The day had gone from boring, if fundamentally enjoyable, to filled with tension. Knights and footmen paced around nervously, hands at their hilts. Sorore and Frare had been placed at the centre of them, near their plush carriage while Lillian went to report to the commander.

“What do you think it was, Tyri?” her brother said.

She had little love for her mother’s pet name, but she didn’t rebuke him.

“Trouble. Those lost were warning us of danger.”

“Or opportunity?” her twin said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes at Frare - he’d clearly taken more of their father’s lessons to heart than any priest’s. He turned to the more than slightly panicked form of Niche.

“Well? Do we know what’s going to happen?” he said, kicking a rock a fair way down the road.

“Not yet, lord Frare,” Niche said, tapping the hilt of his sword.

It was a beautiful blade, well kept, and of a superior make. The hilt was wrapped in black dyed leather, accented with brass wires, with a multicoloured tassel. From what Sorore understood, it had been made by Niche’s sisters, in prayer for his safe return.

There was also a hairline crack about three-quarters of the way up the blade, developed from a chip sustained in the duelling grounds. Sorore had noticed some time ago, and thought it might be interesting to watch it progress. That being said, it might be prudent to point it out before true problems arose.

Her brother started to pace, as was his way when he got bored. He was always so full of energy, even when they were young, always running back and forth in Erratz. Their mother had once lost him a market, resulting in a market-wide chase by several city guards.

She looked down at the small aquamarine, hanging form a black cord, accented with small, hand-carved silver and onyx pieces. She smiled at the pieces, remembered when they had brought the central stone after Frare’s ‘escape attempt’.

“If you promise to stay within sight, I’ll buy you both something beautiful,” their mother had said, in utter exasperation. Even now, Sorore marvelled at the woman’s patience, dealing with the absolute terror that was a bored Frare.

“Okay, I was promised a sword lesson,” he said, starting to fidget with his own pendant.

“Alright you, come on,” she said, taking Frare’s hand, “Paladin, come with us. Let’s take a little walk before my brother smashes the carriage.”

“I’m not sure I-” Niche said, before looking around, “alright, but only in the village. No further.”

The pair departed, with Niche following a respectful distance behind them.

“So, what do you say we make a break for the trees?” whispered Frare, as he pulled his sister closer.

“And do what, run wild with the wolves?” she said, snorting at her brother’s fancies.

“Better than going back to that ugly classroom.”

“Oh Frare,” she said, tugging on his arm.

“For those lost, please do not try to defend the architect. The cathedral? fair enough. The classroom? Absolutely not.”

She decided to concede, not very willing to argue the finer points for every room in the Mother Church. They’d be arguing for days if she tried to open that particular cursed trove, and that wouldn’t be conducive to their long ride back to the split city. As they neared the edge of the village, they stopped to watch the sun set.

The golden orb was settling with between two great crags, as if nestling in a nook meant just for it. The sky had grown into a beautiful orange-blue gradient, the thin traceries of cloud highlighted in pinkish-red. Below, the mass forests of the valley were quickly growing dark, their peaks becoming indistinguishable in the gloom.

“Do you think that you could build a cradle for the sun?” she said.

She could feel the confused stare from Niche at the back of her head. Her brother, however, was rarely surprised by her instances of inspiration. He had suggested that, above everything else, that was her gift, contradicting what many priests had said to her.

“Maybe,” he said, inclining his head, “isn’t the sun big, though? Like, very big?”

“I don’t know. Has anyone even been there?”

“Probably not. They’d never stop bragging about it.”

Sorore hmmmed as she examined the mountains, now bearing the rapidly shrinking sun. She could almost see the curve of metal, or stone maybe, encircling it like a mother’s arms. Her wanderings were promptly broken when Niche coughed conspicuously.

“I’m sorry, but we’d probably best be getting back to the carriage.”

Sorore took her twin’s arm, and pulled him around.

“Come, we can play some games when we get back.”

The boy was reluctant to relinquish his free space, but eventually relented to Sorore’s gentle insistence. They trudged back up the cold, hard ground, watching as lights began to flicker through the windows as fires were lit inside. As they arrived back at their carriage, Lillian was leaning near the door.

“Niche, take them into the carriage, please,” she said, eyes sweeping the children, then the area behind them.

They were herded into the carriage, promptly seated on the cushions, then abandoned. They strained to make out any semblance of conversation, but alas, it seemed that the paladins had moved too far away, even for Frare’s ears. Now it was Sorore’s turn to ask:

“What do you think happened?”

“Nothing. If they’d found something, I doubt we’d stay here, at least not for now.”

“Do you think we’re going to turn around?” she said, hoping that they actually might.

“Turn around? After we’ve come so far?”

“You just want to see them fight,” she said, turning away in mock disgust.

“Oh come on. You want to see them do more than stand around, looking shiny, too.”

For her part, she thought that the paladins and knights were perfectly find without engaging in some war game. She had tried to explain to her brother that the beauty was in their arms and armour, their technique and teachings, not their warfare. Every time she failed, and it appeared that was going to be one of the things that they would never agree on.

“Once we’re back, we’ll need to beat you back into shape,” she said.

“Don’t hold your breath,” he responded, both laughing.

They sat for some time in silence as they stared a hole in the seat across from them. For a moment, Sorore thought they might’ve been completely abandoned, set adrift in this little village in the middle of nowhere. She found that thought a little exciting, thought she would never admit that to her brother.

Alas, that particular fantasy vanished as the door opened and the two paladins stepped in. Both held severe expression on their faces, looking at both of them in turn. When they had seated themselves, Lillian crossed her legs, and then began.

“We’ve, along with the company that accompanies us, have completed a sweep of the village and surrounding area. No evidence of anything… extraordinary was found.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Frare blithely, “can we go to the Frozen Vale, now?”

He gave a little yelp when his sister cuffed his ear.

“Stop that and listen,” she reprimanded him, “they wouldn’t be taking the time to talk to us if everything was alright.”

Niche looked aghast at the boxing fighting between the two, but Lillian smiled.

“As I was saying,” she continued, “nothing has been identified, but we are convinced that something is out there.”

“You are convinced,” Niche said, souring Lillian’s expression.

“Either way, the commander has suggested that we stay the night in the village, and see if any further signs present themselves.”

“And then we go to the Frozen Vale?” Frare interjected.

Another cuff, another yelp. It was all in a day’s work for an exasperated sister.

“Maybe. The final decision rests with the commander. It’s his men that’ll be fighting, after all. I believe that it will be made tomorrow, when more information is available.”

Frare began to grumble, but stopped when his sister shot him a look that suggested further bruises on his ear.

“So we might be turning around, is what I hear you saying,” she said.

“Maybe,” Lillian shrugged.

Her brother began to pout, much to her annoyance.

“The good news,” Lillian continued quickly, “is that there is still enough light for a quick swordsmanship lesson.”

And that was enough to wipe all the sorrow off of her brother’s face.

The four of them departed out from the carriage and into the heart of the village. Two sticks of an appropriate length were selected, and the lesson began. Sorore for her part, held little interest in fighting, so she elected to watch with Niche as the pair went through a routine of parries, blocks, counters, slashes and lunges.

The gap in experience was as obvious to Sorore as the oncoming of night. She could see every place where her brother’s stance was weak, where his arm drifted too wide or was held in too close. A couple times she wanted to shout at him before he tumbled past Lillian, but held it in. The smile on her brother’s face told her more than enough that he needed no help, despite his utter inability to land a single blow on Lillian.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” she said as she swept Frare’s stick aside.

Frare said nothing, only coming back with his own volley of attacks, which passed by Lillian like so much air. During as she came back with her own strike, to land on his back, he twisted, grabbing the switch and bringing his own to strike her arm.

Somehow, Lillian managed simultaneously dodge the ‘blade’ while exploiting his grip on her own. She twisted, crossing his arms and spinning him around as his own clattered to the ground. She withdrew the stick from his grasp, and pointed it at his throat.

“Bold, Frare, but if you’re going to commit to the extent of losing a hand, you’d better be sure that it’s going to work.”

Niche began to grumble, probably about to speak up about her casual address. Sorore beat him to the punch by calling out to the pair first.

“So are you done yet? Or do you need to get beaten a few more times?”

Frare stuck his tongue out, then retrieved his weapon to begin again. She smiled at his persistence, as Lillian struck up another stance, half hoping that he’d actually beat her this time.

Of course, he didn’t, but that was its own amusement too.