Part One - Invitation

"A royal celebration." Vivi clasped her hands together, her eyes bright with excitement. "This is the chance of a lifetime."

Debora sank into a velvet covered lounging chair. "It's not a celebration, per se, Vivi. It's an elaborate religious event."

"An event with music and feasting and dancing...."

"...and boring religious ceremonies..."

"...and troubadours and magicians and dancing...." Vivi took a corner of her skirt in her left hand and twirled about the room.

Debora frowned. "And anxious suitors from twenty realms, hoping to score a potential alliance through marriage to a princess."

A final pirouette brought Vivi before the divan where she fell to her knees. She leaned forward and took Debora's hands in her own. "Twenty suitors asking you to dance. It will be a glorious time."

Debora blinked. "You think twenty versions of Prince Lahari will be glorious."

Vivi's mouth opened, and then closed abruptly. She sat back on her heels. "I hadn't thought of it that way, highness."

"That's because you aren't the one who will be subjected to their attentions."

"Surely they won't all be as ... bad as Prince Lahari, highness."

Debora raised an eyebrow. "Is there any reason to think otherwise? Mezzite is a small kingdom, true, but we are very uniquely positioned. Who else has such positive relations with both Yadis and Ashmell? Alliance with Mezzite practically guarantees a realm some measure of political stability. Those men will be all but throwing themselves at me."

Vivi's impish grin made it clear the handmaiden didn't think that such a bad thing at all. Debora sighed. "Still," she continued, "I suppose not all of them will be as pompous, arrogant, self-centered and cheeky as Prince Lahari."

"Nor as handsome, I'll wager."

"Good looks and wealth are not everything."

"Maybe not, but they make the rest of the package much easier to swallow."

"Vivi, you're incorrigible." Debora surged to her feet. "One thing I can be sure of is the fact that I will not have to deal with Prince Lahari at the celebration. Father is fairly certain that Ashmell will not be attending."

"Can you blame them? Yadis has been threatening invasion of Ashmell for some time now."

Debora shook her head. She had enough to worry about with the onslaught of suitors she would have to deal with. The petty wars and bickering between nations she would leave to her father's advisors.

"Come along, Vivi. We've got a lot of packing to do. Father says we'll need to leave day after tomorrow."

Vivi's face fell. "Day after tomorrow?"

"Yes. Travel will take more than two weeks and the celebration begins in a month's time."

Vivi slumped. "But my brother's wedding."

That was right. In the rush of emotions surrounding the invitation to the celebration Debora had forgotten that Vivi's twin brother was getting married at the end of the week. Vivi had talked about little else over the past month. She had even persuaded Debora to lend her one of the princess's own gowns.

"Oh, Vivi. I'm so sorry. I should have remembered. Of course, you should remain here to support your brother."

Vivi's look didn't change much.

"Or would you rather come with me? It will be your choice."

Vivi sniffed. She rose to her feet and wiped a hand across her nose. "Not much of a choice, really. Carver would never forgive me if I missed his wedding. But the dancing...."

Debora smiled and put an arm around her friend's shoulders. "I promise to tell you all about it. Especially the dancing. Come on. I'll need your help to pick out the clothing that will be most flattering. If I'm going to be besieged by male suitors, I may as well look my best."

Part Two - Subterfuge

"This information had better be important, La Porte. I was in the middle of a very important trade negotiation when your message reached me. The delegate was none too pleased when I said I needed to leave. If you've caused me to loose this deal...."

The man called La Porte waved his hand. "This won't take long, Your Highness. I'm sure you will be back to your room before the young lady's ardor has cooled."

Prince Lahari, eldest son of King Wakari of Ashmell and heir presumptive to the throne, felt his temper flare, but he held it in check. Barely. La Porte was a superb spy - his information was always timely and accurate, superior to his father's extensive intelligence network on numerous occasions - but his manner lacked even a modic'um of respect. One of these days Lahari was going to loose his patience with the man and have him summarily executed.

"What do you have for me?"

La Porte smiled in the greasy manner that never failed to remind Lahari of a snake charming its prey.

"Mezzite seeks alliance with Yadis."

Lahari blinked. "That's absurd. Morgal has done nothing but preach neutrality since he inherited the crown."

"Nonetheless, it is true. A large delegation left Mezzite for the Holy City just three days past. Debora was with them."

There was a pause as Lahari digested the information. Why would Debora be going to Yadis? He laughed as the obvious reason came to him.

"This is no delegation seeking alliance. Mezzite simply sends its favorite daughter as its representative to Yadis's celebration. You waste my time with this nonsense, La Porte. Come back when you have something truly important to share with me."

Lahari started to rise. La Porte grasped his sleeve.

"Sit down, highness. I have not reported all."

Lahari reddened at the familiarity of La Porte's reaction. How dare he touch my person! He drew back his hand with every intention to strike the man, but paused when he saw the look in La Porte's eyes. Fear, not of the Prince striking him, but of the consequences of what he had to tell. Lahari sat back down, but not before brusquely knocking La Porte's hand from his arm.

"The delegation left under the pretense of attending the celebration, it is true," La Porte said, rubbing his hand. "My sources tell me even Princess Debora believes the sole purpose of the trip is to maintain existing relations with Yadis by attending the party. The real reason for the journey is much more compelling. Morgal seeks a permanent alliance with Yadis. He will secure the alliance by offering Alhazal Debora's hand."

Lahari's doubt must have shown on his face.

"I have seen the letter, Highness."

"This cannot be," Lahari said. "Morgal would be a fool to side with Yadis. What would he gain?"

"Who can say? Perhaps the more important question is, 'What does Ashmell lose?'"

I lose the possibility of Debora. "You must be mistaken."

"I have seen the letter."

Debora. Lahari shook his head. There were much more important things here than the loss of a woman. Mezzite formed a natural buffer with Yadis. If Mezzite and Yadis were to ally, Yadis would be given access to Ashmell through the mountains. The lay of the terrain made defending the Yadis/Mezzite border much easier than defending the Mezzite/Ashmell border. If Yadis had free access to Mezzite, Ashmell would find itself fighting its enemy on a wide open front. There was only one way to prevent that from happening.

"You are certain, La Porte?"

"Never have I given you a more accurate report, Highness. I have seen the letter." The spy removed a roll of parchment tied with a ribbon from an inner pocket of his tunic and placed it on the table. "It is reproduced here."

Lahari stared at the parchment as if it were a crag scorpion, poised to strike. He hesitated. To touch that letter made the situation real.

"You must take this to your father with all speed, Highness. The fate of the nation depends upon it."

La Porte's words jolted him into action. He snatched up the letter and left without another word.

The man known to Lahari as La Porte watched as the Prince left the small inn. Things were working out exactly as planned. Lahari would take the letter to his father and champion the validity of its contents. He could hear the arguments in his mind: La Porte could be trusted. La Porte always brought accurate information. La Porte had never failed them. The king would be forced to cede to Lahari's logic and make the only decision available to them. In order to protect Asmell's interests, the border between Mezzite and Yadis had to be secure. In light of the news of alliance between Mezzite and Yadis, the only way to secure that border would be to do it themselves. There was no other option. Ashmell would invade Mezzite.

His work here done, Mascus of the Council of Seven rose to his feet. Rather than head for the door, the sorcerer made his way to the staircase leading to the inn's upper rooms. Lahari had left so quickly he had forgotten about his "trade negotiations." Mascus fingered the slim dagger strapped to the inside of his left forearm. It might take a little coercion, but he was certain he could persuade the buxom young negotiator to terms of his liking.

Part Three - Party

"That's...intriguing, Minister Fawell."

Debora did her best to maintain her smile as Fawell, Yadis's Minister of Forestry prattled on about the differences between Capracic and Mezzite cedar. The conversation was neither intriguing nor exciting, nor anything close to approaching interesting. The princess from Mezzite was normally quite adept at dealing with minor functionaries, but Fawell had proven unusually resilient to her polite attempts to rebuff him. It was time to try something a little more drastic.

She watched an approaching servant from the corner of her eye until the timing was right. Feigning a laugh, she took a half step to the side, directly into the servant's path. His empty platter struck her left elbow, launching the contents of her barely touched goblet into the minister's face.

The servant turned the same shade of red as the wine now dribbling down Fawell's chin onto the silk brocade of his chemise. The minister spluttered in indignation, rounding on the servant with the bluster so often evident in self-righteous civil servants. While she was eager to get rid of Fawell, Debora didn't want to see the servant get blamed for something she had purposefully engineered. She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and stepped between the two men.

"Minister Fawell, I am dreadfully sorry. How very clumsy of me. It appears I've ruined your beautiful overcoat." She thrust the handkerchief into the minister's mouth as he tried to respond, making a show of wiping the wine from his face. "You simply must change immediately before the stain has a chance to set."

Fawell finally succeeded in getting the handkerchief out of his face. She continued before he could speak.

"Young man," she said to the servant, pulling him forward by the arm, "Take the minister at once to his chambers. Collect his damaged clothing and have it sent to my quarters immediately. I will see to it that he gets a suitable replacement as soon as possible."

The servant, obviously briefed on who the people were in attendance, jumped into action. "At once, your highness." He took the dumbfounded Fawell firmly by the elbow and steered him toward the exit. Halfway there the minister managed to extricate himself from the servant's grasp, but true to his self-absorbed nature, he followed the servant out of the hall quickly before anyone had a chance to remark on his "accident."

Debora was smiling at the success of her plan when a deep, cultured voice caused her to jump.

"That was most masterfully done, Your Highness. Jarvid Fawell is as tenacious as bulldog, but his vanity is his weakness. You played him well."

She turned to find herself addressed by a tall man in his early fifties. He was dressed in a robe of deep purple, a white overtunic trimmed in gold hanging from his shouders. His hair and beard were a salt and pepper gray, similar to her father's, but their resemblance ended there. Her father's cheeks and eyes were graced with laugh lines, a legacy of his genial nature. This man's face seemed set in a continual scowl, his black eyes hard and piercing. He looked as if he had never laughed a day in his life. Even without his characteristic headdress, Debora knew that she stood before one of the most powerful men in the world. This was Elamir of the Council of Seven, First Advisor to His Majesty, King Alhazal of Yadis. There would be no lying to this man.

Debora bowed low. "I am sorry if I have offended, Your Grace. It's just, the minister was so...."

"Tedious? Self-centered? Annoying?"

Debora cringed as the First Advisor spoke exactly the words in her mind. "I was trying to think of a polite way to say it, Your Grace."

Elamir waved away her worry. "Politeness is wasted on men such as Fawell, Highness. They are what they are and politeness will not change that."

Elamir's words bothered Debora. While they might be true, they seemed a rather pessimistic way of viewing others.

"Still, I would maintain my good graces, First Advisor," she said. "They are part of what make me what I am."

The corners of Elamir's mouth turned up slightly. Perhaps he was capable of smiling, even if laughter evaded him.

"Well said. You do your father proud." He turned to gesture toward the front of the ballroom. "His Majesty would like the opportunity to meet you, Princess Debora. Would you do him the honor?"

Debora managed a bow in response, though her knees had begun to shake. She was but a princess from a small, insignificant nation. King Alhazal wanted to meet her?

"Of course, Your Grace." She was surprised she got the words out without stuttering. Elamir nodded and indicated she should follow him.

As they wound their way through the crowd of revelers, Debora pondered the King's request. Why did he want to meet her? Once past the initial shock of the invitation, her mind began to provide her with possibilities. He could want to pursue the possibility of more trade with Mezzite. No, if he wanted to do that, he would broach the subject with Lord Mahren. Her father's Minister of Trade had come along for that precise purpose and would be better versed in those matters than the princess. Maybe he wanted to ply her for information. That was more likely, though the kind of information he would get during a party would be less helpful than what he could obtain in a private interview. What could it be?

The reason became clear as Elamir led her towards the small knot of people surround King Alhazal. They were all men, each of them young, each dressed in such finery that a peacock would have been hard-pressed to match them. Alhazal was looking to make a match for her. Debora felt her cheeks redden as her temper rose. How utterly typical. She had told Vivi that the celebration would consist of a gaggle of suitors clambering for her attention and it looked as if she was right. Well, she was used to this game and could play it well. Any match making here would be on her terms.

The group parted as Elamir approached as Debora got her first real look at her host. King Alhazal was in his sixties, but he looked as fit as any of the younger men surrounding him. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick and strong. His right hand was heavily calloused and would look more at home holding a sword than the golden goblet it currently clutched. White haired and long bearded he may be, but Alhazal of Yadis was every inch a soldier.

"Your Majesty, Lords," Elamir was saying, "May I present to you Princess Debora of Mezzite."

"Debora, welcome," said Alhazal. His voice was raspy, a result of having spent so much time on the battlefield. "You are every bit as lovely as I was told you are."

Debora bowed low, making sure she displayed her assets to their best advantage. The way a few of the young men blushed told her she had succeeded. "Majesty, you are too kind."

"I am pleased that you accepted my invitation to our grand celebration, Princess. We see far too little of Mezzite here in Yadis."

Debora gave appraising looks at two of the more uncomfortable looking young men. "Had I realized that Yadis was so well stocked in wares I find appealing, I should have visited long ago, Majesty."

"Indeed. I am glad that you find things in our city so fair. You are not the only one who makes a visit for the first time. I would be pleased to introduce you to some of our other impressive young visitors."

As Alhazal turned to one of the men standing next to him, something behind Debora caught his attention. Debora turned to see what occurred.

Two men were walking quickly to the group. One was dressed much as Elamir, though his robes were a deep blood red, rather than purple. The other was dressed in a military uniform. The uniform was dirty, and the man seemed worn, as if he had just finished an arduous journey. Neither looked pleased.

As the two men arrived at the group, Alhazal said, "I am afraid we will need to cut short our visit. Please, enjoy the ball. We will get together again soon."

The young men all came to attention and saluted the King, then filed away quickly. Several of them hung back, obviously looking to spend some time with Debora. Thoughts of how to deal with them fled as the man in red spoke. "I think Her Highness, should remain, Your Majesty. This involves her people."

Alhazal frowned, but nodded in agreement. "If you would, Princess."

Debora bowed, trying hard to hide her confusion. Her people? What was going on?

"Your Majesty, we have just received word from our troops stationed near Jarison Pass. Mezzite has been invaded by Ashmell."

Debora felt her stomach drop. Mezzite invaded? "That - that's not possible. Mezzite is politically neutral. Ashmell would never attack us."

The man in red bowed to her. "My apologies, Your Highness, but the report is certain. Captain Krestin, here, was present in Jarison when the refugees from Mezzite came through the pass."

Debora looked to the Captain. He nodded. "It is true, Highness. The refugees told us that Ashmell troops attacked and burned the capital. The scout patrol we sent to investigate were repulsed by Ashmell troops guarding the pass. Mezzite has been taken."

Debora tried to swallow the lump growing in her throat. "What of my father?"

The man in red shook his head. "We don't know yet, Highness. We expect a full report within the day."

He might have said more, but Debora didn't hear it. The room began to spin and darkness overwhelmed her.

Part Four - Things in Motion

The horse was heaving as he reined it in. Pagamau hated to push her so hard, but he had little choice in the matter. If he was right....

He dismounted quickly. The horse snorted her displeasure as he looped the reins around a nearby tree, but he ignored her. Long strides took him over the broken stones of the ancient causeway to the entrance to the Temple of the Stars. It had been some time since his last visit. He stroked the length of his beard, long ago turned to gray. Some time indeed.

It took a moment to find what he was looking for. The entrance was choked with weeds, the Temple itself overgrown with the vines so common to the jungle. He parted the verdant curtain and stepped into the darkness beyond.

Elamir shut the door to the king's chamber, ignoring the salute of the guards flanking Alhazal's door. He stepped purposefully around the corner. A figure dressed from head to foot in black detached itself from the wall and matched his pace. Elamir nodded respectfully to his superior.

"How is the girl?" the dark figure spoke in its familiar whisper.

"She makes her way to the border as we speak."

"Things are prepared as we planned?"

"Yes, Prelate. Mascus is making the final arrangements for her arrival."

The pair rounded another corner and stopped. Elamir paused to make sure the corrider was clear, and then placed a hand on a stone to the right of an iron sconce. A section of the wall slid back on silent hinges. Elamir followed the Prelate of Yadis into the secret passage and closed the door behind them. Torches spaced evenly along the wall ignited as one at a wave of Arkun's hand. The two Elder Councilmen began their descent into the bowels of the palace.

Arkun was the first to break the silence. "The fainting episode at the celebration was not encouraging."

"I would not worry overmuch, Prelate. While it is true that the young princess showed a moment of weakness when the news of the attack was delivered, you must remember the manner of life she has lived up to this moment. Debora has been sheltered by her father. Never has she experienced a want. Never has she experienced a loss - say nothing of a loss as complete and devastating as this."

"Then the Carthi continues."

"It will not end until she fully understands the scope of her loss."

There was a pause.

"Will she pass?"

Elamir pondered for a moment. "Only time will truly show that, Prelate, but I judge her to be a girl with significant strength of character."

"I hope so, Elamir. The tale of the stars is becoming clearer. Time draws short if we are to secure the upper hand."

Pagamau traced a hand across the weathered stone of the Wall of Prophecy. It was as he remembered, but he had needed to be certain. The words of Kunos the Wise, the Prophet, carved into the stone of the temple a thousands of years past, sounded in his mind as if the great Seer were standing next to him:

"The sacred stars are in alignment. Seven lights have poured upon the land - The destined Navia have been reborn."

He studied the star chart, etched with precision in accompaniment to the prophecy. The constellation of the Navia - the seven pointed star - aligned within the bounds of the Eternal Compass. An alignment which would come into being in the night sky not two weeks hence.

Pagamau cursed his inaction. Twice before during his lifetime the stars had approached alignment. Twice before they had shifted aside, the sign ungiven, the omens unfulfilled. He had been slower this time around. He had waited, secure in the assumption that the stars would again shift away. He had been a fool. The omens had been there. For sixteen years, the omens had been there. He had thought he had time. He should have heeded the omens more carefully.

It was his discovery that the Eyes of the Ice once again walked the land that had moved him to action. Why would the Council of Seven have sent forth their agents to search for the Navia before the alignment? How could they possibly hope to find the Navias reborn when they had not yet been born?

Words of training, passed down from master to student within the Order came back to him now. "The young women who survive the four stages become Navia and are able to summon the holy beasts." He should have realized the true meaning of the alignment before now. A Navia was not born when her spirit was reincarnated into physical form - not when the babe was placed in its mother's arms. A Navai was born when she awakened to her powers. The alignment was in place. A Navia would soon awaken and the Eyes of the Ice were already in motion.

He had not a moment to spare.

Pagamau left the temple, driven by the need to make up for his failure. The first Navia had not yet awakened. There was still time.

His horse snorted as he untied her reins and leaped into the saddle, but she was well trained. In spite of her fatigue, she raced away from the Temple of the Stars. There would be no rest for either of them until the Navia were found.

(to be continued...)