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Al Derras

Down the stairs from the small room with a bed and a chest, dressing on the way. Grab a quick bite: the hard worker-bread always around, never stale, never fresh. Out the door to the fields. Nerisdove had much work to do. The Derras farm was not an easy place to run at the best of times, and they had had a bout of harsh weather for a month, the kind that would have been welcome in small amounts, but meant a death struggle for the crops when it came in overabundance, which it always did. It would have been easier had they had the workers customary to the farms in the area, but with the death of Neri’s father years ago had come a loss of the family’s wealth. Neri and her mother made sure it stayed honorable, but, among the twelve Noble families, the Derras clan was of the poorest, and, in the world of the day, that made the others look down on them with scorn. Or, it would have had the Counselor of the family, Neri’s father, been alive, but instead Neri and her mother received mere pity.

Neri was happy, though. She had her mother, they had their farm. It was not much, but it was enough for her. The work, though difficult most of the time, was not bad work, and the land managed to keep them alive. And there were the contests in town. While not much, Neri’s victories still let her and her mother retain the respect of the people, the people who otherwise would have lost respect for their “Lords” years ago. But, because of the weather, Neri had not had a chance to compete in the semi-monthly competitions in over a year. Still, she was happy.

Out the door to the fields. The sun was not yet over the horizon, but this was Neri’s favorite time, the twilight: the mystical, short time right before the day broke—the time of possibility, as she liked to think of it. The possibilities of the day were many, depending on how the fields cooperated. If she was lucky, she might be able to convince her mother to let her go and check on the date of the next contest. If she was lucky.

Out the door to the fields. Nerisdove had much work to do, and it was her favorite time of day.





Adoian watched the girl working in the fields. Although not official, today was commonly recognized as a holiday in Al Derras—the anniversary of their first victory over the Chaos—and everyone else in the province was taking a day off from work, no matter what the weather had been. But still the girl worked. That was a good sign—the determination and attention to duty she had learned working the fields would serve her well.

Adoian smiled. As a lowly farm girl, he had thought there would be no way she could b the one, and when he first realized the prediction referred to her, he was put out—how could one gone so long without training be the one he was looking for? Still, knowing his duty, Adoian had set out to make his way back to her. It had not been easy; there were…obstacles, and he had not been totally sure he wanted to risk failure. On such a mission, refusing to try was a more pleasant option than that. Upon reaching the capital town of Al Derras—it could not in good conscience be called a city—Adoian had spent a little over a week observing before he sought out the girl. Although he saw met her in town during that time, Adoian looked at town records and conversed with the populace. Oh yes, the girl was known, and not only because of her lineage. In every single physical competition the girl had ever entered, the first one being nearly thirteen years before when she was seven, she had come out on top by amazing amounts. Sometimes it was against impossible odds, occasionally with a few of the contenders traveling showmen fifteen or twenty years older than her who exhibited their physical prowess for a living. A few of the less gracious visitors had demanded she be arrested for cheating, but no evidence was ever found and every single one marched off grumbling about a town conspiracy. At the thought, Adoian’s smile turned to a smirk; in his experience, such showmen were almost always the ones who were guilty of artificially turning the odds in their favor. They got what they deserved.

The girl could be the one. She had promise, and Adoian finally realized her background was perfect—perhaps not for the journey, but definitely for the destination. He hoped he could get her there.

Pulling up the hood of his mud-gray cloak so it covered his forehead down to the line of his half-mask, Adoian walked toward the girl, making sure to stay out of her sight.