Cara waited nervously next to Winter. Her ankle had been grateful to have her weight off of it, but her back was strained by Winter’s stiff gait, and she relished a chance to stand upright. The ragged old garron whickered in her ear and nuzzled her neck as a cold breeze blew by. She shivered and leaned into Winter, staring anxiously at the top of the hill. It was a chilly morning. Somehow the sun seemed far away, though its light pierced through the skies defiant against the cold. The entire road north had been safe and uneventful, but the outriders from House Darkwick had come warning of a battle once they’d turned west. Howl and Dennel rode after them, while Hale stood guard with several knights over the family. He’d proven well suited for standing guard, and standing in general.

Istan was ever watchful over Gislain and their mother. Between Gislain’s frequent sobbing fits and their mother’s witless muttering the poor boy was ever busy, without a moment for himself. Cara worried over him. He was a mischievous boy on the outside, but had a very tender heart, and admired their father a great deal. The shock of her father’s death had abated somewhat for her, and a deep sadness kept threatening to take her. She tried to fight it off by caring for the people, but her ankle was making that difficult. There was only so much she could do from the saddle, and every time she walked she felt pain stabbing up her leg into her spine. Even standing still on soft grass was becoming increasingly laborious.

One of the riders came over the hill. He was alone, and galloping swiftly. Cara’s heart beat with the hooves of the man’s horse. Please, she thought, please tell me nothing is wrong.

The man rode up to Cara, his horse stopping just short of her and Winter, who snorted lazily. “Your Grace…”

“Highness,” she insisted.

“Your Highness,” he bowed his head, “forgive me Ma’am. Ser Dennel sent for you and any you would bring, His Grace included. Ser Dennel’s words, Ma’am.”

I must be easy on this man. He must be from one of the far southern holds, or a Corn Knight. No man who knows anything of Dennel would call him ‘Ser’. Even father only did so when he was angry with him. Father…

“What is it?” asked Hale. He’d ridden over and dismounted.

“You’d best remount,” Cara told him. “Your knights have summoned you.”

“And you have no wish to follow?” Hale dropped to one knee and placed his hands for her foot.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. She placed her hands on his shoulders and her uninjured foot onto his hands. He hoisted her up smoothly, and she was able to take hold of Winter’s saddle horn before feeling any pain in her ankle. When they were both on horseback, they rode after the rider over the hill. There was a circle of plowed fields surrounding a small village with a mill, a grove of oak trees, and a rushing stream.

“That’s Riverwood,” Hale said.

“Aye, Your Grace,” said the rider. They galloped down the hill and found a pair of mounted soldiers at the town gate. All about them was death. People were dangling from awnings, bent backwards over fences, impaled on posts, or simply laying in pieces on the ground. Blood watered the flowers in gardens and painted cobblestones. There was a felled tree propped up in the middle of town, held in place by a series of ropes. Dennel and Howl were near it on their horses. They rode over to him and Cara heard Hale gasp. Tied around all sides of the tree were a trio of orcs. They were massive, a foot taller than Dennel or Howl, and powerfully built. Their faces were painted vitaar of bright yellow, white and green, and they wore beaded bands of leather over their sloped foreheads. Rivers of sunlight streamed down their long silken hair as it lifted gracefully in the slight breeze.

“Grey orcs,” said Dennel when they came to him.

“Netherclaw?” asked Howl.

“No,” said Hale. They all looked to him.

He rode his destrier around the tree and looked closely at the bodies. “These are Windfang orcs. Their skin has been covered in some sort of powder to make it look grey.”

He reached with his long arm and wiped the stuff clean off one orc’s calf. The skin underneath was the color of desert sand.

“And the totem is wrong,” he continued. “Only the Netherclaw hang more than one warrior per totem.”

“Are not all tribes joining the Netherclaw?” Howl asked.

“Many, but not all. And the Windfang were massacred.”

“‘Tis a puzzle,” said Dennel.

Cara looked on the orcs. Their faces looked pained and fearful, not angry or proud. “They look as if they regretted killing our kin. Mayhaps some Netherclaw were attacked by the villagers, and these three stumbled on the battle while on a hunt? They may have sacrificed themselves to defend their kin, being the last of their own tribe, and so they were honored. That would make sense of the totem being of Netherclaw fashion.”

“Mayhaps,” said Hale, “but that doesn’t account for their skin being painted grey underneath their vitaar. That makes no sense to me whatsoever.”

“There are horse tracks leading away from the town,” said Dennel. “The few of our kin who survived doubtless rode west to the walls to warn others. We should be wary. If there are more orcs about then they’d likely attack us.”

“No,” said Hale. “They’d know the devices on our shields to be of High Alden, and they have no quarrel with us. In our beleaguered state, they’d likely offer us aid. I’ve no fear of the road ahead.”

He’s trying, Cara thought. Igdrus bless him, he’s trying. “Then shall we press on, Your Grace?”.

He nodded, and told Dennel to ride ahead with the men while Howl led the people around the town and onto the road. “No need for our subjects to witness more death.”.

“Yes, Your Grace,” said both the knights before riding off.

“When did father tell you you were to be his heir?” He asked when all the men had ridden from the town.

“The day he died.” Cara felt a lump in her throat. They stood silently for a moment. Cara looked at the dead orcs, admiring their massive sinews and long limbs. They were frightening to look upon, with their narrow eyes, tusked mouths and sharp claws. Still, to slaughter them because of fear of their appearance, when it is known in the wide world that for generations they travelled from castle to mountain, from forest to palace, from stronghold to cavern, serving as the lifeblood of the world. For an entire age the nomadic paths of the orcs were the veins that ideas and knowledge travelled through, feeding each kin with understanding of all the others. And now they were attacked for their appearance, enslaved for their strength, or hunted for their scalps. Cara felt the lump in her throat harden. Her father had hidden the world from her well. It was a far colder place than she imagined.

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“It’s looking to be a stormy summer,” Hale said.

She looked upward and saw more towering clouds on the horizon. “They may empty before they reach us.”

“When was he going to tell me?”

“After the conflict between Corn Hill and the gnolls was resolved.”

“And will you wait till our conflict with Thrond is resolved to press your claim?”

She remembered the narrow bridge within Malgond, and the story he told her of Derrion and Marcas. Is that story to be played out now between Hale and I? Is a throne worth a brother? “If I were to press a claim, what would you do?”.

“Yield,” his voice was hollow. “I would yield. I learned nothing of Kinghood during my fosterage, other than it is fraught with peril. And father had no intention of teaching e himself. Why would I dispute him, Cara? He cast me away as a boy, then died before he could cast me away as a man.”

Cara had grown weary of tears, and so she kept them down. But she felt for Hale, she felt for him so much. “I wish he would not have sent you away, brother You were my dearest friend, and I’ve never replaced you. Not even with Noxi.” A tear escaped and fled down to her neck. Noxi’s flight cut her deep. She chased that hurt away with her hurt over Hale. None of this is fair to him. Father should have kept him close, and groomed him for rule himself. Then he may not have found the time to play the schemer with the Black Sun. The Black Sun… So much was happening when Dennel told her of the secret order her father had run afoul with.

“I’ll abdicate,” said Hale. “Once we arrive at Gwynd. Father was sensible to wait till there was peace. Perhaps I can still learn from him, even if he’s not here to teach me.”

“No! Hale, don’t you see? This is your chance to prove him wrong. To prove everyone wrong.”

He looked at her with hurt and anger in his eyes. “Everyone?”

Cara covered her face with her palm. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just, everyone that agreed with father, which was practically no one.”

“Who?”

“What does it matter? Stand up tall and show yourself worthy, and all the realm will be loyal to you.”

“Was it mother?”

“Oh Hale, why do you want to know?”

“Who was it Cara?”

She sighed and lowered her gaze to the ground. Winter shuffled his hooves in the soft dirt. “Dennel,” she said quietly.

Hale drew his breath so sharply he almost hissed.

Cara regretted her foolish tongue. To know that Dennel doubted him would be a bitter tincture to swallow. I daren’t let him know it was Dennel’s idea. That would crush him entirely.

“None of this is fair, Hale,” she put on her most reassuring voice. “You were sent away to a kingdom that was heading towards a terrible tragedy, came back only for father to ignore you, and then he was taken from us before he could change his mind.”

“This was his doing. All this is because of him. He’s dead because of his own stupidity!”

Her hand closed into a fist, but she kept it still. “Hale, we’re all hurting, but condemning father will do no good. He admitted his past mistakes. But he was certain all was well. He wasn’t expecting Ror to be there, to… kill him.”

“And how do you know this, Cara? Did father tell you these things when he handed over my birthright to you? Did he tell you he’d never done anything to betray Thrond?”

“I know because I was out there Hale, while you hid in the keep with mother and our handmaids.” Her voice was cold, too cold. Hale stuck out his lower lip and rode away to where Dennel and Howl were leading the people.

Cara buried her face in her hands and we[t, then pounded her saddle with both fists. If Winter objected, he kept it to himself. The old gelding looked over his shoulder and tossed his head playfully. Cara stroked his mane. “I even lost my horse,” she said between sniffles. “But you’re a friendly fellow. We just have to teach you a proper gate.”

She sat for a moment in silence. Her mind was racing. It still made no sense to her. Her father had dealings with some evil drow cult, but what could that have to do with Thrond? It was the goblins who assailed them. Could the goblins have worked with the drow? But her father would have had nothing to do with that. And he would never have tried to murder Halfur and Yemi. Not in a thousand thousand years would Cara ever believe that. Her father played at making deals and alliances, not murder and war. A word flashed through her mind. Dyer. She shuddered. No. No! He would never bring harm to the dwarves. Especially with Auntie… Her aunt’s face appeared in her thoughts. She had that half happy, half worried look, and her necklace glittered in the sunlight.

Oh Auntie, please be alright. Terrible thoughts ran through her head. Perhaps the goblins had won, and guilty or no, the dwarves may have suspected her father to be involved. Perhaps Lobuhl came back and offered some sort of false proof, some half spun tale told by a drunkard in whatever filth filled alebarn he slinked away to. She couldn’t stand it. Each thought stabbed her belly like a knife. Her ankle throbbed again, and a sick feeling crept through her insides. She felt as if her belly had been filled with rot, and in her veins flowed a sense of everything being wrong and foul and dead. All memory of pleasantness or joy was fading from her, receding into a fog of numbed nausea. Father didn’t do this, Hale. Ror did.

With a very heavy heart, she spurred Winter to a slow trot. She didn’t notice the stiffness of his gate. She was too caught up in her storm of anguish. The fondness she’d felt for Ror was slowly turning to poison. She remembered looking into his green fire eyes in Grar’s solar, and how gently and kind his eyes were. And alive. They glimmered like stars. She looked up to the Torch, but it was lost in the greying sky. Ror, why? She wondered if she could ever forgive him, even if her father had proven false to them. As she looked back to the road ahead her eyes passed the orcan totem. I’ve been blind all these years. I live in a cruel world. I ride through a dead village, leading a wounded people to seek refuge in a kingdom ruled by a kinslaying usurper. One way or another, she would have her answer from Ror. And I’ll find Noxi. She wanted to forget him and his cowardly flight. He might have warned them, or sent word to Ridzak for aid. No, Ridzak is Ror’s friend, and Noxi’s old boss. There will be no aid for us from the goblins.

She heard quick and furtive footfalls, then the sickening thunk of a dagger stabbing into someone’s back. She turned to the noise and saw a mud-covered man in roughspuns laying belly down on the ground. He looked up at Cara with hungry eyes, and stretched out his hand toward her. He wore breeches that were too small, boots that were too big, and a hat that was much finer than the rags that covered the rest of his body. From his belt, which also was of finer make and ill sized, hung several mismatched coinpurses. A throwing knife was buried deep between his shoulder blades, and a cudgel had fallen out of his extended hand. Cara felt nothing for the man. He deserved no less for looting the dead. She wondered who stabbed him, though, and worried other looters may be nearby. She kicked Winter to a run and hurried after her people. The Dawnwood was in sight. It would be slow going, with so many wounded, saddened and hungry people to look after, but a place of safety and rest was close. Cara’s eyes caught movement in the distance, and off the road to the north, as she was beginning to expect now days, she saw the white banner billowing in the slowly gathering wind. Hale was right. It was looking to be a stormy summer.