In the forest near Castlebury, Ryder sat with his outlawed men around a campfire. The food was nearly gone, but still the soldiers mingled, joking about the plump housewife at the farm they’d raided, how she’d plead and plead with them to spare her husband until one of the men had roughly shoved her over the table, yanked up her skirt and raped her then and there - then she’d plead for herself. The bandits had killed them both after they were finished.

“Rotten ale,” one of the men complained.

“Better than no ale!” retorted his friend, downing the last of his tankard to the cheers and catcalls of the others.

Ryder turned away, removing his helm. He had been feeling strange for the past half hour and thought that maybe a spot of rest might help ease his indigestion.

Deep in Yrganu, a winged patrol soared past the high pointed towers of Martez’s Keep. Currents of dark power circled high, so that even he could feel and exhilarate in it. A chant of human voices commenced, the cadence falling and rising, lifting the current even higher, strengthening it to reach its destination.

Queen Rachelle stomped her slippered foot.

“You willful brat! You will tell me what I want to know! What did you speak to the scepter? Why were you on the third floor balcony if you hadn’t planned this?” Sparks flashed from her amber eyes.

Lyla replied wearily. “Your Grace, I’ve told you dozens of times already. I was on the third floor because… well, I felt danger in the throne room, and now I know why! I don’t remember what I spoke to the wand. It seems to me that the scepter, or some other power took over and was controlling me.”

“How convenient,” sneered Rachelle.

Sir Valon stepped forward. “Your Grace, she hasn’t changed her story in all her tellings. Maybe she is telling the truth, as strange as it sounds.”

“She hasn’t changed her story because she’s trying to spite me and be obstinate,” Rachelle retorted. Speaking to Lyla, she asked, “How could you know that there was ‘danger’ in the throne room if you did not place it there yourself?”

Lyla’s patience wore thin. They’d been at this for five hours already. “It’s a sense, your Grace. Like when you can feel someone watching you.” She involuntarily turned to look at Sir Valon, standing dutifully by his queen. Valon met her gaze for a mere second, then leaned to speak again.

“My Queen, it is true that soldiers of the field rely on such senses to survive ambushes and remain unharmed.”

Queen Rachelle faced him. “Ah, so you would take the side of the wench?”

Valon paled slightly under his tan. “Certainly not against you, my queen. It just seems that she might be speaking the truth, is all.” He bowed.

“Nonsense,” Rachelle replied. “Lyla is no trained soldier of the field. She is a noble wench, bearer of a broken wand – broken as she is. She is being stubborn, is all.” Turning to Lyla, she repeated. “How does the golden scepter work? Tell me now and I shall be lenient.”

Lyla’s thin thread of control snapped. “Maybe if you picked up a book once in a while, maybe if you had listened to your teachers during your childhood – maybe if you actually did some research on your own and used your bloody head – maybe you would know more than me!” She stood, flushed, her chest heaving.

Rachelle stared, slackjawed, Sir Valon, no less amazed, to the side of her. After several seconds, the queen found her voice - a thin, tightly outraged voice.

“Wand-bearer, you shall be returned to your cold, miserable chamber and be contained there with only bread and water until you can come humbly to me, beg my forgiveness and satisfy my demands.” She motioned to one of the guards nearby. He came forward and bowed. “Take this wench to her room. Post a guard and allow no food inside, save bread.”

The guard gulped, eyeing Lyla warily. “As you command, my queen.” He moved to take Lyla’s arm.

Lyla, her anger spent, paled as she realized what she’d said. What had she done!

“Your Grace,” she addressed Queen Rachelle. “I really am most truly and horribly sorry over what I just said to you. It was terrible of me. I should never act that way towards you, my gracious highness. I beg your forgiveness, truly.” She bowed her head.

“Take her out of my sight,” Rachelle snapped at the guard.