A light snow blanketed the hillsides across the deep valley, as glaciers graced the ancient and high ridges beyond. A full midnight moon shone over the land, casting a silvery blue over all the Realm. The night was still, with nary a whisper of wind, and a sense of expectancy hung in the crisp night air. Over the past fortnight, rumors of war circulated widely, and reports of movements of the mighty armies of the Dark Lord, MaleProp, passed the lips of travelers coming from beyond the Tranquillity Mountains.

Two figures sat huddled under a thin blanket and looked across the quiet valley of the House of Lord ThunderBane. They leaned against a large granite outcropping, and were warmed by its residual heat from the previous day’s sun. “It is very cold,” said the smaller figure. “Umhmm,” said his companion, not moving his eyes from the peaceful scene below. “We should get you inside,” said the smaller one, “else your cough returns.” “Thank you, my friend,” said his companion; “it will not be much longer.” He paused for a moment, deep in thought. “There is one below who awaits us,” he said softly, “and then the time for final rest will be near.”

The friend could see his companion shivering under the blanket, but his stubbornness wouldn’t allow him to acknowledge this. “How will you know the one?” asked the friend. “I am not certain,” said his master. “There will be a sign, I think.” Hahr LeQuinn pulled the blanket tighter around himself and his friend. PonteFane crouched closer to provide some added warmth for his master, his forepaws resting comfortably under his chin.

As the two continued their watch, the moon slid behind the mountains to the west and beyond the horizon, and the darkness above the mountains to the east mellowed into the lightness present just before dawn. “There is much fear in the land,” murmured PonteFane, his eyes noting movement as the market place began to stir, and herders guided their sheep along the road leading to the meadows and into the hills beyond the village.

“Since the death of my dear friend, Lord ThunderBane, his son, the blundering and deceitful Lord Popynjhay, has laid a heavy hand upon the people,” said Hahr LeQuinn softly. “Yes, and Asholthom, Captain of the Royal Guard, carries out this reign of terror over his own people in the name of Lord ThunderBane!” added PonteFane, his voice hard.

The two sat a while longer observing the awakening of the village. Then, as the sun’s first rays lit the hills beyond with touches of gold, Hahr LeQuinn rose, and gathering the blanket, folded it neatly into a compact bundle and tied it with a short piece of hemp. PonteFane sniffed the air, and circling twice, joined his friend as together they moved down the trail toward the village.

Haliburton, High Wizard and advisor to His Highness, entered the King’s bedroom softly, and leaning over the sleeping King, touched his shoulder: “It is morning, your Highness.” The voice was high-pitched and raspy, with a tentative undertone. Again: “It is morning, Lord Popynjhay. It is time.” The King stirred, and opening one eye, growled, “Dolt! It is still dark, and the cock has not crowed even once!” “Aye, ‘tis true. But you asked to be awakened before the sun crested the eastern reaches – it is already past that time,” whined the Wizard. “It was your bidding, Your Highness,” and his eyes teared up. “Umm, so it was,” mumbled Lord Popynjhay, and he staggered out of bed, and proceeded with his morning toilet and ablutions.

Haliburton nervously paced the hallway outside the King’s chambers, muttering to himself. “Oh, me! Oh, my! Oh, oh, oh!” His eyes darted here and there, and perspiration rolled down his neck and back, in spite of the damp and coldness inside the castle. The King was taking too long, thought Haliburton. This will not do, for when the King arrives late for this morning’s council of war, he, Haliburton, will receive the brunt of the King’s ire. On the other hand, it would not do to hurry the King to avoid this delay, for that, too, would incur the wrath of the King of all Transylvania. Haliburton was caught on the horns of a dilemma, a situation not unfamiliar across the Realm when it came to pleasing the King.

Just then, the Captain of the King’s royal guard approached. “Why isn’t the King to the council chambers?” asked Asholthom with a wry smile on his lips and an edge to his tongue. “Did you sleep beyond the appointed hour?” he sneered. Haliburton shot him an angry glance, and looking down his aquiline nose, quipped, “You’d best tend to your own duties, Asholthom. I understand not all the Lords of the Realm received their summons in due time for the council, and His Lordship will not be pleased!”

The two fired angry looks back and forth. “Yes, and no thanks to you, traitor of the people!” Asholthom sneered again, “I understand your people impeded the delivery of the call to the Lords.” “Untrue, my deceitful friend,” shot back the Wizard, his voice cracking as it rose. Just then Lord Popynjhay appeared at the doorway to his bedchambers, anger boiling behind his amber-green eyes. Asholthom snapped to attention, and raised his fist in salute. Haliburton whimpered audibly, and stood as much at attention as his frail body and more frail character permitted. His shoulders slumped pitifully. “Come, we are late for the council of war!” and with that, the King stormed through the hallways, up the stairs to the western wing, and into the royal council chambers.

Hahr LeQuinn and PonteFane approached the village square, and found there a bustling crowd attending to the preparations of the village at the break of morn. PonteFane spied a young girl near the fish vendor throwing pebbles against the sidewall of the stables, and the two approached her. She was humming a melody that sounded vaguely familiar, yet one with an ancient timbre. Hahr LeQuinn asked her pardon for interrupting her play, and introduced himself and his traveling companion, PonteFane. Her steel-grey eyes lit up upon seeing PonteFane, and reaching out, she patted his nose. “I am known as Hahr LeQuinn,” said the tall stranger, “from beyond the Mountains of Aquitane.” And with a flourish he introduced his Wolf companion, PonteFane. “I am pleased to meet you,” said the young girl with a curtsy. “I am called by the name, Justyne, daughter and heir to the throne of Lord Tarsynian of the House of Vespuryn in the west. I am happy to make your acquaintance,” said PonteFane. And, turning to Hahr LeQuinn, he whispered, “She is the one.”

The Lords of the Realm had been called together for the first Council of War since one was called before the seven day War of Liberation. Lord Tarsynian of the House of Vespuryn to the west, sat near the western point around the table. He was accompanied by Duryn, his Chief Counsel and Advisor. Lord Marlborhis, of the House of Tessuryle in the north, sat to his left around the circle, but to the right of the North Star marking the place at table for the King.

Then sat Lord Mahrbury, son and heir to the House of Tremayne, also in the north; and next to him, Lord Lindershaft of the House of Fuhrynn, the tiniest though most fierce Realm by reputation in the east. The next seat was empty, a silver candlesnuffer resting on the place marker there. Here the Lord Taszhmynn, recent heir to the House of Valshunne, also of the eastern region, would sit upon his arrival. The final chair was that of Lord Sheridan, long the respected Lord of the great southern reaches and of the House of Shalimar. His place at council, too, was marked with a silver candlesnuffer.

The gathered Lords spoke in hushed tones, their voices calm though controlled. As Lord Popynjhay entered the vaulted chambers, the men stopped their speech, and rose as he took his place at the table. The King surveyed his gathered Council of Lords, and motioned with his hand. Asholthom and Haliburton entered the room, and took their places behind the King, just outside the Circle of Lords. Lord Popynjhay began by noting the absence and presumed tardiness of Lord Taszhmynn and Lord Sheridan, a fact he would not countenance. There was a slight edge in his voice. “Your highness,” interjected Lord Tarsynian firmly, “The delivery of your summons was as of this morning only, and I trust that the tardiness of Lords Taszhmynn and Sheridan are due to the distance of their travels, rather than any slight on their part of you.” “Perhaps!” replied Lord Popynjhay still irritated.

Turning to the Council of Lords, “The march of Lord MaleProp across the southern regions distresses me! Tell me, how is it that this aged buffoon is permitted this freedom within the Realm of the House of Lord ThunderBane?” “With all due respect, Lord Popynjhay, the Lord MaleProp was never seen by your father as any kind of threat to the Realm, and was but one symbol of the pact of cooperation between your father and the Realms beyond the Tranquillity Mountains,” said Lord Tarsynian. “My father was a fool!” bellowed Lord Popynjhay, cutting Lord Tarsynian off.

A murmur rippled around the Circle of Lords at the King’s comment, and not a few were distressed at this maligning of their beloved friend and mentor. He had not been dead but ten months, and the leadership of his son left much to be desired. “This is going to be a very long day,” thought Lord Tarsynian to himself.

“What brings you to our fair land?” asked Justyne eagerly. “Are you to attend the Council of Lords? My father is,” she added proudly. Hahr LeQuinn laughed deeply, though it caused him pain in his chest. This was not lost on PonteFane, who rubbed gently against his master’s leg. “Yes, although we are come for another matter.” Hahr LeQuinn took Justyne’s one hand, and with his other under her chin raised her eyes to meet his. “We have come to make you an offer you cannot refuse,” he said with a twinkle in his voice. “What do you mean?” asked Justyne, her curiosity now aroused. “Ah, all in good time,” replied Hahr LeQuinn, a smile on his lips, and now a twinkle in his eyes.

PonteFane asked Justyne if she remembered her mother. Justyne shot him a quick glance, and her eyes closed slightly. “Why do you ask?” she queried the Wolf. PonteFane persisted, “What do you remember of her?” Justyne hesitated for a moment, then a tear gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she caught her breath. “My memories are faint, and with little remembered feeling,” she answered. “I recall not much of anything of her, nor of my childhood with her, for she died shortly thereafter,” this said in a whisper. “Again, why do you ask?” repeated Justyne, her eyes afire. “Ah, well, your mother was a fine woman, Justyne,” said Hahr LeQuinn. “PonteFane recalls her with great fondness, and a certain gratitude.”

Hahr LeQuinn’s eyes met PonteFane’s, and there was a moment of shared recollection. PonteFane cleared his throat. “I was at death’s doorstep, shot with the bolt of a crossbow, the result of a royal hunt hosted by one Lord Popynjhay. Your mother, the daughter of Lord MaleProp from beyond the Tranquillity Mountains, was present that day, the guest of Lord ThunderBane. It was then that your mother met Lord Tarsynian, and soon after that they were betrothed – but that is a story of wonderment for yet another time.”

PonteFane then continued, “During the hunt, I was tracked with great skill, and my attempts to escape danger were cut short at every turn. When at last I was cornered, I attempted one final time to flee, and was shot by one of the hunting party. I lay near death, and your mother, Lady AmberLyn, stood over my body and would not let the death blow be struck, much to the chagrin of Lord Popynjhay and many in the party.” PonteFane sighed, and his eyes held those of Justyne a brief moment.

Hahr LeQuinn spoke softly, adding, “What is hidden in the annals of time in this Realm and that of Lord MaleProp, is that your father, Lord Tarsynian, is the secret issue of Lord ThunderBane and a woman of mystery in the western reaches, one who remains in the shadows to this day. Your father is, thus, not only the son of the revered father of this Realm, but elder brother of Lord Popynjhay.”

Justyne’s eyes closed slightly, as the weight of this revelation settled on her mind. Hahr LeQuinn continued, “The Kingdoms of Lord MaleProp and Lord ThunderBane, are thus linked by blood, and the twisting of this by Lord Popynjhay is the more dangerous for the Realm, not the supposed evil intent of Lord MaleProp, your grandfather.

Justyne’s eyes posed the question, but before it could be asked, Hahr LeQuinn responded, “I was Chief Counsel to your shadow grandmother, but due to ill health, was forced to retire from her service. For reasons known only to Lord ThunderBane, he maintained the secrecy of his son, your father, and what his union with the daughter of Lord MaleProp meant for the two Realms. And, so it remains until this day.” He paused, searching the eyes of his young listener for understanding. Justyne smiled, and nodding, said, “I have known there was something in the way Lord ThunderBane watched me over the years. His eyes were deep and said things I did not understand, until your words just now,” and she smiled again.

And it came to pass that Justyne appeared before the Council of Lords, and to the pleasant surprise of the gathered Lords, excluding Lord Popynjhay and his cronies, the link between the families of Lord ThunderBane and Lord MaleProp came to light, and Lord Tarsynian, her father, came into his own as rightful heir of the throne of the House of Lord ThunderBane. Of his brother, Lord Popynjhay, Asholthom, the lightly twisted Captain of the King’s Royal Guard, and the slightly malevolent Wizard Haliburton, it is said they left the valley of the House of Lord ThunderBane in disgrace and departed the seacoast on a sailing vessel for landfall somewhere beyond the horizon. And of Hahr LeQuinn and PonteFane, legend tells of a duo seen leaving the quiet valley, crossing beyond the Tranquility Mountains…