A.N. Hello there. Same prologue, just revised it a little bit (again).

Prologue

The sun pushed at Sithlar's back, casting long shadows across the cluttered and overgrown path that wound between the trees. He jogged arduously through the forest, his arms tucked close to his body, wrapped around a precious cargo. His heart was beating fiercely he could hear the blood pumping through his ears. His pace was steady despite a wound above his knee that bled freely with each step, pouring fresh blood over the caked crimson on his dark leather pants. It was only fear that could push him on – fear of a single woman and fear of losing the two children that he carried in his arms.

As the sun climbed behind a cloud, the vivid green of the forest seemed to leap out, and the thick mud beneath Sithlar's feet seemed to become more treacherous. He stopped his flight, stumbling to a halt, and rested his back against a tree. Panting, he took a moment to stare down into the faces of the sleeping babes in his arms. They were peaceful, quiet even, for having just been through half a day's journey through the woods. They had cried for a short while, but then they had grown used to the jaunting movement of Sithlar's step, and they had fallen asleep in his arms as he ran. He sighed, knowing that he couldn't stay still for long, and as he began again to stumble forward through the verdant woods, he heard voices on the road ahead.

He slowed and listened to the two men speak loudly over the quiet rumble of wagon wheels on the rough forest road. He crouched down, paying close attention to their words as they grew nearer. "Old Minister Sordoft is said to have put the law across," the first man was saying. "But I don't know how the rest of the Ring could have agreed to it – all this testing."

As they crossed into Sithlar's view, he could see that they were peasants, traveling away from the city with a pony-cart full of barrels. Sithlar, who had been moving through the woods along the straightest route and not along the main trail, was almost in their path. He stepped forward onto the road and crouched down, waiting for the men to reach him. They were his last hope.

"Everyone knows Sordoft has half the Ring in his favors," said the second man, with a gruff laugh. "And if he gets his way, no one'll be allowed to breathe without asking the Ring's permission first. And they'll never let you take in another breath, Krind." He chuckled, slapping his friend on the back.

Krind shook his head, laughing as well. "But Milfan will stop it before Sordoft lets it get out of hand, Bruss. Don't you think?" As he was about to respond, Bruss stopped dead in his tracks, staring ahead at the trail. He had spotted Sithlar, crouching in the shadows beside the road. Krind followed his gaze and nearly dropped the lantern he held in his hand. "Priestess give faith," he said under his breath, eyes wide.

Sithlar knew he must look like a maniac, squatting next to the forest trail with his arms wrapped around the two bundles. But he couldn't do anything to make them realize that he wasn't a criminal or a lunatic. He was slowly losing the strength to stand, or even to sit upright, the blood continuing to pour from his wounded leg. He sunk lower, scraping his body against the tree at his back, and fell into a sitting position on the damp earth. He knew he couldn't carry on, that he had to get these men to help him.

Krind stepped toward Sithlar, pushing his lantern forward and allowing it to cast yellow light across Sithlar's hunched form. Sithlar's clothes were cut and torn from his trek through the woods. He wore a long, covered sword at his hip, which dug into the earth of the forest trail. His thick, blue-black hair hung to his shoulders, messy and matted, and watery brown eyes peered out from beneath the curls. His lips hung open, begging for air. He allowed his legs to spread out before him, spending all of his remaining strength on keeping the infants in his arms from slipping out of his grasp and falling to the ground.

"What in Firn's name?" Krind bent down to examine what Sithlar held in his arms. His eyes grew wide, and he pointed to the two small, green bundles. "He's stolen someone's children!" he exclaimed, motioning the other man over with his hand. "Look!"

Bruss obliged, stepping close to Sithlar. "You bastard," he said almost to himself and then glared at Sithlar. "Where did you get them?" His voice was now loud and angry.

Sithlar tried to laugh off their accusations, to prove to them he wasn't a thief or a kidnapper, but no breath came to him in the cold autumn air. "You have to save them," he said, growing grim, halting his speech with a cough. "Hide them, or they'll die."

"What are you going on about?" Krind asked. "He's mad," he added to Bruss.

"Take the children," Sithlar said slowly, cringing with pain at each breath, "and hide them away."

"You bet I'll take them," said Bruss, moving forward and reaching for the bundles in Sithlar's arms. "And return them to their mothers as fast as I can. Where'd you get them?"

"No!" Sithlar cried. "You can't!" He summoned the last of his strength and stood up, his eyes flashing angrily. "She'll kill them!"

The two men stepped back, lifting their hands in the air. "We don't want no trouble," Bruss offered. "We just don't want those babes harmed."

Sithlar nodded and, unable to remain on his feet, stumbled forward, holding out the tiny children, who were beginning to fuss. "You must take them," he said. "Hide them away. Never let her find them. She'll kill them!" Hot tears began to slide down his dirty cheeks, cutting through the filth of a day's flight. "Please!" he begged, "Don't let them die!"

The two men reached out, each taking one of the infants into his arms and soothing it. As soon as his burden was lifted, Sithlar dropped to the ground, drawing in fast and frantic breaths. "Don't let them die," he said again. "Let my children live."

Krind stared down at Sithlar's dying form. "We'll take care of them," he said, bending down and putting his free hand on the Sithlar's shoulder.

Sithlar made no response, but lay perfectly still in the dirt.

"He's dead," Bruss said, turning back to his friend. "Should we take his sword?"

"What?" Krind sounded appalled. "I'm no grave-robber."

Bruss shook his head. "For the little ones." He nodded toward the babe in his arms. "They might want something to remember him by."

Krind nodded reluctantly. "Alright," he said, handing the other child to Bruss. He bent down and rolled Sithlar's body over. His eyes were closed as if he were sleeping peacefully. Krind shuddered and quickly unhooked the sword from his waist. He also took a necklace from Sithlar's neck – a white stone on a silver chain.

Shuddering again, he placed the two items in the cart and fashioned a bed for the infants in a space between the seat and the cargo. He took the twins from Bruss' arms and laid them in the cloak, making sure their blankets were tucked tightly to their bodies, to hide them away from the autumn cold. They settled down, happy to be still and warm. Krind admired their pink cheeks and bright eyes. They had the same dark, curly hair as their father.

When they were safely stowed, Bruss pushed their pony on, driving their cart past Sithlar's slumped form and into the night. Sithlar stirred in the darkness, and spoke with his final breath. "Be safe my children," he said, breathing into the mud at his face. "Don't you let your mother find you."

As the two peasants made their way around the next corner Bruss turned to Krind. "Do you believe the man?" he asked, looking back toward the cart and at the two sleeping children.

Krind slowly nodded. "If he's that desperate, it has to be true."

Bruss bit his lip. "What should we do with them? We can't keep them."

Krind shook his head. "No, but we can make sure they won't be found by anyone around here."

"How do we do that?"

"Well," said Krind. "My sister runs an orphanage over near Kennafort. I suppose we should take them there."

Bruss nodded. "May the Goddess protect us." They quickened their pace, leaving Sithlar's lifeless body alone in the dark wood.