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The summer solstic was always a time when the world celebrated another year come and gone. It was a celebration of warmth, life, fertility, harvest, creation and rebirth. The old legends said the Goddess created the world and all in it in a brilliant flash. In a matter of hours, there was rock and earth and then the waters rushed forth from within, filling the low places in the world and surrounding the high places that made up the great landmass Aslennor.

Green plants sprouted from the earth, both upon the land and within the waters, all of it in bloom and seeding. These plants provided sustenance for the creatures that appeared in the world, creatures of all shapes and sizes. The Goddess was pleased with her creation of a world and it's plants and animals, but had none to share it with.

Deciding the animals of her world were not enough, she endeavored to fill it with creatures that could think, that could appreciate that which she had created. The first were the dragons, created in the Goddess' image. They filled the skies and swarmed the waters, they dwelt on the ground and within it. For thousands of years, they lived in dominion over the world, always in reverence and gratitude for what was given them.

Then came the elves. They struggled in the forests of the world, but the dragons took pity on them. They taught the elves how to live with the world, to coexist and share everything with the forests they lived in. They taught the elves to take only what is needed to survive, and always give back to the forest in thanks for what it provides, and in thanks to the Goddess.

Then then dwarves sprang from the living stone. Stout and firm, the dwarves carved out their great cities in the mountains of the world, making a life for themselves out of the very essence of the world. Their gifts to the goddess were the polished gems and strong metals they found deep in the world's heart. None could match the beauty of dwarvish metal and gems. Their gifts to the Goddess, their gratitude was immortalized in the vast statues and ornaments locked in vaults deep in the world's heart.

Last, the Goddess created Man. The youngest of the four, Man was given traits and qualities of each of his predecessors. Man was a bold creature, taking from the world what they needed to build a vast civilization not so localized to the wood or stone, nor the sky or sea. Man spread over the world, extending to every corner and building vast monuments to their prowess, and immense temples to the Goddess.

Valor knew the stories, how every sentient creature in the world was descended from one of these four. Every culture had an account of their own, the same story with subtle differences. He read the words available to him as often as he could beneath the birch tree. It was a secluded area outside of the port town of Saril not far away from the road, but far enough that he could read in seclusion.

His blue eyes scanned the words on the page. Everyone loved his eyes. His Aunt had said they were as bright as Dwarven Sapphires. Unlike most people's eyes he had seen, his were solid blue sapphires, lacking completely in the whites normally surrounding the colored bits in other species. His eyes were all iris, except for the vertical diamond-shaped pupils. While most adolescent girls his age stared at boys' physiques, all of them stared captivated at his eyes, often brushing his red hair out of his face so they could see.

He never kept his fiery hair. It was always mussed and his aunt constantly snatched him to try and make him look presentable, brushing his hair behind his ears. They were an outstanding feature on their own. Pointed like an elf's, his ears bore two extra points as well. One near the middle of the love, and one at the bottom. He had never seen another creature with ears like them, and the only explanation he had ever received was a simple "People have ears like that in a far off land, now make yourself presentable!"

He hated being presentable. It was so much work! But his aunt insisted, pestering him constantly! No doubt she would pester him for grass stains on his white smock, or scuffs on his tan leggings.

He sighed heavily at the thought and slowly closed the leather-bound book in his lap. Most of the world celebrated the summer solstice and Saril would be no different. Most of its occupants were human but others, like him, lived there. Whole families of elves lived there for generations. Human generations. The long-lived elves rarely procreated, but several had been living agelessly among their human brothers.

They celebrated not the elvish traditions of the summer celebration, but the same festival there always was in Saril. It wasn't a big town, but the festival was a week-long affair, a celebration from dawn of the first day to the eve of the last. It was a party filled with drink, dance, food from across the world, and oft times...

"Oh come now, Aberforth! There will be plenty of feed when we get to the inn!" a deep, rasping voice called out not far away.

Grinning, Valor leapt to his feet. Right on time! The magi always came early. He had such things in his cart, spells and contraptions that would dazzle all from young to old for the whole of the celebration. He bounded through the trees and the grass to the road. There he found the magi, robed in deep purple with a silly pointed hat upon his head.

As the elder man was climbing down from the cart, his back was turned and he hadn't noticed the adolescent there. Reaching down, Valor took a handful of grass from aside the road and held it up for the donkey, Aberforth, to see. The donkey's ears perked and he began to move forward toward Valor and the offered greens.

The cart lurched with the donkey's steps and the magician cried out, falling back into the cart, sputtering curses as he did. "You damn animal! Have you no sense of courtesy or common-..." he turned, sitting up in the back of the cart to peer over a pair of half-moon spectacles at the young man leading the donkey and cart. "Oh, my dear boy. I was correct in thinking it was an ass who knocked me on mine." He said, gesturing a hand at the haggard donkey.

"I'm not the trickster, you are." He turned, smiling warmly back at the aged magician. "It's good to see you, Manawyhn." Sure Aberforth would continue on his path, he stepped to the side and slowed his pace so he was walking beside the cart and could more comfortably stare up into the kind old face of the man clambering back into the driver's seat. "I was afraid you weren't going to make it to the Festival. They are really rather dull when you cant make it."

"My boy, when have I ever neglected to come to one of Saril's Festivals?" Manawyhn asked, taken aback by the comment.

"Well, there was that one year when you arrived a week late and told everyone you had thought the festivities were only just about to begin," he said, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "Or the time you arrived halfway through the week as drunk as a-..."

"You've made your point and I'll hear nothing more of it." Grumbling, the aged fellow wrestled the reigns into his hands. As he stared down at Valor mirthful expression, his scowl soon changed to a wry smile. "It really was a good barrel of whiskey." The two of them erupted into laughter.

As their laughter died down, the magi breathed a contented sigh and plucked a pipe from his robes. He set it between his teeth and lifted a match, ready to strike it on the rough surface of the seat he was perched upon, but he stilled his movements, staring suspiciously into the back of his cart before he replaced the match somewhere in his robes with a grumble.

"Has your Aunt Alcmene baked her world-renowened pies for the festival this year? I am not ashamed to admit, her pie is the only reason I return to this part of the world year after year," Manawyhn asked, chewing on the end of his pipe spitefully.

"Of course," Valor confirmed, "she's been working on them all day, though she'll have you believe she has slaved over the ovens for a week for a single one." He smiled up at Manawyhn with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I could get you one, if you like."

"I wouldn't want you to risk her wrath on my account, but if she has baked and of her delicious blackberry pies..." The elder magi licked his lips as a hungry look overtook him.

Laughing, Valor trotted away from the cart with a wave of his hand. "I think she finished one already! I'll go see!"

His Aunt Alcmene was not quite so world-famous as Manawyhn liked to believe, but Valor had seen how every mouth in the town started to water and all eyes turned to her open windows where she left her pies to cool.

Her wrath was just as well-known as her pies. Valor knew she had eyes in the back of her head and ears like a bat's. There was many a time when folk would wait, watching through the window until she was on the other side of the kitchen so they could more easily sneak up under the window to take one of the pies. No one ever knew how quickly she had closed the distance to the window until a wooden spoon swatted their hands.

One day, Valor remembered, the butcher sent his son to fetch one of her pies and after having his hand swatted by the spoon, the boy dropped the pie into the dirt. Aunt Alcmene had dragged the boy by his ear back to the butcher's shop, then dragged the butcher back to her home in the same fashion. She made the butcher clean her kitchen to a sparkling shine before she let him go, eating one of her pies all the while she supervised.

But Valor had softer feet, knew how his aunt moved in the kitchen. And then there were all those years of practice. He had snuck things out from under his aunt's nose without her being the wiser. Usually it was things she said he couldn't have until he had finished a task, but he had still managed to sneak them away with the chore mostly finished. But what difference was there?

He took a shortcut through the trees and ferns of the forest, hopping over a fallen log and bounding over a small creek as he jogged through his childhood play space. He knew the forest around Saril better than most people who had lived there all their lives. At first he had played within sight of the buildings, but as he had grown older, his adventures took him further and further away from the port town. To his knowledge, he was the only person who really knew about the spring that fed the creek that skirted around the town and emptied into the sea.

"Aren't you a little old to be playing in the forest?" It was the butcher. The large man was leaning against a tree nearest the back door of his shop, watching his son clean the cutlery in a wooden basin beside the wall. The portly man folded his arms over his blood-stained apron, totally lax and resting his weight on one leg. The other was bent slightly, resting the flat of his sole against the tree trunk. "You should think an adolescent boy such as yourself would be helping his aunt prepare for the Festival."

With a small smile, Valor shrugged his shoulders lightly. "I was just going home, Logan! The magician is here! I'm off to tell my aunt about it," he half lied, brushing his hands over his lightly stained front.

"Why don't you get a move on, lad. She's been in that kitchen all day. The smells coming from her window..." The gruff man shook his head lightly and smirked. "Fetch us a pie, while you're there."

He waved his hand and trotted around the side of the building toward the beaten street beyond. "Be well, Logan!"

Still brushing futilely at his stained clothing, he strode down through the Saril streets toward his aunt's home. The streets were mostly absent the hustle and bustle that usually filled the air. Most people were preparing in their own ways for the festival that would take up the entire week to come. The only people he passed on the way to the home he kept with his aunt were the folk hanging the banners, streamers and other festive ornaments.

The butcher was right, the closer he got to his aunt's kitchen window, the stronger the smell became until it overpowered everything else. The window sill was covered in delicious pies, two of them still steamed in the morning air. He took a moment to inhale the intoxicating smells deeply, then strode around the side of the house to the side-door.

Aunt Alcmene was there waiting for him, dressed in her usual red dress and cooking apron. The sleeves on her folded arms were folded up past her elbows, leaving her limbs mostly bare save the layer of flour, dough, and other things Valor suspected filled the pies in the window.

"You've managed to ruin another set of clothes." Her brown eyes bore into his own from between her disheveled black locks. "And you better have a convincing reason for not having my book with you."

He'd forgotten about the book! It was still under the tree he had perched himself beneath that morning. In his haste to meet Manawyhn on the road, he'd forgotten it upon the knobby roots. His mind raced with a million possible things he could tell her, each of them as absurd as the last, each of them likely to earn him the job of scrubbing the kitchens down that evening.

"I was reading it, down by the stream. The Magician was on the road and I rushed to greet him and I left it in the wood," he said, electing to tell the truth in hopes she might take pity on him and make him clean the pie dishes instead of the entire cookery.

Her gaze was locked on him tighter any lock he thought any smith could make. This was it, he knew. Aunt Alcmene was going have him clean the whole house this week.

"Go on and fetch it then, before it gets ruined." She indicated the forest beyond the village with a nod of her head.

She was letting him off with nothing but that? His spirits lifted and he glanced toward the trees as well, though his eyes lingered on the pies steaming in the window.

"Before you go," Alcmene began, causing Valor's gut to twist again, "I need you to do something." When Valor looked back to his aunt frightfully, he was surprised to see a steaming pie in her hands. "Invite Manawyhn to supper and remind him we have plenty of room up stairs. He need not spend money on the inns, and they'll be full as it is."

He stifled his surprise but was unable to stop the smile that curled the edges of his mouth. He took the pie and sprinted back toward the wood, feeling as light as air. "Don't drop it!" Aunt Alcmene called after him. He barely heard her for the excitement filling him.

He had come back to the tree before he had realized it. The book was right where he left it, the gilded title An History of Aslennor glinting up at him in the sunlight filtering through the green leaf above. As he picked the heavy leather-bound volume up off the tangled roots, the sound of more travelers on the road caught his ear and his curiosity.

Making his way back through the undergrowth, he was shocked to find a carriage not full of revelers but instead escorted by a dozen soldiers clothed in mail armor. He stopped behind a large fern-leaf, staring as they strode past bearing black-and-purple banners. There were four banner men total, two at the front and two at the rear of the column.

He didn't recognize the flags at first, but as a breeze caught the fabrics, they unfurled to show him the circle at the center of the diagonally-quartered field of alternating colors. On the outer quarters, the top and the bottom were black, while the sides were purple. Within the circle, the colors were reversed. The banners reminded him of an hourglass.

Likewise, the tabards the soldiers wore, and the driver of the covered cart at that, all bore the same design as the banners, that same violet hourglass emblazoned upon their chests. Their faces were all stern, almost bored looking. These were not men coming for the festivities, were they? The expressions upon their faces didn't seem to say so. Their flaring nostrils suggested the aroma of his aunt's delicious pie was going to betray him, though.

Turning, he made his way back into the forest as soft and quick as the shadows playing across the world around him. Maybe Manawyhn would know why they were there, if not to celebrate. They had soldiers come to Saril for the Festival in the past, but none of them looked as stern as these men.

What confused him more than the strange seriousness on their faces were the colors they wore and presented. He couldn't place the sigil anywhere, though it seemed eerily familiar. The curiosity drove him to the brink of insanity. Finally he came upon a fallen log and set the pie down. Prying the heavy book open, he flipped to one of the large, elegantly drawn maps. Within the borders of each territory was an overlay of the region's banners and sigils.

Checking and double checking each region, scanning the key twice and three times, he was unable to find the black-and-purple quartering anywhere on the page to his dismay. The magician would know. There was nothing Manawyhn didn't know.

He closed the book and took up the pie once more, moving through the trees and back toward the town. As he neared the road leading into Saril, he heard the familiar muttering of curses that seemed to be more than common when the magician was with his donkey.

When he came out of the trees and jogged to the road, Manawyhn was jerking his reigns, trying in vain to get the audibly protesting animal to move. The magician looked up at him and shook his head, dropping the reigns to spread his hands to either side. "You were able to snatch one of your aunt's pies! Good! Good. Now if you can get this confounded animal to move along I would be most grateful."

Valor shook his head slowly, holding the pie out to the aged fellow perched in his wagon cart. "I saw men on the road. They were coming toward the town. A dozen of them, they were all dressed in purple and black. I couldn't find the flag they flew in my book." He held up the tome for emphasis then sighed heavily. "Normally people coming to town this time of year look cheerful, ready for the Festival, but these men looked almost grim."

"Grim revelers? Now there's a puzzle. What did the flag look like, lad?" Manawyhn asked, sitting back in his seat to dig his fingers into the pie to get at it's wonderful smelling purple filling. "Blackberry, my favorite."

Valor climbed up to settle beside manawyhn and take up the discarded reigns. Clicking his tongue, he gave the leather thongs a light whip and got the beast of burden moving again, much to the magician's dismay.

"It was black and purple, quartered with a circle in the middle, reversing the colors. I checked my aunt's book to try and find the flag, but it wasn't there." Valor explained, resting the leather-bound volume in his lap.

"Indeed, it isn't a flag I'm familiar with. Perhaps a new lord is come to celebrate the summer solstice with us, a minor noble not worth note in your book." Manawyhn lifted purple fingers to stroke at his beard thoughtfully, seeming not to notice he was staining his gray beard. Digging his fingers back into the pie, he shoveled another chunk of the food into his mouth and said "Perhaps we'll ask them when they arrive, shall we? I see no harm in that."

"Maybe they've come to see your tricks. You are quite famous in these parts after all. No doubt just as famous in the rest of the world." He shrugged his shoulders lightly, turning to look at the purple-bearded man. "I don't think that would make people look so serious, though."

"You'd be surprised, lad. There are folk in the world who do not take so kindly to my tricks as you do here," Manawyhn said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Valor. "Let us hope they are just weary of their travels."

"Maybe," Valor said. "Oh, I almost forgot, Aunt Alcmene wants me to extend her invitation. We have a spare bedroom in the upstairs hallway you are welcome to. You don't have to spend your silver on a flea-bitten room at the inn."

Manawyhn smiled at the offer. "I would like that. I've slept in many a flea-bitten bed in my time. It wears on a man after the first century."

He wasn't sure if the old man was serious or not, but when he saw the mirthful glint behind those spectacles, Valor couldn't help but laugh. "You don't look a day over ninety-nine."

As they steered the cart toward his home, Valor was keenly aware of the murmur and excitement stirring in their wake. More than once he caught a gaggle of children chasing after them, leaping and trying to peak into the back of the cart to see what wonders the magi had brought with him.

When they reached the front porch of Aunt Alcmene's house, he leapt down from the seat and turned to watch Manawyhn climb carefully from the cart to the stable earth. Waving a boney hand dismissively, the old man conjured a tent-like cover over his wagon, protecting its contents from the weather and curious passersby.

Marveling for a moment, as he always did, Valor grinned and ran his hand over the cream-colored fabric covering the wagon. "How do you just make things appear like that?"

"Oh, I don't," Manawyhn explained. "The tarp was in the wagon already. It was just folded up out of the way. I didn't make it appear, more that I simply unfurled it over the wagon. Man cannot create things from thin air, Valor."

"A good thing too, lest Man gets lazy and doesn't come for his blackberry pies," Aunt Alcmene called from the doorway.

Valor turned to look and Manawyhn moved quickly along the porch to wrap his arms around the raven-haired woman affectionately. "Even if I could conjure blackberry pies from nothing, I doubt they would match your bakery works of art!" he exclaimed as they embraced.

"Of course not. You don't know my secret ingredient, what gives it that tang you like so much." She winked at him and turned to lead him through the front door. "It's the heimloch. But you mustn't tell a soul."

Valor followed the pair through the house and into the kitchen, where Alcmene pulled a chair out for their guest. He took his own seat across from Manawyhn, listening quietly to their banter. It was their customary ritual.

"Is that what you put in your delicious pies? Then you're trying to kill me off, are you?" Manawyhn asked, stroking his stained beard thoughtfully.

Aunt Alcmene spread her hands to either side as she moved toward the kitchen where smells of cooking meats and vegetables rather than baking pies wafted from. "It hasn't worked yet."

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Aunt Alcmene called out to them. "I've almost finished supper. I hope you are in the mood for venison stew."

"Anything beats the dried pork and cheese I've been forced to eat on the road, my dear." To prove his point, Manawyhn's belly rumbled loudly, causing both he and Valor to laugh softly.

"Did you bring my book home, Valor?" Aunt Alcmene asked as she carried three bowls and spoons to the table.

Giving a start, Valor nodded and bolted for the front door. "It's in the wagon. I'll go get it now!" He rushed back outside and snatched the large book from where he had left it in the driver's seat. Patting Aberforth as he passed, Valor carried the book back into the house and replaced it on the bookshelf in the study. Returning to the kitchen, he was pleased to see Alcmene filling their bowls with thick, steaming stew.

Taking his seat, he licked his lips and stared eagerly at the ladle filling his bowl. It smelled delicious, as always Aunt Alcmene's suppers did. There were large chunks of venison, carrots, potatoes and beans in the thick broth, each chunk as juicy as the last.

"How were the cliffs today?" Aunt Alcmene asked. Her tone made him grimace. The cliffs were north of the town and dangerously high. Valor often sat at the top of the sheer face and watched the sun rise into the sky before he started his day, much to his aunt's displeasure.

Before he could answer, Manawyhn gave a hearty laugh and shook his head slowly. "It seems your mother was apt in naming you! The cliffs are no place for the faint of heart."

Valor gave a small smile. He never knew his mother. She had left him in a bundle on Aunt Alcmene's porch with a note reading 'Love Valor as I will always love him'. Aunt Alcmene was not his blood relation, but she had always insisted he call her by that name. He was only to happy to oblige.

Scoffing, Aunt Alcmene took her seat and stirred irritably at her stew. "There is a fine line between courage and stupidity, and this boy skirts the line far to often! One of these days you're going to sneak out before dawn and no one will ever see you again!" she accused, pointing her spoon at the adolescent.

"Let the boy live," Manawyhn said, smiling warmly as he scooped his supper into his mouth, "You can't expect the boy to sit in the study all day. We were the same way at his age."

"You were never his age," she said simply, staring into her bowl in defeat.

"That is true, I suppose." With a shrug, Manawyhn focused on his stew, letting Aunt Alcmene simmer down.

Valor smiled in amusement at the conversation between the two. He had long since learned not to inject his own thoughts on matters like these. He usually came to regret it immediately.

"You have been keeping up with your studies, haven't you?" Manawyhn asked, glancing up from his supper.

Nodding, Valor answered "Yes. I have been reading more of Aunt Alcmene's books every day. Most of them are pretty interesting, but some of her books just seem to drag on and on and say nothing at all."

Manawyhn laughed and gave a small shrug of his robed shoulders. "Most scholars are like that, even when they speak. They talk and talk for hours and say nothing of real consequence."

"Remind you of anyone?" Aunt Alcmene asked.

"Unlike other scholars in the world, I don't spend all my time writing lengthy tomes or reciting ancient limericks. I'm much more interesting. Wouldn't you agree, Valor?"

The young man nodded enthusiastically and grinned. "I havnt seen any other scholars come to Saril who can do the thing you can."

"Quite right. The number of Men who can do what I can is a small one, at best. Magicians are few and far between in the world of Men and other races seldom use their power for trifles like amusement," he said with a wink.

"Nor should they. Magic is not to be trifled with," Aunt Alcmene said, shaking her head slowly. "Ether is a dangerous element to play with. Just like with the others, if you play with it too much in irresponsible ways, eventually you're going to get hurt or worse, you're going to hurt someone else. Possibly a great many someone elses."

"Having never been an adolescent boy, I think it is safe to say I have been a responsible adult all my life, Alcmene. I assure you, I will do nothing in Saril to endanger the people living here. Have I ever given reason for you to doubt me?" he asked, turning his attention to the raven haired beauty staring daggers in his direction.

Valor knew she never really liked Manawyhn's festival antics. He supposed he could have felt flattered at such a thing, since it came from her fear that one day, something would go wrong and he would get hurt from all the magic in the air every night of the Festival.

"Not yet. There is a first time for everything, though," she said, turning her gaze back on her soup. Valor couldn't help but smile. He could almost feel the love and worry for him. He couldn't explain it fully, but he had always had a sort of sixth-sense when it came to people's emotions, especially Aunt Alcmene's. Even when she was scolding him, screaming at the top of her lungs for the stupid things he's done, he could feel her love for him overpowering even the anger erupting out of her.

After a long silence, Aunt Alcmene again spoke up, looking up from her bowl again as she asked "What is going on in the world outside Saril?"

"Funny you should ask. Valor was asking me about a peculiar sigil earlier and now that you mention it, I find I can remember who it belongs to." Manawyhn leaned back thoughtfully at his chair, stroking his stained beard in thought for a moment. "There is a lord in Sestae, on the Icy Isle, who has united the kingdoms of Men. Somehow, he's convinced them to stop fighting each other and live peaceably. He hasn't reached out to anyone else, but then they aren't constantly at each other's throats like humans tend to be."

"That depends on when in history you're looking at. I was reading yesterday that everyone used to be in a near-constant state of war. The elves were fighting the dwarves, the men were fighting the Syssans," Valor interjected.

"And everyone was killing dragons for their horns, teeth, claws, and scales. Barbaric times." Aunt Alcmene leaned forward on her elbows, looking between Valor and Manawyhn slowly. "It's about time someone unites the humans in the world. Aslennor will be better for it."

Manawyhn nodded his agreement, reaching for the corner of the tablecloth to wipe his hands as he did. "Possibly. But what has this new king used or said to convince the other kingdoms to set aside their differences so quickly? I would have thought it would take decades to settle their disputes."

He was rewarded with a slap on the wrist from Aunt Alcmene's spoon. Hastily pulling his hand back, he rubbed the red spot on the back of his boney appendage and looked apologetically at the scolding face staring him down.

"Maybe he isn't human," Valor suggested, looking to Aunt Alcmene. "You told me human nature is warfare and that humans could no more live peacefully than merfolk could walk on land."

"And I stand by what I said."

"Stranger things have happened. Look at the dragons. You yourself said they were once hunted for their hides. Now they are the most revered of creatures." Manawyhn said, pausing to wink at Valor.

"Ancient history," she said, waving her hands dismissively.

"And who is to say we aren't witnessing one of the great turning points in history, my dear? The beginning of a new age?" Manawyhn asked her, subtly ringing his hands in the tablecloth in front of him.

Aunt Alcmene shook her head, once more diving into her stew. "I do not think the humans will ever give up their bloodlust. If not directed at one another, it will be directed elsewhere. It has always been, it will always be."

Valor scooped the last of his stew into his mouth and dropped the spoon into the empty bowl slowly. "I hope the new king does stop the wars between the human kingdoms. All of the things I've read sound horrible. I wouldn't want to be caught up in wars like those."

Manawyhn gave a little laugh and looked to the raven haired beauty at the head of the table. "And you say he skirts the line between bravery and stupidity? That does not sound like the statement of a stupid boy."

"He has his moments when it almost sounds like he's listened to the things I've taught him." She turned her eyes on Valor and offered a firm, but stern smile. "Put your bowl in the kitchen and go to bed, Valor. You'll need your rest for the festivities tomorrow."

Obediently, Valor complied. He was acutely aware of the soft whispers being exchanged in the dining room as he ascended the stairs to his bedroom.

* * * * *

Valor was awakened by a commotion out his window. Leaping from bed, he rushed to the window and peered outside. The soldiers and the cart were in the town square and a crowd had gathered around them.

He darted to his wardrobe and pulled the clothes he had planned to wear that day for the festival out. Hastily pulling on his deep red smock and white trousers, he rushed from his bedroom in a flash, taking the stairs to the ground floor two at a time. He elected to go out the backdoor, that way Aunt Alcmene wouldn't get on his case about getting his good clothes dirty. She always did.

As he rounded the corner to the side of the house and cautiously crept along until he came to the street that passed in front of the house. Hearing voices, he paused and slowly peaked around the corner of the house to see who it was.

Aunt Alcmene stood on her porch, her icy gaze staring down one of the purple-and-black soldiers who stood at the front step, holding out a small piece of cloth with the new king's sigil.

"And why should I do what your king commands? He is no king of mine," Aunt Alcmene said coolly.

"You live in one of the provinces he overlords, ma'am. You are subject to his laws. He has decreed that all non-humans wear these armbands," the soldier insisted, again holding out the cloth to her.

"Do I look inhuman to you?" she asked. Valor was sure that if looks could kill, the man in front of her would long since have been turned to a pile of ash.

"Well no, but-..."

"Then I will not be wearing that armband," she said.

"Yes, but you are-..."

"Begone, or I'll call the constable and have you removed from my property."

A hand suddenly grabbed Valor's shoulder, giving him a start. He gasped and turned around only to find Manawyhn there, pressing a finger to his lips. Understanding immediately, Valor stifled himself and nodded.

"It may be best if you do not draw unwanted attention from these men." A boney hand lifted one of the armbands up for Valor. The other held forth a poster, no doubt torn from a post in the town square.

Take Notice

By royal decree of King Darius

All peoples of non-human lineage

must wear His Majesty's sigil upon their arm

as easy visual identification by the royal guard

and in preparation for a possible future relocation

to designated communities where safety will be

offered and guaranteed against hostilities that may

linger in the hearts of men in the wake of unification

under His Majesty's banner

_ _

Nonhumans found without the armbands will be

Imprisoned under charges of sedition and

failure to adhere to the laws set forth by

His Majesty King Darius of Sestae,

Overlord of the Aslennoran Unification

_ _

"Now we know why they looked so grim on the road," Manawyhn said slowly. "Don't give them a reason to hold this over your head. Put it on."

Valor nodded slowly, taking the armband from the old magician. He drew it up his left arm and got it snugly into place. He looked it over, deciding it didn't feel right. Somehow the slim fabric felt heavier than it should. "Why aren't you wearing one?" he asked.

"I may be old, but I am still a man." The humor in Manawyhn's eyes masked something Valor could not put his finger on. He didn't feel as mirthful as he tried to look. "Not many humans know how to manipulate the ether in the world, but those of us that do are no less human than the rest."

Nodding in understanding, Valor fiddled with the forced adornment wrapped around his arm, then looked back toward the crowd gathered in the center of town. "They don't sound very happy about this new decree."

"People never like it when things are forced on them, even if for their own good. Protection in itself can seem like imprisonment. Do you remember when you were a small boy, your aunt gave you a time you had to be home in the afternoon, forced you to bed at a certain time?" Manawyhn explained, leaning on a walking stick he had tucked under his arm.

"I remember." He sighed softly and shook his head. "I remember being unhappy about it, too. But what gives this new king the right to do this? Wouldn't marking all the nonhumans only serve to focus the humans' aggression, instead of curbing it?"

"It might. Then again, if the people know the king means to offer protection to the nonhumans in the world, they may be less inclined to try his limits."

There it was again. Valor felt the hint of another emotion brimming with the magi's words before it was quickly smothered. In half a second, it was as clear as a barely remembered dream. It both puzzled him and frightened him. Manawyhn had always been open with him, never failed to answer question, or volunteer information.

"I guess so," Valor said in defeat. "It doesn't seem right though, that he should mark us and point us out to the world, does it? Not that many nonhumans can hide what they are very easily, but that's hardly the point is it?"

"To your mind, what's the point?"

"Well, he's singling us out for something, right? Maybe it is for protection. Aunt Alcmene did say warfare is human nature and if they are at peace with each other, they might seek to fight everyone else. There are other ways to do it, though. I mean, couldn't he do something to hide the nonhumans, to keep them from harm through subterfuge?"

"Would you want to hide who and what you are?" Manawyhn asked, walking slowly from the alleyway into the street.

"Well, no. I guess not. I am proud of who I am. I don't want to hide it," he said, following at the magi's side.

"And which of these two alternatives would make you more unsettled? Which do you think would prompt more rage from the people of Aslennor?"

"I guess," he thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders in defeat once more, "I would be more upset if we were forced to hide what we were."

"No doubt the king has seen this, too. You mustn't allow your emotions to cloud your judgment, Valor. Look at things from every angle before you jump to the conclusion to become enraged, or shrug it off. In times like these, with so many in the world jumping to conclusions, and quick to anger, you may find yourself part of a melting pot if you let your emotions rule your judgment. Besides," he said, smirking to himself, "you don't get to be my age by getting angry with change."

"How old are you, really?" he asked, suddenly distracted by the last point the magi made.

"Old enough to give good advice."

As they passed one of the kings soldiers nailing another poster against a wall, Valor noticed the man turn, looking the two up and down slowly. When his eyes fell on Valor's armband, he squinted for a moment, then moved to the next building to tack on another poster. Valor felt no warmth in the look, only an obligatory tolerance. He edged closer to Manawyhn, suddenly understanding why King Darius would want to protect the people of Aslennor from an unfocussed aggression. Would they go around burning unsegregated towns without King Darius' decree?

As they came closer to the town square, Valor noted the decor for the Festival had all but been forgotten. People of all ethnicities were gathered around a soldier, the one who had been marching at the front of the procession the previous day. He was waving his hands, trying to calm the rabble crowding around him.

"We are not asking for a major change in your lifestyles! I'm sorry this decree had to come during the Summer Festival, but it was the King's order and it must be obeyed! Please, go back to your celebration! All we ask is that the inhuman population of Saril wear these sigils at all times!" he called out, holding one of the armbands in the air for emphasis.

Valor could feel their feelings overhead like a storm. High winds of confusion swept through the crowd and rage boomed, a thunderstorm of anger at King Darius' decree. The most overwhelming aspect of the storm was the howl of fear rolling over the town like a tidal wave.

"We shouldn't have to wear anything to show what we are!" one man shouted. The butcher Logan, Valor realized.

"You sir! You're not required to wear one. You're human yourself!" the soldier said, shaking his head in confusion.

"When you mark one of us, you mark all of us. We are not different in Saril. When we look at each other, we don't see elves, dwarves, and men. We see people!" The crowd shouted their approval of Logan's statement.

"I'm sorry," the soldier said, waving his hands to calm the populace, "But it is the King's order. The wisdom of his word will be revealed in time. Please put them on. It's all we ask. The alternative is masking yourselves, hiding in the world as men. Which would you rather have?"

Valor glanced knowingly to Manawyhn who only gave a soft smile and rested a hand on his shoulder. "See? The King has given this thought."

A murmur settled over the crowd and they settled a little.

"This is only temporary, for your protection. King Darius values the lives of all his subjects. He isn't doing this for your harm, he's doing it for your safety." The purple-clad man sighed heavily and started to push through the crowd toward his wagon, guarded on four corners by soldiers wielding spears. "Please just put them on. In time, the decree will be withdrawn and things will go back to normal."

As the armbands were being dispensed, Valor glanced to Manawyhn and smiled lightly. "I see what you mean. When alternative ways of thinking are forced on people, they sort of calm down, don't they? If you look at things from every angle yourself, you aren't as quick to do something brash."

"Precisely. What do you suppose these people would have done if that man hadn't offered an alternative?" Manawyhn asked.

"I guess they would probably have rioted, maybe even hurt those soldiers."

"And King Darius would have sent more soldiers, these ones more heavily armed to quell what in his mind must seem like open rebellion. Small things can have great outcomes. The flap of a butterfly's wings in Genath can turn into a howling sandstorm in Abrinin."

"So, King Darius really does mean no ill will."

"Perhaps," Manawyhn said.