we’ve got to get everyone out and up here. It’s the only way we’re going to make it back to Annallya’s room without being seen. Now do what I do and hold on for dear life.”

Without another word Gaelin took hold of his sheathed sword in one hand, the rope in the other hand, and dropped from the beam. Using his sheath as an improvised hook, he managed to turn the downwards sloping rope into a zip line, sliding gently all the way towards the gap in the doors. Just as he approached his destination, Gaelin swung his leg up and managed to catch the gap, allowing him to pull himself inside. Using the bow, Andrill imitated his mentor’s movements, replicating his actions as best he could. He was unsuccessful in catching his leg in the door, and required Gaelin’s help in climbing up. There was just enough room for them to lie on top of the door in relative comfort for a moment.

“Where under the stars did you learn to do that?” Andrill asked.

Gaelin smirked. “I’ve been climbing and swinging from trees since I could walk. How else do you think I keep myself occupied in the woods?”

“I always assumed you’d met a nice bear to keep your bed warm or something.” he replied.

The swordsman let out a soft breath of a laugh. “Bears aren’t really my type.”

“No. Instead you found yourself a Titan.” he guessed.

“I-” Gaelin looked sideways at Andrill. Realizing he could come up with no answer to that statement, he decided to push forward. They found to their delight that nails used in securing the metal frame to the outside of the doors punctured straight through the wood, leaving small rungs of metal to climb down from. The room was empty save for multiple hot oil lamps, most of which were lit, and three tables. Two smaller tables had been brought in to hold more lamps to allow proper light for the captives. On the third, larger table, sat thirty metal cages. The table was of a much more plain design than much of the other furniture they had encountered, yet there was still just enough of a craftsman’s design wrought into the wood to allow for some hand and foot holds. Within minutes the two men stood among the bewildered prisoners, now freed from their cages. Many of them wept openly at the freedom they had long forsaken. Gaelin and Andrill recognized many of their faces, others were travellers who had been captured near the city. Without a clear leader, Gaelin had to take charge of shepherding them off of the table. Although not all of the prisoners were young men and women, they were Sol-harans nonetheless. Used to rolling up their sleeves when work needed to be done.

Gaelin was standing at the top of the table, watching as Andrill helped the last captive climb down, when the door to the room began to open.