Dalrin was a land of bleak crags and rocks, with jagged peaks jutting out from the ground like the teeth of a monster. The land was harsh, unforgiving, and dotted with only the toughest of plants and animals. The center of this inhospitable land was Crow Castle, a fortress perched on a tall crag overlooking the desolate landscape. It was surrounded by the Eight Paths, a treacherous mountain pass that cut through the crags, connecting the various regions of the land.

As the days passed, the warm summer sun gradually gave way to a bitter winter chill, and the landscape transformed into a white, frozen wasteland. The only signs of life were the crows that circled above the castle, their sharp caws piercing through the icy silence. In the heart of the castle, the king and his courtiers huddled together for warmth, plotting and scheming in the shadows of the great stone walls. The land of Dalrin was a place of harshness and danger, but it was also a place of great power and mystery, and those who dared to venture into its depths would find both adventure and peril.

The wild berries of the summer had begun to lose their bright hue. Albino squirrels were emerging from their deep holes within the crevices of the crags. The summer solstice was nearly done. Squirrels, hares, and mice had begun to infest the castles, taverns, and village huts of Dalrin’s northern reach, becoming antsy to find a warm place filled with free bits of food.

The albino squirrel had become a popular catch with the young hunters. Boys would lay out a patch of wild berries and hide away with their bows bent and arrows knocked. It required two to handle the longbow, its stature meant for manly hands. Pret and Lun sat behind a boulder and snickered. This time, there was not an albino squirrel finding their stash of berries. Rather, it was a runaway servant, Vaya. The sun beamed off her coarse hair as she knelt to examine a neatly organized pile of berries.

            The sound of Pret and Lun’s snickering caught her ears. She brought her head up just in time to hear a bow scrape against rock as the two young boys scurried from where they were hiding. The thrill of having fooled a woman had been enough to bring the two boys (Pret was twelve and Lun was ten) to hysterics. No doubt they were on their way to report home to their father, the lord King, how a runaway had tried to eat their stash of wild berries.

            Vaya heard another rustling in a bush to her right. There was a thin hedge that was growing in a crack between the path of grass she was knelt on and the boulders that lined the side of the path. Her hand slowly went to a small rock that was laying on the path beside the pile of berries. She kept one eye on the thin hedge as she crammed a pile of berries into her mouth. Purple juices squirted, staining the sides of her mouth. It was heavenly. The tart taste of overripened berries was more than she could imagine at that moment. Her throat was hoarse, and her mouth parched. Her limbs were heavy from travelling and she wore tattered robes and nothing to cover her feet. Her feet were stained with dirt and callused.  

            Vaya saw faint movement come from the thin hedge. She flinched, then flailed her hand and chucked the pebble. The pebble flew harmlessly. A hare emerged from the hedge, eyeing Vaya cautiously. The hare looked past Vaya’s direction before hesitating and hopping away towards the great castle of the northern reach.

            Vaya finished stuffing her face with berries and then rose to her feet. She surveyed the scene, taking a deep breath. It was still morning, which meant the morning riders of the King’s castle would be out this way shortly to check the perimeter for strays and spies. Vaya knew this land well, although it was not the land she had escaped from as a servant. She was from a neighboring province, some fifty miles east. Her lord had assumed she was either dead or captured—deciding not to pursue her since her escape.

            So here she stood along the fingered paths of the Crag. Five miles north of her, Crow Castle sat at the northern end of Dalrin, also known as the Crag for its countless boulders, rocks, and mountainous caves. It was well secured, and well-fortified from its enemies. To the back of Crow Castle sat a frozen ocean. To its front was eight narrow paths, extending outward like eight narrow fingers.

            Vaya Mora knew to stay well clear of Crow Castle, no matter the hour. The sentries posted along the higher cliffs of the great crags would shoot down any unnamed visitor—especially if it was a lowborn or a wanderer whose disappearance would not be noticed. Vaya had seen it happen to others and she had nearly been pinned down herself a few months prior when summer was in full tilt. In that season of the summer solstice, the sun illuminated the sky for eighteen hours of the day. But the days were getting chilly again and thus Vaya was moving further north, hoping to find a place of refuge to take cover until the winter storms blew over.

            Vaya found another clove of purple and blue berries atop one of the crags overlooking the path. She weighed up the risk of standing upon the rock at eye level with any hunting parties or sentries who might spot her wild head of hair. Her stomach growled. It was worth it.

            Her shaky fingers clasped around the clove of berries which grew from inside the cracks of the rock. She admired the berries in her palm. Her eyes darted busily from the berries to her surroundings, to the position of the sun. A chilly wind swept the area, chilling Vaya to the bone. She was still crouched over the berries as she slipped them into a pocket of her robe, which had somehow not ripped despite the many holes in her brown robes.

            A dark row with streaks of red suddenly flew overhead, cawing so loudly that Vaya nearly lost her footing. She rose to her feet, arms tentatively covering her head. A second crow soon followed, cawing just as loudly. This one let droppings fly from overhead. The white feces splattered over Vaya arms and hair. Vaya let out a huff of disgust, flinging her hands the way one does when trying to dry them. The crow poop sprayed against the rocks, splattering them with white.

            The sound of hooves set Vaya’s legs to moving. The whole earth trembled under the weight of a hundred horses rounding a bend a couple hundred yards away. Vaya's heart raced as she looked around frantically for cover. The crags were barren and offered little in the way of shelter, but she spotted a small crevice in the rock face and darted towards it. She squeezed her body into the tight space and waited as the sound grew louder. It was toot tight and had too little cover. She emerged again, frantically seeking a new spot.

From Vaya’s vantage point she could see the top of a carriage. It was being pulled by horses and a guard of armored knights. The thundering hooves grew closer and Vaya stood frozen. She remained half in shock from the crow poop and unsure as to where to hide. She narrowed her eyes and saw that the carriage were the same colors of the Red Crow. There was also a red crow sigil emblazoned on the carriage and on the dashing cloth that was draped over the lead horses.

            Vaya found a place between two boulders along the side of the road to wedge herself between. Her soft, brown eyes peered out from her hiding spot and watched intently as the procession neared her spot. Vaya tried to wedge herself further back, but she could not fit. The crack she had slid herself into was too narrow. If the guard glanced to that side even slightly, they were sure to see her. Her feet could be seen poking out from the gap in the rock.

            Vaya prayed her foot would not be visible. The path was wide enough to fit four horseman side by side comfortably, but this escort was only two horses wide. The carriage was about the same width as the two horses that preceded it.

            The two guards’ chatter slowly came within earshot of Vaya. Her eyes widened at the audible voices. She felt her voice come ragged. She was an abandoned servant girl. If she was found, she did not know what the reaction was to be. It was likely that the guards would not recognize her, but the prince? There was a chance that he would, having visited her former slave master multiple times and having laid eyes on her. Her former lord and master kept her in his hall for all to spy. He paraded her as a sort of prize.

            One of the approaching guards raised his voice, “Aha! And you think the lord king would grant you passage…for that?”

            “Why of course he would. He has no need of me, except to escort his grace, such as we are doing now,” came the reply. His face was thin and gaunt. He had eyes that sunk into the back of his head, casting shadows over his eye sockets.

            The first guard was burly and wore armor that appeared snug around his broad shoulders. His brown beard had specks of red which were exposed by the glaring sun.

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“Well then, if you think this responsibility is so meager and pointless why don’t you take it up with the prince himself?”

            The gaunt man reared his head back. “I would not bother his grace with that matter.”

            “No worries,” replied the red bearded guard. “I’ll ask him for you—”

            “—enough,” came a voice from inside the carriage. The prince’s input sealed their silence.

            The guards exchanged nervous glances.

            The horses and carriage were a few feet away from Vaya when the first horse neighed. It reared its head wildly, refusing to move forward. The carriage was halted and the tens of rows of horses behind the carriage stopped abruptly behind the carriage.

            “What is it?” asked the guard with a gaunt face.

            “Don’t know, she seems to sense someone prowling about in the crags above us,” said the burly guard. To either side of the path the crags rose above their heads, making it hard to see if someone was there. The guards dismounted and withdrew their swords. Their capes were fluttering in a crisp wind that swept through the path. Two knights went to either side of the carriage to protect it.

            The crow that had dropped excrement on Vaya fluttered down onto the ground before her and cawed obnoxiously. Its dark, beady eyes staring right at her. Vaya bit her tongue and shut her eyes as tight as she could. She began to shove the heel of her foot back as far as she could, her heel pressing into jagged rock. She felt pressed in from both sides. She was trapped. If she made so much as a sigh, she would be found.

            The gaunt-faced guard took a few steps toward Vaya. She heard his boots crunch underneath the beaten, frosted path. The grass was beaten down from years of horse hooves. The footsteps stopped somewhere to her right.

            “Arrow shaft,” heard Vaya. “Must’ve been one of the lads out here hunting again this morning.”

            “You sure they’re not out here now?” asked the burly guard.

            “The Lord King has them in before noon every day. By the looks of the sun, I’d wager its half ‘til noon.”

            Small rocks and stones began falling from one of the rock walls to the opposite side of Vaya’s wall. The sound of scuffling echoed in the morning air. The two guards turned and held the tips of their swords towards the sound. The horseman behind the carriage rushed forward in sync.

            “There he is!” came a shout from the burly, red-bearded guard. Three of the knights rushed the wall, chasing after a wiry figure who had been spying on them, much like Vaya. Vaya gasped, but quickly covered her mouth with a hand. The gaunt faced guard turned his head toward her gasp. Vaya’s heart was in her mouth. He looked away. It had been close.

            “Get on with it. My bottom aches from this bumpy road in this broken-down carriage.” It was the prince.

            “At once, my lord prince. He will be caught,” replied one of the guards. Three knights had climbed the rock wall, hiking their legs up over the ledge and ungracefully rolling up onto the elevated rock. Once they were atop, the homeless spy had no choice. He was slow and he appeared malnourished.

            The guards arrived back within minutes. They threw him down from the top of the rock wall and the two guards who led the envoy caught him down below. The knights descended back onto the beaten path with their black armor. The one who had caught him wore a red cape and a helmet with red feathers down the middle.

            Two of the knights took the man from the guards and held him upright by the shoulders. He was stumbling and faint—perhaps a few days without food.

            “You know the rules about hanging around in these parts,” spat the burly guard. “It’s called trespassing, you twat.” He spit at the homeless man’s face.

            The knight with the red cape strolled over to the two guards who were in the face of the homeless man. “And who runs the proceedings around here? Is it you, an unknighted prick? Ser Barl of Dalrin?” The knight paused, pushing his helm back to reveal a chiseled jaw and a darkened five o’clock shadow around his chin. “Oh, my mistake. You are not a knight. Just a bodyguard. Don’t overstep your bounds…Barl.”

            Barl the burly guard stepped back with a look of disgust on his face. The knight continued to stare at him, leaving Barl no choice but to return to the carriage where his post was meant to be. He then moved his stare toward the gaunt faced guard, who had already begun making his way toward the carriage before he was told.

            “You’re on the king’s land. That is grounds for imprisonment. Worse yet, you were caught preying on the king’s escort.” The knight tilted his head, pursed his lips. The man had nothing to say for himself. The knights struggled to keep him upright. His legs hung lip and a few flies had gathered around his body from the stench.

            “Water,” croaked the man.

            “Do you know the punishment for spying?”

            “Water.”

            “No. The only water you’ll be receiving is from your own sweat.” The knight plugged his nose. “The punishment for spying falls under betrayal to the crown. Death. Death is your due reward.”

            “I only…wanted…water…”

            “And what is your name?” came the prince’s voice. Vaya’s eyes widened as he emerged from the carriage.

            “Stay inside the carriage, your grace. We do not know this man’s intentions.”

            “I can look after myself, thank you. This man is harmless.” Prince Rohinar stopped before the man and stared a while.

            “Forgive me…your grace…” whispered the man.

            The prince gave a pitied nod, withdrawing a waterskin. “Drink.” The knights looked at their prince confused. “Give him the water, throw him on a horse, and we’ll be on our way. No more killing. I’ve seen enough killing in my time. Take him to the Crow Quarters with the other prisoners.”

            The knights swiftly obeyed. The knight in charge stood awhile, clenching his jaw.

            “A problem, Sledda?” The knight Ser Sledda was still stood where they had questioned the man.

            “Not at all, my prince,” said Sledda, turning to return to his horse.

            Vaya could not take her eyes off the prince. He wore magnificent clothing. He wore a fur skin larger than any she’d ever seen. His brown eyes were lighter than honey, lighter than own brown eyes. His hair was long but well kept, pushed back to keep from his eyes. He had not yet grown more than a bit of scruff on his chin, but she could see that his stature was that of a man, despite his young age.

            The envoy began to set off, and soon they would be riding just past where Vaya was. She could not move back any further than she already was. She could feel her heels starting to slip on the slanted rock behind. The horses neighed, the carriage pulled tight, and they were off. The sound of a hundred horses resumed, echoing through the wind tunnel that pulsated along the path.

            Vaya held her breath. The two guards passed by first. Barl the Burly held his chest tall and stared straight ahead. Perhaps he was still sulking about his scolding from Sledda. Sledda, in turn, was sat with a scowl underneath his helm because of his correction by his prince. He did not like to be wrong. He never was wrong—unless the prince were with him. The prince always wanted things to be differently than Sledda suggested.

Sledda knew of Prince Rohinar’s jealousy. He was threatened by Sledda, a man knighted by Rohinar’s own father. Inside his carriage, Rohinar sat with his legs crossed and a scroll in his hands. He pretended to read so that his squire would not assume anything of him. His squire knew not to disturb his prince if he was reading. Rohinar’s mind brewed, instead, on what he ought to wear to his formal dinner tomorrow night. I ought to dress prince-like. The people need to see how handsome their prince is. I am the prince who returns from afar, having done important diplomatic things. His squire peeked up to check on his prince. He quickly dropped his gaze, not wishing to disturb his prince. He must be thinking about the politics he must discuss with his father.

Vaya clenched her fists tight. The carriage was approaching. Clank! One of the wheels hit a pebble that had fallen from above when the homeless spy had tried to flee. Rohinar dropped his scroll and turned his head to peak outside at what had caused such a disturbance to his quiet thoughts. Vaya’s heart thrummed. Rohinar’s jaw dropped. Vaya knew he had seen her.

A hundred yards later, the sound of horse hooves had stopped yet again. Vaya knew they had stopped for her. Trying to free her foot from the cove she was hidden in, she pulled and pulled. She finally yanked herself free, throwing herself onto the ground. A boot came down on her back, pinning her to the ground there.

She recognized the voice. It was the man called Sledda.

“Let me guess, your grace. You want this one in the Crow’s Quarters as well?”

“I have not decided,” the prince responded. “Is she a native of Dalrin?”

Sledda cocked his head. Vaya tried to peer back at him but only managed a groan from the weight of his boot. “I can’t tell. She’s got crow crap in her hair though.”

“She’s got the blessing of the Red Crows then. Take her on your horse. She’ll keep our friend company in the Crow’s Quarters until we find something useful for her to do.”

“Are you sure, your grace? Isn’t the Red Crow blessing a bad omen for House Aetos?” asked Sledda.

“’Tis true, Sledda. ‘Tis true.”