Chapter 1

With a final grunt of effort, men, heavily bundled against the cold, biting wind, pulled a weathered old cart stacked with split logs onto the road. The trek across the stretch of uneven ground between the woods and the road, though short, had required a great deal of effort and concentration. The frozen ground was hard and unyielding, every stone-hard clump of earth hidden beneath the snow threatened to bring them to a halt or tip the cart over. They were both relieved to leave the rough terrain behind, knowing they could move twice as fast on the smooth, well-maintained road, and would soon be home.

This winter showed all the signs of being a long, bitter one, and the pair had wisely decided to prepare for that possibility before the first heavy snow fell. After days of hard labor, this final cartload of wood would provide enough fuel to keep their fires burning even through an unusually long season.

Not far away to the South, the people would be experiencing the first frost of the season. Here in the highlands, close to the towering peaks of the Sperrot range, winter arrived quicker, and lingered longer.

The sound of hoof beats, and a horse's snort, caused them to turn and look behind them — in the direction from which the sound had arisen. Cresting the hill on the frozen road was a familiar sight.

The carriage belonged to the Baron, and was fine enough to have commanded a price equal to their entire home. Crafted of the finest wood and Dwarf steel, a massive pair of black horses pulled the carriage along. The breath of the animals released great clouds of steam as the carriage moved toward them at a brisk pace.

The pair pulled their cart off the road reluctantly, granting the right of way to the approaching carriage. Although they were common folk, they were certainly wise enough to stay out of the way of the highborn.

As the carriage drew closer, they could make out the fine scrollwork in the wood, dominated by the Baronial Crest. The driver was as bundled against the cold as they were, though naturally his coats and cloaks were fine, as befitted one in the service of nobility. Shimmering frost coated the scarf wrapped around his face, which revealed only his eyes, filled with irritation, staring in their direction.

The wooden body of the carriage was free of ice and snow, and even steamed slightly in the frigid air. Once the carriage had passed — and the way was again clear — the two men pulled their cart back onto the road, and continued toward the welcome warmth of their home — muttering about rude nobles.

Inside the carriage, Tharsas, heir to the Barony of Witharten, sat looking out the window. His magic ensured the interior of the carriage was a comfortable temperature, so he required no heavy clothing to protect him from the cold, as did his driver or the two men with their cart.

Those who study magic often neglect their physique, but such was not the case with Tharsas. Having no need to spend all his time in toil, he could devote equal time to his body and his mind. Lean muscle lurked beneath his skin, providing him with a strength that was deceptive for his thin frame. His shoulder-length, dark brown hair flowed freely in waves, unbound as it always was. Blue eyes with flecks of gold stared back at him from his reflection in the window, though Tharsas noticed neither his reflection, nor the scenery outside.

He made this journey daily, an hour each way, to study with the Master. He had done so since his ninth birthday, when at last his father had found a suitable teacher for him. Tharsas had duplicated the minor magical feats of a magician during a festival at the age of six, and his father had determined immediately that it was his young heir's calling. Indeed, magic burned in Tharsas' blood, and he learned new Art with phenomenal speed.

Thoughts of his studies had vanished as soon as he had climbed aboard the carriage. His brief respite would soon end, and he would be within his prison once more. Bitter thoughts of the past — as well as trepidation about what lay in store for him once he reached the castle — filled his head. Tharsas' eyes narrowed, and a scowl darkened his face.

The Baron's heart had failed five years ago, and Tharsas should have become Baron in his place. Such was not how things had unfolded.

Tharsas' mother had died in childbirth. His father had remarried a young widow, to strengthen ties with a neighboring Barony, not long thereafter. When his father died, Tharsas' stepmother, Peronelle, had convinced the members of the Federation that the Chancellor should be made Regent, until Tharsas was prepared to assume his duties. The neighboring Barons who comprised the Federation agreed, and thus the Chancellor had been installed as Regent.

Of course, it was truly Peronelle who ruled the Barony. The Chancellor was little more than a figurehead to obscure her role, which would have been rejected by the people of the Barony, and the Barons in the Federation. The reins of control, and the purse strings, were firmly in the grip of Peronelle — regardless of who ruled the Barony in name.

Tharsas' majority had arrived, and passed — Peronelle continuing to assure the Federation that he was not ready to rule. The next rising of the sun would herald Tharsas' twenty-first birthday, and still he was denied his birthright.

Since the death of his father, Tharsas had been treated almost as if he were one of the servants in the castle. So long as he remained out of sight and out of mind, he was free. Such was unfortunately a rare occurrence.

Tharsas' eyes were drawn to the castle, as the carriage turned down the road toward it. The dark stone of the fortress contrasted sharply against the snow-covered mountainside behind it, a magnificent sight that never failed to impress visitors. Once a welcome sight to Tharsas, seeing the castle now filled him with foreboding. Once he had happily called it home, but it was a place of bitter memories and cruelty now.

He thought about leaving, never to return. It was not the first time such thoughts had entered his mind, and such musings had become more frequent of late.

As the carriage pulled into the stable, Tharsas spied a hopeful sight. He recognized two horses that were not usual residents of the stable, and that meant that at least two of the Federation's Barons were in the castle. Peronelle would be distracted while entertaining them.

Tharsas took a deep breath and jumped from the carriage as soon as it stopped. Holding his breath against the smell of the animals, he exited the stable, through the covered walkway, and proceeded hastily toward the West, once inside the castle, hoping not to be seen before he reached his room.

He closed the door to his room with a sigh of relief, and immediately fed the fire in the fireplace to bring light and heat to his small world. Now safely behind closed doors, he used his magic to learn the location of those in the castle.

Upon completing the spell, Tharsas discovered that the Barons were meeting with his stepmother, and it appeared she had ordered the attendance of his stepsister Colette, and half-sister Lavina.

Tharsas scowled at Lavina, his lip twitching, and teeth clenching tight.

Lavina had only reached her majority not so long ago, but she had ruled over her two older siblings for years, as if she were the eldest. Lavina was a younger twin to her mother, in both appearance and temperament, and treated Tharsas just as badly as his stepmother.

The young woman smiled now, attempting to charm the younger of the two Barons with whom they spoke, who was yet unmarried. The smile did little to hide the severe cast of her features, which were framed by raven-black hair. Wide cheekbones caused her dark eyes to look deep-set — almost scowling. Even a genuine smile on her face looked false, and it was no genuine smile she wore now.

Though she was three years his junior, she could have easily been mistaken for an older sibling. The cold confidence in her brown eyes bespoke experience, and anyone looking upon her could not help but notice it. Combined with the obvious deference shown to her by family and servants alike, it would be an easy mistake for a person to assume her older than her years.

Her gown displayed her thin frame and small breasts to good effect. The best dressmaker for miles in any direction having been paid handsomely to ensure it did so.

Tharsas looked away before the memories came back, the word coward popping into his head as he did so.

His eyes fell upon his stepmother. Only slight lines of age, and a few extra pounds, differentiated the woman from her daughter. She chatted with the elder Baron, her goal the same as that of her daughter charming the younger Lord.

The younger baron spoke with Lavina, but Tharsas saw his eyes roving to Colette frequently. Tharsas felt anger bubbling up inside him, and clenched his teeth — willing the feeling to subside. Colette was only a few months separated in age from Tharsas, and she was the only bright spot in his existence. She was kind, gentle, and treated him like a person. The Baron looking at her — with a combination of lust, and cold calculation — made Tharsas' blood boil.

There could be little doubt what drew the man's eyes, however. Where a smile looked unnatural on his stepmother, or Lavina, the lack of one looked so upon Colette's freckle-dappled face. Her big, liquid brown eyes provided a pathway to her kind soul, for any who looked into them. Her hair seemed to be incapable of deciding whether it was light brown or blonde, almost appearing to change from one to the other, according to her moods. It hung down in gentle waves, just covering — and spilling over — her shoulders. The gown she wore displayed just the slightest view of the cleft between her large breasts.

Where Lavina was thin, Colette was all soft skin and sensual curves. She was hardly overweight; she was simply shorter and thicker than her half-sister was.

He looked at her for a few moments, her smile bringing a little light to his mood. She was not subject to treatment equal to that which he received, but their half-sister ordered Colette around quite frequently. Colette took the orders in stride, always doing as she was asked without complaint. Tharsas knew from talking to her that it bothered his stepsister though, and that their stepmother was unconcerned with Colette's feelings regarding the matter.

Tharsas dismissed his magic, content that — at least for a little while — his time was his own. Walking over to the heavy oak door, and opening it, he found a servant waiting nearby. While he was given little more consideration than they were by his stepmother, he was still heir to the Barony, and thus the servants were expected to be at his disposal. The servant had been standing there since within moments of his arrival, though Tharsas gave such no thought.

"Bring food and wine, leave it outside the door, and knock once," he said to the awaiting woman.

"Yes Master Tharsas," she replied, curtsied, and then proceeded immediately to fulfill his request.

Tharsas took down the book that he had nearly finished reading the night before from the crude bookshelf he had cobbled together, and fell into his studies.

Tharsas awoke with a start, the tightness of his bladder almost painful. He hurried to the chamber pot to relieve the pressure, and then returned to his desk to put away his book. He had fallen asleep sitting up, exhaustion claiming him despite his best efforts to keep it at bay.

A look out the window told him it was late — well after dark. He had lost track of time as he studied, and the entire day had slipped away. A look out into the hall revealed no servant waiting there, confirming the lateness of the hour. He could of course ring the servant's bell, but such could remind Peronelle or Lavina of his presence, which was the last thing he wanted.

Hunger gnawed at his gut, so he crept out into the hall, walking as swiftly and silently as possible to the kitchen. His path took him past one of the common rooms, and sounds from within caused him to slow his pace — and increase his stealth. Reaching the doorway, the source of the sounds was obvious — as were their nature.

There was no other path to the kitchen, save exiting the castle and using the servant entrances to the kitchen and stable. Tharsas nearly abandoned his quest, rather than pass in front of the open doorway where he might be seen. He certainly had no desire to go outside into the bitter cold, and use the other option available to him. Another growl from his stomach overcame his fear, and he passed in front of the door quickly, glancing inside to see if he was noticed.

He was certainly not noticed.

His stepmother was bent over a divan couch, facing away from the doorway, the older of the two Barons mounted behind her. The muscles in the Baron's broad back rippled, as he grunted with exertion and pleasure. Peronelle was obviously in the throes of release, and Tharsas knew he would have to hurry, in order to get back to his room without being spotted.

Once in the kitchen, he picked up some meat, cheese, and a bottle of wine. After a brief consideration, he chose to brave the cold, rather than pass back in front of the open doorway again. His lip twitched as he thought about what was going on in the common room. He knew this was a big part of why his inheritance was being denied him. His stepmother regularly offered favors to the Barons, and had all of them wrapped around her little finger.

Growling and shaking his head to clear it, he wrapped his magic around him, and stepped out the servant entrance into the biting wind. Neither the wind nor the cold touched him, as he made the long walk around the castle to the stable entrance. He was pleased to note that the spell remained tight about him, despite the speed at which he moved. In the past, he had experienced difficulty with this, mostly due to moving on to more interesting studies without practicing the spell extensively. He had since wisely returned to the magic, and methodically imprinted in his mind — naturally mastering the spell, as he did any magic he chose to study.

His hunger sated a short while later, Tharsas fed the fire to keep it burning warmly throughout the night, not noticing that the woodbin was full, where it had been empty in the morning. He then removed his robes, and slipped beneath the thick coverings of his bed to sleep.

Tharsas awakened with a sense of someone being in the room with him. The feeling was confirmed moments later, when a nude form climbed onto the bed, and sat on his chest.