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The kingdom of Athgarnia was crumbling; its king was old and ailing and its heir apparent was a mere child. For miles in every direction, the greedy and ruthless could sense the opportunity. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to take the throne - become regent to the young prince and you would rule without opposition. However, there was the trifling matter of that meddling, strong willed, yet mysterious peasant man that seemed to have taken a silent vow to protect the boy. The man watched, the young prince cradled in his arms, as the possible regents bickered and squabbled over whom should be the regent. Sita Talon-Claw, the Prince's aunt, sat silent and watchful as a hawk over the proceedings.

"These 'men' are worse then spoiled children," she muttered under her breath just loud enough so the tiny prince's keeper could hear, for which she was rewarded with a grin. She kept her own face straight however, since if she gave any outward hint of her relationship with the Prince's guardian, she would be executed. Her sharp grey eyes darted from face to face of the hopeful regents, internally analyzing and ultimately rejecting each one.

Just then, the doors burst open, and a girl soaked with rain walked in. She shakes the droplets of water from her brown, wavy mane and boldly strides into the middle of the group, giving a quick bow instead of curtsy.

"You are late," Sita spoke imperiously to the new arrival.

"I know, I know, forgive me, I was...delayed," the girl replies with a grin and a wink at Liam.

"Well, you are here now, please proceed." Sita says. The new arrival flashed a cheeky grin at Sita before making her way to the center of the crowd.

"Hello everyone, I would just like to say that-" she starts, but one of the men cuts her off.

"Lady Sita," Barron Ockham interjects, "I must protest, the presence of this... girl is inappropriate in this court."

Sita bristled with anger and stood, making the men step back in awe of her power. "You will hold your tongue, Ockham! You forget who this girl is!" she snarled at the vain lord. "It would serve you well gentlemen, to remember that this girl is here on my personal invitation, and is -- if your narrow minds will allow you to recall -- leader of the City Shields!" Sita hid a triumphant grin as Ockham let slip a small snarl of indignation; it was unheard of for a woman to be made leader of the City Shields.

The girl flips her hair and clears her throat, beginning again, "Now as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, " she throws a look at Ockham, "I have secured the city walls and hopefully the edges of the forest, but as I have said before, we are sorely lacking in trained Sheildsmen."

Sita carefully analyzed this new information; there had been an uprising of riots lately and increasing hostility against the capitol -- the threat of civil war was a dark, weighted cloud hovering ominously over the room.

A rider, a person who with magical being in them, one who delivers messages, soon came in with critical information, "August has not come back. We have not heard from her in a long time--someone must now go out and rescue the message, or we are all doomed." A stunned silence filled the room.

Lord Ockham's ringing voice broke the silence, "And this is what happens when you allow a woman-a girl no less-to do a man's job!"

Sita's mind pricked with annoyance as her stomach twisted in a moment of panic -- her face all the while remained a perfect, emotionless mask. "This is in no way our Shield Captain's fault; I take full responsibility," she turned to the rider, "gather your most trusted men and send out a search party -- I want August found!"

"Consider it done, my Lady," replies the rider, bowing out with a sweep of his cloak.

Sita turned her attention back to those in the room surrounding her, wondering how they would all react to her next statement. She closed her eyes and said in a clear, determined voice, "I think that we have no choice anymore - we must summon... the Collectors."

Twelve sets of chins, everyone in the room save Sita's, dropped in shock. To Sita's great aggravation, Ockham's snide voice rang out first:

"Surely you are not serious, my Lady, the Collectors have not been summoned in decades!" And something about the exaggerated care with which Ockham treated the word 'Lady' was enough to cause Sita to lose her last shred of patience. She jumped up out of the throne to her full regal height and yelled pointing a stern finger to the door, "Out! Out with you Ockham! And the rest of you! I've had quite enough of you scavengers!"

After a moment's hesitation, the men filed out of the room; no one dared incur the wrath of the Duchess Sita Talon-Claw. Once they had gone, Liam raised an amused eyebrow at Lady Sita, shifting the tiny prince in his arms over his threadbare jerkin, "My lady, I do believe I would fear being on the receiving end of your wrath!" he joked.

The girl, however, looked nervous; "Is it really that serious, my lady?" she asked. Sita searched the young woman's face while she decided how to answer.

"I am afraid we have no other choice, daughter - we are on the verge of rebellion and time is running out." Sita sighed, she had been dreading this moment for years, and now it had finally come. "I will summon them in the morning," she said with finality.

Lady-Captain Orill Talon-Claw regarded her mother carefully. She was certainly not a brash woman, how could things have gotten this bad, she wondered. Orill was not even born the last time the Collectors were called, but she had heard the stories. Theirs was an ancient order of the highest honour, bound by blood to enforce order in the kingdom and to protect the heir; they were both feared and revered in the land of Athgarnia. Furthermore, one could not simply call the Collectors, a sacrifice needed to be given for their collection: a young child to be raised as one of them. It was a great price to be paid; most parents were -- understandably -- unwilling to give up their child, as their child would never see them again.

The kingdom of Athgarnia was crumbling; its king was old and ailing and its heir apparent was a mere child. For miles in every direction, the greedy and ruthless could sense the opportunity. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to take the throne - become regent to the young prince and you would rule without opposition. However, there was the trifling matter of that meddling, strong willed, yet mysterious peasant man that seemed to have taken a silent vow to protect the boy. The man watched, the young prince cradled in his arms, as the possible regents bickered and squabbled over whom should be the regent. Sita Talon-Claw, the Prince's aunt, sat silent and watchful as a hawk over the proceedings.

"These 'men' are worse then spoiled children," she muttered under her breath just loud enough so the tiny prince's keeper could hear, for which she was rewarded with a grin. She kept her own face straight however, since if she gave any outward hint of her relationship with the Prince's guardian, she would be executed. Her sharp grey eyes darted from face to face of the hopeful regents, internally analyzing and ultimately rejecting each one.

Just then, the doors burst open, and a girl soaked with rain walked in. She shakes the droplets of water from her brown, wavy mane and boldly strides into the middle of the group, giving a quick bow instead of curtsy.

"You are late," Sita spoke imperiously to the new arrival.

"I know, I know, forgive me, I was...delayed," the girl replies with a grin and a wink at Liam.

"Well, you are here now, please proceed." Sita says. The new arrival flashed a cheeky grin at Sita before making her way to the center of the crowd.

"Hello everyone, I would just like to say that-" she starts, but one of the men cuts her off.

"Lady Sita," Barron Ockham interjects, "I must protest, the presence of this... girl is inappropriate in this court."

Sita bristled with anger and stood, making the men step back in awe of her power. "You will hold your tongue, Ockham! You forget who this girl is!" she snarled at the vain lord. "It would serve you well gentlemen, to remember that this girl is here on my personal invitation, and is -- if your narrow minds will allow you to recall -- leader of the City Shields!" Sita hid a triumphant grin as Ockham let slip a small snarl of indignation; it was unheard of for a woman to be made leader of the City Shields.

The girl flips her hair and clears her throat, beginning again, "Now as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, " she throws a look at Ockham, "I have secured the city walls and hopefully the edges of the forest, but as I have said before, we are sorely lacking in trained Sheildsmen."

Sita carefully analyzed this new information; there had been an uprising of riots lately and increasing hostility against the capitol -- the threat of civil war was a dark, weighted cloud hovering ominously over the room.

A rider, a person who with magical being in them, one who delivers messages, soon came in with critical information, "August has not come back. We have not heard from her in a long time--someone must now go out and rescue the message, or we are all doomed." A stunned silence filled the room.

Lord Ockham's ringing voice broke the silence, "And this is what happens when you allow a woman-a girl no less-to do a man's job!"

Sita's mind pricked with annoyance as her stomach twisted in a moment of panic -- her face all the while remained a perfect, emotionless mask. "This is in no way our Shield Captain's fault; I take full responsibility," she turned to the rider, "gather your most trusted men and send out a search party -- I want August found!"

"Consider it done, my Lady," replies the rider, bowing out with a sweep of his cloak.

Sita turned her attention back to those in the room surrounding her, wondering how they would all react to her next statement. She closed her eyes and said in a clear, determined voice, "I think that we have no choice anymore - we must summon... the Collectors."

Twelve sets of chins, everyone in the room save Sita's, dropped in shock. To Sita's great aggravation, Ockham's snide voice rang out first:

"Surely you are not serious, my Lady, the Collectors have not been summoned in decades!" And something about the exaggerated care with which Ockham treated the word 'Lady' was enough to cause Sita to lose her last shred of patience. She jumped up out of the throne to her full regal height and yelled pointing a stern finger to the door, "Out! Out with you Ockham! And the rest of you! I've had quite enough of you scavengers!"

After a moment's hesitation, the men filed out of the room; no one dared incur the wrath of the Duchess Sita Talon-Claw. Once they had gone, Liam raised an amused eyebrow at Lady Sita, shifting the tiny prince in his arms over his threadbare jerkin, "My lady, I do believe I would fear being on the receiving end of your wrath!" he joked.

The girl, however, looked nervous; "Is it really that serious, my lady?" she asked. Sita searched the young woman's face while she decided how to answer.

"I am afraid we have no other choice, daughter - we are on the verge of rebellion and time is running out." Sita sighed, she had been dreading this moment for years, and now it had finally come. "I will summon them in the morning," she said with finality.

Lady-Captain Orill Talon-Claw regarded her mother carefully. She was certainly not a brash woman, how could things have gotten this bad, she wondered. Orill was not even born the last time the Collectors were called, but she had heard the stories. Theirs was an ancient order of the highest honor, bound by blood to enforce order in the kingdom and to protect the heir; they were both feared and revered in the land of Athgarnia. Furthermore, one could not simply call the Collectors, a sacrifice needed to be given for their collection: a young child to be raised as one of them. It was a great price to be paid; most parents were -- understandably -- unwilling to give up their child, as their child would never see them again. It was a sign of just how desperate Sita was if she was even considering calling them, let alone actually doing it. Worse still, it was the Collectors, who instinctual knew who could be one of them, who made the decision to whom they would take.

The kingdom of Athgarnia was crumbling; its king was old and ailing and its heir apparent was a mere child. For miles in every direction, the greedy and ruthless could sense the opportunity. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to take the throne - become regent to the young prince and you would rule without opposition. However, there was the trifling matter of that meddling, strong willed, yet mysterious peasant man that seemed to have taken a silent vow to protect the boy. The man watched, the young prince cradled in his arms, as the possible regents bickered and squabbled over whom should be the regent. Sita Talon-Claw, the Prince's aunt, sat silent and watchful as a hawk over the proceedings.

"These 'men' are worse then spoiled children," she muttered under her breath just loud enough so the tiny prince's keeper could hear, for which she was rewarded with a grin. She kept her own face straight however, since if she gave any outward hint of her relationship with the Prince's guardian, she would be executed. Her sharp grey eyes darted from face to face of the hopeful regents, internally analyzing and ultimately rejecting each one.

Just then, the doors burst open, and a girl soaked with rain walked in. She shakes the droplets of water from her brown, wavy mane and boldly strides into the middle of the group, giving a quick bow instead of curtsy.

"You are late," Sita spoke imperiously to the new arrival.

"I know, I know, forgive me, I was...delayed," the girl replies with a grin and a wink at Liam.

"Well, you are here now, please proceed." Sita says. The new arrival flashed a cheeky grin at Sita before making her way to the center of the crowd.

"Hello everyone, I would just like to say that-" she starts, but one of the men cuts her off.

"Lady Sita," Barron Ockham interjects, "I must protest, the presence of this... girl is inappropriate in this court."

Sita bristled with anger and stood, making the men step back in awe of her power. "You will hold your tongue, Ockham! You forget who this girl is!" she snarled at the vain lord. "It would serve you well gentlemen, to remember that this girl is here on my personal invitation, and is -- if your narrow minds will allow you to recall -- leader of the City Shields!" Sita hid a triumphant grin as Ockham let slip a small snarl of indignation; it was unheard of for a woman to be made leader of the City Shields.

The girl flips her hair and clears her throat, beginning again, "Now as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, " she throws a look at Ockham, "I have secured the city walls and hopefully the edges of the forest, but as I have said before, we are sorely lacking in trained Sheildsmen."

Sita carefully analyzed this new information; there had been an uprising of riots lately and increasing hostility against the capitol -- the threat of civil war was a dark, weighted cloud hovering ominously over the room.

A rider, a person who with magical being in them, one who delivers messages, soon came in with critical information, "August has not come back. We have not heard from her in a long time--someone must now go out and rescue the message, or we are all doomed." A stunned silence filled the room.

Lord Ockham's ringing voice broke the silence, "And this is what happens when you allow a woman-a girl no less-to do a man's job!"

Sita's mind pricked with annoyance as her stomach twisted in a moment of panic -- her face all the while remained a perfect, emotionless mask. "This is in no way our Shield Captain's fault; I take full responsibility," she turned to the rider, "gather your most trusted men and send out a search party -- I want August found!"

"Consider it done, my Lady," replies the rider, bowing out with a sweep of his cloak.

Sita turned her attention back to those in the room surrounding her, wondering how they would all react to her next statement. She closed her eyes and said in a clear, determined voice, "I think that we have no choice anymore - we must summon... the Collectors."

Twelve sets of chins, everyone in the room save Sita's, dropped in shock. To Sita's great aggravation, Ockham's snide voice rang out first:

"Surely you are not serious, my Lady, the Collectors have not been summoned in decades!" And something about the exaggerated care with which Ockham treated the word 'Lady' was enough to cause Sita to lose her last shred of patience. She jumped up out of the throne to her full regal height and yelled pointing a stern finger to the door, "Out! Out with you Ockham! And the rest of you! I've had quite enough of you scavengers!"

After a moment's hesitation, the men filed out of the room; no one dared incur the wrath of the Duchess Sita Talon-Claw. Once they had gone, Liam raised an amused eyebrow at Lady Sita, shifting the tiny prince in his arms over his threadbare jerkin, "My lady, I do believe I would fear being on the receiving end of your wrath!" he joked.

The girl, however, looked nervous; "Is it really that serious, my lady?" she asked. Sita searched the young woman's face while she decided how to answer.

"I am afraid we have no other choice, daughter - we are on the verge of rebellion and time is running out." Sita sighed, she had been dreading this moment for years, and now it had finally come. "I will summon them in the morning," she said with finality.

Lady-Captain Orill Talon-Claw regarded her mother carefully. She was certainly not a brash woman, how could things have gotten this bad, she wondered. Orill was not even born the last time the Collectors were called, but she had heard the stories. Theirs was an ancient order of the highest honor, bound by blood to enforce order in the kingdom and to protect the heir; they were both feared and revered in the land of Athgarnia. Furthermore, one could not simply call the Collectors, a sacrifice needed to be given for their collection: a young child to be raised as one of them. It was a great price to be paid; most parents were -- understandably -- unwilling to give up their child, as their child would never see them again. It was a sign of just how desperate Sita was if she was even considering calling them, let alone actually doing it. Worse still, it was the Collectors, who instinctual knew who could be one of them, who made the decision to whom they would take.

Orill watched as her mother heaved a sigh, the burden weighing heavy on her brow. It was the hardest decision a leader could make, she thought, sacrifice one for a nation, or let a nation fall to despair; she has made the decision she felt best, I suppose.

The kingdom of Athgarnia was crumbling; its king was old and ailing and its heir apparent was a mere child. For miles in every direction, the greedy and ruthless could sense the opportunity. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to take the throne - become regent to the young prince and you would rule without opposition. However, there was the trifling matter of that meddling, strong willed, yet mysterious peasant man that seemed to have taken a silent vow to protect the boy. The man watched, the young prince cradled in his arms, as the possible regents bickered and squabbled over whom should be the regent. Sita Talon-Claw, the Prince's aunt, sat silent and watchful as a hawk over the proceedings.

"These 'men' are worse then spoiled children," she muttered under her breath just loud enough so the tiny prince's keeper could hear, for which she was rewarded with a grin. She kept her own face straight however, since if she gave any outward hint of her relationship with the Prince's guardian, she would be executed. Her sharp grey eyes darted from face to face of the hopeful regents, internally analyzing and ultimately rejecting each one.

Just then, the doors burst open, and a girl soaked with rain walked in. She shakes the droplets of water from her brown, wavy mane and boldly strides into the middle of the group, giving a quick bow instead of curtsy.

"You are late," Sita spoke imperiously to the new arrival.

"I know, I know, forgive me, I was...delayed," the girl replies with a grin and a wink at Liam.

"Well, you are here now, please proceed." Sita says. The new arrival flashed a cheeky grin at Sita before making her way to the center of the crowd.

"Hello everyone, I would just like to say that-" she starts, but one of the men cuts her off.

"Lady Sita," Barron Ockham interjects, "I must protest, the presence of this... girl is inappropriate in this court."

Sita bristled with anger and stood, making the men step back in awe of her power. "You will hold your tongue, Ockham! You forget who this girl is!" she snarled at the vain lord. "It would serve you well gentlemen, to remember that this girl is here on my personal invitation, and is -- if your narrow minds will allow you to recall -- leader of the City Shields!" Sita hid a triumphant grin as Ockham let slip a small snarl of indignation; it was unheard of for a woman to be made leader of the City Shields.

The girl flips her hair and clears her throat, beginning again, "Now as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, " she throws a look at Ockham, "I have secured the city walls and hopefully the edges of the forest, but as I have said before, we are sorely lacking in trained Sheildsmen."

Sita carefully analyzed this new information; there had been an uprising of riots lately and increasing hostility against the capitol -- the threat of civil war was a dark, weighted cloud hovering ominously over the room.

A rider, a person who with magical being in them, one who delivers messages, soon came in with critical information, "August has not come back. We have not heard from her in a long time--someone must now go out and rescue the message, or we are all doomed." A stunned silence filled the room.

Lord Ockham's ringing voice broke the silence, "And this is what happens when you allow a woman-a girl no less-to do a man's job!"

Sita's mind pricked with annoyance as her stomach twisted in a moment of panic -- her face all the while remained a perfect, emotionless mask. "This is in no way our Shield Captain's fault; I take full responsibility," she turned to the rider, "gather your most trusted men and send out a search party -- I want August found!"

"Consider it done, my Lady," replies the rider, bowing out with a sweep of his cloak.

Sita turned her attention back to those in the room surrounding her, wondering how they would all react to her next statement. She closed her eyes and said in a clear, determined voice, "I think that we have no choice anymore - we must summon... the Collectors."

Twelve sets of chins, everyone in the room save Sita's, dropped in shock. To Sita's great aggravation, Ockham's snide voice rang out first:

"Surely you are not serious, my Lady, the Collectors have not been summoned in decades!" And something about the exaggerated care with which Ockham treated the word 'Lady' was enough to cause Sita to lose her last shred of patience. She jumped up out of the throne to her full regal height and yelled pointing a stern finger to the door, "Out! Out with you Ockham! And the rest of you! I've had quite enough of you scavengers!"

After a moment's hesitation, the men filed out of the room; no one dared incur the wrath of the Duchess Sita Talon-Claw. Once they had gone, Liam raised an amused eyebrow at Lady Sita, shifting the tiny prince in his arms over his threadbare jerkin, "My lady, I do believe I would fear being on the receiving end of your wrath!" he joked.

The girl, however, looked nervous; "Is it really that serious, my lady?" she asked. Sita searched the young woman's face while she decided how to answer.

"I am afraid we have no other choice, daughter - we are on the verge of rebellion and time is running out." Sita sighed, she had been dreading this moment for years, and now it had finally come. "I will summon them in the morning," she said with finality.

Lady-Captain Orill Talon-Claw regarded her mother carefully. She was certainly not a brash woman, how could things have gotten this bad, she wondered. Orill was not even born the last time the Collectors were called, but she had heard the stories. Theirs was an ancient order of the highest honor, bound by blood to enforce order in the kingdom and to protect the heir; they were both feared and revered in the land of Athgarnia. Furthermore, one could not simply call the Collectors, a sacrifice needed to be given for their collection: a young child to be raised as one of them. It was a great price to be paid; most parents were -- understandably -- unwilling to give up their child, as their child would never see them again. It was a sign of just how desperate Sita was if she was even considering calling them, let alone actually doing it. Worse still, it was the Collectors, who instinctually knew who could be one of them, who made the decision of whom they would take.

Orill watched as her mother heaved a sigh, the burden weighing heavy on her brow. It was the hardest decision a leader could make, she thought, sacrifice one for a nation, or let a nation fall to despair; she has made the decision she felt best, I suppose. "Do what you must," she said, and left.

Liam shifts the tiny prince from one arm to the other.

"I know you are only doing what you feel is necessary, but are you certain we must go this far?"

The kingdom of Athgarnia was crumbling; its king was old and ailing and its heir apparent was a mere child. For miles in every direction, the greedy and ruthless could sense the opportunity. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to take the throne - become regent to the young prince and you would rule without opposition. However, there was the trifling matter of that meddling, strong willed, yet mysterious peasant man that seemed to have taken a silent vow to protect the boy. The man watched, the young prince cradled in his arms, as the possible regents bickered and squabbled over whom should be the regent. Sita Talon-Claw, the Prince's aunt, sat silent and watchful as a hawk over the proceedings.

"These 'men' are worse then spoiled children," she muttered under her breath just loud enough so the tiny prince's keeper could hear, for which she was rewarded with a grin. She kept her own face straight however, since if she gave any outward hint of her relationship with the Prince's guardian, she would be executed. Her sharp grey eyes darted from face to face of the hopeful regents, internally analyzing and ultimately rejecting each one.

Just then, the doors burst open, and a girl soaked with rain walked in. She shakes the droplets of water from her brown, wavy mane and boldly strides into the middle of the group, giving a quick bow instead of curtsy.

"You are late," Sita spoke imperiously to the new arrival.

"I know, I know, forgive me, I was...delayed," the girl replies with a grin and a wink at Liam.

"Well, you are here now, please proceed." Sita says. The new arrival flashed a cheeky grin at Sita before making her way to the center of the crowd.

"Hello everyone, I would just like to say that-" she starts, but one of the men cuts her off.

"Lady Sita," Barron Ockham interjects, "I must protest, the presence of this... girl is inappropriate in this court."

Sita bristled with anger and stood, making the men step back in awe of her power. "You will hold your tongue, Ockham! You forget who this girl is!" she snarled at the vain lord. "It would serve you well gentlemen, to remember that this girl is here on my personal invitation, and is -- if your narrow minds will allow you to recall -- leader of the City Shields!" Sita hid a triumphant grin as Ockham let slip a small snarl of indignation; it was unheard of for a woman to be made leader of the City Shields.

The girl flips her hair and clears her throat, beginning again, "Now as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, " she throws a look at Ockham, "I have secured the city walls and hopefully the edges of the forest, but as I have said before, we are sorely lacking in trained Sheildsmen."

Sita carefully analyzed this new information; there had been an uprising of riots lately and increasing hostility against the capitol -- the threat of civil war was a dark, weighted cloud hovering ominously over the room.

A rider, a person who with magical being in them, one who delivers messages, soon came in with critical information, "August has not come back. We have not heard from her in a long time--someone must now go out and rescue the message, or we are all doomed." A stunned silence filled the room.

Lord Ockham's ringing voice broke the silence, "And this is what happens when you allow a woman-a girl no less-to do a man's job!"

Sita's mind pricked with annoyance as her stomach twisted in a moment of panic -- her face all the while remained a perfect, emotionless mask. "This is in no way our Shield Captain's fault; I take full responsibility," she turned to the rider, "gather your most trusted men and send out a search party -- I want August found!"

"Consider it done, my Lady," replies the rider, bowing out with a sweep of his cloak.

Sita turned her attention back to those in the room surrounding her, wondering how they would all react to her next statement. She closed her eyes and said in a clear, determined voice, "I think that we have no choice anymore - we must summon... the Collectors."

Twelve sets of chins, everyone in the room save Sita's, dropped in shock. To Sita's great aggravation, Ockham's snide voice rang out first:

"Surely you are not serious, my Lady, the Collectors have not been summoned in decades!" And something about the exaggerated care with which Ockham treated the word 'Lady' was enough to cause Sita to lose her last shred of patience. She jumped up out of the throne to her full regal height and yelled pointing a stern finger to the door, "Out! Out with you Ockham! And the rest of you! I've had quite enough of you scavengers!"

After a moment's hesitation, the men filed out of the room; no one dared incur the wrath of the Duchess Sita Talon-Claw. Once they had gone, Liam raised an amused eyebrow at Lady Sita, shifting the tiny prince in his arms over his threadbare jerkin, "My lady, I do believe I would fear being on the receiving end of your wrath!" he joked.

The girl, however, looked nervous; "Is it really that serious, my lady?" she asked. Sita searched the young woman's face while she decided how to answer.

"I am afraid we have no other choice, daughter - we are on the verge of rebellion and time is running out." Sita sighed, she had been dreading this moment for years, and now it had finally come. "I will summon them in the morning," she said with finality.

Lady-Captain Orill Talon-Claw regarded her mother carefully. She was certainly not a brash woman, how could things have gotten this bad, she wondered. Orill was not even born the last time the Collectors were called, but she had heard the stories. Theirs was an ancient order of the highest honor, bound by blood to enforce order in the kingdom and to protect the heir; they were both feared and revered in the land of Athgarnia. Furthermore, one could not simply call the Collectors, a sacrifice needed to be given for their collection: a young child to be raised as one of them. It was a great price to be paid; most parents were -- understandably -- unwilling to give up their child, as their child would never see them again. It was a sign of just how desperate Sita was if she was even considering calling them, let alone actually doing it. Worse still, it was the Collectors, who instinctually knew who could be one of them, who made the decision of whom they would take.

Orill watched as her mother heaved a sigh, the burden weighing heavy on her brow. It was the hardest decision a leader could make, she thought, sacrifice one for a nation, or let a nation fall to despair; she has made the decision she felt best, I suppose. "Do what you must," she said, and left.

Liam shifts the tiny prince from one arm to the other.

"I know you are only doing what you feel is necessary, but are you certain we must go this far?"

Only because she knew he could take it, Lady Sita vented her frustration, "Do you think I was rash in this decision? Nay! There was no other way about it! We have reached our final limb and if we do not climb down, we will fall down! I only ask that at least you...will trust me. Please."

Liam's brown eyes met squarely with Sita's grey ones.

"You know that I trust you, that I always have, and that I always will. I did not swear my allegiance to you lightly, Sita; my blood oath was given in complete confidence."

The kingdom of Athgarnia was crumbling; its king was old and ailing and its heir apparent was a mere child. For miles in every direction, the greedy and ruthless could sense the opportunity. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to take the throne - become regent to the young prince and you would rule without opposition. However, there was the trifling matter of that meddling, strong willed, yet mysterious peasant man that seemed to have taken a silent vow to protect the boy. The man watched, the young prince cradled in his arms, as the possible regents bickered and squabbled over whom should be the regent. Sita Talon-Claw, the Prince's aunt, sat silent and watchful as a hawk over the proceedings.

"These 'men' are worse then spoiled children," she muttered under her breath just loud enough so the tiny prince's keeper could hear, for which she was rewarded with a grin. She kept her own face straight however, since if she gave any outward hint of her relationship with the Prince's guardian, she would be executed. Her sharp grey eyes darted from face to face of the hopeful regents, internally analyzing and ultimately rejecting each one.

Just then, the doors burst open, and a girl soaked with rain walked in. She shakes the droplets of water from her brown, wavy mane and boldly strides into the middle of the group, giving a quick bow instead of curtsy.

"You are late," Sita spoke imperiously to the new arrival.

"I know, I know, forgive me, I was...delayed," the girl replies with a grin and a wink at Liam.

"Well, you are here now, please proceed." Sita says. The new arrival flashed a cheeky grin at Sita before making her way to the center of the crowd.

"Hello everyone, I would just like to say that-" she starts, but one of the men cuts her off.

"Lady Sita," Barron Ockham interjects, "I must protest, the presence of this... girl is inappropriate in this court."

Sita bristled with anger and stood, making the men step back in awe of her power. "You will hold your tongue, Ockham! You forget who this girl is!" she snarled at the vain lord. "It would serve you well gentlemen, to remember that this girl is here on my personal invitation, and is -- if your narrow minds will allow you to recall -- leader of the City Shields!" Sita hid a triumphant grin as Ockham let slip a small snarl of indignation; it was unheard of for a woman to be made leader of the City Shields.

The girl flips her hair and clears her throat, beginning again, "Now as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, " she throws a look at Ockham, "I have secured the city walls and hopefully the edges of the forest, but as I have said before, we are sorely lacking in trained Sheildsmen."

Sita carefully analyzed this new information; there had been an uprising of riots lately and increasing hostility against the capitol -- the threat of civil war was a dark, weighted cloud hovering ominously over the room.

A rider, a person who with magical being in them, one who delivers messages, soon came in with critical information, "August has not come back. We have not heard from her in a long time--someone must now go out and rescue the message, or we are all doomed." A stunned silence filled the room.

Lord Ockham's ringing voice broke the silence, "And this is what happens when you allow a woman-a girl no less-to do a man's job!"

Sita's mind pricked with annoyance as her stomach twisted in a moment of panic -- her face all the while remained a perfect, emotionless mask. "This is in no way our Shield Captain's fault; I take full responsibility," she turned to the rider, "gather your most trusted men and send out a search party -- I want August found!"

"Consider it done, my Lady," replies the rider, bowing out with a sweep of his cloak.

Sita turned her attention back to those in the room surrounding her, wondering how they would all react to her next statement. She closed her eyes and said in a clear, determined voice, "I think that we have no choice anymore - we must summon... the Collectors."

Twelve sets of chins, everyone in the room save Sita's, dropped in shock. To Sita's great aggravation, Ockham's snide voice rang out first:

"Surely you are not serious, my Lady, the Collectors have not been summoned in decades!" And something about the exaggerated care with which Ockham treated the word 'Lady' was enough to cause Sita to lose her last shred of patience. She jumped up out of the throne to her full regal height and yelled pointing a stern finger to the door, "Out! Out with you Ockham! And the rest of you! I've had quite enough of you scavengers!"

After a moment's hesitation, the men filed out of the room; no one dared incur the wrath of the Duchess Sita Talon-Claw. Once they had gone, Liam raised an amused eyebrow at Lady Sita, shifting the tiny prince in his arms over his threadbare jerkin, "My lady, I do believe I would fear being on the receiving end of your wrath!" he joked.

The girl, however, looked nervous; "Is it really that serious, my lady?" she asked. Sita searched the young woman's face while she decided how to answer.

"I am afraid we have no other choice, daughter - we are on the verge of rebellion and time is running out." Sita sighed, she had been dreading this moment for years, and now it had finally come. "I will summon them in the morning," she said with finality.

Lady-Captain Orill Talon-Claw regarded her mother carefully. She was certainly not a brash woman, how could things have gotten this bad, she wondered. Orill was not even born the last time the Collectors were called, but she had heard the stories. Theirs was an ancient order of the highest honor, bound by blood to enforce order in the kingdom and to protect the heir; they were both feared and revered in the land of Athgarnia. Furthermore, one could not simply call the Collectors, a sacrifice needed to be given for their collection: a young child to be raised as one of them. It was a great price to be paid; most parents were -- understandably -- unwilling to give up their child, as their child would never see them again. It was a sign of just how desperate Sita was if she was even considering calling them, let alone actually doing it. Worse still, it was the Collectors, who instinctually knew who could be one of them, who made the decision of whom they would take.

Orill watched as her mother heaved a sigh, the burden weighing heavy on her brow. It was the hardest decision a leader could make, she thought, sacrifice one for a nation, or let a nation fall to despair; she has made the decision she felt best, I suppose. "Do what you must," she said, and left.

Liam shifts the tiny prince from one arm to the other.

"I know you are only doing what you feel is necessary, but are you certain we must go this far?"

Only because she knew he could take it, Lady Sita vented her frustration, "Do you think I was rash in this decision? Nay! There was no other way about it! We have reached our final limb and if we do not climb down, we will fall down! I only ask that at least you...will trust me. Please."

Liam's brown eyes met squarely with Sita's grey ones.

"You know that I trust you, that I always have, and that I always will. I did not swear my allegiance to you lightly, Sita; my blood oath was given in complete confidence." And he did trust Sita, but his own memories of the Collectors were far more horrible than any stories Orill had heard. Memories of kidnapping, murder, torture, and fear.

The kingdom of Athgarnia was crumbling; its king was old and ailing and its heir apparent was a mere child. For miles in every direction, the greedy and ruthless could sense the opportunity. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to take the throne - become regent to the young prince and you would rule without opposition. However, there was the trifling matter of that meddling, strong willed, yet mysterious peasant man that seemed to have taken a silent vow to protect the boy. The man watched, the young prince cradled in his arms, as the possible regents bickered and squabbled over whom should be the regent. Sita Talon-Claw, the Prince's aunt, sat silent and watchful as a hawk over the proceedings.

"These 'men' are worse then spoiled children," she muttered under her breath just loud enough so the tiny prince's keeper could hear, for which she was rewarded with a grin. She kept her own face straight however, since if she gave any outward hint of her relationship with the Prince's guardian, she would be executed. Her sharp grey eyes darted from face to face of the hopeful regents, internally analyzing and ultimately rejecting each one.

Just then, the doors burst open, and a girl soaked with rain walked in. She shakes the droplets of water from her brown, wavy mane and boldly strides into the middle of the group, giving a quick bow instead of curtsy.

"You are late," Sita spoke imperiously to the new arrival.

"I know, I know, forgive me, I was...delayed," the girl replies with a grin and a wink at Liam.

"Well, you are here now, please proceed." Sita says. The new arrival flashed a cheeky grin at Sita before making her way to the center of the crowd.

"Hello everyone, I would just like to say that-" she starts, but one of the men cuts her off.

"Lady Sita," Barron Ockham interjects, "I must protest, the presence of this... girl is inappropriate in this court."

Sita bristled with anger and stood, making the men step back in awe of her power. "You will hold your tongue, Ockham! You forget who this girl is!" she snarled at the vain lord. "It would serve you well gentlemen, to remember that this girl is here on my personal invitation, and is -- if your narrow minds will allow you to recall -- leader of the City Shields!" Sita hid a triumphant grin as Ockham let slip a small snarl of indignation; it was unheard of for a woman to be made leader of the City Shields.

The girl flips her hair and clears her throat, beginning again, "Now as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, " she throws a look at Ockham, "I have secured the city walls and hopefully the edges of the forest, but as I have said before, we are sorely lacking in trained Sheildsmen."

Sita carefully analyzed this new information; there had been an uprising of riots lately and increasing hostility against the capitol -- the threat of civil war was a dark, weighted cloud hovering ominously over the room.

A rider, a person who with magical being in them, one who delivers messages, soon came in with critical information, "August has not come back. We have not heard from her in a long time--someone must now go out and rescue the message, or we are all doomed." A stunned silence filled the room.

Lord Ockham's ringing voice broke the silence, "And this is what happens when you allow a woman-a girl no less-to do a man's job!"

Sita's mind pricked with annoyance as her stomach twisted in a moment of panic -- her face all the while remained a perfect, emotionless mask. "This is in no way our Shield Captain's fault; I take full responsibility," she turned to the rider, "gather your most trusted men and send out a search party -- I want August found!"

"Consider it done, my Lady," replies the rider, bowing out with a sweep of his cloak.

Sita turned her attention back to those in the room surrounding her, wondering how they would all react to her next statement. She closed her eyes and said in a clear, determined voice, "I think that we have no choice anymore - we must summon... the Collectors."

Twelve sets of chins, everyone in the room save Sita's, dropped in shock. To Sita's great aggravation, Ockham's snide voice rang out first:

"Surely you are not serious, my Lady, the Collectors have not been summoned in decades!" And something about the exaggerated care with which Ockham treated the word 'Lady' was enough to cause Sita to lose her last shred of patience. She jumped up out of the throne to her full regal height and yelled pointing a stern finger to the door, "Out! Out with you Ockham! And the rest of you! I've had quite enough of you scavengers!"

After a moment's hesitation, the men filed out of the room; no one dared incur the wrath of the Duchess Sita Talon-Claw. Once they had gone, Liam raised an amused eyebrow at Lady Sita, shifting the tiny prince in his arms over his threadbare jerkin, "My lady, I do believe I would fear being on the receiving end of your wrath!" he joked.

The girl, however, looked nervous; "Is it really that serious, my lady?" she asked. Sita searched the young woman's face while she decided how to answer.

"I am afraid we have no other choice, daughter - we are on the verge of rebellion and time is running out." Sita sighed, she had been dreading this moment for years, and now it had finally come. "I will summon them in the morning," she said with finality.

Lady-Captain Orill Talon-Claw regarded her mother carefully. She was certainly not a brash woman, how could things have gotten this bad, she wondered. Orill was not even born the last time the Collectors were called, but she had heard the stories. Theirs was an ancient order of the highest honor, bound by blood to enforce order in the kingdom and to protect the heir; they were both feared and revered in the land of Athgarnia. Furthermore, one could not simply call the Collectors, a sacrifice needed to be given for their collection: a young child to be raised as one of them. It was a great price to be paid; most parents were -- understandably -- unwilling to give up their child, as their child would never see them again. It was a sign of just how desperate Sita was if she was even considering calling them, let alone actually doing it. Worse still, it was the Collectors, who instinctually knew who could be one of them, who made the decision of whom they would take.

Orill watched as her mother heaved a sigh, the burden weighing heavy on her brow. It was the hardest decision a leader could make, she thought, sacrifice one for a nation, or let a nation fall to despair; she has made the decision she felt best, I suppose. "Do what you must," she said, and left.

Liam shifts the tiny prince from one arm to the other.

"I know you are only doing what you feel is necessary, but are you certain we must go this far?"

Only because she knew he could take it, Lady Sita vented her frustration, "Do you think I was rash in this decision? Nay! There was no other way about it! We have reached our final limb and if we do not climb down, we will fall down! I only ask that at least you...will trust me. Please."

Liam's brown eyes met squarely with Sita's grey ones.

"You know that I trust you, that I always have, and that I always will. I did not swear my allegiance to you lightly, Sita; my blood oath was given in complete confidence." And he did trust Sita, but his own memories of the Collectors were far more horrible than any stories Orill had heard. Memories of kidnapping, murder, torture, and fear. They were the terrors that gripped him at night and kept him from sleep; no, those memories would never fade.

The baby Prince let out a quite wail in his arms, twisting and writhing in discomfort.

The kingdom of Athgarnia was crumbling; its king was old and ailing and its heir apparent was a mere child. For miles in every direction, the greedy and ruthless could sense the opportunity. It wouldn't be a difficult thing to take the throne - become regent to the young prince and you would rule without opposition. However, there was the trifling matter of that meddling, strong willed, yet mysterious peasant man that seemed to have taken a silent vow to protect the boy. The man watched, the young prince cradled in his arms, as the possible regents bickered and squabbled over whom should be the regent. Sita Talon-Claw, the Prince's aunt, sat silent and watchful as a hawk over the proceedings.

"These 'men' are worse then spoiled children," she muttered under her breath just loud enough so the tiny prince's keeper could hear, for which she was rewarded with a grin. She kept her own face straight however, since if she gave any outward hint of her relationship with the Prince's guardian, she would be executed. Her sharp grey eyes darted from face to face of the hopeful regents, internally analyzing and ultimately rejecting each one.

Just then, the doors burst open, and a girl soaked with rain walked in. She shakes the droplets of water from her brown, wavy mane and boldly strides into the middle of the group, giving a quick bow instead of curtsy.

"You are late," Sita spoke imperiously to the new arrival.

"I know, I know, forgive me, I was...delayed," the girl replies with a grin and a wink at Liam.

"Well, you are here now, please proceed." Sita says. The new arrival flashed a cheeky grin at Sita before making her way to the center of the crowd.

"Hello everyone, I would just like to say that-" she starts, but one of the men cuts her off.

"Lady Sita," Barron Ockham interjects, "I must protest, the presence of this... girl is inappropriate in this court."

Sita bristled with anger and stood, making the men step back in awe of her power. "You will hold your tongue, Ockham! You forget who this girl is!" she snarled at the vain lord. "It would serve you well gentlemen, to remember that this girl is here on my personal invitation, and is -- if your narrow minds will allow you to recall -- leader of the City Shields!" Sita hid a triumphant grin as Ockham let slip a small snarl of indignation; it was unheard of for a woman to be made leader of the City Shields.

The girl flips her hair and clears her throat, beginning again, "Now as I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, " she throws a look at Ockham, "I have secured the city walls and hopefully the edges of the forest, but as I have said before, we are sorely lacking in trained Sheildsmen."

Sita carefully analyzed this new information; there had been an uprising of riots lately and increasing hostility against the capitol -- the threat of civil war was a dark, weighted cloud hovering ominously over the room.

A rider, a person who with magical being in them, one who delivers messages, soon came in with critical information, "August has not come back. We have not heard from her in a long time--someone must now go out and rescue the message, or we are all doomed." A stunned silence filled the room.

Lord Ockham's ringing voice broke the silence, "And this is what happens when you allow a woman-a girl no less-to do a man's job!"

Sita's mind pricked with annoyance as her stomach twisted in a moment of panic -- her face all the while remained a perfect, emotionless mask. "This is in no way our Shield Captain's fault; I take full responsibility," she turned to the rider, "gather your most trusted men and send out a search party -- I want August found!"

"Consider it done, my Lady," replies the rider, bowing out with a sweep of his cloak.

Sita turned her attention back to those in the room surrounding her, wondering how they would all react to her next statement. She closed her eyes and said in a clear, determined voice, "I think that we have no choice anymore - we must summon... the Collectors."

Twelve sets of chins, everyone in the room save Sita's, dropped in shock. To Sita's great aggravation, Ockham's snide voice rang out first:

"Surely you are not serious, my Lady, the Collectors have not been summoned in decades!" And something about the exaggerated care with which Ockham treated the word 'Lady' was enough to cause Sita to lose her last shred of patience. She jumped up out of the throne to her full regal height and yelled pointing a stern finger to the door, "Out! Out with you Ockham! And the rest of you! I've had quite enough of you scavengers!"

After a moment's hesitation, the men filed out of the room; no one dared incur the wrath of the Duchess Sita Talon-Claw. Once they had gone, Liam raised an amused eyebrow at Lady Sita, shifting the tiny prince in his arms over his threadbare jerkin, "My lady, I do believe I would fear being on the receiving end of your wrath!" he joked.

The girl, however, looked nervous; "Is it really that serious, my lady?" she asked. Sita searched the young woman's face while she decided how to answer.

"I am afraid we have no other choice, daughter - we are on the verge of rebellion and time is running out." Sita sighed, she had been dreading this moment for years, and now it had finally come. "I will summon them in the morning," she said with finality.

Lady-Captain Orill Talon-Claw regarded her mother carefully. She was certainly not a brash woman, how could things have gotten this bad, she wondered. Orill was not even born the last time the Collectors were called, but she had heard the stories. Theirs was an ancient order of the highest honor, bound by blood to enforce order in the kingdom and to protect the heir; they were both feared and revered in the land of Athgarnia. Furthermore, one could not simply call the Collectors, a sacrifice needed to be given for their collection: a young child to be raised as one of them. It was a great price to be paid; most parents were -- understandably -- unwilling to give up their child, as their child would never see them again. It was a sign of just how desperate Sita was if she was even considering calling them, let alone actually doing it. Worse still, it was the Collectors, who instinctually knew who could be one of them, who made the decision of whom they would take.

Orill watched as her mother heaved a sigh, the burden weighing heavy on her brow. It was the hardest decision a leader could make, she thought, sacrifice one for a nation, or let a nation fall to despair; she has made the decision she felt best, I suppose. "Do what you must," she said, and left.

Liam shifts the tiny prince from one arm to the other.

"I know you are only doing what you feel is necessary, but are you certain we must go this far?"

Only because she knew he could take it, Lady Sita vented her frustration, "Do you think I was rash in this decision? Nay! There was no other way about it! We have reached our final limb and if we do not climb down, we will fall down! I only ask that at least you...will trust me. Please."

Liam's brown eyes met squarely with Sita's grey ones.

"You know that I trust you, that I always have, and that I always will. I did not swear my allegiance to you lightly, Sita; my blood oath was given in complete confidence." And he did trust Sita, but his own memories of the Collectors were far more horrible than any stories Orill had heard. Memories of kidnapping, murder, torture, and fear. They were the terrors that gripped him at night and kept him from sleep; no, those memories would never fade.

The baby Prince let out a quite wail in his arms, twisting and writhing in discomfort.

"He's not getting sick again, is he?" asked Sita, forehead wrinkled with worry.

Liam lays the back of his hands on the child's forehead and cheeks, "I hope not. Poor boy."