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Gypsy clans had once traveled freely throughout the kingdoms within the High Kingdom of Faiden, welcomed for their rich culture, trade opportunities, and information collected in their travels. Vera had enjoyed their vivacious and wild nature when she was very young, before the kingdom fell to the dark lord, before her exile and eight-hundred-year mystical slumber. Master Wizard Wizkand Safreous had managed to save her on that terrible day, and he'd sheltered her in seclusion far from anyone that may seek to harm the heir to the throne of Faiden, but he could give her very little of her old life. Gypsies had been outlawed sometime in the second century of the dark lord's rule, so young Princess Vera appreciated the risk her dance instructor, Lacey, undertook whenever she allowed them to port from Northern Wymarre to a location near the camp of the Purple Rose for a lesson.
Though Lacey did not know Vera's true identity, the danger was still very real. If a sorcerer were to come upon a gypsy anywhere in the kingdoms under Faiden's rule, they would be brutally executed. Lacey had never once complained or seemed frightened, and Vera suspected it was because she was blood-elven, and a powerful one at that, if the blood-red streak of hair flowing from her left temple to her waist was any indication. Though her black hair marked her as a half-blood, she was every bit as brave, stubborn, and passionate as the species was known for. Vera cherished Lacey's friendship, and ever since the gypsy had secretly sworn her in as a clan-sister of the Purple Rose, the young princess felt as though she had a family again.
Today had been a special treat, because Lacey had brought a friend from the Black Dragon, a sister-clan to the Purple Rose. He was also a half blood-elven with an impressive length of red hair. Curiously, his rich, green hair marked him as half sylvan, the peaceful elvens of the wood. As a gift for Vera's thirteenth birthday, Lacey and One-Eye performed a duet Sulan Puryos, the fabled dance of blades, for the young girl and her aged calbrin guardian.
Vera stared in wonder at the feat of strength and agility demonstrated through complex flips, lifts, and dangerous blade juggling in the performance Lacey had dubbed Sibling Rivalry. It was a half hour physical dance portraying a brother and sister contending for the front stage and clamoring for audience approval. Though the two performers appeared to bicker, Vera could easily see how much they were enjoying the dance. It amused her even more when she realized how alike Lacey and One-Eye looked, even though they were from different clans. The red streaks in their hair were about the same length, and they had similarly upturned eyes and pronounced cheek bones.
At the climax of the dance, One-Eye threw Lacey over his head while she flipped six large, curved blades at him. Without appearing to look, he caught each and simultaneously threw them. The swords embedded themselves in a crescent shape in the dirt around Vera's feet. Wizkand yelped in alarm, a startling noise coming from the squat calbrin, but Vera cheered and clapped with gusto. Lacey and One-Eye tried to one-up each other with the final bow, and Vera laughed, clapping again.
"If I had money, I promise I would throw it," the princess declared emphatically.
Lacey beamed, and One-Eye gave the girl a rare smile. Though he danced beautifully, he seemed dour and serious when he wasn't performing. Vera was still a little nervous around him in spite of Lacey's insistence that he was as harmless as a puppy dog.
"Okay, I really have to know," Vera insisted after the spirited performance. "Why the strange name?" She giggled, turning to the newcomer. "I thought Lacey was funny, but her love for frilly things explains it. Why did your clan name you One-Eye?"
One-Eye sighed, crossing his arms somberly. "I'm blind in my left eye."
"Really?" Vera leaned up, looking from one red-brown eye to the other, finding no visible difference. "But Lacey says you're the best bowman in your clan."
"Does she?" He smirked at the lean gypsy beside him, who responded by bumping his hip with hers. "In the thick of the woods, I am a fair shot," he admitted.
"Better than fair!" Lacey exclaimed brightly. "He's spectacular!"
One-Eye shook his head. "Only in the woods. If I'm not surrounded by trees then my aim suffers greatly, because I can no longer sense the distance to the target."
Vera giggled. "That's bizarre. How can you sense a target?"
"He's part sylvan," Lacey chimed, confirming Vera's guess. "Ya know . . . the elvens of the forest. He even sees his ancestors in his sleep and can meld inta trees."
One-Eye glared at her. "You don't need to share all of that with everyone you happen to meet, Lacey."
"I thought no sylvans remained in the High Kingdom of Faiden." Wizkand mused, taking interest in the conversation. "Or is that how your family became gypsies, when the dark lord drove them from the land?"
"Did you just say 'High Kingdom of Faiden'?" One-Eye frowned down at the calbrin, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Wizkand managed to balk only a little beneath the dangerous scrutiny of the elven at this slip of the tongue. Though his pale blue hair stood nearly as tall as One-Eye, the top of his head only reached the elven's hip. "You're not part of that ridiculous revolution I've been hearing about, are you? The ones that believe the High Kingdom can be restored?"
"Don't be silly, One-Eye." Lacey pushed him playfully. "He and the girl live alone in the woods, a full day's walk from another soul in any direction. Right, Wizzy?"
Wizkand bristled when Lacey used Vera's nickname for him, likely a bastardization of his first name, Wizkand. "Don't call me that!" he snapped, though Vera and the gypsy shared a grin. "And, no. We're not part of any foolish revolution," he confirmed. "We just want to live in peace."
"What revolution?" Vera asked, her eyes wide with curiosity. Wizkand had shared very little news from the nearby town with her in the past four years of her exile, and she wondered often of the fate of Faiden over her lost eight centuries. "Which kingdoms are involved? How many are there? Who's their leader?"
One-Eye shook his head at Vera's many questions, gathering his blades in silence.
Lacey leaned over and whispered to the girl. "One-Eye thinks we should all leave well enough alone. He won't let the Black Dragon travel inta the northern human territories anymore. I guess their leader, some general named Greywolf, has been raisin an army. I heard it's thousands strong with a dozen factions and races pledgin troops."
Wizkand shook his head. "They'll be slaughtered," he mumbled, bleakly. "I've seen the power of the dark lord. They have no hope of—"
"You've seen the dark lord?" Lacey cut in, crouching in front of him. "Truly? In person? When? How did ya survive?"
"Uh . . ." Wizkand scratched his chin, clearly unsure how he'd managed to reveal that piece of information.
"We should tell her, Wizzy," Vera said quietly, recognizing the expression on his face. He was going to lie. He was going to make up a story that she would have to repeat over and over again to Lacey. "She is my clan sister."
One-Eye fixed Lacey with a frown. "You vowed your clan to a stranger?"
Lacey planted her hands on her hips, defiantly. "Yeah. I did. And your complaint is?"
"We should tell them," Vera insisted.
"No!" The old calbrin snapped, taking Vera's arm. "Back to the portgram. We're going home."
"Wait!" Lacey said, quickly grabbing Vera's other elbow. "Tell me what ya know, old wizard. Please." Her eyes were serious, even sad. Vera had never seen Lacey upset, and she bit her lip, turning her plaintive gaze to Wizzy. If it was important to her clan-sister to know what they knew, then it was important to Vera that they tell her. But even mentioning the dark lord brought back memories of Vera's family and the same terrible grief she struggled daily to overcome.
"What does he look like? Is he really as strong as I've heard? Is he really still alive after all these years?" Lacey's rushed and eager questions shook Vera, and she cast her gaze to the ground, trying desperately not to think of her mother's tears the last time she saw her. "Is he the ruthless, bloodthirsty monster everyone says? Does he—"
"Stop!" Vera suddenly shrieked, tears springing to her eyes as she jerked her arms free of the elven and calbrin. She ran out of their reach and covered her face, sobbing. "Stop it," she begged.
Wizkand glared at Lacey. "He killed her family, you stupid girl," he snapped, going to the princess. He gently rubbed Vera's back, carful of the tiny knots between her shoulders that would someday bud into beautiful blue wings. "It's okay—"
"Oh, honey!" Lacey cried, enveloping the small girl in a crushing hug. "I'm so sorry! Forgive me!" she pleaded. Vera grunted from the tight hug, but returned the embrace. "I've selfish reasons ta wanna know that stuff. I didn't mean ta bring up somethin that would upset ya. We won't talk about it anymore."
Vera laughed thinly and wiped the tears away, flushing with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I . . . I don't know where that came from." She shook her head and sniffled. "It's been more than four years, but still—"
"Oh, no. It's okay, really." Lacey released her clan sister and smiled warmly. "However ya deal, ya deal, sweetie," she assured her. "Scream if ya wanna scream. Cry if ya wanna cry. And throw a punch when ya wanna fight." She looked to One-Eye who watched with a mixture of concern and consternation. "I think I know what'll cheer ya up, little bird."
Very turned a brave and hopeful smile to her gypsy friend.
"I brought this grumpy lump for another reason." She grinned mischievously. "It's time ta start learnin how ta juggle blades!"
Wizkand paled and gasped in a decidedly unflattering pitch. "What?"