The jonquil map was delicately crisp, possessing a rather firm fragility that gulled its user to refrain from handling it, but it was upon the soft touch of human hands that it revealed its secrets: amongst the ink drawn mountains, rivers and roads were subtle embossed marks that denoted a wealth of secrets, each hidden in the sprawling lands of which it claimed representation. It was a slavers map - old and ancient as dead men who founded the dominant slaving companies of the world a great many years ago; its power was greater than tenfold legion of slave soldiers, greater still than all the material wealth the slavers had in their possession, for it gave away, rather exactly, the infrastructure and network that they had relied upon for many epochs. Copies existed, of course, but amongst only the elite of this cruel and vile profession; with its secrets lost, the vulture would be hesitant to return to familiar fields to trade in its black, corruptive feast, least lions be waiting where before they knew not where to wait... such was the power of knowledge, and Cirindel knew it.

"Will you keep it on you?" asked Hoharim; the young lad was barely sixteen, around an inch shorter than Cirindel and fairly thick and stocky for his age; he had bronze skin and matt black, scruffy hair that fell over his hazel eyes like scorched hay blustered by gales. He was a kind boy who desperately wanted nothing more than to become an adventurer - a head filled with grandeur and promises of legends to be written interwoven with his name. He certainly had his uses: he was loyal, quick on horseback, and rather good at the sneakman’s trade despite his bulky size. All in all, he was an asset - acquired when his older brother had followed Cirindel into attacking a bandit camp some six months previous; the brother was a fine swordsman with something of a grudge against the slavers - after he fell, Cirindel felt obliged to keep the young lad close. Now, however, with a new journey on the horizon, she needed to cast him loose, but in doing so give him one last sense of purpose. 

"Yes, although by no means will I let that decision be completely transparent." Her voice was low, soft and yet seeded with knowledgeable irony. "Here is a copy - a false one of course; take it to the caves at Acturas and bury it there... the rest others will see to."

The instruction was plain and sealed with a smile Hoharim was unable to refuse; it was quite apparent to Cirindel the crush the lad had developed, and although she was careful not to abuse this power, it certainly helped bend the boy's will to her own.

"Of course, Archangel..." he said, using the nominated title many had designed to call her. Her only reply was another smile, more coy and understated this time, although not enough to give the lad hopes beyond service. He quickly mounted the chestnut mare he had ridden on and set off eastward, away from the rising sun, in the knowledge that once his journey was done, the setting star would likely have caught up with him...

She knelt low, watching the dust trail catch the morning light ever so faintly. Amongst the grasslands little else could be seen or felt; once the horse's gallop had faded, the silence painted itself with the echo of its deceased noise and became a more vibrant shade of nothing. A stillness settled so that even the long grass did little to disturb it; the lull seemed to crystallise matters for Cirindel, intensify the task and matter at hand. 

[center][i]My heart will move through dooms of hope and scale great mounts of hate,
My sword will cleave through crests of steel and soon my shield will break,
And in the winter's great contempt and sin, my fortitude will shake
But I was born in the Valelands, son, and my legacy will be great![/i][/center]

As the song of her people flooded her mind she could see the words etched into the stone above the gates of Valehold; suddenly the wind picked up and the grass danced, throwing up seeds and florets into dawn's breaking gaze. Standing, this light now caught the radiant and polished steel of her plate, each pressing of gold and mother of pearl refracting it so that the calm void that stood moments before was now shattered: Archangel had risen, her purposed stride breaking forward towards the edge of the plain where a narrow river ran smooth and green. Here a boat lay, rocking airily amongst unfurling ripples, some eight foot long and narrow, its black wood freshly cut. Travelling down to the capital of Illvance on the river would be far quieter than by road, although it was her intention to disembark just before the river entered the city and walk in through the main gates - it wouldn't do much good to appear like she was sneaking in, after all...

[i]Nearly a day later...[/i]

The journey itself had been easy, although this lack of challenge made Cirindel somewhat sad; not that she would have preferred a fight, but at least that might have kept her wits sharp. Thus she was feeling somewhat sluggish when she entered the city on foot, as if the resolution she had possessed in the grasslands needed a sharp reboot; luckily, this was to occur quickly as she approached the palace district. By this time she had forsaken the simple robe which concealed her distinctly grand and glorious countenance, and had fully emblazoned herself head to tip in the brilliant family plate which had been re-crafted for her person. Eyes turned as she walked, many eyeing the staggering beauty of the work, others casting a somewhat more discerning stare towards the great war-hammer which was slung over her shoulder and down her back. Crowds parted as she approached and the content of the whispers carried on the inner city breeze - many did indeed know of 'Archangel'... As of yet, she heard little that indicated malice, although her right hand never moved far from the short sword, her back up weapon, which hung snugly fixed to her hip-belt.

“You there, halt, stand to the side and declare your purpose for approaching the palace of the Emperor so armed!” The voice was abrupt, firm and dutiful, but contained traces of both aggression and fear; this was a man projecting his power as a trickster does shadows upon the wall. The real threat was the guard along the high wall who had stopped pacing his patrol and was now taking a curious, long look at the armoured figure which had approached the palace gate. 

Cirindel complied, stood aside and spoke in a calm, clear voice: “I will state my reason for being here; let me first remove my helm?” 

The guard nodded in way of reply, his hands gripping his large pole axe so that the leather grips were now chaffing his palms, despite the sweat profusing from them.

Cirindel slowly reached up and removed the angelic helm, its swept silver wings drawing up curls of lustrous platinum blonde hair, before letting them fall in a set of shimmering, supple coils that framed her peach skin, emblazoned by rouge cheeks and piercing emerald eyes. The guard’s mouth dropped, held itself there until his mind kicked back into gear once more, and stammered out a reply (the watching guard on the wall didn't move an inch):

“State your business... lady..." It was clear he didn't expect what his eyes were seeing.

"With greatest respect to the Emperor, my business is with the most gracious and righteous Queen of Alcea who currently resides here under his hospitality and protection. I come with the blessing of my father, a former Lord in Alcea - with the intention to pledge my dutiful service to her cause."

The guard wanted to interrupt, but Cirindel's gaze held him in check. 

"I have heard much of the brutality of the sorcerer Janolf - I would do all I can to remove his tyrannical grip upon my homeland and restore the rightful leaders to their power."

There was a momentary pause - the guard on the wall had not moved - his crossbow was loaded but not yet aimed; the guard standing in front of her was indecisive, as if he believed her but was loath to break the guidelines he had been given. 

"Many a smooth word may be spoken by assassins looking to reach her majesty; I cannot let you enter so armed, but with surrender of your weapons and under guard, you may approach her majesty." He looked up to his colleague who nodded, turned and signalled; four other guards soon appeared at quick march to the gate.

Cirindel nodded, removed her shield, hammer, sword and dagger. She then submitted to a search, which although intrusive, she reconciled as necessary. Having satisfied their criteria, she was guided without her weaponry under supervision of the four guards into the palace. Once inside an officer outside of a seemingly innocuous room halted their progress; frustration made her heart surge, but she subdued the feeling and let no hint of it enter her expression. Instead she merely smiled. 

"Wait... I know you..." His voice betrayed the truth - he did know her, although his mind still searched for the certainty to match the instinct. Cirindel let him reach the conclusion. "Cirindel Valehold - 'Archangel' - yes? You were hired by the Emperor's adjunct Tem'irr seven months ago to rout the bandits who threatened the south silk road - you still have our favour, friend - there was no need to submit to this... embarrassing predicament." 

The inflection as he finished seemed to scold the guards, although by now his hesitant tone was laced with a subtle warmth, hidden beneath a professionalism that befitted an experienced soldier. 

"I know, captain." Cirindel replied, recognising his rank from the insignia upon his uniform; "though it seemed fitting to demonstrate my intention in this manner rather than force it through the recollection of favour. Please keep my arms for now, I have no need of them in here."

The captain nodded and tapped twice on the door so the guards inside would open it. "Enter then, and present yourself to our guests."

Cirindel did enter, the guards stepping back to watch her although she knew they remained alert. She felt the delicate breeze from the open wall grace the back of her neck, a reminder that she still held her helm in her left arm; scents of jasmine from the garden made the atmosphere sweet and exotic. The sight of the raised, black wood throne provided a simple, yet fitting elevation for the Queen. She was beautiful, certainly; her silk grey dress was not extravagant, but it suited her complexion and allowed her natural loveliness to come to the fore. Others in the room were equally impressive; one man in particular had the appearance of a traditional Alcean knight, a mark of home for the Queen in this foreign place. This man was likely to be her closest bodyguard and a capable man of arms in his own right; Cirindel gave him only a momentary glance, however, knowing her true intention and duty was to the Queen. 

In approaching, she kept her head bowed and knelt in front of the throne, keeping a respectful distance. Still bowing, she allowed her rehearsed words to come forward, although they were meant as if un-penned as the passion in her voice indicated: 

"Your majesty, true protector of the realm and your son the King of Alcea. My name is Cirindel Valehold, daughter of Martius Valehold, former Lord of our namesake lands in Alcea. In exile we have never renounced our loyalty; in our shame, never regressed in the dedication of our duty to you and your line. I am here to pledge my mind, heart and warrior's arm to your cause; I would do all I can to serve as my father once did and remove the tyrannical usurper from power. I would avenge for you, fight for you and protect you, should you accept my application."

She let the silence which followed absorb the heartfelt meaning of her words, and waited, still knelt and bowed upon the cool stone floor for a reply.