Ergas he was called. And it was the only friendly face she saw in a long while. That night, she lost consciousness and for months she never really woke up. There was no one left. The noblemen who took the side of her father were either dead or had switched sides. They were now firm supporters of Murbro, the red bearded man. Of her family, she was the only survivor. The day after the slaughter she was married out to one of the sons of Murbro. It was just a formality to further legitamise the throne and of little importance. Her husband wasn't even the oldest son, the new heir. He was saved to marry the daughter of another Furista. After all, her whole bloodline had been whiped of the face of the earth, who would ever threaten Murbro and his offspring? She was alone, surrounded by enemies. Untill: Ergas. Her old slave teacher, the one who tought her poetry and calculations. The man who gave her a glimpse at what was outside the area of the tribes,... who learned her to think. The old man was saved from the slaughter and had been enlisted as slave in the Murbro household. Better yet, a servant in the quarters of his second son, Aleera's husband. By the time she finally recognised the slave, her body had been severely damaged by the treatment of the Furista's son. Her arm was swollen and more then likely broken. Her face was barely recognisable; swollen, with untreated and infected wounds. Although that had been a blessing in disguise for it had disgusted her husband so that the past few weeks he had looked for other company in bed.
Those nights Ergas came to her and spoke of old times. He sung to her the stories of old kings. Of heroic battles between tribes. Of the beauty and grandeur of Valgar, the capital city of his kin. Slowly she had come to her senses, recognising the voice, the stories. Day by day her wounds healed. Her body slowly became strong and healthy again. Ergas kept up the charade. A loyal servant by day, a nurse and teacher by night. Except when Guur, Aleera's husband made use of the matrimonial privileges. Although he too noticed a change. Aleera let him. She did not resist anymore. Instead she stared at him, a fire burning in her eyes, more brighter and ferocious then the fire with which they burned down half of her city. After a few more months he left her aside, distracted as he was by new wars with neighboring tribes.
A year passed. While Murbro, together with his following, celebrated his first year as Furista, Aleera and Ergas silently remembered her family. It was then he first spoke of escape. 'I will take you to Valgar', he promised, 'to the white city'. The thought of escape had been gnawing at her for weeks but now it had become something real. A whisper in her ear which became louder every day. She noticed patterns in the daily business of the court which previously went by unnoticed. She saw possibilities, scenario's, unwanted allies. She saw hope. Weeks went by while they waited. Meanwhile, Ergas' lessons continued. She was always an eager student but now she devoured all he had to offer her, often urging him to teach her until the morning hours. It was a life source for her. Knowledge gave her energy, power. A way to beat those who kept her captive.
Then the moment came. An uprising. One of the tribes in the north massacred the nearby troops of Murbro. It was an assault much different then the normal small wargames the tribes play to test and train the young men. This was an act of treason against the Furista. One that needed to be addressed with full force. Within a week Murbro had gathered his men and gone to remove the rebellious tribeleader and crush the protest. The city was left with a minimum protection. Aleera's husband ruled the tribelands in absence of his father and spent his time in the throne room, taking care of daily businesses. The plan was simple. For months she and Ergas had been stealing small pieces of jewelry, silver, silk, fur, all together now amassing to a small fortune. Enough to be too tempting for a guard to pass on. Every month, on the morning of the full moon a cart with metals from the smithy left the city for the neighboring tribes, supplying the men there with material from the Furista's personal smith. In peacetime, if ever there was such a time in the tribes, it left early in the morning flanked by multiple guards. With the city stripped from its best warriors, the cart would only be protected by the smith and not more than three guards. And that's where the stolen treasure came in.
That night an eerie silence hung over the city. Aleera had been waking, refusing to close an eye out of fear she might sleep too long and miss her opportunity. Ergas had not visited her room that evening. He had left her with a knife and a black dress and shawl. Clothes of a slave. Without too close inspection, nobody would suspect a slave walking around that early in the morning. The moon hung high in the black sky but would be overpowered soon by the morning sun. The smith was about to leave. It was time... She wrapped her shawl around her head when she heard a noise. A singing, more murmur then words but a sound she recognised instantly: the drunken voice of her husband. Within seconds she removed her scarf, blew out the candles and dived in bed. The door flew open. 'Aleera dear, now that my father is off fighting a former friend of your father, I had to think of you. It's been a while since I showed you what it's like to be with real royal blood.' Guur dropped his pants and stumbled into the bed. A fist as an iron pincer closed around Aleera's throat. Then: a silence. A soft wind blew through the window, the thin curtains making strange shadows in the moonlight. A gurgling sound. Then Aleera's heavy breathing, as if she had trouble keeping her head above water. Again silence. With shivering hands Aleera lighted the candle. On the bed was Guur, face down in a pool of blood still gushing from his neck. Coughing and wheezing, Aleera spit out his blood. Her entire face was covered when she pierced the artery of the heavy man on top of her. A moment she stared at her former husband. Tears running out of eyes consumed by hate. Only when her stomach content hit the floor, was she able to shake loose from the shock. Aleera grabbed the shawl and started for the door. There was no time to lose, the cart could leave any moment. In the hallway a terror stricken face stared at her from the darkness. 'What happened?', whispered Ergas. She touched her face. 'It's not mine,... This time it's not mine.' She grabbed Ergas and hold him tightly, tears making paths through the dried up blood on her cheeks. The last barrier between former slave and former master fell away, making place for a bond of trust.
The two made their way to a back passage leading out of Guur's quarters, into the street. The smith was only a few blocks away on the east side of the Furista's territory. Slowly, but steadily they walked through the mud covered streets, keeping to the shadows where possible, but walking in the open when necessary. They had to count on them not being suspicious. Two warriors passed them by, too tired to even bother looking at them. They would make it. The cart should be ready next to the smithy. All they had to do now is sneak in and hide under the goods. It was quiet, as planned. The smith and his slaves were preparing for the journey in the smith's house. No guards. Aleera could hear her own breath. Too heavy, too loud. She heaved herself on the back of the cart when Ergas' voice broke the silence. 'Aleera.' A sword was pressed against the old man's throat. The guard. They had missed the guard. He must have been waiting in the shadows. She started to tremble. It was over. No way they would let them live. She signed her own death warrant the moment she pushed her knife into her husband's throat. Her eyes flashed from left to right, desperately looking for a way to reverse the situation. There was no way. Not without leaving her teacher into the warrior's hands. 'We have silver', she tried, 'silver, silk,... all kinds of valuable goods. They're yours if you just let us go. You'll be rich'. The warrior grinned. The hint of a reply formed on his lips when he rose into the sky. A small cry got muffled by a loud crack and the lifeless body fell back onto the earth. A giant stepped out into the light. His long, unkempt hairs covering his face and beard. He was bare chested apart from a belt in which he kept a long hammer protruding over his shoulder. From his knees Ergas whispered: 'Aleera, this is Blund, the former slave of the smith'. Blund smiled and answered with a deep and grumbling voice, 'I heard you were giving away our treasure. We do not share.' From behind him a second person appeared. Much smaller then his cohort but still a large warrior. His hair was tied back in a knot and tattoos covered his arms and the shaven sides of his head. 'This is Hlundamir', Ergas added, 'where are the other guards and the smith?' The smaller warrior looked up. 'Blund here decided to change the plan.' Ergas stared at him for a moment, as if urging him to continue. 'They're dead, all of them', added the warrior. 'We needed them to pass the gate', exclaimed the old man, 'there is no way we can get past the wall'. 'There is. It's still possible', Aleera interrupted.
The gate. A thick wooden port centered between two towers split up a large stone wall about a meter in diameter. The wall was actually two separate walls, filled with stones, earth and rubble. Horizontal cross beams giving the structure extra strength protruded from the sides. On top, two guards turned around when a cart and two horsemen neared their position. Their companions on the ground walked towards the cart. 'The smith is not joining this time?' 'He's feeling unwell', Hlundamir responded while bringing the horses to a halt, 'we are bringing the goods while he rests'. The guard looked away from the slave to his colleage next to him. 'All clear?' The man, hidden deep in his warm furs and shawl nodded shortly. 'Open', shouted the guard. The doors opened and closed immediately as soon as Hlundamir steered the cart outside. He urged the horses to an acceptable speed. Fast enough, but not so that it would seem strange to the warriors on the wall who watched them disappear into the forest.
When the sun was already halfway to its highest point, they came to a halt. Aleera appeared from under the furs and stepped out of the cart. She stretched her sore legs. The two guards stared at her from the horses. 'Let's get that smug look from their face, shall we?', Hlundamir suggested. He pushed the dead warrior from the seating next to him. A small leather skin fell out from under his chin and a hole in the cloth over the cart became visible. Ergas emerged from the cart, a bellows in his hand. He joined his student sitting on the stump of a fallen down tree. 'We made it', she grinned. 'Not yet', he warned. 'It's still a long way to the white city. We have escaped, but we are not yet safe'. He smiled. 'Only when we see the white tower shining in the distance, spreading the warmth of the sun over the land. Only then we will know we are home.' She hesitated. 'What will happen when we are there?' His response was simple. 'There, your tale begins.'
