Cold night air crept in through the wooden walls even though spring had begun weeks before. A single candle was lit in the small room. Its wax dripping down its sides and gathering in pools on the warn surface of the only table in the room. While the candle didn’t light the farthest corners of the room it illuminated most of the small space. And what the candle couldn’t light the moon did. The table stood on four rickety legs, tipping uneasily with any weight. A tall stone fireplace was against the far wall, but even through the air was cold it wasn’t lit. There was the sound of a slight scratching as quill made contact with paper. There was a shortness of breath coming from one of those dark corners the candle didn’t manage to light. The eerie silence of the place gave the air a tense feeling.
       Two people sat in the still room. One, a girl, sat hunched over a leather bound book, her face bathed in the light from the candle. The other, a man much older than the girl, sat in the far corner. He held his side, under his deep brown cloak, and let out long ragged breaths. Genivera looked over her shoulder frequently to check on her father’s condition. Every time his breathing lightened or she couldn’t hear him altogether her heat seemed to stop with fear. Her father, known as Endoc, was afraid to move, even breathing was now painful. The wound at his side didn’t stop burning, if fact it had gotten worse with every passing minute. He didn’t let the pain and fear show on his face for his daughter to see though.
        “Are…you…almost done?” Endoc managed to gasp with much effort.
        Genivera didn’t look at her father; she couldn’t bare to see the expression on his face, the one he though he hid from her. She nodded her head. Her ivy green eyes focused on the task at hand. She hadn’t finished, in her mind she wasn’t even close, but she knew they didn’t have much time. The book was only written about half way, and that had been done over weeks of ideas and mistakes. Her father told her it didn’t matter the content as long as it was about the country. About Geseria. That’s what she’d named the book, but she didn’t make any other mention of the name, that wasn’t part of the spell. She decided to babble some about the country’s rolling fields and endless forests. She talked about the various creatures that inhabited the place, and even got into the current situation, the reason her and her father were creating this book.
        “You don’t…have to write too much,” Endoc gasped again.
        He had reminded Genivera of this many times, but she just wanted to make sure the person reading it would have some background information about the place. The book was to find the person who would help Geseria. Once the spell was cast it would find that person and bring him or her to Geseria. The only condition was that one of the people who cast the spell must meet them once they got there. Neither Genivera nor Endoc knew who this person would be, or where they would come from. After Endoc proposed the idea Genivera had spent sleepless nights fantasizing about who might come to aid the country in its time of need.
        A sharp bang on the door brought Genivera to attention. Her quill stopped writing and blotted ink in the spot she held it over. She straitened up and looked at the door. The two boards bolted across it shivered with the impact. The top one looked on the verge a breaking.
        Endoc rose from his chair, a driving pain filling his body and making him sway on his feet. Slowly, he made his way over to his daughter, grasping his side, hoping it would dull the pain. Taking the last few steps to where she sat he stopping walking and with the sudden ease in movement the pain began to ebb away. He looked over Genivera’s shoulder. She had stopped mid-sentence, but that didn’t matter now. Endoc gritted his teeth as a new wave of pain filled his body. Genivera looked up into his pain stricken face.  
        Another bang. This time the top beam came off and hit the floor with a surprisingly loud sound.
        “Gen, you need to send it now,” Endoc said, almost whispered.
        “I can’t do this alone; I don’t have the skill yet.” Genivera looked pleadingly into her father’s eyes.
        Endoc sighed. “You know enough, you just lack the confidence in yourself.” How many times had he said this very line to her? Although she had the drive and ambition she didn’t feel she had the skill or the ability. This was far from the truth. “But I’ll help, this last time.” The horrible thought that accrued to both of them was that this might possibly be the last time he would have that opportunity.
        Genivera closed the book so that its ornate leather cover faced up. No words contaminated its beauty and craftsmanship. She held her hands over it. From behind her, Endoc placed his full weight on her chair, which creaked under it, and raised his hands above hers. His right hand stained red with the blood from his wound.
        “Do you remember the words I told you?” He asked relatively calm considering the situation they had gotten themselves into.
        Genivera nodded.
        The two of them chanted in a language long forgotten. Endoc almost whispering the verse, Genivera trying to compensate for his lack of strength. The banging seemed to stop, if only momentarily and even the flickering light seemed to stand still in anticipation. Genivera watched the book excitedly not knowing exactly what was going to happen. With a sudden and completely unexpected flash of light the heavy, leather bound book was gone. Endoc took his hands away and sank to the floor. He slid back and leaned against the wall, holding the wound again. Genivera stared unblinkingly at the spot where the book had been. If she hadn’t been raised around magic she would have expected it to be a trick or illusion of her mind. But she knew it was gone, and she hoped it had found its target.
        The persistent banging suddenly continued as the seriousness of the situation set in again.
        “Get out…of here,” Endoc said, his breathing labored.
        Genivera couldn’t convince her mouth to form a response. Worse than that once she willed her body to rise from the chair she couldn’t make it go any farther.
        “Go now!” Her father said, this time gathering all the strength left in his tired and beaten body to make a demand out of those two words.
        Genivera looked desperately for an exit. Her eyes fell on the widow only a few feet from the floor. She ran for it, her only hope of escaping. Reaching her escape route she stopped to look back at her father. She couldn’t leave him behind, what were her other options? Stay and be killed along with him. She knew that at least one of them had to survive and her father was in no condition to be jumping out of windows. Perhaps there was a chance they’d leave him here and she could come back for him later. Perhaps there was a chance, if only a slight one, that they would find nothing of interest and go. But in the back of her mind, Genivera knew that the chance she was hoping for was slim. Another loud crack came to the door and her father looked at her more desperately than he ever had before. His eyes pleading her to save herself and leave. She opened the glass window and pulled herself up onto the window sill. She jumped down to the cold, hard ground below. Picking herself up she stood to take one last look inside the house.
        As she did this the only remaining board cracked and the door came crashing down. She instantly recognized General Alacar, and knew her father had no chance. The General was clad in the usual black and red armor of the king’s soldiers. Although the deep black helmet hid Alacar’s face, Genivera knew exactly what the face beneath it looked like. She could picture his steel grey eyes and his thin face. She could clearly see the red scar that began at the corner of his eye and didn’t end until the base of his neck. She could picture his greasy blonde hair that hung to his shoulders. The thought of all his features made her shiver.
        He came in, sword raised. Genivera ducked a little farther down to make sure he couldn’t see her. Her heart beat faster than it ever had. His footsteps echoed across the wood floor, getting closer and closer to where her father sat against the wall. The air hung still and thick in anticipation.
        “I found you, magician,” Alacar spat. He placed his sword back into the sheath at his hip.
        “Don’t insult me that way,” Endoc breathed in labored tones.
        “I’m sorry, Endoc, I forgot you’re the real thing.” Alacar moved forward in false seriousness. He raised his arm and pretended to cast a spell in such the stereotypical way. A wave of his hand as though he held a wand. Genivera was disgusted, she wanted to clasp her hands around his neck, but she didn’t move. The motion did however stir a roll of laughter through Alacar’s men, who still lingered in the doorway. “I’ve been waiting for the day when I could wipe that smug expression off your face.” The General laughed openly.
        Becoming serious again Alacar grasped Endoc’s brown cloak in his fists. He raised Endoc off the floor and pulled him toward his helmed face. Genivera cringed at the thought of what his foul breath would smell like that close. Endoc winced at the sudden movement. But quickly reverted to the expressionless face he’d worn ever since Alacar had entered the small place.
        “But I’m not going to kill you yet,” Alacar breathed into Endoc’s mask-like face. “I want to see you suffer, I want your death to be particularly slow. And above all I want to see the look on your face when I drag your daughter kicking and screaming to her execution. And then, only then will I drive my sword through your accursed body.”
        Endoc let his face show the fear that came with the idea that his daughter might be captured. But he let that expression go, just as he had all the others. “You might as well kill me know, because you will never find her,” Endoc gasped. “She is much too strong, and will be your downfall.”
        Alacar threw him against the wall under the window. Genivera felt the wood shift and heard her father groan in pain. Alacar glanced at the window and she crouched down under the sill, her heart beating even faster, if that was possible.
        “Take him,” Alacar ordered his men. “Load him onto the cart, and then destroy this place. I want no trace of it left.” He turned to leave stopping when his men didn’t move.
       “What about the girl?” One of the soldiers asked timidly.
        Alacar shook his head as though the answer were obvious. “We have her father, and she is sure to come after him. Is that not right?”
        The men nodded their approval and rushed towards Endoc. Genivera scrambled to get herself back onto her shaky feet. She held her white and green skirts in her fists and ran for the cover of the forest. She stopped at its edge and looked back. She could see the soldiers leaving the house in formal procession. Only Alacar rode a horse. It was a bloody bay color, and its thick black main and tail matched its saddle perfectly. It held its head tucked under and stepped high and tall. Genivera turned her attention to her home. Flames crept slowly up, devouring the wooden walls and floors. She felt a single tear fall down her cheek, but she wiped it away.
        Walking the perimeter of the forest she tried not to look at the burning house. Although her eyes continued to fall upon it. The small stable her and her father kept on the far end of their land came up quicker than she had thought it would. Her whole body shook as she entered the place. Not just with cold, but with fear as well.
        The barn was small, with only three stalls, but it worked for their uses. The two horses inside were hearty and made for long distance riding. She pulled a woolen horse blanket off one of the stalls and wrapped herself in it. A raven black horse hung his head over the stall door. His breath fogging in the cold air. His long main fell over his deep eyes. The horse stood tall and sleek, feathers of hair around his hooves. There was no white on the horse, but Genivera felt that just gave him more personality. This was her horse, one she had for almost five years now. She stroked his soft nose and stared into his soulful eyes for comfort.
        A soft nicker got her attention and she turned from her horse to look at the chestnut that was staring at her from the other stall, only a few feet behind her. Just looking at the chestnut made her think of her father. Her eyes felt heavy with tears but she kept them inside her, reminding herself that tears wouldn’t help.
       She wrapped the wool horse blanket closer to her and lay down to rest in a pile of hay. Tomorrow she would get far away from here. She would pack up both the horses and head towards safe lands. She would wait for the person they had summoned with the leather bound book. But that was tomorrow. Genivera closed her eyes and drifted into a light, dreamless sleep.