“You can’t be serious, father! You can’t be considered collaring Rychara!” Raigán was standing in his father's study, just having learned that his father was considering collaring his sister. “You can’t be that cruel to your own daughter!”

   Without raising his voice, the man across the table answered. “I am the lord of this land. I am the law in this realm, you do well to remember that when addressing me.” His steely gaze made Raigán shudder. “She will do this to ensure the future of the realm. Irkara will be safe and prosperous, that I will make sure of. Or I will have her executed, for I will not have a free mage with such poor control among the nobles. The risks are far too great. You, if anyone, should know this.”

   “What if I had a third option, one that wouldn’t ruin Rychara’s life?” Raigán’s response gave his father pause, causing the older man to raise an eyebrow. “What if she was sent to a temple, to study as a priestess? Say, the large temple to Arianrhod up in the mountains?”

   Across the table, his father leaned back in his chair. “So, your suggestion is that instead of collaring or executing her, I send her away to become a priestess?” He pauses for a while to roll the idea around. “I guess that’s a possibility, though if I’m going to agree with this, you will have to accept a pair of conditions. First, you will take full credit for the idea.” Raigán froze. He knew that it would hurt his relationship with his siblings, to the point that some of them might not want to associate with him at all. “Secondly, you will not even mention the other options to Rychara. Should she find out, that will be on you, and you will be punished accordingly.”

   At that, Raigán took a step back. Having to take responsibility for the idea was one thing, but not being able to honestly say why he had suggested it was on a whole different level. Realizing that having to actively lie to her would hurt her, Raigán nodded, “Fine. I’ll do it.”

   His father smiled at him, “Good. I see that you’re starting to understand the costs to rule. You’ll need to learn it for when I am gone.” Turning his eye’s back to the documents at his desk, he simply said, “You’re dismissed. Osmund is waiting down on the grounds for you.”

   Clenching his fists, Raigán turned and left. He’s barely able to restrain himself from slamming the door closed as he stepped out. Standing outside, hands still trembling from the strain, he peered over at the window down the hallway. The mild spring morning sun was pouring in. Following the light, the sounds of activity can be heard from the grounds. Taking a deep breath, he starts walking down the hallway. Stopping at the window, he peers out over the grounds, which still is mostly covered in shadows, cast by the surrounding walls. Already filled with activity, he spots Osmund lecturing a pair before they start to spar again. Seeming satisfied with the corrections, Osmund moves on. “I guess I shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Raigán said to himself, moving away from the window. 

   Stepping through the doors, the sounds of mock combat washes over him. Spread out across the training grounds, pairs and trios of combatants are working hard, fighting or observing. Osmund seems to notice him, though he continues to give instructions as Raigán approaches. “...your guard up. You leave yourself open to a counter when you do that. Again.” With that, he turns to Raigán, “You’re late.” Before Raigán even has a chance to respond, he continues, “No matter, grab a practice sword. You’re sparring with me.” 

   Raigan steps over towards the rack, picking up a wooden sword, “With you? I had hoped to get back at Edgar for last time.” Giving the blade a simple flourish, he walked back to Osmund.

   Adopting a guard stance, Osmund grumbles, “Well, you got me. Now focus.” Not waiting for Raigán to get ready, Osmund lunges at him. A swift thrust, aimed at Raigán’s heart. Nimbly sidestepping, Raigán retaliates with a well-aimed slash. Deflecting the slash, Osmund feints a strike towards the arm, causing Raigán to commit to parry, before hitting him in the thigh. 

   Stepping away as Raigán stumbles, “I told you, don’t overcommit. Be ready for feints. Know when to be aggressive and when to pull back.” Adopting his guard stance again, Osmund says, “Again.” Before engaging Raigán once more.

   Many rounds later, Osmund nods while breathing heavily, “Good. You’re improving.” Walking across the well-trodden ground, he puts the sword back onto the rack, “Though I can tell that something is troubling you.” About to respond, Osmund interrupts Raigán and continues, “That, however, something you need to deal with yourself.” Chuckling, he says, with a glance over to Raigán, “If I were to try to help everyone I train, I wouldn’t have the time to do anything else. Anyway, let’s go. We have important things to discuss.”

   Following suit, Raigán puts his own sword back and follows Osmund across the grounds, to the square, two-story stone building where the barracks is housed, “So, where’s Edgar? I want another crack at him.” 

   “Unavailable. That’s all you need to know,” Osmund says sharply and shortly, his tone making it clear that it’s pointless to ask additional probing questions.

   Rolling out a large map of the area, Osmund explains, “Our scouts have reported intruders to the north. We haven’t been able to identify if they belong to some group or organization, but we do know that they have been seen in the Forest of Whispers.” 

   “Intruders?” Raigán questioned. "Also, what are they doing in the forest? Don’t they know about the legends surrounding it?"

"The scout reports claim that they have attacked anyone who has encountered them, stealing provisions