At the beginning of 3001 AP, Cynaria was still at peace: even though Crown Prince Morlan had died tragically, the usurper Wenna had not yet left home. There was much prosperity and happiness. On Alda 34, Terrance Streamside, a successful, if not wealthy, merchant of wines in Bard, set off on his yearly trip to Phonecia. The foothills between Bard and Corby produced some of the best burgundys and clarets on the continent. The mountain winters always had a long enough cold period to permit distillation (by freezing, then removing the ice surface), yielding a port which was much in demand elsewhere.

Terrance owned a few very small holdings scattered among the hills which he let out to tenants. These consistently, due to his pains in choosing the land to buy and the tenants to farm them, delivered a good grape which would be well received after five or six years of aging. This had earned him sufficient respect that several of the other local winegrowers had granted him exclusive rights to market their wines for them. Thus the annual trip to Phonecia was looked forward to by many of the folk around and in Bard, as well as several merchants, inns, and connoisseurs in Tiran.

Terrance always traveled with young wines, those with several years yet before they were properly aged, so as to give them time to recover from their bruising on the trip. Careful packing and a mother-hen attitude towards all the workers moving and storing them paid off in a minimum of breakage and lost profit. Once in Phonecia he would dispose of the wines for a very tidy sum. There were several merchants there with whom he had fixed delivery quotas; most of the rest was auctioned in lots to quite competitive bidding; and the remaining few were used to lubricate the rest of his business transactions. From the sale of his wines, and from his brokerage fees from the others’, he invested in good Phonecian wines which could be obtained (relatively) cheaply here, and which would sell quite well back in Cynaria. Indeed, several of the other winegrowers, willing to take a risk on his expertise, allowed him to invest their earnings into Phonecian wines as well, which he did for half the profits which ensued. This resulting in much more Phonecian wine than a town the size of Bard, even if it weren"t the center of a wine district itself, could reasonably dispose of in a year, Terrance had agreements with inns in both Navron and Marra to purchase the remainder of his stock. Thus he frequently returned home from his excursions with appreciable profits for all his clientele.
 
In 2969 Terrance had married Laicy Drinkwater, a name they put the lie to even before she changed it. They had six children, of which Tarva, born on Alda 15, 2989, was the youngest. Growning up in that household, it was impossible not to learn about wines, and all of the family were at least Winetasters. Indeed, even at her young age, Tarva was an accomplished Winemaker. We must admit that Tarva was a bit spoiled, being the youngest, and also their only daughter besides Gwen, their second child. Tarva had a lovely voice, so, since he could easily afford it, Terrance paid for her to be taught how to use it. Jeromy Rivers, her instructor, quickly became her idol, and she adored it whenever she managed to stay over, after her lessons, and listen to him and his friends, what we would nowadays call a rather bohemian group, discuss affairs of cosmic importance (at least, to a girl of 9) or trade tall tales. After he had taken her as far as he could, Tarva sang with a local group and even occasionally (especially when it was an opera with a role for a young girl) had solo parts.



This was in spite of her curious coloring: Tarva's golden skin had created quite a stir of interest (and some unkind remarks about her mother which Tarva, fortunately, never heard) when she was born. But by now all the locals were used to it and almost didn't notice it.

But she didn't get to see Jeromy, or his friends, as much as before. So she wheedled (we said she was spoiled) her father into letting her take more lessons from him, first to become a Folktale teller, and then a Storyteller. Her father indulged her in this, saying that as long as she did her share of the family business (a larger share each year because, first, she was growing and able to do more, and second, her siblings were growing up and some of them were moving away: Bret and Callum had just joined Morgan and Rachel Firtree in a circle marriage, starting the new family name of Silverfern) she could play at these games; but that next year she would have to learn the more important skills of reading, writing, and arithmetic, without which one could not be successful. (And, we must admit also that, being of an age where one’s parents are too well known, and one’s new acquaintances are too excitingly different, Tarva was not at all sure that being successful, as her father surely was, was better than being satisfied, as Jeromy and his friends appeared to be, and that without the benefit of reading or writing -- had Jeromy been able to teach Tarva the three Rs, there would have been no hesitation on her part towards learning them.) Indeed, during the winter of 3001, she had gone to a "proper" educator and acquired the skill of Tutor. For, her father said, once you know how to teach other people, you will know better how to learn, yourself.

This year, Terrance:'s trip to Phonecia would be different. All of Tarva"s siblings had left home; Bhleu, the second youngest having started his acolyte duty at the Epona temple. Terrance was very tolerant of other religious inclinations, and had allowed each of his children to freely choose which deity they felt most akin to. He himself worshipped Hermes, as was only fitting for someone who traveled, traded, and dealt with alcoholic beverages. His wife Laicy worshipped Epona. Tarva felt drawn to Dioncecht, even though she did not yet know why. On Alda 27, 3001, Tarva, having just turned 12, went to a special spanday service at the Dioncecht temple. Here she was conducted through a ceremony of acceptance, wherein she formerly selected Dioncecht as her Deity, and He, through his druid at the temple, acknowledged her as a worshipper. Her parents had given her a gold Dioncecht holy symbol on a gold bracelet.

But this year, anyway, Terrance was going to take Laicy and Tarva with him to Tiran, leaving Tammas, his eldest, who usually travelled with him, behind to watch over the family businesses. Due to their extended travel plans, Terrance had obtained permission through the local Epona temple to have a special coming-of-age ceremony for Tarva shortly after her twelth birthday, because they would be on the seas at Eltaine. Accordingly, on Alda 23, Tarva became an adult Cynarian and replaced her childhood necklace with a plain, discolored, copper torc. This, given to her by her father’s parents, did not reflect a sudden reversal in the family fortunes, but rather denoted a long established family tradition. This torc had belonged to seven different people in Tarva"s ancestral tree, and in preparation for the ceremony she had memorized all that was known about the lives of each of them.

 
On Alda 34, as always, Terrance went to the Hermes temple, this time with his family, for the blessing on his journey. This habit was so well established, and so generously supported, that the local temple reserved that godday for a special ceremony for him, and any others wishing a blessing on that day had to either make do with accepting the general "side blessings" which made up the standard part of the ceremony, or else talk the druids into holding a second service.
Indeed, the Alda 34 Hermes spanday service at the Bard Hermes temple had acquired the local name of "Terrance's Gift", and was well attended by Bardians, especially those with more than casual interest in the journey.

After lunch they set out. First by mule to Lillay. This was the most nerve-wracking part of the trip for Terrance, combining all the problems of carrying the wine across land with all the problems that accompany the start of a trip, before the travelers have settled out and learned how to best work with each other. It took four slow days to reach Lillay, where they found (as always) rafts waiting for them. On Alda 38 they all, mules, people, and wine, left to float serenely down the River Afton to Avery. This took eight days, about average. They rested (and Terrance played tour guide to his wife and daughter) there for a day, then left on Felane 6 to go up the River Lyon. Ten more days saw them at Lyford. They would have made better time by foot, but Terrance knew the wine would travel better by water, and also knew that he had plenty of scheduled slack time before the ship left. At Lyford they unloaded everything and again went by mule, three days to Navron, where they arrived on the evening of Felane 18. The ship Terrance had standard dealings with was leaving on the 22 this year -- its captain knew when Terrance was scheduled to arrive and planned this part of his schedule accordingly: Terrance was an
important customer, and his reliable yearly business was worth a small bit of advanced planning to accomodate.

During their few days there Terrance was very busy, but still had time to show Laicy and Tarva around the city. They also visited several temples, most noticeably those of Hermes and Llyr. On the 20th, they also paid their respects at the shrines of Don and of St. Cynis, and Tarva went also to the temple of Dioncecht. Then, on the 22nd, they left.

Frankly, after the first two days on ship, Tarva was completely bored. The prospect of being at sea for more than a month was no longer exciting. She complained to her father that none of the sailers would even speak to her, and he reminded her that they probably didn't speak Cynarian, only Phonecian, which she didn't. So when another sail was sighted, on Jalard 20, she was merely excited, and not at all nervous; thus differing from practically everyone else on board.

In this the others were shown to be more experienced, for the other ship was a pirate, and had the edge on them in speed, maneuverability, and fighting prowess. The pirates had a boarding ram, which stove in their ship above the water line, joining the ships together until the pirates choose to disengage. These pirates were not interested in taking prisoners for slaves – the nearest slave markets being too far away to bother with transporting and caring for such human cargo – and all of the crew and most of the passengers (and not a few of the pirates, but nowhere near enough) were killed.
 
Terrance fought beside the crew and managed to take several pirates with him. There was a bleak fury about him: he had seen a random arrow rip Laicy's throat out, before the hand combat started, and he was now fighting with no concern for his own safety. Of course, this eventually resulted in his death, but from such a large number of relatively minor wounds that no one pirate could be said to have killed him, and most of those who could claim an assist had preceded him, at his hand, into death.

When she was shot, Laicy (and Terrance) had been on deck frantically searching for Tarva. In the confused bustle of preparation for the fight, someone had inexplicably forgotten to shove Tarva into her cabin, and at the impact of the ram she had been tossed overboard, where she found a wood crate to cling to. Half drowned from the water she had tried to breathe, she could do nothing to stop the drifting away of her craft from the two ships. The fighting was unpleasantly easy to hear, but fortunately she could see no details. After the pirates had conquered the ship, they ransacked it, withdrew their ram, and watched while it sank. By now it was nearly night, and amongst all the other scattered flotsam Tarva’s crate and passenger could not be distinguished. Sure that they had left no witnesses (and in this they were effectively correct) or valuables (to which some might say they were quite wrong), the pirates left.
Tarva’s vessel floated with a current, held onto desperately by a child who, despite her prayers, was without hope. The moon rose full, with all three rings lit: a Ket, a sign of good tidings and wholesome events. Had she been old enough to recognize irony, she would probably have cursed the sign as a lying fraud; but all she felt was despair. Thus she was not even looking for land, or paying attention to the difference in sounds, when they were beached by a (fortunately) gentle surf onto an island off the coast of Phonecia. Gradually the difference in her condition penetrated to her, but even then all she could do for some time was cling to her inanimate companion.

What roused her was a nuzzling at her neck. Startled, she jerked, found from somewhere some recovered energy, and turned around.  Standing behind her, with what she swears was a concerned expression on his face, was a large, white pegasus. His wings were folded over his back, and in the early morning sun, against the blue, cloudless sky, he seemed to glow. He stretched out his neck again, snorted softly into her ear, then nipped the shoulder of her shirt in his teeth and gently pulled. After several tries she managed to get her feet under her and, by leaning against him, actually stand. No sooner had she accomplished this than the pegasus was kneeling down and guiding her, still with his teeth in her shirt, under his wing and to his back. There he could lend no help, and Tarva was simply too worn out to pull herself up. Shortly he gave up on this and stood back up, keeping his neck low for Tarva to hold on to. Then, matching his pace to what she could manage, he led her away from the beach and to a stream.

Here she slid to her knees and drank gratefully, deeply, and much too long from the cool, fresh water, becoming sick and throwing up as a result. During this the pegasus again nuzzled her and snorted softly. "Slowly, slowly," he seemed to be saying.. The second time she was very moderate. When she made to stop and stand up, the pegasus nudged her, then again, harder, and finally pushed her into the stream. "All right," she laughed at him, "1'11 wash up." And she did, stripping off her clothes and washing the encrusted salt out of them, then laying them on the bank to dry. The water had revived her, but the results of the previous day were not to be recovered from so easily. She barely had time to crawl out onto some soft moss before falling asleep.
 
Once again she was wakened by a warm breath on her neck. The sun had gone down, the light was almost gone, and it was already cooler.  It appeared that the pegasus had stood guard over her all day. She dressed quickly, and then was lead back to the beach. Once again the pegasus knelt and directed her to his back. This time she managed to mount, and held on to his neck in excited terror as he ran down the beach and took off.

They flew all night, and for Tarva it was to be the most exciting time of her life. There were other moments which reached, or even exceeded the intensity of that night, but never did anything else she experienced last so long without ever losing its peak of exhilaration. The almost full day of sleep, coupled with the now impossible to ignore emptiness of her stomach, made sure that she was in no danger of nodding off. It was not that she had forgotten about her parents' death, or about her own desperate state, but rather that a warm euphoria enveloped her and kept that pain at a distance. The wind sweeping over the back of the pegasus did not seem to do more than cool her.

Looking down, there was nothing to be seen. The pegasus himself was a pale, ghostly shimmer in the starlight; she could not even see his wings all the way to their tips. But above her the stars shown in all their glory. So smoothly did they fly that it seemed as if she was suspended alone under the celestial dome. In the stories she knew about elves, they were always doing something silly about staring at the stars; and while she had dutifully memorized and repeated that, she had never understood it. Until now. And now she did not believe than anything else could ever be so beautiful.

When the moon rose, at first she was upset that it was washing away the purity of the astral sky. But then she saw that it too had its serene loveliness. And with its coming she could see the sea below her, with the moon's reflection pointing straight across at them, and the pegasus took full form and gave a silver radiance. Nor, had there been anyone to see her, would Tarva have looked out of place, for under the moon's rays her golden skin seemed a perfect counterpoint to the black night, colored stars, and white, winged steed.

Later., it was by the moonlight that she could see they were flying towards, and then over, a coastline. And later yet, with the colors of false dawn beginning to fill the east, and the stars beginning to fold themselves away, she found that they were flying much lower, and that she could make out a village ahead of them, built near another body of water. The pegasus flew lower and slower, and finally landed a short distance away from the village. Without being told, Tarva slid down off his back and went to hug his head. He snorted, pulled back, then reached to nuzzle her tore for a long minute. Then he turned, trotted, and flew off. She watched after him until she could no longer see him. Behind her the sun rose, and Jalard 22 began.

"---," said someone behind her. Tarva turned and saw a man looking at her expectantly. "My name is Tarva Streamside, and I have been shipwrecked," she replied. He shook his head, said some other things which she also couldn’t understand, then held out his hand to her.
She crossed her arms, shook her head, and got ready to dodge and run. Instead he shrugged, gestured at the village, and began walking towards it. So she fallowed him.

 
The man went up to one particular house and banged on the door, then shouted something through it. After a while there was a stirring inside, and the door was opened by an older man holding a lantern.  The two talked for a while, then the older one pointed the lantern at Tarva and studied her. Finally he said, "Judging from the torc, I would guess that you are from Cynaria." "Yes," replied Tarva. "My name is Tarva Streamside, and I have been shipwrecked."

"You don' t look half-drowned, and Paul here has told me something I find difficult to believe. But I know that you didn’t understand him, so if you tell me the same thing I will have to believe it. How did you get here?"

"A pegasus flew me on his back. He led me to a stream from the beach, then he watched over me while I slept, then all last night he was flying me here. Where is here?"

"Well, then, I must believe." He turned and muttered something to Paul which caused him to smile. Then, back to Tarva, "Come in, come in; you must be hungry. At your age, you'd be hungry even if your pegasus had just fed you. Oh, my name Otis Wharfsider, as much of a headmaster as this town of Pleasantside has, and you are in Phonecia, and that," pointing at the water, "is the Strait of Tiran. The ocean is a few hours that way," indicating his left, "and Tiran itself is some days sailing that way," now pointing to the right.

Tarva went in with them and, over broth and bread, related all the events that had happened to her. They looked very concerned, and quite upset when she told them the name of the ship which had been sunk. As to her plight, they suggested that she go on to Tiran and try to find one of her father’s business associates; that perhaps one of them would be able to arrange for her return home. Of the pegasus they made no comments whatsoever.

Otis offered to obtain passage for her on the next in-bound ship that called, and supplies to last her until she got there, in exchange for her bracelet and god symbol. Tarva's first reaction was an indignant "no", but when he explained that he did not mean to deprive her of a holy symbol, and would replace it with one of pewter, she realized that she was in a bind, and could not accept alms from these people indefinitely (even if they were so inclined to offer it). So she agreed. It was a few days before a ship did stop by. Tarva found herself with a small sack of food, a change of clothing (some of the women of the village were much more generous than was the headmaster), and a ship full of people she couldn’t speak to. On Jalard 37 she landed at Tiran.

Getting to Tiran had occupied so much of her attention that it was not until after she stepped off the dock and into the warehouse district that Tarva gave any thought to how she was going to find someone who knew her father. In the back of her mind, and in spite of passing through Navron, she had a picture of Tiran being about the same size as Bard, and full of friendly people who all knew each other. The immensity of the true city overwhelmed her. And while she hadn't exactly forgotten that there would be a language barrier, she had managed to push aside any thoughts about the difficulties it would cause her, such that the actuality was like a second blow. She wandered for hours, through warehouse districts, open markets, slums, parks, never seeing anything that reminded her of home, nothing she could identify with and use as a starting point. And everywhere the sights, whether beautiful or ugly, were new and marvelous and overwhelming.
 
Finally, about midafternoon, tired and dejected, she sat down on the marble bench running around a pool and fountain. While she was resting, and nibbling on a piece of bread, a troupe of streetsingers came in to the square and set up for business. Their singing was the first familiar thing she had found, so she moved to where she could see and hear them better. Then, when they started on a song she knew, one she had learned for the joy of the melody (for she didn't
understand the words), she joined in. Troupers, they did not let the interruption startle them, but sang on as if they had expected her to join in. Then, after they were finished, they went to investigate her. It was obvious who was singing, and worried as they always were about needing to compete with other groups throughout the city, their first thought was that she was heckling them. And since she was singing a Phonecian song, and using a trained and lovely voice to do so, they did perhaps have good reason to consider her a rival. So their first overtures to her were mostly bluffs and threats, the emotions of which came through even though the words didn't.

Tarva shrank away from them, not understanding at all what was wrong. Here she had finally found something familiar, and these people were angry with her. Luckily one of the singers, more perceptive, or perhaps just wiser than the others, caught on that she was not understanding them. Making the others quiet down and back off, she tried to talk to Tarva politely. Recognizing the change in intentions, but still none of the words, Tarva merely shook her head. The tunester sang a line from the previous song, and Tarva responded with the one following it. There followed a line from another song, one Tarva didn't know, and again she shook her head. The group now held a heated discussion within themselves, which resulted in most of them leaving while two of them offered Tarva their hands, then led her through several streets to a stall in an open market. An instrument maker, judging from the contents of the stall.

The older man inside listened to the two for a while, then began speaking to Tarva in what seemed to be several different languages.  He gestured for her to speak, and listened closely, but without understanding while she did. He then talked some more with her escort, who took her down the street to another shop. The woman there took one look at her tore and immediately directed them to yet a third shop. The man there spoke to her in Cynarian, and she gratefully answered. Once again she told her story, with pauses while he translated for her companions. After that he asked her many questions about her life in Bard, and about her father. He looked very grave when he finished.

Then he tried to tell her how impossible was her quest. In this he was probably wrong, for there were not so many merchants of quality Cynarian wines, that questioning the better merchants in Tiran would not have quickly found someone who knew another who dealt with Tarva's father. But from outside the wine profession, and on an admittedly much lower social strata, it probably did appear hopeless. He explained to Tarva how many people there were in Tiran, a number well beyond her comprehension, but her experiences that day had changed her Bard-size image to one of near infinite size, and the enormity of the number he quoted merely reaffirmed that idea. He then estimated the number of bars and taverns in the city (not that her father would ever have dealt directly with anyone on that level, but how was she to know that?), and expressed his opinions that even if an owner was found who did know her father, he would first be doubtful that Tarva was really Terrance"s daughter, second not have the money to spare to lend for her trip home, and third never be willing to in any case. It might be that he had been refused credit at too many bars and taverns himself to be willing now to admit that all innkeepers need not be greedy louts. And nobody seemed to realize that a message home, asking for funds, would have undoubtedly resulted in an elder brother returning for her and quite willing to pay any expenses. Ah, well, such are the turning points in peoples' lives.   
There were ways, he continued, in which she could earn her living, and perhaps save up money for a trip home. She shouldn't just go out in the street and sing, however, because there were established groups which did that, and it was not proper to compete with them. That was why the group had been so upset with her at first. If she was interested, he could have these two take her to a friend of his who might, after she heard Tarva's story, be able to find her a job. Was Tarva interested? She was. He spoke some more to the pair with her, then said goodbye.

This time they walked for a long while, almost an hour, before they stopped. By now they were in a nice neighborhood, filled with individual buildings inside fenced yards. They went in through a gate and one of them knocked, then spoke with the man who answered the door. He escorted the three of them into a room with nice furniture and left. Somewhat later a woman in fancy dress came in and spoke to the two of them, then, in Cynarian, to Tarva -- apparently just to make sure that they could understand each other. The other two stood and left, saying through the woman that they would be back to sing and trade songs with Tarva.

"Now, my dear, my name is Ardis Silverleaf, and I want you to tell me all about yourself." So once again Tarva told her story, and then again, as for the man at the stall, her past history in Bard. At the end of all this Ardis looked very thoughtful. It must be pointed out here that Ardis must have known the true likelihood of Tarva's being able to find an associate of her father’s who would be willing to help her. It is probable that more than one of the dealers through whom Ardis bought wine dealt directly with Terrance. And she would have thought of the possibility of sending messages back to Bard. So the fact that she brought none of this up, but instead allowed Tarva to continue thinking that she was hopelessly cut off, can only be attributed to greed; or, perhaps more politely, to inspired self interest.

"Tarva, I think I do have an offer for you, but it will involve a lot of effort on my part, so I must make sure that we understand each other from the start. I run a a perfectly respectable one, although I know that it is not only frowned upon but actually illegal in your country. Now I know that may make things difficult for you, but I want you to consider that laws are man-made, and therefore neither universal nor perfect, and that something can be illegal without it being wrong. Furthermore, anything you, or anyone else, does outside of Cynaria, is also outside the laws of that country, and you cannot break Cynarian laws while you are here in Phonecia.

"I am a hetaria, Tarva, and a very successful one, if I do say so myself. The establishment of which I am proprietress is called the "Lap of Pleasure" and offers entertainment to those able to afford it. Entertainment means good singing, good food, good wine, good conversations; and good sex. There, I’ve shocked the girl; I didn’t think you knew what a "hetaria" was. Shall I continue, or would you like to leave?"

Actually, Tarva, after all the other shocks she had had that day, and within the past weeks, had very little room for more, and her startlement had been nothing more than recognizing that this was the reality of a subject she had heard discussed, rather ignorantly, by Jeromy’s group back in Bard. "No, please, go on," she said.

 
"Well, there’s hope for you after all. From what I’ve been told, you have a lovely singing voice. I’ll want you to demonstrate that to me, but not now. The other skills you’ve learned fit in very well also: one might almost think you had this career in mind. What I propose is this: I will support you, pay for your room, board, and minor expenses, and for lessons for you to learn Phonecian. That should take about a year. After that you will be my apprentice and I will teach you to be a courtesan. You aren’t shrinking back from me; that’s a good sign. I should think you would make a rather good one. You’ll never be really pretty, but your skin is so exotic that nobody will notice that at first; and after what I teach you, they’ll be too busy to notice it at second, either.

"After that, which will take roughly another two years, you will work for me for five years. During that period your salary will consist of your room and board and basic needs, plus the occasional business expense, within reason. All the rest of the fees you would normally earn, plus any tips you might collect, will revert to me.  This is to pay me back for my investment in you. After five years I will put you on a standard contract, like the rest of my staff, where you collect your own fees and tips, and pay for my establishment’s services out of them. This will allow you to earn money for your trip home. I know it seems like a long time, but it is the best I can offer you.

"There isn't much call for winemaking here, but after you prove yourself, and certainly not until after you can speak with my other staff, I may be able to use you to help check the quality of what I'm buying. And your singing and storytelling will both be useful for the more public entertainments of the business. I pay extra for extra duties, and although this won't be in the form of money until the end of the first five years, I would like to point out that those girls who are more exposed to the public are treated to the best clothes and perfume, and have a better chance of being invited to share a customer's meal, instead of the staff fare. Also, as I'm sure a moment's thought will reveal to you, the reputation you develop during your first five years will largely determine how well you do thereafter.

"That is my offer to you; I hope you will not need much time to think it over."

Tarva did think a short while, and then asked the one question which had occurred to her. "Will I not have anything to give as donations on God Days, then?"

"Oh, there, I've gone and sounded all harsh and mean. Not unreasonably, for it is best that you know how I expect things to stand between us from the start. But it will not be at all as gloomy and solemn as I made it sound. Actually, it is rather more fun than not. You enjoy yourself while singing, don't you? And when you are telling your stories? Well, then, you can enjoy yourself even more so when having sex with a customer; especially if he is one you have entertained before and can feel familiar with. Also, my place does not allow its girls to be mistreated, so you never need worry about that, as would be true in so many other places.

"Nor will it be all study and work. There will be holidays, and you will make friends and get to spend time with them. And I would never begrudge any of my staff some extra coins for spending on a festival, or for donating to the Lord of Healing (for I noticed your bracelet). No, cheer up, you will have enough for both proper donations, and candies and sweetmeats. And in my house all the girls are checked at the temple three times a year for diseases, and any they have caught are cured. That is one of my business expenses, so you needn't worry about it."
 
"Then I would like to accept your offer," said Tarva.

"One thing more, Tarva. I think it would be a very good idea to not talk about your pegasus ride. A lot of people will think you are making it up, and that will cause problems between you and them. And I think you will have enough of those from being a foreigner, and from having your coloring, without adding to them with any other oddities. And child, I tell you this in truth: there will be other people who will be jealous of you, especially your singing, and giving them something else to be jealous about will not help. So just keep it to yourself."

"All right, Ardis."

The language study did take a year. During that time Tarva stayed in a small room in Ardis's house, and went each day for her lessons a few blocks away. That took up her afternoons. Her evenings were spent in simple, menial tasks at the Lap of Pleasure, washing and fetching 'backstairs'. But she did have the mornings free, any time she could get up that early, and on holidays she was visited by Hazel and Philliponne, the two members of the troupe who had first helped her. As she got better at Phonecian they started to teach each other songs from their respective countries. Ardis was all in favor of this, and would sometimes excuse Tarva from her evening duties so she could sing with them. Ardis knew that Phonecian songs would be a much better drawing card than would foreign songs, no matter how pretty.

Tarva was almost halfway through her fourteenth year when she began her training as a courtesan. Under Ardis's tender and knowledgeable, if stern, care, Tarva encountered none of the traumas which so often accompany a young girl’s entrance into the less stylish side of her new profession. Her first orgasm reminded her of nothing so much as her pegasus ride, although it did not last nearly long enough. She did not mention this comparison to anyone. Not even to Lydia, Tarva's best friend at the Lop, as the employees and frequent customers called their establishment. And, as Ardis had predicted, Tarva did find that sex was enjoyable and not scary.

About the time Tarva turned fifteen, she was called in for a special meeting with Ardis. "Well, you are a fair student. I have taught you everything you will need to know as a courtesan, and I am pleased with your learning and your skill. Tonight you start your indenturement. You will never be a hetaria, Tarva, not with your looks, but you will be one of the best courtesans in this city.  I stake my reputation on that."

The next five years saw Tarva develop in many ways, not the least of which was physically. Her nighttime clientele shifted slowly from those preferring slim, childish bodies, to those desiring more mature young women. She became the lead singer in the evening cabaret, taking second place only to visiting guest performers (and even then she was not always second best). She found that after so many years away from home, she was losing all trace of her foreign accent. Since this, along with her golden skin, was a part of her exotic/erotic motif, she started working on retaining it, listening to herself while she spoke and seeking out opportunities to speak Cynarian with others. The irony of this, in comparison to her arrival here, did not escape her. Only in her singing did she differ: striving to remove all trace of any foreign 'taint' when performing the traditional Phonecian folksongs. The chef declared her taste in wines, "adequate". Ardis correctly interpreted this as praise and assigned Tarva to the occasional duty of helping in the shopping for those beverages. She did apply herself to her fields, and by the end of the five years she was the favorite bed partner of more than one patron.  
Shortly after her twentieth birthday, she was informed by Ardis that her indenture period was over. Tarva was free to go, if she wanted; conversely, she could stay and accept the standard contract with Ardis that her other employees had. This consisted of several details which Ardis had to explain to Tarva, since she had never learned to read. Rental on a room at the Lop, for a much higher price and a much smaller room than any decent hotel would offer, but with included extras such as bouncer protection. A tab established for her food and drink, and for 'room service' while she was entertaining. Of course, meals offered her by her customers were to be considered as extras, tips, rewards for personal initiative, and belonging to the employee who earned them.

Clothing was now Tarva's own responsibility. However, any of the costumes which had been tailored especially with Tarva in mind (mostly in shades of blue), could be purchased at half their original cost, and the payment defrayed over several months. It was required that she still attend the Dioncecht temple to have herself checked for diseases, and, if need be, cured; but this was now at Tarva’s own expense. Records are kept and returned to Ardis, so don't cheat.   [Tarva had never even considered that, and was shocked.]  All personal purchases were now Tarva's own responsibility, as was the handling of her own funds.

Her extra duties of singing, storytelling, and winetasting earned her straight income from the Lop, which could be used to carry her over slack times. One of the first things she did was to purchase a mage spell of infertility, which cut down drastically on the amount of slack time she felt she needed to observe. While she was Ardis's apprentice, and then her indentured servant, Tarva did not feel she had a choice in that matter. But Ardis left the choice up to each individual employee. Tarva wrestled with the morals of the subject, but eventually decided that since it was not permanent, and was not killing an already created fetus, it was preferable to not have any babies instead of having them outside of any family to support them. Each year she went back and had the spell renewed.

God donations were also each employees' responsibility. Tarva donated every span day to Dioncecht. Epona she gave a generous donation to twice each year: once on Her Godday, and once on Malore 5, the Epona spanday nearest Laicy Streamside's bilrthday, Malore 7. Likewise, she donated to Hermes both on His Godday and on Melian 31, two days after her father's birthday. Rhiannon received an extra large donation to thank Her for Tarva's ability to sing. Meerclar received one as the patron of her profession, and Llyr because it was impossible to live in Tiran and not recognize Him. The other good and neutral Gods were properly given a small donation on their Goddays, except that, once she found the shrine, Tarva always left a little extra for Varda, in remembrance of the stars. One other thing she did, as rapidly as she could, was to buy a new bracelet and god symbol, this time of silver. The old one she gave to the temple, to pass on to someone in more need. She wanted a gold one, she told Lydia, but a gold one would have to be gifted, not bought.

Almost half her life had now been lived here in Tiran at the Lop. Her memories of Bard and her family had grown very dim; and all interest in returning there had disappeared. When Ardis mentioned it one day (probably as a test) Tarva responded artlessly that she hadn't thought about it in some time. When she did, she wondered if any of her siblings would still be missing her, and also what there could be in Bard to compare with the lifestyle she enjoyed here. Of course she knew that courtesans were illegal there, but even if singing could support her so well, what would she spend the money on? Cynaria was simply missing most of the civilized amenities.
 
One night, a couple of years later, while Tarva was singing in the cabaret, a brief fight broke out among the tables. Lydia's dinner mate, never before seen at the Lop, apparently suggested some activity to her which she declined to agree to. Angered, he slapped her, then, before the bouncers could reach him, struck her head with his goblet. He was turned over to the city watch in rather battered shape, but Tarva ended up with Lydia's unconscious head in her lap, watching her slowly bleed to death. Desperately, she willed for Lydia to get better. And suddenly she was: rousing and trying to sit up. Lydia was very groggy, and there was blood everywhere, but the only sign on her head was a healed scar.

Ardis sent them both to the Dioneecht temple. Lydia was checked and declared to be in good health, but needing a day or two of bed rest. "Rest," said the druid with a stern look and a wink. "That means she is in that bed alone." Tarva was taken and given various tests which she didn't understand. Eventually they announced that what she had was not a God-directed power, but rather an innate ability, "and thus still God-given." And what better God to give it than Dioncecht, wondered Tarva. The druids at the temple could help her train her ability, and also the somewhat more erratic ability to cure disease.

Tarva accepted this offer and went to them for several weeks for short periods of tutorage. After that she tried to drop by once a day to see if there was any healing she could help with. "For if Dioncecht gave me this ability," she said, "then certainly he meant for it to be used."

The other change resulting from the attack on Lydia was slower to come about, but eventually more influential on Tarva's life. She watched in her mind, over and over again, how helplessly Lydia had awaited the blow from the goblet, how slowly the bouncers approached their table. Tarva decided that she did not ever want to be dependent thusly on others for her own well-being. Through contacts at the Lop she was introduced to a weapons instructor named Michael Archway and convinced him that she was serious enough about learning to become a pupil of his. For four years she did nothing with her afternoons but strengthen her muscles and train her reflexes under his sarcastic tutorage. At times she hated him, but always the image of Lydia's helpless eyes drove her on. Finally he said she was ready, and began teaching her how to fight. With the dagger, because that was what she had asked for, being sure she could always find one nearby, even if she carried it herself. He took her through familiar and trained, then stopped her for a long talk.

Dropping his scornful drill-instructor mask, he told her that she was a natural born fighter, and should be learning the more appropriate fighter skills. As she had done all her life with
encouraging teachers, Tarva agreed to try something harder. Michael selected one-handed longsword for her, based on her build and fighting style. And started her out with the shield, just the shield, for months before he let her start on the sword. Through familiar and trained, through skilled, then through expert he instructed her.

When he suggested that they now work on the longbow, she nearly screamed at him. When was she ever going to need a longbow? There was hardly room down the street the Lop was on, crowded as it was with stalls, to shoot a bow, let alone inside the Lop. A fighter would know how, maintained Michael. So she learned the longbow. Familiar, trained, skilled. More, said Michael, you can do better than this. I know what you're capable of, and if you wanted you could be master at almost any weapon. No, said Tarva, enough is enough. I will practice with these, and with you if you will have me, but I will never need them, so further skill is worthless.
 
Indeed, the jokes she had borne up under at the beginning of her training had all evaporated as the various jokesters had made excuses to happen by the practice yard and see her work out. Word of mouth was probably sufficient to keep most people from ever testing her abilities for real. And for those who were strangers and hadn't heard, the sword on the wall of her room looked better secured than it was, and she always had a dagger within reach. Ardis had initially reacted poorly to this display of paranoia, but when she saw it taken by the patrons as another exotic aspect of their golden girl, she accepted it as being harmless.

For several years now, longer than Tarva had been there, a carnival had been coming through Tiran twice a year. It would set up on the estate of some noble (who undoubtedly received a large percentage of the receipts) and stay for several weeks – at most a month – before moving on to its next site. There were all sorts of special events used to attract people to the fairgrounds, and then others intended to keep them there and spending money. All quite typical of a carnival, and rather old hat to Tarva’s friends even when she first arrived in Tiran. To Tarva, however, it was all new and fascinating, and did not ever lose all of its charm.

The carnival was always gaining new acts and losing old ones. A couple of years ago they had added a novelty ride: five minutes aloft on a pegasus. Naturally this drew Tarva like a magnet, and she could be found at the fair grounds quite frequently, waiting to go up again. This was a very poor, watered-down version of her childhood flight, what with the special strap-in saddle, no stars, and the trainer controlling the pegasus; but even so it brought back memories so vividly that she couldn"t resist it. But this year Tarva had more grandiose plans.

The day before the carnival opened, while it was still setting up, she fast talked her way in and went to see the pegasus owner, Stuart Jev. "I want. to take lessons from you," she said. "I want to learn how to ride a pegasus on my own."

Stuart initially reacted rather coldly to this request. "Sure and I could be at the teaching of ye, lassie, but why should I?" He gave her a very complete and deliberately insulting appraisal, foot to head, and added, "And what would you be thinking of paying me with, then?"

She tossed a small bag with twenty gp in it to him and snapped back, "With this. If you want to spend it that way, just come to the Lap of Pleasure and ask for me.  But I warn you, I’m an expensive animal when it comes to rides."

He had caught the bag and was weighing it in his hand. "Aye, and so is my Flossie an expensive animal to ride. We earn more nor this in a week, and here ye are wanting to take us away from our livelihood for nigh on to two months. Why, the carny won’t. e’en be here that long."

"You’d only be teaching me for half of each day," countered Tarva. She was growing more confident as she recognized that the conversation was slipping into a typical bartering format, and thought that haggling over the price was all that remained. "Very well, I’ll offer you ten gp for each week – that’s one hundred twenty total, six times the normal cost. And we can spread the lessons out over three or four visits."

"Ah, lassie, ye’ve thought of everything for me, but what of poor Flossie? She’s used to short little trips, with a resting between them, and like as not naught but a bairn on her back, what weighs next to nothin’.”   
"All right! All right!" said Tarva sharply, barely controlling her temper. "Two hundred gp. That’s as high as I can go. And don’t come expecting to spend any of it on me, ‘cause I won’t be screwed twice by any man who didn’t pleasure me the first time."

"Lass, lass, calm down now. I still ain’t been saying as how I’d teach ye; nor yet have ye been at telling me why I should."

At this Tarva wilted. "Because when I’m flying, even on the rides you offer, I feel more alive, more complete, than anytime on the ground. And I know that being able to ride by myself would be better. 1 though you’d understand that; I thought you’d love flying also."

"Aye, lassie, that I do. Sure and all the times ye've been here and I thought you was one of us, but I had be at making sure, didn't I, afore I went risking Flossie with yea. Ten a week is sufficient, but 'twill have to be in the mornings, for the afternoons are our busy times."

And they settled on four sessions of three weeks each, each to start after the first week of the carny's stay, for there were always more customers during that first week. And Stuart did come to the Lop, and declared himself right pleased with the rides he took there. And thereafter Tarva rode Flossie (and usually Stuart) whenever they were in town.

The years passed without any truly noteworthy incidents. There was the time the disgruntled mage cast a spell on the entire Lop and everyone, customers and staff, itched uncontrollably in embarrassing spots until a counter-spell could be arranged. After which some of the more influential customers formed a committee to discuss ways of bringing the errant mage to justice. But while they were still loudly arguing over the best way to do this, the body of the mage was found floating face down in a fountain halfway across the city. However, Tarva noticed that some of the committee members were better than others at acting surprised.

News from Cynaria had dried to a dribble as the Phonecian merchants found less and less people there with any goods worth trading for, and more and more armed masses waiting to raid ships stupid enough to put into harbor. The news of the invasion from Umar arrived in Tiran during the summer of 3015, and Ardis watched with some trepidation for Tarva's reaction to this. But to Tarva it was just another tale from a far-off country, and not one of any special interest to her. Later, in 3018, when they heard that the Black Queen had taken over half of Cynaria from the Goblin King, Tarva had again not seemed to pay any attention. Ardis, at least as concerned about the personal safety of a friend as she was of the potential loss of revenue, began to relax.

When the Lay of Liriel the Simple and the Ring of Power was introduced to Tiran, in late 3018, Tarva was one of the first to learn it, doubtless because it was still in Cynarian at that time. She was one of several people who wrote Phonecian translations of it, hers differing in that she interwove verses from the original and the translation so that she sang each verse twice: once in Cynarian and then again in Phonecian. While a topical hit of rapidly fading popularity, she did receive occasional requests for it and kept it in her repertoire.

 
On AIda 36, 3022, she was singing in the cabaret, as she did four nights out of every seven. The other three were kept open for special clients who liked to wine&dine her, and not necessarily at the Lop.  But tonight she was singing. Since so many of the patrons at the Lop were frequent customers, she tried to keep turning over her song list so they wouldn't get bored with it. Whatever was new and popular was sung every night, and sometimes every hour, and there were some old standards that were practically trademarks of hers, that people would have objected to her skipping over. But the rest she tried to keep shifting around for variety's sake. With these she included "foreign" songs, lyrics she had learned by rote without knowing their meanings:
a few Selian sea chanties (especially useful when any of them dropped by, since they were particularly uninterested in the main offering of the Lop), some Pennochian love ballads, a couple of very dirty (and rarely sung) songs from Sybaritus, and, of course, her songs from Cynaria.

It was one of these which she was preparing to sing now. The applause from her last song was dying down. "Thank you," she smiled at the audience. "This next song is from my home country. It’s a love song about a young man who must win his true love’s heart through a quest, and how his horse helps him out of all the difficulties he gets himself into."

She had hardly started to sing, however, when she was interrupted by a cry from the back of the room, and a crash as someone knocked his chair over in standing up. As the man came striding towards the stage she began reaching for her knife. This time the bouncers had more warning and two of them caught him up while still several feet from the stage. But he didn’t seem to notice. Staring fixedly at her he said, in Cynarian, "You’re Tarva Streamside. But you can’t be.
You’re dead!"

One of the bouncers was reaching for his sap, but Tarva shook her head at him. To the man she replied, "You know me?" Studying his face carefully, she went on, "I don’t remember you. Listen. I have to finish this set. You go back with your friends, and when I’m through I’ll come talk with you, all right?" He had been calming down rapidly. At this he looked like he wanted to launch into a discussion immediately, but then thought it out, nodded, and waited until the bouncers let him go.

"My apologies, gentlefolk," said Tarva, attempting to restore the previous mood. "It seems I had the story wrong: it was a Fellarian who was helping our young hero, and not just an ordinary horse. And so, with that correction, we’ll try the song again." And with, of course, no corrections at all, she sang that song and went on to others.

Halfway through the set Lydia brought her an ale and told her that Ardis wanted to see her when she was through. So after the set she went across to the office. Ardis didn’t waste any time on amenities but started speaking to Tarva, also in Cynarian, at once. "I know you think you can take care of yourself, what with all this training you’ve been doing, but," with a trace of sarcasm, "do remember that even fighters get killed sometimes." The use of Cynarian, Tarva decided, was to inform her that Ardis knew what had been said earlier. "1 can’t afford to lose my best. singer," Ardis continued, "so what you do is: you take him to the last booth on the left, you sit facing the door, you remember that Gentry is right behind this guy, and you call for help at once, not after you realize you need it. Got that?”

Tarva was a little stung at this belittlement of her abilities, but decided that now was not the time to get into an argument over the subject. "Yes, Ardis," she answered, and Ardis waved her out.
She picked her way across the floor and said to the man, "I've a booth for us where we can talk privately." He stood up to follow her, the four or five others at the table, sailors by the sound of them, making coarse remarks as to their destination and planned activities. As she passed the other booths Tarva saw Gentry sitting in the one next to theirs, and surprisingly it. gave her a reassuring feeling.

"Now," she said excitedly, "who are you and how do you know me?"

"You don't remember me? I'm Bill Purplegrape.  Oh.  Well, you were kind of young, I guess. Do you remember Jeremy Rivers? Aha. Well, we used to hang out together, and I remember you as staying after your lessons and listening to us yap. He'd of been real proud of you, would Jeremy, listening to you sing and all."

“Would have been?”

"Oh, yes. He's dead. Been dead most six years now. A whole bunch of us went off to fight the goblins under Lord Sir Lesley Barsley, and he got himself killed, and a lot more got themselves cut up in various ways, and I got myself out and into the Phonecian navy, and what I want to know is: what are you doing in a place like this?"

During the whole of that last speech Bill's voice had been growing more agitated and louder. Worried that Gentry might come over the partition at any second, Tarva began speaking in a soft and calm voice. I don't remember you, Bill, but I certainly remember those discussions at Jeremy's. He was my hero, back then, and I'm very sorry to hear that he's dead. Did you get back by Bard before ----."

"Yeah, I'll just bet you are," Bill interrupted. "And who's your hero now? Fucking whore. What are you doing here? No decent girl would be caught dead in one of these places. Your parents would die of shame. You ought to be whipped." And he drew his arm back as if preparing to backhand her face from across the table.

The knife that appeared in her hand gave him pause, and she used the moment to slide out of the booth and stand facing him. Something about the way she held both herself and her knife told him that this was no bluff, and some of the angry energy seemed to seep out of him. Tarva, on the other hand, was just beginning to become incensed. "If this place is so bad, what are you doing in it?" she challenged. "You have a lot of gall talking to me about morals after admitting you ran away from a battle. I think maybe you'd just better keep running: get out of this shameful place and don't plan on ever coming back."

"Oh, yeah?," he began to reply. "Well listen, miss high and mighty, I've been better places than this, and had better girls than you, and it's all a matter of money, and your pimp won't care squat about your feelings: the only care he has is money, and my gold's the same color as anyone elses'. So put down your toy and let's see what else you're good at."
 
He had barely stepped out of the booth when a large hand came down on his shoulder. He whir-led round and looked up at Gentry. Almost everyone looked up at Gentry: he stood six and a half feet tall and looked stout. "The lady's right," he said in Phonecian, "you and your group are going. There won't be any trouble with us if you show back up, but the city watch will have strong words for any of you found on this street again, and the gaol's a sad place to miss the tide from." Meanwhile, he was half escorting half shoving Bill down the aisle and out the front door. As he left, Bill yelled one last taunt at Tarva: "At least I did try and fight in the bloody war! What the fuck have you done?"

Tarva was very disturbed by this. She had meant to ask after her family, but clearly that opportunity was gone. She brooded over it the rest of the evening and then went to talk to Ardis. And told her that she wanted to go back to Cynaria and find her family. Naturally, Ardis tried to talk her out of it, pointing out that she shouldn't let some nobody’s taunts dictate her actions. And pointing out the dangers. And musing about the possible futility. All to no avail: Tarva was determined to find her family again.

Convinced that she could not change Tarva’s mind, Ardis switched course and started trying to help her. Had she thought of this, of that; how was she going to reach Cynaria? Ardis suggested that Tarva take ship from Tiran down to Tir on the southern coast of Phonecia, and from there find someone with a small boat who would slip her ashore across the bay. She, Ardis, would give Tarva a letter of introduction to a friend of Ardis’s who lived in Tir, and who would be willing to help Tarva find someone who wouldn't cheat her out of her money. Tarva was very grateful for this.

Of course, leaving was not to be a simple pack-up-and-say-good-bye affair. There were supplies to gather and ship schedules to match up with. The earliest Tarva could leave would be Felane 22nd. Which gave plenty of time for all her friends and friendlier patrons to get together on a surprise going away party for her on the 13th, which included all of them dragging her off to the Hermes temple where they each donated for a special prayer for her safe travels. It also provided time for several more private good-byes, most of which were not particularly cheerful.

On the ship, she found that several of the crew recognized her, and had to explain that she was not on a working holiday, and that it was bad luck – for her anyway – to mix her profession with theirs.  Since they knew their captain felt the same way, nobody tried to push it. The trip was uneventful; and this time Tarva tried to curb her boredom by wishing fervently that they not sight any other sails. And indeed they did not, making the harbor at Tir on Melian 4th.

Once there she looked up Ardis's friend, Velona Fordwater, and gave her the letter. Velona welcomed her in – the Sailor's Rest was another well run establishment like the Lop – politely explained what the rent on the room would be, and how it would differ if Tarva wanted to take customers, even more tactfully suggested that she not take any, seeing as how she was only going to be there briefly and it would cause resentment among the other girls, and sent out inquiries for the boat trip Tarva wanted.

Replies to that came back, and Tarva simply took Velona's word on which of them was the most dependable. At her suggestion, Tarva arranged for Velona to hold half the price of the trip, to be given to the captain when he returned and presented her with the proper token. They left Tir on Melian 14 and hugged the coast to the southeast for a week. Then on Melian 22, when they were at one of the narrowest points of the bay, they started across.   
Melian 29, after dark, the ship crept up within sight of the shore and let down the dinghy. It was not until after they had left Phonecia for good that Tarva found out why the captain was so willing to make this trip with her: he earned most of his money smuggling supplies into the rebels in Cynaria and smuggling escapees back out to Phonecia. A cautious lantern signal from the ship was responded to by one from the shore, and the dinghy made for that point. The men there were startled by Tarva's presence, but then accepted it as done and merely drafted her to help carry supplies. When the boat was unloaded six or eight people were motioned into it. Tarva took her knife and cut a button off the sleeve of her blouse and gave it to the captain, explaining that this was the token for the other half of his fee.

The freedom fighters accepted Tarva’s help for a ways, then suggested that they would just as soon not have her know any more about where they were going, thank you very much, no offense intended, and none taken, they hoped, but they didn’t know her, and a friend of a friend of a friend was a bit too much of a long stretch, and that’s the way to the nearest village, good luck.

She spent the rest of the night out in the woods, not wanting to be tramping around in the dark; both because of the normal dangers of tripping over and smashing into things, and also the abnormal danger of attracting an attack from anyone on any side. Also, she figured, it would not be reassuring to the villagers for her to show up in the wee hours of the morning.

The next day she did find the village, named Rowan, and spoke to the headwoman. She was very reluctant to have anything to do with strangers, and Tarva’s story that she was trying to regain her family in Bard did not reassure her. However, when Tarva offered to sing and entertain the village that evening, in exchange for some food and directions to another village (walking on the roads did not sound like a reasonable activity to Tarva), some remembrance of how Cynaria used to be: peaceful and prosperous, with wandering bards, seemed to break through and the headwoman agreed.

After dinner that night Tarva sang all the old Cynarian songs she knew. But she found that, nostalgic as the people were for them, they were more interested in all the scraps of news she could give them from the outside world. She realized that, cut off from each other, village by village, as they mostly were now, events from anywhere more than a day’s travel would only rarely reach them. Quickly jumping on an opportunity, she offered to carry messages from them to anyone else in other villages she might be going to, between here and Bard. And it was good that she had a singer’s well-trained memory, for she received several.

While they were all in the circle, most of the children had been placed in front so that they might hear and see easier. Tarva had noticed that one of the smaller boys had a nasty cut on one arm, which looked like it was festering instead of getting better. During a break she found the boy’s parents and asked permission to fix it. Expecting some herbal poultice, they were quite astonished when she put her hands on the arm and concentrated for several seconds. When she stopped the arm was well.

 
There was much excited chatter at this, and she had to explain more than once that she was not a druid, but did have a Dioncecht-granted ability which of course He expected her to use to help people. The ones nearest started running down a list of all the people she should go help, and she had to explain that she could only do this once a day, and that it wasn’t a very powerful healing spell. Nethertheless, she agreed to stay in the village until she had had a chance to use her spell on everyone who needed it.

By now the villagers were completely turned around. From starting out very suspicious and almost hostile towards her, they now considered her a prize and a treasure: someone to be guarded and protected. Several of them warned her of the roving bands of ruffians from various self-styled warlords, who liked nothing better than dragging off anyone who seemed important, or independent; any sort of potential rallying point for the people. That shouldn’t happen to their Tarva, they decided.

By morning they had come up with a plan. Tarva would stay in Rowan for as long as she was willing, then she would be smuggled to the next village, where she could tell her news from the outside world, deliver and receive messages, do what healing she could, and then be passed on to yet another village. And so on until she reached Bard.

This sounded good to Tarva, even though it will mean a very slow progression through the country. Hopefully it will also mean a relatively safe one. And from village to village she went, the length of the stay in each one varying considerably. Sometimes she was escorted to the next village, other times she made the journey on her own (and very cautiously). But always she found that news of her coming had quietly preceded her, and she was welcomed and fed and sheltered. A couple of times representatives of another village would show up where she was staying and ask her to come to theirs, for it would not be on her path. And, in spite of the additional time it took, she always said yes, unable to think of her country folk in trouble and herself able but unwilling to help. With all the delays and detours, it was not until Velev 35th that she reached Bard.

Up until now, she had avoided all the larger villages and towns, such as Corby, on the theory that both ruffians and spies were more likely to inhabit those places with more people. Even at Bard she did not forsake this caution, for rumor had it that the Black Queen had taken control of it. Instead she went to one of the holdings which had belonged to her father. She lucked out and found that the Greenhills remembered her. Their plot was now used for basic vegetable gardening: wine production was a luxury nobody could afford. However, they still went into town on occasion and told Tarva all the news they could in exchange for what she brought to them. They exhibited much astonishment, but little true interest, in Tarva's own story -- with so many local and recent deaths, there was simply no room for sympathy at the tale of her parents'.

About her family they were able to relate very little. After her parents had not returned, Tammas took over the family businesses. However he was not willing to go to Phonecia, and instead just arranged for the wine to be sold at Navron. When the troubles started he cut down even on that, staying completely local. Then, some time in 3017, shortly before the Black Queen's forces took Bard, the entire family just disappeared. They had quietly made preparations, and all left one night. Nobody had any idea where they had gone to, or at least wouldn't admit it, but it was supposed that if they had had particular reasons to flee the Black Queen, then they would have gone west.
 
With that for a guide, Tarva herself started going west, continuing her slow, village to village travels, which she modified only to the extent of asking for news of her family, whom she described as best she could. Several months later she had come across the top (north) of the River Afton and was moving south somewhere to the west of it.

On Melian 16th she left her most recent village, Plum Trees, well provided with traveling supplies and scary rumors.