Many generations ago, Erdric Nordstorm had been granted the rights to the land around Vehlenstra Manor by an emperor whose line was now long forgotten. No one wanted to remember they'd had dealings with the humans - Nay, they were indebted to them. Sir Erdric had busily gone about expanding his borders at the expense of his neighbors. The people were expelled, whatever inferior race they may have been, and the land was resettled by elves.

Following Sir Erdric's death, his son Malinfalos busily went about terrorizing the peasants. Thus began a long line of corrupt leaders who ruled the lands with sorcery and cruelty. The army became as wicked as their masters, happily pillaging the lands they were supposed to be protecting whenever it pleased them. Any act of kindness or charity was instantly punished.

Cruelty eventually gave way to complacency and incompetence. The love for causing suffering was fulfilled by hunting of another sort. Abusing the peasantry was not as rewarding as hunting the land dry. After all, the peasants had been ground down for generations and few had the spirit for defiance any longer. Those who did not were quickly destroyed.

The army grew fat on the spoils of the land. The people were wasted away to nothing, plagued by malnutrition, disease, and despair. Invading armies marched through, pillaging what little was left. Thieves plagued them by night. The land shrank and the peasants only knew fear.

However, soon the thieves who came by night to smuggle people by force out of the country were seen as saviors. No longer did people cower in fear, afraid the next night would bring strange men to steal them into darkness. Even those who were sold into slavery thought it a favor, for most were treated better as property by other masters than they had by their own leaders.

So it came to be that Carith Nordstorm lived a life of plenty in Vehlenstra Manor while his people lived in misery. Also in his manor lived a certain disgraced woman and her bastard child, who everyone preferred to ignore. The woman was Carith's own sister who had been caught alone with only a few other woman by a group of bandits. As often happens when undisciplined human men find unescorted elven woman, children were soon conceived on them by force. The other women died of the experience, took their own lives, or died in childbirth. Only Merryl had the bad fortune to live and the desire to keep her young child, Iraeyna, alive as well.

Though it was official policy to ignore young Iraeyna, everyone managed to make their scorn and disgust quite known. Physically, she could never hide her true heritage, even if she had escaped to some remote part of the country. She was shorter, darker, her nose was rounder and her ears not quite as noble. Her childhood was tormented and her hatred for those around her grew. She despised them for their cruelty, their stupidity, their laziness.

When Iraeyna was 15, Sir Carith realized he was in danger of losing his province. Though he saw not the threat of the girl under his thumb, his defenses against outside invasion were so weak that it would not take much to take over completely. He had never been fearful that his Manor could be taken. He sent messengers to nearby provinces, desperately petitioning to be allowed to join the alliance he knew had been forming. Sir Carith's petition was accepted and for a time it seemed like the small province might prosper. However, his incompetence got the best of him and it was soon squandered into nothing.

A year after he joined the alliance, he again petitioned another province for a great sum of wealth to support his failing economy. It was the one closest to him - they were a strange sect of humans who worshipped a strange goddess. He didn't care, he only wanted their money. Their leader, called the Patron Scribe, was suspicious. He sent a small envoy to the Manor, in order to ascertain the state of things. Among them was one young man, known as Srat.

Iraeyna was like a shadow in the Manor. She knew every nook and cranny, where she could watch everything without the knowledge of her cruel uncle. When the convoy from Dragongaard Hall arrived, she picked Srat out immediately as the leader, even though another appeared to do all the negotiations. With disturbing ease, Srat watched her in the shadows. This surprised her, that a human's eyes could seek her out. She had dedicated her life to staying hidden.

There was something about the human Srat which Iraeyna admired. Most humans she hated for what they had done to her mother - what they had done to create her. It was his lack of emotion - the lack of what had created her. He was filled with a strange energy which intrigued her. When he moved, he flowed. His grace was that of the elves, yet his bulk and frame made it clear he had not a drop of elvish blood.

One evening, as she was slipping through a forgotten hallway, trying to make it back to her tiny bedroom without her uncle's notice, Srat found her. He practically materialized beside her and if she had not been so long used to unexpected cruelties, she would have cried out. She expected him to strike her, as any member of the household would do. But he did not.

In a low, emotionless voice, Srat told her that he been sent to discover the truth about Carith Nordstrom's practices and policies. He had seen through the smoke-screens of kindness and prosperity that the incompetent Knight had meant to use to fool the Patron Scribe. Srat's voice turned colder. He informed her that he would allow no one to attempt to make a fool of the Patron Scribe.

"Tonight, Vehlenstra Manor will be destroyed. All who remain will die." Srat warned the young half-breed.

"Wait!" Iraeyna hissed after a moment of shocked silence. Srat had turned to go, but he paused at the sound of her voice. "What about the peasants?"

"What of them?" Srat said with a disturbing nonchalance, turning to regard the girl coolly.

"This land belongs to them."

"Then why haven't they taken it?"

"They don't realize it yet."

Srat smirked. "Then they won't any time soon. No, he must die." Again, the mysterious human turned to go.

"Please." Iraeyna pleaded. "It is only my uncle and his closest advisors and friends who are filled with corruption. The servants, the city-dwellers, and the peasants, they've done nothing wrong."

"When he is gone, another will take the land. They will have new masters to keep them in their place." The way that Srat said gave Iraeyna the chilling feeling that she was being tested, yet at the same time the cold indifference in his voice angered her. Her voice rose in pitch as she became more passionate.

"What? A band of marauding humans? Orcs? They will enslave these people. You can't leave them to that!" With a great deal of will-power, the young girl resisted the urge to slap Srat. Oddly, she felt betrayed. She had thought him different from the other humans she had seen. Now she began to feel that there was no hope for their race.

"And I suppose you will lead them? A half-breed?" There was an edge of mocking sarcasm in his voice. Iraeyna flushed. Of course she couldn't lead, the people were too full of their superstitions to follow a half-blood like herself.

"Leave this place, girl." Srat said with a certain amount of finality.

"Never! I won't give up on the people, even if you, a filthy human, would. I should have known you'd be like the rest!" Iraeyna spun on her heel and ran down the corridor, heedless of where she was going. She didn't hear his footsteps as he practically flew after her, snatching her up around the waist and clamping his hand over her mouth. He melted into the shadows with his struggling captive. Iraeyna was about to bite his disgusting human hand but she was paused by the sound of footsteps approaching and his hissed warning to be quiet in her ear.

"We've rounded up all of the convoy except for their lead guard. I don't remember his name. No doubt he went off to the city to find himself an obliging tavern wench. He'll return too drunk to notice his comrades are missing and we'll take him into custody easily." Sir Carith's sniveling head advisor, Cebrenan, said as he strode confidently down the corridor with the Lord of the Manor himself.

"I want him found, damnit!" Sir Carith raged.

"Of course, Sir, of course. Every effort is being made. Our people search the town, no tavern bed will be left unturned." He grinned in amusement at his own joke. Sir Carith snickered as well.

"They're too be executed in the morning. They've seen too much." Sir Carith's voice drifted down the corridor as he turned a corner and was gone from sight, his crony scurrying beside him.

Srat dropped Iraeyna unceremoniously to the ground. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying out. Tasted the salt of her own blood. Picking herself up off the floor she glowered sullenly at Srat. Never mind that he had saved her life, she resented being treated like a sack of potatoes. She opened her mouth to tell him just that but he clamped a large, calloused hand over it again. Iraeyna wanted to scream! This was worse than being ignored. Instead, she pricked her ears, straining to make out whatever was driving him to continued caution. After a tense moment, he removed his hand.

"Where would your uncle keep prisoners?" He demanded.

"Dungeons, of course." Iraeyna answered, purposefully obtuse. He glared. Iraeyna felt a sudden chill and rubbed her arms.

"I have to get them out. You can show me the way." Iraeyna nodded, an idea forming in her mind.

"I will, but you have to take me with you."

Srat looked incredulous.

"And, you will promise not to destroy the Manor house." Iraeyna pressed her luck.

Srat nodded! "It is a Pact. May the Goddess bless it." Iraeyna only shrugged in response. Srat motioned her to lead on, and so began the first stage of her training.

Iraeyna brought Srat quickly to the dungeons. There were no guards - Carith trusted mechanical locks more than he did guards. Since few who crossed Carith lived long enough to make it to the dungeons, they were empty except for the men of the envoy. Within minutes they were free of the Manor and passing through the surrounding forest. Only when they were several miles from the Manor was there any talk amongst them.

The men were unanimously agreed - Iraeyna would not go any further. She would slow them down, they were sure. They were suspicious of her delicately pointed ears. Evidently, the hatred and distrust between the races was mutual. Iraeyna opened her mouth to defend herself - She had saved them, after all - she could keep up and she certainly wasn't going to betray them, when Srat interrupted.

"We have a pact. I will not go back on it. If she returns, she'll die. The man will know who led us out." His voice allowed for no disagreement. The rest submitted instantly, though they didn't warm up to their half-blood companion any.

They traveled like fugitives, hiding by day and sneaking through the forests by night. Often, Srat dropped behind them and would disappear. Sometimes hours later, he would materialize in front of them, calm as ever. They never questioned where he'd been, but Iraeyna had her suspicions. He was a killer and they were being hunted.

When they finally reached the border, Srat had them gather around him, hands joined. "Have you ever experienced a transport before?" He asked Iraeyna. She shook her head, eyes wide. "I didn't dare do this close to your uncle's Manor, his sorcerers would have killed you all instantly. You will be sick, Iraeyna." He warned before he began an inaudible prayer. When it ended, Iraeyna's stomach lurched and the world spun. Closing her eyes did nothing to alleviate the sensation. The world reformed around her and she found herself in a noisy courtyard, surrounded by loud humans.

"It must be market-day" She thought irrelevantly before she dropped to her hands and knees, passing out on the cobblestones.

After a year's sojourn in the Patron Scribe's Hall, Iraeyna was finally returning home - at least, what was left of it. Barely an hundred acres large and plunged in poverty, most of the land was dotted by ruined buildings, meager farms, and run-down hovels. Jobless beggars thronged to the capital, all holding onto one bitter, single hope. Hope was, or used to be, embodied by Vehlenstra Manor. Soon it will be again, was Iraeyna's silent promise.

Riding at the head of a small, but well disciplined, army, Iraeyna felt exposed. Self-consciously, she adjusted her visor and suppressed a shiver as sweat trickled down her neck and back. She reflected, as she often had during the journey, on her education at Dragongaard Hall with amazement. She hardly imagined ruling could involve so much knowledge - so much paperwork. Not only had the Patron scribe seen to her bureaucratic training, but also anticipated her physical needs. Srat himself had overseen most of her training - often sparring with her one-on-one.

Srat... She thought, resisting the urge to glance at him, riding at her side. He'd grown increasingly distant - if that were possible - the closer they'd come to the date of this expedition. Iraeyna sensed a bitter struggle within him, just below the surface of his calm demeanor. She didn't know what to make of it and had often considered bringing it to the Patron Scribe's attention - but he had more to worry about that one girl's troubled thoughts about his prized warrior. Besides, if something were wrong, of course he'd know. She was being foolish.

They crested the rise of a hill and Iraeyna's heart quickened at the sight of the familiar Manor. It had never been more than a shadow of beauty; a sad glimpse of what was or could be. It was in an even worse state, if that were possible. Most of the grounds - Mother's beloved flower gardens - had been trampled. The greenhouse still smoldered - there had been fighting recently. Who had won remained to be seen.

Stopping at the outer gate, Iraeyna called out in a high, clear voice. She demanded entrance. She was the niece of Sir Carith and she had come home.

Srat had warned her about the blood and the death that would be coming. She could not have imagined this, however. Her arm felt like lead. Her head was spinning. At some point, she had lost her horse and had continued on foot. She was in the halls of the Manor now, alone. The ring of steel and the screams of death were far behind her now, as she made her way cautiously through the winding hallways. She was hunting now.

They had somehow forced the gates - Iraeyna was still not sure how it had happened. As soon as the first arrow had been shot, an arrow that missed her by a hair's breadth, all had seemed as chaos. Srat took over the direction of the troops. They were inside in no time.

Someone rushed at Iraeyna, interrupting her thoughts. It was Cebrenan, she had time to notice before reflex took over. He was not a fighter, she cut him down quickly. His was a death she would not mourn.

Her heart lifted, soon her hunt would be over. Cebrenan was never far from her uncle's side. Even at a time like this, the poor fool would be eager to protect his master, to prove his worth.

A soft click was her only warning. Iraeyna dove to the side, praying frantically in her mind. She felt a rush of air as the crossbow bolt passed her ear and wedged itself in the wall behind her. Up on her feet in an instant, she sought out the secret compartment where the shooter would be hiding. She had to reach him before he could reload.

The panel slid open and she brought her blade to her uncle's throat.

"Fancy meeting you here, uncle." Iraeyna grinned. It was over, now.

"Now uncle..." Iraeyna pressed the tip of the blade into his flesh, almost enough to draw blood, "is that any way to treat your beloved niece?" Not, of course, that she expected any different.

His face turned red with helpless fury.

"You're going to call off what's left of your men, now. Come out of there, or I'll kill you." Iraeyna stepped back and allowed him to come into the hallway. Iraeyna moved behind him, placing the tip of her sword against his lower back, behind his kidney. She pressed slightly, making her point.

They made their way to the battlements, where Iraeyna quietly instructed him what to say. More concerned for his life at this point, Carith did as she said. He ordered his men to stand down, that there was no longer need for fighting. His niece had returned and he was naming her as his head advisor. Those of his army who remained alive gratefully laid down their arms and went without incident into the custody of Srat's men. They had suffered heavy losses as well, but they still out numbered Carith's forces.

Some hours later, as Iraeyna soaked away the cuts and bruises of the day in the rooms her mother had once inhabited, Srat slipped into the room without a noise. He coughed politely to alert Iraeyna to his presence.

She sank lower into the tub, blushing slightly. "Srat, please, give me a moment." He only shrugged and turned away, allowing her the time to dress. "Is everything going well?" She asked, as soon as she was finished.

"Yes, they surrender easily. They were glad to. Many among them are begging for priests to confess them, before they die. They are convinced they are all about to die."

"Good. That will keep them behaved."

"Why didn't you kill him?" Srat asked quietly.

"I need him. They won't accept me, Srat. You know that. I'm a half-breed. I need a puppet." Iraeyna sighed softly. "My mother was killed during the last assault.. two days ago. Two days."

Srat shifted uncomfortably at the raw emotion in Iraeyna's voice. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. He watched her with his emotionless, cold eyes, and wished he could feel something for her.

"How long will you stay?" Iraeyna asked. She ached with a need for something she couldn't explain, so she changed the subject.

"As long as you need me, or until the Patron Scribe needs me more."

Srat stayed for only a few months, helping to train an army to defend the Manor and the people. Supplies and money flowed into the province, generously given by the Patron Scribe. Soon the economy was back on its feet and the province began to prosper under Iraeyna's gentle rule. The people were slow to trust the change in Sir Carith's rule, but the relief from their years of misery was welcomed.