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What must have been hundreds of stoney-faced clansfolk stared at the Fourth Company as they made their way along the last stretch of the journey to Derbesh. They lined The Running Road on either side; road wardens, traveling merchants, and locals alike. These were R'Tor lands now, and just as predicted the presence of the S'Dirs alongside the Fourth was not winning any friends amongst the Lion Clan. Oshaher rode boldly alongside Captain Jerriod and Lieutenant Neel at the head of the column though, his griffin's feathers shining like beaten gold beside the dusty brown and grey of officers' horses. Tarun, marching nameless and faceless as always amidst the hundreds of other nameless, faceless footsoldiers, wondered what the S'Dir road warden was thinking. He also wondered what Princess Ellorae was thinking. Arriving at Derbesh with a personal escort of over six hundred men, royal army soldiers and clansfolk alike, was certainly going to make an impression. Whether that impression would be favourable or not remained to be seen.

The question of how Princess Ellorae would be received at The Weeping Keep was soon to be answered. An hour before midday on the first day of autumn - nearly two weeks after the Fourth had set out from Geristan - the scouts took up the call that the city of Derbesh was in sight. If the excitement of the S'Dir griffins and their riders overhead was anything to guess by, no doubt their winged escort had spotted the city even earlier. The marching soldiers on the ground nearly gasped their relief aloud. Even though The Running Road only skirted along the northern edge of the Hanara Desert, it had been a long, hot, dusty trek. Everyone was tired, sweaty, and footsore. For Tarun especially, the promise of a proper bed and cool water could not come soon enough; the healing whip welts on his back kept him in a near-constant state of irritable discomfort. Perhaps even a wash would be within reach...

A bath didn't seem like an impossibility, even for a lowly footsoldier. As they neared Derbesh, they also neared more water than any of the mountainfolk had ever seen before in their lives. On their left, to the north of The Running Road, the broad Anders River appeared. Like a blade of silver slashing down across the sun-baked eastern plains, Anders River ran all the way from the mountains at Anset to the sea at Derbesh. The city itself was built around the river, which narrowed and grew swift as it flowed through the heart of Derbesh. There, at the furthest eastern edge of Goran, the final stretch of Anders River would flow beneath the clans' seat of power before bursting forth and cascading down from the palace into the sea. Those famous white curtains of spray - visible to all ships sailing into the Beson Inlet below - gave The Weeping Keep its name.

And O! The sea!

At first, Tarun and the other men of Trosk thought they were being tricked by yet another desert mirage. How could the world possibly just end, all of the sudden dropping away from endless sand and stone into a sparkling blue vastness so large, it rivalled even the sky? And yet the east did indeed have an end. From north to south, as far as the eye could see, there was only the sea, and the dazzling light of a thousand reflected suns upon its surface. So overwhelmed were the men of Trosk by the sea that at first they took no notice of Derbesh. That was, until they found themselves practically at the city's edge. Then the city was all they could handle and more.

"It has no walls!" exclaimed a lowlander soldier marching nearby, gaping open-mouthed.

One of the S'Dirs - circling in for a landing nearby - overheard. Laughing, the clanswoman shook her head at the soldier.

"What use has Derbesh for walls? It is a city owned by all!"

"What do you mean?" asked Berin, startling many by speaking aloud for the first time in many days.

The clanswoman rolled her kohl-lined eyes. "Just what I said; Derbesh is a city owned by all. For now, it remains in the hands of Clan A'Khet. Their seven years will be up soon enough though, and then it will be the right of Clan N'Shar to hold The Weeping Keep. And then, seven years after that, the keys of The Golden Mirror will pass to Eimir Hadasna S'Dir." With a satisfied nod, the griffin rider lifted her gaze to the city. "Lucky indeed are those who live long enough to twice call Derbesh home. In only nine more years, my parents will be among them."

The lowlander who had spoken first was not quite satisfied though. Despite still marching in the dry, dusty heat, he nevertheless had the breath to protest.

"But what if the city were ever to be attacked by someone else? It would be impossible to defend!"

Too late, the man seemed to realize the implication of his words. The only other force in Goran that would be strong enough to attack a city as large as Derbesh would be the Royal Army. Stammering, he tried to mollify the clanswoman.

"Er...that is...what if there were another-"

"There was another enemy, once." The S'Dir woman's gaze was flinty, her smile a little too toothy for comfort. "It has been a long time since dragons prowled the Hanara Desert though. And what good are walls against creatures of the sky?"

Right on cue, a trio of griffins flew overhead, breaking away from the Fourth to set a course directly for the heart of Derbesh. As the griffins passed into the city, the sonorous call of horns began to spread inward toward the palace. The A'Khets would be well warned of Princess Ellorae's imminent arrival. The Fourth crossed the boundary between the lands of the R'Tor clan and the city's edge, and Tarun lost sight of the griffins beyond the rooftops. They had arrived in Derbesh.

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Tarun had grown up hearing tales of 'The Open City' from his da, from the soaring sandstone pillars of the Artisan's Palace to the waterfalls of The Weeping Keep. No number of books and stories could have prepared him for seeing the real thing. Even the soldiers of the Fourth who had been to Amenthere couldn't help but stare around themselves, open-mouthed with wonder.

There were people everywhere. Silken litters carrying the shadowy figures of women wove down the streets between rhino-drawn wagons laden with fruits which the mountainfolk had no names for. Children danced on street corners to the amusement of their elders and jeering of their peers. Market stalls lined the sidewalks of every single street, boasting everything from live birds to mountains of spices in every colour of the sunset. The streets themselves were paved, the interlocking triangles of white stone hard and strange beneath Tarun's dusty boots. Black, lean-faced dogs which Tarun recognized as jackals from drawings in Thrymm's book trotted alertly on leashes at the sides of well-dressed owners, and one even stretched out a curious nose toward the column of marching soldiers. That was, until the man holding its leash tugged it back with a stern "tsst!".

The main thorough fair through Derbesh was easily marked. Anders River ran the length of the city, directly paralleling the last leg of The Running Road. Tarun could see even more streets on the far side of the river, some of the sandstone buildings rising four and even five stories high. The river ran fast and frothy here, much too fast for boats or ferries to cross. Instead, bridges had been built in lifetimes past, spanning Anders River from side to side and knitting together the northern and southern halves of Derbesh. No two bridges were entirely the same; one that they passed had stone dragons perched on either side at the street, while another boasted a canopy of criss-crossing purple and gold streamers. Children leaned over the side of a third bridge, some having to stretch up on their toes to cheer and laugh as their taller playmates tossed little paper boats into the turbulent river below. Then they caught sight of the Fourth Company and their S'Dir escort. The children stood and stared, open-mouthed and skittish, at the stream of marching men. When they caught sight of Princess Ellorae's carriage though, bedecked with the royal red and black pennants, many squealed with excitement.

The closer they drew to The Weeping Keep, the more of a crowd the Fourth Company attracted. By the time they arrived in the plaza at the bottom of the palace steps, there must have been nearly as many onlookers gathered as there were new arrivals. Pedrum immediately barked out orders for the soldiers to assemble in their tight, evenly spaced presentation formation. Tarun was so busy staring up at The Weeping Keep that he nearly tripped over Garrit's heel. He wasn't the only one distracted.

The Weeping Keep was a wonder to rival even the likes of Castle Armathain. In fact, only Castle Armathain, The Lair, and The Dancing Bowl in Hashodi could rival The Weeping Keep for age. This Tarun knew from his da's books, as well as what marvels lay within. The Golden Mirror, for a start; an indoor pool as long as a feasting hall, with a gold-plated ceiling overhead which reflected almost perfectly in the waters of the pool. Standing in the plaza on the western side of the keep, Tarun could still faintly hear the roar of the falls over the eastern sea. Anders River - now tunnelled underground beneath The Weeping Keep - could be felt rumbling all the way up through the stones of the smooth white street.

It was a gloriously hot, cloudless day, and every inch of The Weeping Keep's sandstone face seemed unnaturally bright beneath the midday sun. One hundred and eleven steps led the way up from the plaza to the palace doors. A long carpet of regal white had been unfurled all the way down the steps, and at the top stood Lord Rhadu A'Khet, the eimir of Clan A'Khet and Princess Ellorae's intended bridegroom. Although it was hard to see detail from a distance, Tarun got the impression of a strong, broadly built man still in the prime of his life, rivulets of curly black hair tumbling over his shoulders and gold shining at his wrists and throat. Other clansfolk stood around and behind Rhadu on the landing, their rich clothing and proud stature suggesting nobles or other members of the eimir's inner circle. The three griffins who had flown ahead earlier lounged halfway up the steps, their S'Dir riders standing nearby. All watched and waited as Princess Ellorae's carriage came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

A footman came forward, and a cheer went up from the crowd as the carriage door opened. The fanfare of horns started anew, and from the landing above a lone singer began to call out. Tarun did not understand the language, but from the tone and the mention of 'Ellorae' which he caught, he gathered the song was either a welcome or perhaps a recitation of titles. Jerriod, who had dismounted, seemed about to hurry forward and help Princess Ellorae down from her carriage. Lieutenant Neel was there well ahead of him though, and Tarun smirked beneath his visor as Jerriod feigned having meant to place himself closer to the foot of the stairs.

How the women had done it in a moving carriage, Tarun could only guess. Princess Ellorae was resplendent though, decked out in an airy gown the colour of bluebell petals with jewels twinkling at her throat and dainty wrists. Her coppery auburn hair had been done up in an elaborate twist, ringlets artfully falling down to dance at the freckled hollow of her throat. The princess took Lieutenant Neel's arm and descended from the carriage to a barrage of excited fanfare. Despite the energy in the air, Tarun noticed out the corner of his visor how not everyone in the plaza seemed joyful at the arrival of Mahir's sister. In fact, he even thought he spotted a man with half-moon eye lenses counting the heads of the royal soldiers. It was difficult to see through the grill of the helmet though, and when Tarun looked again the man was gone. Then, a murmur of confusion from the crowd pulled Tarun's attention back to the bottom of the palace stairs.

A second girl was emerging from the carriage behind the princess. Tarun almost didn't recognize Elowen. To his and everyone else's astonishment, Elowen was outfitted and decorated just as richly as Princess Ellorae. Her gown - so gossamer and sheer that Tarun could almost make out the shape of her legs through it - was the same deep indigo of a mountain sunset. White gems dusted the coils of her strawberry blonde hair, and upon her wrist hung the same intricate charm bracelet which she had worn since Geristan. Both women wore the colours of Clan A'Khet - purple and white - and both carried themselves like royalty. They were even of similar height and build; short, narrow-waisted and slight. At a distance, the only way anyone could have told the difference between them was the colours of their hair. Having seen both Elowen and Ellorae reasonably close up though, Tarun knew that most would name the Ellorae the prettier and more 'princess-like' of the two.

Side-by-side, neither so much as a step ahead of the other, Ellorae and Elowen ascended the stairs of The Weeping Keep toward Lord Rhadu. The confusion in the plaza was palpable, so much so that even the herald fell silent. Whispers went up amongst the crowd, many hushed voices rising like the chorus of a beehive. The citizens of Clan A'Khet weren't the only ones puzzled; even the soldiers of the Fourth dared to turn to one another in their strict formation, searching for answers. Not even Jerriod had those answers though, if the startled look on his sunburnt face was any proof. The only people in the whole plaza who seemed to feel nothing was amiss were Lieutenant Neel, the ladies of Princess Ellorae's entourage, and Ellorae and Elowen themselves. All of Rhadu's court was on their feet by now. Many were angry, and some were even shouting that there was treachery afoot.

As for Lord Rhadu himself, he faltered slightly when the two women reached the landing at the exact same time. Apparently unsure how to proceed, he simply held up a hand for silence...silence which the A'Khet nobility was slow to grant. Only when there was total stillness in the entire plaza did Princess Ellorae speak.

"My greetings to you, Lord Rhadu of Clan A'Khet, and to all the clansfolk of the east. Long have I yearned for our blessed meeting. It is my hope that, together, you and I will bring about a new age of peace for our people. With me on my journey from Amenthere, I have brought not only precious jewels, fabrics, and arts, but also my own person, to be joined to yours in the ties of marriage. Will you, in exchange for these gifts, open to me the doors of The Weeping Keep?"

Princess Ellorae's greeting was, as per her usual, as sweetly spoken as a songbird. Her words carried clearly across the plaza, with the clear enunciation and pacing of one well versed in the art of public address. There was a melodic warmth to the princess's voice that made one feel as if they could listen to her speak for hours on end. Before Lord Rhadu could answer her though, Elowen spoke.

"My greetings to you, Lord Rhadu of Clan A'Khet, and to all the clansfolk of the east. Long have I awaited our fateful meeting. It is my will to strengthen you and your people for the long days ahead, and I hope and expect no less from you in return. I have brought with me the expected gifts of a royal heir to their betrothed, but their value is little compared to the gift of myself, to be your ally, advisor, and companion in this life. Will you, in exchange for these gifts, open to me the doors of The Weeping Keep?"

After Princess Ellorae's words of yearning, peace, and marriage, Elowen's greeting felt even more blunt than her voice projected. Like Ellorae, the handmaiden spoke clearly and audibly, obviously capable if not as naturally gifted with speaking to large crowds. Unlike Ellorae though, Elowen phrased the final question posed to Rhadu, not so much as a request dictated by tradition, but a negotiation...perhaps even a challenge.

Nobody seemed to know quite what to do. The A'Khet nobles gaped openly at the two women, their protests of outrage barely restrained by their lord's previous call for silence. Down in the plaza below, the men of the Fourth Company stood acutely aware of just how many clansfolk currently surrounded them on all sides. The S'Dirs and their griffins had seemingly drawn away from them, putting subtle distance between themselves and the royal soldiers. Many had begun to murmur once more in the crowd. Tarun thought he saw Jerriod lean in toward Lieutenant Neel, no doubt seeking answers to the bewildering scene unfolding above them on the stairs. Lieutenant Neel either did not answer, or his answer did nothing to satisfy Jerriod. The captain turned full-on to confront Neel, but was interrupted at the last second by an unexpected sound; the sound of laughter.

Lord Rhadu was laughing. Long, loud, and rich, his mirth rolled over the plaza, only just in time to successfully cool the rising temperature somewhat. Everyone's confusion remained just as potent though, and all looked to the leader of Clan A'Khet with bated breath.

"Ah, Princess Ellorae Amenthis! Not even an hour you have been in Derbesh, and already you seek to put me to the test. I might have known to expect as much. Very well! Let us see if I pass your test..." With only a mere glance at the beautiful woman in bluebell silks whom the Fourth had come to know as Princess Ellorae, Rhadu held out both hands to Elowen. "Welcome to The Weeping Keep, Your Royal Highness."

Even Tarun nearly toppled over from shock when it was Elowen, not 'Princess Ellorae' who reached out and placed her two hands in Rhadu's. Then all mayhem broke loose. A'Khet courtiers were shouting, civilians were babbling in bewilderment, and royal soldiers were breaking formation to confirm again and again amongst themselves that this was, in fact, no joke. Captain Jerriod stood rooted to the spot, clearly thunderstruck. His visor was down, making it difficult to be sure it was him, but Tarun thought Derrian Bel might have turned around and given a little hop of delighted surprise.

Impervious to the chaos, the real Princess Ellorae, Lord Rhadu at her side, turned to face the crowded plaza. Again Rhadu held up a hand for silence. This time however, it took much longer for the raucous to die down. The whole time Ellorae stood, the mighty eastern sun on baking down her strawberry blonde hair and a smug half-smile on her face. Finally, a semblance of order returned to the plaza, but only because everyone was watching and waiting for some kind of explanation. Tarun waited among them, even as his mind reeled from the implications of this. Had he truly been whispering around campfires and bantering in roadways with the Princess of Goran!? When finally Ellorae spoke, none listened with more rapt attention than Tarun.

"People of the east...soldiers of the Fourth Company...I am Princess Ellorae Amenthis. I would beg your pardon for my deception, but you all know the uncertainty of the days in which we now live. To ensure my safe arrival in Derbesh, I deemed it necessary to travel in disguise. In the west, across The Teeth, war is brewing. The southern cities of Goran are in open rebellion, a rebellion which has grown in strength and spread into all corners of the land. There is a thirst for independence, a yearning for olden days and olden ways, when the peoples of Goran cleaved to banners other than the red, black, and gold of Amenthis. Many no longer desire to be ruled by the throne in Amenthere. Some no longer even wish to call themselves Gorians."

Knowledge of the Factionist rebellion had even made its way as far east as Derbesh, if the uneasy looks on some faces in the crowd was any proof. Many if not most of the Factionists whom Sula G'Hesh and Nadathan N'Shar had brought to Trosk had been clansfolk, if Tarun recalled correctly. For Princess Ellorae to be so plainly speaking of the rebellion facing her brother's rule was certainly taking the proverbial ram by the horns. No doubt, concluded Tarun, Ellorae was already laying the foundation for an attempt to bring the east back into the Gorian fold. After all, had the marriage of an Amentherian princess to Rhadu A'Khet not been specifically planned to that end, as the lowlander soldiers of the Fourth kept saying around the campfires each night?

"You are not wrong to want such things."

A collective gasp went up from the entire plaza. Such a declaration was tantamount to endorsing the rebels! Surely, the princess couldn't have meant it that way!? Ellorae was not finished though.

"The nation of Goran had stood the test of time for nearly a thousand years. From the days of First King Amenthis to now, we have woven ourselves, our customs, our history together in a tapestry that cannot and should not be undone. What my brother, King Mahir does not understand though is this; what cannot change will not endure. If Goran is to endure, it must be willing to embrace new beginnings...new nations, new leaders. That, my people, is why I intend to challenge my brother for the throne of Goran!"

Before the yelling could start up anew, Ellorae was already forging on. She was such a small, physically unimposing woman. But, standing on the steps of The Weeping Keep with an audience of thousands, the princess's words fell like claps of thunder from above.

"With Lord Rhadu at my side, I will reach out to the leadership of the south. Together, we will support their claim to self-determination. If I am crowned Queen of Goran, I will grant all regions the right to regional self-governance; distinct provinces under their own names and own flags within the kingdom of Goran. The east shall be governed by a Wal once more, answerable to none save the High King or Queen in Amenthere. Together, we will save our country, while making way for its people to flourish along the paths they choose for themselves. It is clear to me now, having heard of the bloodshed at Utunma this summer, that Mahir has chosen the capital over the country. I say, that is a false choice! Goran can be both united and free!" Dropping Rhadu's hand, Ellorae strode forward to the very edge of the landing. "What will you have, people of the east? Will you have King Mahir...or Queen Ellorae?"

"We will have a Wal!"

The cry came from somewhere deep in the crowd. Once it began though, it spread like brushfire throughout the plaza.

"A Wal!"

"Wal!"

"Wal! Wal! WAL!"

It was not exactly an answer that Ellorae had set to Derbesh, but it seemed to satisfy her well enough. With the chant of "Wal!" rising to a booming roar, over and over and over again, she went to Rhadu's outstretched arm. The two stood side-by-side, surveying the chanting crowd from the soaring doorstep of The Weeping Keep.

The only ones who were not chanting were the soldiers of the Fourth Company. Bewildered and unsure, the men glanced nervously around through their visored helms. Only Lieutenant Neel and the Knights of Amenthis in Princess Ellorae's personal guard seemed unperturbed. Captain Jerriod was pointing up at Ellorae and shouting at Neel, but the other man had eyes only for his liege lady. Tarun, wearing the colours and sigil of Mahir's army, felt suddenly vulnerable in a way that made his mouth go dry as sand. If Princess Ellorae was intending to not only betray, but openly challenge her brother for the throne, where did that leave the Fourth Company?

Where did that leave him?

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