Radomir had wanted Valeriya for his own since the first time he set eyes on her. He had spoken almost immediately with her father and for a sum of gold she was his. She was exquisite and malleable to his ways. He found he only had to hit her occasionally when they first married and she soon obeyed his every command. Now that her family had been killed in the invasion she was his and his alone to do what he wanted with.

He did not know that Valeriya hated him with her every breath and wished him dead. His hand upon her made her shudder with revulsion but she was helpless to refuse him, he was her husband. He had payed for her. He owned her. When she stood on the deck looking out towards Mhalwae she saw a prison, a silent tomb with all the horrors of her life rising up before her.

Lochan found it almost too much to look at his wife Isaura’s gaunt, pale face. The beautiful eyes he had once gazed into when they were courting were now dulled with sickness. Her luxurious hair he longed to bury his face in had grown lank and though she still smiled for him it seemed such an effort on her part. He knew she tried to smile to reassure him but he could see the dark circles around her eyes, the blood stains she dabbed from her lips when she coughed.

She had fallen ill even before their wedding, and his father had advised him not to marry her. She was too sickly and would surely die before long, he had warned, but Lochan would not hear of it. He refused to accept that his wife was slowly wasting away, while he remained healthy and strong. He had not spoken a word to his father since that day, a fact he sorely regretted. His father had been killed in the invasion. He would speak no other word to him in this life.

His mother too had been murdered by Faldorn’s army, she was the sister of Eallair’s father and so he and Eallair had grown up together. Lochan knew he must go to Mhalwae with him and help restore the kingdom. It was imperative that the bloodline was continued with the birth of Eallair’s first son and Lochan would do everything in his power to protect his dear friend, the new King.

Isaura had given him no children, it did not seem her frail body could support a baby and so they had died one after the other, stillborn or miscarried. Still, perhaps if they had had children they would not have been able to leave and follow his cousin to this island. And perhaps the fresh air would do Isaura some good. She did seem somehow better from the sea voyage although her eyes looked dead as she stared out over Mhalwae as the ship anchored. He too felt odd when he looked upon the island and an imperceptible shiver ran down his spine. He pulled his wife’s slender body to him as though trying to protect her from something, to impart some of the warmth from his own body into hers.

King Eallair had fled to Mhalwae in order to escape the tyrant king Faldorn and his ravening hordes. He was the last surviving of his bloodline since the murder of his family during Faldorn’s invasion. He knew that he alone would carry on the name and his kingdom, hidden on Mhalwae where his enemies could not find him.

Eallair was a good man who cared greatly about his subjects and wanted to provide for them. He only hoped that those loyal enough to follow him had made the right decision. He too had heard the whispers of the mythical island in the far North and had believed it to be nonsense until his father, blood spilling from an arrow wound in his side had pressed a small box containing a scroll into his hand and told him to flee and take with him whomever would go.

He brought those he could with him, young and childless couples who could move quickly boarded the ships as their great city died. Also accompanying him was his beloved wife Madlenka. It had not been long since the happier times of their wedding, when there was great rejoicing and celebration in the city. But for him it felt so long since that day, that he had aged immensely, responsibility weighing down on his shoulders. Thank goodness he had Madlenka as his companion. True she had a fiery temper, but it was with the same fire that she passionately loved him.

And he loved her too, almost unbearably and relied on her in all things. She was clever and could see people for what they truly were, a skill he lacked himself being innately trusting. And he could not help but find her fits of anger endearing… the way her chin trembled and her little fists clenched.

She was not yet with child, a fact which both relieved him as fleeing with a pregnant wife would have been almost impossible, but also alarmed him as they had lain together many times since their wedding day. But at present as the ships approached the island his mind was turned to food and shelter for his people, and a strange feeling of dread he could not shake.

They had to flee to Mhalwae, that small forbidding island in the far Northern reaches of the Draldor Ocean. The rightful ruler to the throne Eallair set sail with a handful of loyal followers he could persuade to make the journey with him. They too all wanted to make a new life away from the clutches of the cruel tyrant king and usurper of Eallair’s throne, Faldorn. He would not find them here.

It had been a hard journey and they had lost one ship, but those accompanying him were brave and they had made it to the shores of the windswept island. However those who stepped off the boats could not help but shiver as their feet touched the land of Mhalwae. None could explain it, but there was a feeling of wrongness that pervaded all.

It had been a long time since anyone had inhabited the island and most did not know of its existence at all making it a safe haven for the exile of the king. Eallair had only managed to guide them through the treacherous waters with a map passed down through the generations of his family. He only hoped that he and his subjects could start a new life with their meagre belongings here on the edge of the world.