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The Hidden Ancients

Chapter 8

Laila had never been beaten by the sons of Araton before, and she knew she would face twice the shame once it came out that Laila the Undefeated had been bested not by a horde of angels but by a single angel, who -- only seconds before -- had been taking a dump. That the angel had been able to destroy her entire platoon, save her and two siblings, was still baffling to her. But Laila, calm and thoughtful as she was, did not immediately meditate on vengeance. Instead, her mind churned for solutions to the problem. What could they do better next time? How could they ensure such a thing never happened again?

They could avoid letting their heads get turned by pretty mares, for one, Laila thought with misery and shame. But she thought with no shame of the mare's sweet sex on her tongue as she carried Mala in her arms through the forests of the mortal realm.

After they were forced to leave Izra behind, Laila and Mala had only been flying some minutes before Mala's slashed eye got the better of her. Unable to see and losing too much blood, she suddenly spiraled to the ground like a falling leaf, and Laila barely managed the dive to catch her. Since then, Laila had been caring for her sister, protecting her from the dangers of the forest, and foraging to keep her fed.

Laila knew they should return home to Voriza, but she kept delaying. She and her platoon were sent after Artesda because they were the best warriors in their mother's hall, so to be defeated so easily by a single angel was beyond shameful. They had also lost four siblings, all of whom would be missed dearly. There would be a ceremony and much weeping and sadness. Laila would be sent to collect the bodies, since they had fallen while under her command, and she . . . didn't want to face it. Any of it. She knew she would be forgiven yet could not bear the thought of seeing the pain and disappointment in her mother's eyes, in her father's eyes. And so she kept pushing the return home to the back of her mind.

Laila and Mala traveled only at night. It was a tactic all warriors of Araini employed, as their black wool gave them a natural camouflage against their enemies. One evening, the sisters hid down in the shade of the bushes as they waited for night to fall. They would need the shield of darkness to cross the meadow unseen, for there was no other way to reach their destination.

Determined not to venture home, Laila was intent on getting Mala to an herbalist out in the forest often referred to as the Old Hinny. The Old Hinny was an elderly female, half-donkey and half-horse, who'd been living alone out in the forest all her life simply because neither horses nor donkeys would allow her to live among them. It was widely believed by both sides that she was a witch, as she'd had an unnaturally long life. The local painted horses often referred to her as "doc'malu" (which meant something like "witch-god") and were fond of telling wild stories of her magic, which they believed had been gifted to her by a "demon."

Some of the more zealous forest donkeys believed the Old Hinny was actually all that remained of Olyndor's lost goddess, which Laila herself - being the child of an immortal - was more inclined to believe.

Before Araton helped the horses conquer Olyndor, it was protected by the goddess of the realm, a female modern donkeys believed to have been half-horse and half-donkey, her father having been a fierce stallion. She was beautiful and wise, kind and full of laughter, and she ruled over Olyndor for many thousands of years, warming and nurturing its donkeys with her gentle light.

When Araton helped the horses finally establish Olyndor as Oltru, he took all that was in its heavens, including the realm of their goddess. What became of her, no one ever knew, and even thousands of years later, many still believed the goddess Seriya, beautiful and sweet, was a prisoner somewhere in Araton's halls. Others believed that Seriya might have been Araton's daughter and that he was simply taking her realm back into his possession.

Because no one ever discovered what happened to the goddess Seriya, many assumed her to be the Old Hinny. The old female had just appeared one day in Forest Dolbuck without explanation. No one had ever heard of her, no one knew her family nor remembered her as a foal. It was as if she had sprung out of thin-air. And she was magical and mysterious. And cunning and quiet. And before long, there were stories of her being the long lost Seriya, having finally managed to escape Araton's clutches.

Whatever or whoever she was, the Old Hinny was the only person in the area who would be willing to help Mala. The local horses considered sheep to be demons, even the painted ones, who spat on Araton and Araini equally, as they believed all gods and their children to be tyrants. But Mala needed help before her eye became infected. If such a thing happened, she would not be able to regenerate it and would forever lose her eye.

"Why don't you just fly me home?" Mala demanded hoarsely. She was squatting across from Laila, knees wide and elbows resting on them as she glared with her good eye. A sloppy green poultice was slapped over her injured eye, and when she reached to scratch it, Laila quickly smacked her paw away. "Ow!"

"Don't touch it," Laila scolded, looking out at the meadow again, at the pink sky and the setting sun. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

"You care more about avoiding the shame of failure than helping your sister," Mala bitterly accused. For the cool waters of their mother's realm could fully heal and restore Mala's eye with but a splash. All they had to do was fly home to Voriza.

"No!" Laila guiltily lied. But she added truthfully, "I am . . . afraid. If we leave the mortal realm and go too far from Izra, perhaps he won't be alive when we return." She dropped her eyes and swallowed hard. ". . . just like the rest of them." She couldn't get the image out of her mind: their siblings, all sprawled on the ground, bloody and dead. And why? Because she was too busy eating pussy to help them. Self-hatred was burning through her when she felt Mala's sharp black nails playfully pinch her cheek and stretch it.

"Cut it out!" Laila cried at once, trying and failing not to smile. She and her sister looked at each other fondly.

"I'm not proud of what happened either," Mala said gently, "but Mother and Father understand that we can't win every fight_._"

But Laila had never _lost_a fight. She dropped her eyes, nodding in unhappy agreement.

Mala looked away, frowning in frustration. "We can't save Izra alone. I hate to admit it," she said through her teeth, "but this son of Araton is stronger than the others."

Laila gazed grimly at the watery sky. Unfortunately, Mala was right yet again. Artesda was practically unstoppable, and Laila had never seen the like. It reminded her of Alexander the Mighty, the once great champion of Araton, now supposedly dead. If Alexander could be defeated, then so could Artesda. "He must have a weakness," Laila insisted, muttering more to herself than to Mala.

"I think his weakness is obvious," said Mala, looking at her sister with grim intensity.

"You mean Daphne? That mare?" Laila barely tried to keep the laughter from her voice. "Is it a weakness the two of you share?" She was further amused when Mala's face scrunched up like crumpled paper.

"I do not care about that featherbrained mare!" Mala hurled at once. "If she wants to be Araton's plaything, then l-let her!" she furiously vowed, though the stammer in her voice said otherwise.

Smiling privately to herself, Laila dropped her eyes, remembering the way Mala had so lovingly stroked Daphne's mane as she was sleeping. It was clear Mala wanted Daphne, and it was something that amused Laila to no end simply because Mala had never wanted anyone before. That wasn't to say Mala was a virgin. She'd lain with many a mortal. But loving one? She had never dared.

In the kingdom of Vaine, the children of Araini had a practice of taking mortal lovers. They would fly down to Vaine, looking for a mortal they might take to bed. This lover would become a life partner, someone to care for them while they were far from home. Any resulting lambs were always mortal and thus had to remain in the mortal realm.

Most warriors of Voriza would have taken a partner by now, but not Mala the Heartbreaker, who had vowed she would never love, simply because "love was for mortals."

"If we kidnap the mare," Mala said, cutting into Laila's thoughts, "we can use her as ransom for an exchange. The so-called angel will have to give Izra over then. If he loses the Purest One to us, he'll be punished by Araton with death. He'll have no choice."

"Maybe it's too late," said Laila, staring morosely across the meadow. She didn't see it when Mala rolled her eyes.

"How in hell did you become a leader?" Mala demanded irritably.

Laila laughed softly. "That's easy. You are too foolhardy and wild. Izra was too soft and gentle. I'm . . . the lesser of three evils."

Mala frowned. "Is."

"What?"

"Izra is too soft and gentle," Mala corrected gently.

Laila took a breath. "Right."

"So what's our plan, oh great leader?"

"Hmm?" returned Laila absently. Something had moved across the meadow. A light flickered between the trees, and catching it, Laila's ears stood forward from her woolly black mane.

"Well," said Mala impatiently, "if we aren't returning home, we need a plan to get our brother back! Maybe we can lure the mare to --"

"Shh - shut up!" Laila snapped. The sun was finally setting, and as darkness slanted in long tendrils between the trees, she could see two figures approaching from the forest on the other side of the meadow. Without taking her eyes off them, her paw went slowly to her sword hilt.

"What? What is it?" Mala's hooves crunched softly through the grass as she came in a crouching walk to her sister's side. She went still when she noticed the approaching figures as well. "You think they're armed?" she whispered. "Maybe we should just stay low."

"No, they look like peasant farmers or something," Laila muttered. Her nostrils flared. "They don't _smell_like farmers." She frowned. "I dunno _what_they smell like."

"Do they smell like food?"

Laila scowled. "What are you talking about? You can't be hungry still. I brought you a crapload of berries today. I barely ate myself!"

"Yeah, and you're weepy when you're hungry," Mala muttered, not looking at her sister. "Be nice if they fed you."

Laila rolled her eyes. "Just be quiet!"

The approaching figures were drawing nearer across the meadow, the light of their swinging lantern setting the undersides of their serene faces aglow. Though it seemed they were heading directly for Laila and Mala, Laila decided they were not. How could they have seen two black sheep in such darkness? Night was falling fast. No, the strangers were probably on the brink of turning another direction.

They were a male and a female, with flowing manes of loose, knee-length hair that whipped back with their clothing as they walked, so that it appeared they were walking in slow-motion against a breeze. Bizarre.

The male was a white stallion with a long golden mane. He was clad in a simple shirt and work pants, with one leg rolled up and the other torn. His hooves were golden and sheathed in a veil of silky white hair, while his muscular thighs and arms were practically bursting from his clothing. He was very tall, even for a horse, and had a sort of grim majesty about him that paralyzed Laila where she squatted.

The female was a dark brown donkey wearing a peasant's plain dress, but the neckline was torn and the frayed cloth pulled aside, revealing her white neck and cradling her white cleavage like loaves of baking bread as it rode high. She was perky at the breasts and buttocks and very tall for a donkey, with a waist so narrow, she nearly rivaled the Purest One. Her dark mane was bursting with pale gold flowers and was very long, tangling behind her on an ethereal breeze as she glided forward.

Wild manes and slanted eyes, the strangers were beautiful in an almost alarming and surreal way, carrying with them a sort of haze that made Laila dull-eyed and relaxed. As they drew nearer, it seemed a yellow mist was blossoming from their lantern and rolling out across the grass, growing stronger and thicker, almost like smoke rising. It was making Laila dizzy. Her mouth went dry until it ached, and she slapped her lips lazily, trying to focus. From the corner of her eye, she could see Mala fighting against whatever was happening, shaking her head and rubbing her face.

"It's m-magic, Laila!" Mala cried hoarsely. "Don't give in!"

Laila barely heard what her sister was saying: the beautiful strangers had stopped and were standing over them where they squatted in the bushes. The male held the lantern aloft as Laila and Mala stared up at him and the female, completely dumbfounded.

"Do you realize, child of Darahi, that you were heading directly toward the Old Hinny's cabin?" demanded the stallion irritably.

"Of course, they realize," said the female wearily. "No one can find the Hinny's cabin on accident." Laila thought she sounded a little proud.

Laila tried speaking but she smacked her lips and nothing came out except a bit of drool. Their magic had completely stupefied her, and glancing over at her sister, she could see Mala staring up at the beings in the same open-mouthed trance.

"They're those sheep warriors," the female realized, looking with soft eyes at Mala. "From Voriza, right? The realm of sweetest darkness." She leaned down toward Mala, letting her great cleavage swell forth as she cupped Mala's face in a gentle caress. "This one's hurt!" She glanced up at her companion in horror.

"Do not weep, my love," soothed the stallion. He traced an anxious eye over Laila. "If they are injured, it must be why they were seeking you."

Laila frowned. Seeking her?

"They'd be fools to approach otherwise," finished the male. He glanced past Laila at the forest, and his fiery eyes were concerned. "Either way, we can not afford to linger."

"We're taking them home," the female said at once. She took Mala by the arms and helped her stand, and once the two were facing each other, it startled Laila how tall the strangers actually were: the beautiful donkey was just tall enough that Mala could easily bury her face in her cleavage . . . and perhaps drown.

"Come," said the stallion sternly. He looked down at Laila with golden eyes that blazed like fire. . . . and yet were so gentle. "Are you hurt?" he asked Laila, but his words echoed painfully in her mind and she frowned against the throbbing, unable to answer. "My apologies," he said, taking Laila by the paw and pulling her up. "I know it hurts, but we did not know if you were our enemies."

Laila nodded dumbly, wondering when she'd be able to speak again. She was taken by surprise when the stallion leaned down, slipped his arm under her buttocks, and hefted her over his shoulder like an empty sack. Her lashes fluttered as her head dropped downward and she was greeted with the sight of his hard backside. His tail was a stream of gold that swayed lazily against the rhythm of his flexing buttocks when he began the walk to the cabin. Laila had pressed her paws against his back on reflex, trying to catch herself, and to her horror, found two stubby limbs poking through his shirt. So startled was she, she fumbled to grope them and see what they were, and when they twitched in her grasp, it only took two seconds to realize they were all that remained of the stallion's wings.

The stallion grunted indignantly at Laila's groping, and she quickly let go of him. So he was a son of Araton! Then who was the donkey? Laila had never seen a donkey who glowed before. Not even the Old Hinny.

Head bobbing with the stallion's hard march, Laila glanced over at the donkey and noticed Mala being carried in a less brusque manner: the tall donkey had gathered Mala gently in her arms and was cradling her to her breasts as she glided forth. To Laila's surprise, Mala had fallen unconscious, but the donkey's expression was loving and peaceful, her dark mane whipping around her in a rain of tangles and flowers. She felt Laila staring and smiled serenely at her. Flustered, Laila looked away.

After traveling for some time in silence, the stallion's great hooves crunched to a stop and he gently set Laila on her own hooves again. They'd been traveling a little under an hour and it was still pitch dark, the moon falling in thin streams through the deep heart of the forest.

Laila staggered to catch her balance and glanced around as she brushed herself off. They had arrived at the cabin. She recognized it, for she had been there many times before when she herself had been injured and in need of healing. The Old Hinny's cabin was a lopsided stack of mossy logs, draped with vines and birdfeeders and bright flowers that had already closed their petals to the night. It was tall for a simple cabin, and crooked, and piping as ever with smoke. The windows were bright, as if a fire crackled inside; the smell of herbs and flowers was strong as ever.

Laila wasn't surprised to see two small donkeys in hooded robes emerge from the cabin. It seemed Old Hinny always had at least two servants living at her home. They were usually donkeys who believed her to be Seriya, their fallen goddess, and only wished to serve her. The young donkeys who approached were a male and a female - as they always seemed to be - and came toward the tall and beautiful donkey, who was still cradling an unconscious Mala to her breasts.

"Here," said the tall mistress and carefully passed Mala to the donkeys. "Prepare her for the healing. I will be along shortly."

The small donkeys cradled Mala between them and still managed somehow to bow in reverence before carrying her away.

Laila frowned. "W-Wait . . ." she tried and coughed. Her voice was coming back but not quite. She coughed and tried again, "What do you mean you will be along?" She glared at the strangers. "Who are you!" She was irritated to no end by the laughter in the beautiful donkey's eyes, though the stallion looked down at her as seriously as ever.

"You had better sit down," the stallion said, carefully hanging his lantern from the cabin's eaves. "There is much to explain."

"Please," added the beautiful donkey not unkindly. "Sit?"

Laila wanted to argue, but instead she awkwardly glanced around for a place to sit and found an old chair covered in moss. Laila sat down, and when she looked up again, she went still to find the donkey's dress had come loose and one of her swollen white breasts was jutting out, though she seemed not to notice or care. She stood beneath a nearby tree, humming to herself as he lifted her paws to gently catch fireflies. Her nipple was brown and tiny and rock-hard against the night air, standing erect from the soft, swollen mound of her breast. Sometimes the fireflies landed on it and crawled over it, which made the donkey's cleavage flush red.

Laila looked at the stallion, expecting that he would point out the donkey's indecency to her, but the stallion was too busy looking with soft eyes at the donkey, while an erection was happening in his pants. He had taken a chair not unlike Laila's and was sitting on it near the front step, wedged between the path and a stone birdbath that was draped in vines. The railing of the porch was behind him, as was his hanging lantern, which cast his serene expression in long shadows.

With the light on the stallion's thick neck, Laila noticed for the first time that he had a love bite. It was very red and had recently been given, pulsing as it did through his fur. He seemed completely indifferent about it and no where intent on closing his shirt, so that his hard chest was bare to Laila's gaze. Laila could only assume the love bite had been given by the beautiful donkey, who came over to the stallion and stroked his golden mane. Her swollen breast trembled behind his head, and Laila's mouth slipped open in shock when he reached back and gently squeezed it. It blushed in his grasp, yielding softly, until the nipple rolled in his fingers and the donkey moaned.

Laila decided she'd be embarrassed for all of them if no one else would. She coughed and looked away, flattening her ears and setting her teeth against the donkey's moaning. When she looked over again, she was dismal to see the stallion sucking with frowning abandon on the donkey's breast. It swelled against his face as the erection in his pants steadily grew higher. The donkey stroked his mane as he suckled her, but her amused eyes were on Laila's discomfort.

Laila squeezed her thighs together, willing herself not to become aroused. The sound of the gentle sucking, let alone the sight of it, was driving her mad. "What is going on?" she suddenly burst. "What is this about? Who are you, dammit!"

The donkey laughed softly. "You had better stop, Alex," she said, pushing her slender fingers through the stallion's golden mane. "You're going to make her burst."

"I am going to burst," the stallion whispered. He closed his eyes and nuzzled his face gently against the donkey's swollen cleavage. After a moment's silent longing, he looked at Laila again, as if he'd just remembered she was there.

The beautiful donkey perched on the stallion's lap, and though she herself was very tall, she suddenly looked miniscule when the muscular stallion put his arm around her. Both of them calmly regarded Laila, who could feel everything between her thighs throbbing wildly and hated it.

"What is going on?" Laila repeated, wishing the donkey would cover her naked breast. She waved a paw. "Who are you!"

"We have already met, Laila," said the donkey, startling Laila when she heard her own name. "I didn't recognize you at first," the donkey went on, "but after a while I remembered. You were here not long ago, took a nasty slash in the stomach. I healed it, you paid me in bird skulls, and you left."

Laila paused. "You're . . . The Old Hinny?" She peered at the female with narrow eyes, trying to believe it.

"Yes," answered the donkey unhappily.

"No, she is not!" said the stallion at once, who sounded indignant at the very idea. He waved a disgusted paw. " 'The Old Hinny' is the form she must take for the greater part of the year. Only one night of the year does she look like this." His eyes drifted with soft fondness to the donkey's pretty face, to the young and high breast that still stood so shamelessly exposed.

"You came to us on that one night," said the donkey to Laila with a laugh, but her dark pretty eyes were sad.

Laila shook her head. "I don't understand. That doesn't explain who you are."

The donkey and the stallion exchanged grim glances that made Laila go very still.

"If we tell you the entire truth," said the stallion ominously, "you must promise that your weapon will remain sheathed. Otherwise, I will have to kill you. I will show no mercy."

Laila's brows went up. "That bad, huh?"

"I will not risk harm to my lady or to myself," the stallion coldly swore. "I need no weapons to disarm you of your own."

"Calm down, Alex," the donkey begged and coaxingly rubbed the stallion's heaving chest. "I've known her for years --"

"But she hasn't known you," the stallion pointed out.

"So . . . what's the story here?" Laila prompted. She lifted her paws in mock surrender. "I promise I won't draw my blade."

The stallion didn't seem to believe her. His brows drew down severely, but the donkey rubbed his shoulder soothingly and said before he could speak, "I am Seriya --"

"Knew it," Laila muttered and rolled her eyes.

" - daughter of the Minotaur and his lover, the goddess Pria."

Laila cocked an eyebrow. "Hmm. The Minotaur? Wasn't expecting that. The Minotaur is supposed to be a myth. The stories always said you were half-horse and half-donkey. Though Pria was a donkey, right? So that makes sense."

"Yes. Pria ruled the original Olyndor alongside the Minotaur," said Seriya. "That is the true_story. The one long forgotten." She swallowed unhappily. "My mother was slain by Araton and my father captured. I alone was left to guide Olyndor. Factions eventually rose in the chaos. Many believed one group had betrayed the other. I struggled to make the bovine live once more at peace with the donkeys, but the bovine believed I was a traitor, that I was working _with Araton, and it was their downfall."

"Yeah, because you were captured by Araton," Laila said sympathetically.

"Yes," confirmed Seriya darkly.

"So then you escaped Araton, I take it," Laila prompted. She glanced uncertainly at the stallion. "And you just . . . found a random piece of angel-ass and hung around here for a few thousand years?"

"More or less," said the stallion irritably.

Seriya held back a laugh, her pretty eyes crinkling up. "Do not be so quick to anger, Alex," she soothed. "The child of Darahi does not know any better. She is from the skies of Voriza, a place that is wholly apart from the troubles of Olyndor and always has been."

Laila frowned. "That's not true! My siblings and I come here all the time! I know a great deal about this place and its history --"

"There is a difference between knowing history and living history," interrupted the stallion curtly, whose nostrils were flaring with dislike as he glared at Laila. His eyes suddenly grew weary and he gently maneuvered the beautiful donkey from his lap. She stood aside as he rose from his chair. "I suppose I shall have to wait yet another long year," he said, sadly touching Seriya's cheek.

Seriya caught his paw and her pretty eyes were sympathetic. "It is only a year, my love. I must see to the warrior's sister."

"Only a year," repeated the stallion unhappily, "and yet it always feels an eternity." He gazed at the donkey's pretty face a long time, and his eyes were sad as his thumb caressed her lip. Then he dropped his paw and turned away, walking into the darkness and the trees without his lantern.

Laila felt a surge of burning guilt when the stallion had gone, though Seriya didn't seem angry with her in the slightest. "Sorry I ruined your sex," she said awkwardly anyway.

Seriya smiled pleasantly, smoothing her skirts along her backside as she took the stallion's empty chair: clearly. "It is alright," she answered.

"Why can't he just fuck you when you're old?" Laila blurted and immediately hated herself. To her relief, Seriya let out a tinkling laugh of genuine amusement.

"When I am the Old Hinny, I am too frail and too weak for physical pleasure," Seriya explained, crossing one long leg over the other. She looked at Laila fondly. "It has been many years that I have cared for you. I wish to apologize for the deception. It was necessary, however."

Laila frowned. "Why? I am a servant of Voriza, a daughter of Araini and Darahi. I never would have betrayed your secret. You are yet another emotional casualty of Araton. That only makes you an ally."

Seriya smiled. "And I thank you for that, but . . ." she frowned sadly, "you do not understand what is at stake here. Araton cursed me while I was still his prisoner to keep me from escaping. Alex was my guardian. He was ordered by Araton to watch my cell day and night." She smiled. "And he . . . fell in love with me."

"That doesn't make sense," said Laila with narrowed eyes. "Araton had no sons around the time of Olyndor. None except . . ." Laila trailed off as she realized, and Seriya's sad smile only confirmed her suspicions. ". . . that stallion," Laila said uncertainly, apologetically. "He was . . ."

"Alexander the Mighty," confirmed Seriya with a smile. "The first son of Araton, the greatest angel of his hall, and . . ." she laughed sadly, "the only good thing he ever did."

Laila stared at the grass, letting it sink in who she'd insulted only minutes before. Alexander would have been thousands of years old, and he most certainly would have been able to disarm her with his bare paws - probably literally.

"Alex was born during the last days of Olyndor," went on Seriya quietly, "when the horses had already invaded and the donkeys and the bovine were afraid. The bovine were most aggressive in driving the horses out. The horses were in terror of them and prayed to Araton, who had made himself known to them at that time," she said darkly. "Araton used their fear to demand a virgin sacrifice. In exchange for her, he would eradicate the bovine."

Laila scowled. "That's awful. Can't say I'm surprised, though."

Seriya nodded in grim agreement. "Alexander's mother was given to Araton, and as promised, the bovine were slain." She fell silent, her dark eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"So I take it Araton didn't approve of you and ol' Alex getting together, right?" Laila said.

"No, he did not," answered Seriya. "He cursed me into the form of an elder, believing it would break Alexander of his fascination." She smiled. "It did nothing of the sort. Alexander helped me to escape Araton, and we have been living in fear of our lives ever since. Araton's sons have some stories of Alexander falling heroically in battle. Araton told those lies because he is ashamed that Alex was able to escape him and has eluded capture so many years. Should anyone discover he is not only living but also defiant, it would prove that Araton is not all-powerful, that others could escape him as well, if they wished."

"So that's why he cut off his wings," Laila realized, thinking of the stumps on the stallion's back.

"Alex must do so every three months," Seriya confirmed. "Makes it easier to hide what he is. Nothing would delight Araton more than having our heads, while most of your siblings despise Alexander and have attempted to kill him the moment they recognize him. After all, he assisted his father in slaughtering a great many of your own. He also foiled your attempt to liberate Olyndor, something he would regret the rest of his life."

". . . .yeah," said Laila awkwardly. "We'd best not tell Mala who he is. While I can promise I won't go sticking a sword in him, I can't speak for my sister."

Seriya nodded in agreement. "I will tend to your sister's injuries, and then it is probably best if the two of you leave here immediately." She started to rise, but Laila said quickly, "One more thing, Seriya. Sorry, but I'm curious."

Seriya paused, patiently waiting.

Laila's eyes narrowed. "If Alexander was actually against Araton's actions . . . why did he drive my father out of Olyndor? Why stop us? Why not help us liberate the kingdom?"

Seriya smiled sadly. "Laila . . . if someone asked you to betray your own father . . . would you do it?"