The Path of Exiles

He turned to the council and spoke, "My daughter here has seen fit to take matters into her own hands. She has murdered her own brother in cold blood, declaring us at fault for taking her birthright away. I do not know how she found out but I know this. She must be punished."

She couldn't believe it. He didn't believe her. As she sobbed, confined within the walls of the chamber, she was helpless to save herself, or escape.

The elders nodded in agreement. The elder to Dryanorel's immediate left stood and spoke, she vaguely recognized him as the council leader, Kelaronal, "I concur. Murder is punishable by death. Treason is punishable by death. So, I vote death. All those who agree, raise your hands." All twelve elders voted death, but Dryanorel did not. "My lord, we must all agree for a vote. Why do you not vote in favor of death?"

She saw something in her father, but what, she didn't know. Compassion? "She is now my only child. She may have done something reprehensible, but she is still a child. I vote for exile. Death by exile."

The elders turned to each other for a quick discussion. They all turned to the king and nodded their agreement. Diarabeth would be exiled to Whispering Woods.

She could feel the blood drain from her face. The Whispering Woods lie on the edge of the kingdom near Cheshire, but were full of many dangers. She wouldn't stand a chance.

They took her out of the chamber and placed a collar around her neck. Told her if she tried to shift, she'd be killed instantly. She was stunned. It had to be a dream. It had to be.

There was no way she was ever going to accept the fact that her parents had just sentenced her to death.

Never.

Five Years Later

The girl furiously wiped a stray tear from her eye. It had been five years since she'd been exiled but that defining moment in her life was still foremost in her mind. She stood out of bed and put her clothes for the day on. She wore a simple gray tunic and a pair of brown breeches. She placed a black leather vest over her tunic and pulled her long black hair back into a knot. She wanted to look good for them.

After she had finished dressing, Shaq'ir had opened the door behind her. "Nervous?"

Diara sighed and turned to her foster mother, "Yes. I hope they approve of who I've become." She said, as she made sure her hair was in place.

Shaq'ir smiled, "Of course they will. You have matured quite magnificently from the rebellious fourteen-year-old spitfire I'd met all those years ago. I' ve taught you how to contain your magic and use it wisely. Now, you can show them that you are worthy of your birthright."

"Thank you for everything."

"You are like a daughter to me. How could I not help you? Besides, it helps in my redemption."

Diara cocked her head to one side, "You've never told me the story about how you were sent away from the elves. I'm old enough now to hear it, so, please tell me."

Shaq'ir sighed and her smiled faded, "Okay."

"...Grand Elf-Mage Shaq'ir Lor'shana, also known as Shaq'ir Dragonstrike, placed a weary hand on her pillow. Something untoward had happened today. Something that shook her to the very core of her being.