The warm air smelled and tasted dusty, uncomfortably coating the inside of his nose and the corners of his eyes and mouth. Above him, the weak blue sky was high and barren save for the jiggling yellow ball of sun. His steps pounded the parched soil as he climbed higher, flattening the stubborn, coarse brown spikes of grass that stood in futile defiance of the broiling heat.

Pulling the edge of his mouth with two fingers, he scraped away the gummy buildup, and licked his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. The top of the hill was close. Soon he would be in the shelter of the jagged rock face, out of the sun's glare and then he would rest and savor another gulp from his water skin.

The journey had been long and arduous but soon to be completed. The importance of reaching his goal as quickly as possible drove him faster to the top of the hill and in the excitement and anticipation, he became careless. A small stone rolled beneath his foot causing him to stumble and bang down on one knee with a gasp of pain; the small sack he carried spilled its contents of thin parchment sheets onto the arid ground. With a fearfully desperate urgency, he pursued them as they slid easily downhill across the stubble of dead growth.

The strong hand that clamped around his wrist shocked free a startled cry. He looked up into the partially shadowed face staring down at him and felt his throat constrict.

"Steady there, young man, you'll fling yourself back down the side of this mountain if you're not careful." The voice was firm but not unkind and he allowed the strong hand to haul him to his feet.

"I must not lose these papers," he said, bending to gather the last one, which had plastered itself to the soft leather of the man's boot. "They have to be delivered to Queen Primula of Terrault, post haste." He stepped back up the slope, bringing his eyes level with the man's chin. A thick main of roan coloured hair hung in damp tendrils on a pair of broad shoulders. The ice blue eyes, showing a mild curiosity, calmly surveyed his face with an amused patience. When he spoke, the voice suggested a persuasive trust and respect.

"What message could a young sapling from Moraine have that would concern Queen Primula?"

The boy raised his chin at the reference but remained intimidated by the stranger's insight. "How do you know I'm from Moraine?"

"All Moranians have the same upward lilt at the end of their sentences." He smiled. "I'm right, aren't I?"

The boy nodded. "And who are you, sir?" Jared undid his water skin and took a thirsty gulp.

"Jak Staff. I live in Terrault. And who might you be?"

"My name is Jared, my father was a soldier under Lazzard, the Moranian leader."

"Was?"

The boy compressed his lips and breathed heavily through his nose. "My father died defending Moraine in the Winter War."

"He must have been a brave man, your father." He held out a huge hand and grasped the boy's with a warm reception. "Come, I'll show you a shorter way than over this beast of a hill."

*****

The Dominion of Terrault snuggled beneath an umbrella of elm and oak trees against the moderate, southern slope of a grassy rise. Its buildings lined a winding, cobbled street that followed a swiftly moving river almost silver in colour. As they neared a narrow, arched bridge that spanned the river, Jared slowed his pace upon seeing the heavily armed men guarding its approach.

"Hail, Captain Staff, have you captured an enemy of our Dominion?" The men grinned and swaggered in a small circle around Jak and Jared.

"I think not, but time will tell. We are seeking an audience with the Queen."

Jared gaped in surprise at the man who had seemingly befriended him. Was he suspect? Did they think he was here to create mischief? Jak placed a hand on his back and pushed him gently toward the bridge.

"I am not an enemy of Terrault," he said indignantly.

"You would not be traversing this bridge had I thought so." Jak said, smiling away the threat.

Jared relaxed a little and turned his attention to the town, admiring the brightly painted buildings and the meticulously clean streets. The citizenry of Terrault appeared as clean as the town, bright, neat clothing, tailored in a far superior manner than his own rough woolen vest and leggings. They all smiled and greeted Jak with camaraderie unfamiliar to Jared; in Moraine, people tended to keep to themselves, usually speaking only when spoken to.

Jak pressed his shoulder, indicating he should follow the steps to his right. They climbed side by side, arriving at a wide stone square that fronted a beautifully fashioned building with brightly decorated windows and a pair of massive metal doors, polished to an eye-blistering sheen.

"What place is this?" Jared asked in awe.

"The Queen's residence. We call it Primula's Palace."

"This is hers... alone?" Jared scurried after the long striding Jak.

He laughed and patted the young boy on the head, stopping in front of the huge doors and pulling a long rope that hung to one side.