Plans laid in secret were the best carried out, the rebels had come to learn over the course of their quiet war. The movements of the Usurper Queen were not kept secret; nor, too, were the movements of the First Blade. And the rebel leader had a particular interest in the movements of the First Blade. Now that time was beginning to run short, certain plans were put into action, and carried out almost to perfection. A scout of Velasca's guard brought news to Phalion, where the Usurper was staying for now, of a very special sighting - news that Liam O'Connor had been spotted recruiting the son of a lady who held lands two days to the west of Phalion itself. Predictably, she ordered the First Blade to seek out the rebel leader, forgetting the first rule of a tenuous monarchy - be specific, especially when your finest warrior obeys you against her will.
Shaye Dervla took her leave of the Usurper with coldness, bidding farewell to young Prince Adare and his new squire with warmth and encouragement, and rode out alone, to seek out Liam O'Connor wherever he may be. She was not surprised when the sighting led her to an ambush, though the men sent to capture her were astonished when the First Blade of Arctra simply dismounted and held out her hands to be bound. At her request, they blindfolded her, too, setting her backward on her own horse as it was led from the village she had ridden to into the wilds.
For two days, she traveled in this fashion, blind to the road, bound to her saddle, and endured it cheerfully, knowing that at the end of the journey she would see a face she had not seen in over sixteen years. Better still, that she would have no idea of where she was, and thus, have nothing to tell the Usurper Velasca even if she were ordered to divulge the rebels' location. But she knew when they had entered the rebel camp. The sounds around her faltered as her armor was recognized, voices pointing out that the First Blade had been captured, and she grinned at the boost it seemed to give the rebels. For sixteen years, she had been forced to obey Velasca, always stretching her orders to give some leniency to those who deserved it. Now, with this bold move on Liam's part, perhaps that term of servitude would soon be over. If she survived their first meeting in more than a decade.
Liam had given strict orders not to harm the First Blade, and that order was not only given for Shaye's protection. He knew that whoever defeated the First Blade in combat would in turn become the First Blade and, by way of magic, be forced to obey the orders of the one who held the Sword of Arlan, which happened to be the false queen, Velasca - at least, for now. He knew this because it was precisely what had happened to Shaye when she had fought and defeated the First Blade before her, and she had done it in order to help Liam escape.
Sixteen years he had waited to free her. He had tried before, but it seemed something or someone had always gotten in his way, and his plans had gone awry, until now. Perhaps the Nine Gods were at last on their side, or perhaps it was the Goddess of the Wild Ones who had tilted the odds in their favor. He did not know, nor did he care. It wouldn't be long now. Soon he would know whether all his years of waiting and hoping had come to naught or if he had made the right decision, after all.
Still blindfolded, still bound, Shaye offered no resistance as she was taken down from her horse. She could tell that the hands on her were female as she was escorted inside somewhere - a tent set aside for her use, perhaps, or maybe just for the purpose to which it was being put. Without speaking a word to her, the women who had brought her here began to strip the armor from her body, searching for any concealed weapons, leaving her barefoot, dressed only in the undergarments she wore beneath that armor. And then they left her, bound and blindfolded, to await the judgement of their leader. Of course, that didn't stop her from making the most of things. As the women left the tent, Shaye began to sing, wildly off-key, a particularly bawdy, derogatory tavern song, all about the Usurper's bed fellows and their ever-increasingly strange preferences.
"I see your manners haven't improved over the years," a decidedly male voice said from somewhere behind her, a voice that sounded familiar and yet different - older, deeper, and dripping just a hint of sarcasm that might hint at a hidden sense of humor.
She stiffened, the song cut off abruptly as she let herself grow silent. Better to be silent than to give away just what the sound of that voice did to her. She hadn't heard it for years, and yet one sentence was enough to bring back all the feeling she had sacrificed to keep him alive. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, glaring at the inside of her blindfold. "And yours have gotten worse, I see," she commented. Her voice had not changed much - the street inflection was gone entirely now, a more cultured tone reflecting the courtly company she'd been forced to keep over the past years. But there was no mistaking that voice, not for him. "Unless you habitually strip all your captives nearly naked and leave them tied up to be gawped at when you have the time."
"Only the female ones, perhaps," he replied, and this time from the tone of his voice, it would be clear to someone who knew him well that he was being sarcastic, even teasing perhaps. "Have you memorized the line of queens yet' As I recall, history lessons were not your strong point." From the sound of his voice, she would know that he was circling her slowly, studying her or perhaps even toying with her.
Unlike so many of those who surrounded him, Shaye recognized that sarcastic tease, even after sixteen years, snorting with laughter. "I never saw the point in memorizing them, even before the line was broken," she pointed out. "When Velasca's drowning in her own blood, maybe then." Her head turned as his voice drew her, aware that he was circling her, seeing the changes that long separation had made. She had grown fully into her looks, that much was certain, and the strictures of a warrior's life had done nothing to minimize the curves that had finally arrived, a couple of years after they had said goodbye. But there was strength in the body he saw now, barely any softness left. She was trained and strong, skillful, agile, and her form reflected it. No one had beaten her in a straight fight since she was fifteen years old, and though there were scars a-plenty, that resilience showed. "What about you? Learned to braid your own hair yet?"
Those eagle-sharp eyes of his studied her form, both admiring the changes and noting the differences. She had come into her own as a warrior, that much was certain. Whether he could best her in a fight was something he didn't want to put to the test. The real question was where her loyalties lay, and whether or not she could be trusted. He barked a laugh at her question, perhaps the first good laugh he'd had in weeks, loud enough that those outside his tent could hear it and might wonder what their leader found so amusing in his guest. "Braids are for girls. I have no time for such frivolousness here." From the direction of his voice, it seemed he had stopped his circling and now stood some paces directly in front of her. "I trust you were not harmed in your capture."
Shaye Dervla took her leave of the Usurper with coldness, bidding farewell to young Prince Adare and his new squire with warmth and encouragement, and rode out alone, to seek out Liam O'Connor wherever he may be. She was not surprised when the sighting led her to an ambush, though the men sent to capture her were astonished when the First Blade of Arctra simply dismounted and held out her hands to be bound. At her request, they blindfolded her, too, setting her backward on her own horse as it was led from the village she had ridden to into the wilds.
For two days, she traveled in this fashion, blind to the road, bound to her saddle, and endured it cheerfully, knowing that at the end of the journey she would see a face she had not seen in over sixteen years. Better still, that she would have no idea of where she was, and thus, have nothing to tell the Usurper Velasca even if she were ordered to divulge the rebels' location. But she knew when they had entered the rebel camp. The sounds around her faltered as her armor was recognized, voices pointing out that the First Blade had been captured, and she grinned at the boost it seemed to give the rebels. For sixteen years, she had been forced to obey Velasca, always stretching her orders to give some leniency to those who deserved it. Now, with this bold move on Liam's part, perhaps that term of servitude would soon be over. If she survived their first meeting in more than a decade.
Liam had given strict orders not to harm the First Blade, and that order was not only given for Shaye's protection. He knew that whoever defeated the First Blade in combat would in turn become the First Blade and, by way of magic, be forced to obey the orders of the one who held the Sword of Arlan, which happened to be the false queen, Velasca - at least, for now. He knew this because it was precisely what had happened to Shaye when she had fought and defeated the First Blade before her, and she had done it in order to help Liam escape.
Sixteen years he had waited to free her. He had tried before, but it seemed something or someone had always gotten in his way, and his plans had gone awry, until now. Perhaps the Nine Gods were at last on their side, or perhaps it was the Goddess of the Wild Ones who had tilted the odds in their favor. He did not know, nor did he care. It wouldn't be long now. Soon he would know whether all his years of waiting and hoping had come to naught or if he had made the right decision, after all.
Still blindfolded, still bound, Shaye offered no resistance as she was taken down from her horse. She could tell that the hands on her were female as she was escorted inside somewhere - a tent set aside for her use, perhaps, or maybe just for the purpose to which it was being put. Without speaking a word to her, the women who had brought her here began to strip the armor from her body, searching for any concealed weapons, leaving her barefoot, dressed only in the undergarments she wore beneath that armor. And then they left her, bound and blindfolded, to await the judgement of their leader. Of course, that didn't stop her from making the most of things. As the women left the tent, Shaye began to sing, wildly off-key, a particularly bawdy, derogatory tavern song, all about the Usurper's bed fellows and their ever-increasingly strange preferences.
"I see your manners haven't improved over the years," a decidedly male voice said from somewhere behind her, a voice that sounded familiar and yet different - older, deeper, and dripping just a hint of sarcasm that might hint at a hidden sense of humor.
She stiffened, the song cut off abruptly as she let herself grow silent. Better to be silent than to give away just what the sound of that voice did to her. She hadn't heard it for years, and yet one sentence was enough to bring back all the feeling she had sacrificed to keep him alive. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, glaring at the inside of her blindfold. "And yours have gotten worse, I see," she commented. Her voice had not changed much - the street inflection was gone entirely now, a more cultured tone reflecting the courtly company she'd been forced to keep over the past years. But there was no mistaking that voice, not for him. "Unless you habitually strip all your captives nearly naked and leave them tied up to be gawped at when you have the time."
"Only the female ones, perhaps," he replied, and this time from the tone of his voice, it would be clear to someone who knew him well that he was being sarcastic, even teasing perhaps. "Have you memorized the line of queens yet' As I recall, history lessons were not your strong point." From the sound of his voice, she would know that he was circling her slowly, studying her or perhaps even toying with her.
Unlike so many of those who surrounded him, Shaye recognized that sarcastic tease, even after sixteen years, snorting with laughter. "I never saw the point in memorizing them, even before the line was broken," she pointed out. "When Velasca's drowning in her own blood, maybe then." Her head turned as his voice drew her, aware that he was circling her, seeing the changes that long separation had made. She had grown fully into her looks, that much was certain, and the strictures of a warrior's life had done nothing to minimize the curves that had finally arrived, a couple of years after they had said goodbye. But there was strength in the body he saw now, barely any softness left. She was trained and strong, skillful, agile, and her form reflected it. No one had beaten her in a straight fight since she was fifteen years old, and though there were scars a-plenty, that resilience showed. "What about you? Learned to braid your own hair yet?"
Those eagle-sharp eyes of his studied her form, both admiring the changes and noting the differences. She had come into her own as a warrior, that much was certain. Whether he could best her in a fight was something he didn't want to put to the test. The real question was where her loyalties lay, and whether or not she could be trusted. He barked a laugh at her question, perhaps the first good laugh he'd had in weeks, loud enough that those outside his tent could hear it and might wonder what their leader found so amusing in his guest. "Braids are for girls. I have no time for such frivolousness here." From the direction of his voice, it seemed he had stopped his circling and now stood some paces directly in front of her. "I trust you were not harmed in your capture."