I am enjoying this trip so far.  The view from the mountains is amazing.  I can see far out into the Queen's land; places I have been, and places I would like to see.  Sometimes the climbing is hard, and we can't go too high before we all, including the ponies and other animals have trouble breathing.  I am having trouble coping with the thin air; the herders are used to it.  The first time I saw the Queen's Castle from the Cliffs of Andoro N'eta, I sat down and stared at it, before remembering I am supposed to be used to that sort of beauty.  I love feeling so close to the stars.  The mountain sheep are amazing, leaping great distances and never losing their footing.

     These ponies we herd are stubborn.  From the oldest mare to the newest foal, thay are all worse than mules.  And I thought Zimm was bad...  They are all friendly, however, and there is one filly in particular that I've fallen in love with.  She's a light red roan with a dark red face and a black mane and tail.  I've named her N'eta, after the first cliffs I set foot on. 

    The legend of N'eta is a fascinating one, an old tale of the herders.  I will transcribe it tomorrow.  For now, it is time to begin checking the hooves of each and every pony on this mountainside.

   May lameness never strike your ponies, and may you stand your ground like a true mountain pony.

     I knew the Queen was sending someone for me the next day.  I closed my eyes.  It had to be that night.  I slid the knife into its sheath, and attached it to the leather strap inside my sleeve.

     I slipped off my shoes, and crept silently through the house.  By the time I reached the door of Grollo’s bedroom, my heart was thundering.  I realized this would be far harder than poisoning.  I stepped through the door, and slowly walked up to Grollo’s bed.  There were no sounds but for his steady breathing.  Soon, I thought, even that would cease.

     I stared at his shadowy form.  Even though he was a nasty man, and I still had the bruises to prove it, I had to close my eyes and remember my duty.  I slid the blade from its sheath; my hand trembled as I got ready to cut Grollo’s throat.

     I could not do it.  I could not kill a man.  I put the knife away and fled the room.

     When one of the Queen’s men came for me early in the morning, I mounted the horse he had brought for me.  She was a flashy, high-stepping chestnut I knew to be named Clink.  When we’d gotten about a half-mile away from Grollo’s property, I let Clink have her head, and we galloped away across the fields.  The Queen’s man could barely keep up.

     I never slowed our wild flight until Clink was too tired to do anything but walk.  By the end of the day, we were within a mile of the Queen’s castle.  Clink wanted to run again, and kept trying to grab the bit with her teeth.  I was in no hurry to report to the Queen however, and kept her at a walk.

     When we reached the castle, I did everything I could to avoid entering the castle.  I groomed Clink, fed her, cleaned her tack, washed the travel dust from my body, and changed to my traditional outfit.  I couldn’t put it off any longer.

     The Queen called me to her chamber, where I found her writing at her desk.  She motioned for me to sit down, and waited for my report.  When I said nothing, she looked up.  “Nikita?” she raised an eyebrow.

     Shamefaced, I stared at my feet.  I couldn’t look her in the eye.  After a moment, I felt the Queen’s fingers on my chin as she lifted my face.  “Tell me Kita.  Tell me everything.”  I did so, my heart aching at the knowledge that I had failed her.

     When I finished, I dared to look up.  “Maybe I was wrong,” the Queen murmured.  “I’m sorry Nikita.  I never should have put this burden on a young girl.”

     That really hurt me.  At that moment, a man I knew to be one of the Queen’s spies entered the room.

     “My lady,” he bowed.  “I have an urgent matter to discuss.”  When the Queen inclined her head, he began.  “Lord Grollo has gone through with his plan.”

     The Queen's eyes were filled with a horrible sadness and fear.  "Tell me," she said, in a voice that told me she did not want to know.

      "He attacked two of the villages we were informed of by our spies.  He also took five others on the Eastern Border.  He burned them to the ground.  Those who were not killed by the soldiers or inferno, were taken as slaves.  Our men are attempting to find them, but we suspect they have already been sold somewhere in the Northern Isles."

    The Queen did not speak for a long time.  The man left, but I stayed; my heart felt as if it had been stabbed with the knife I should have used to destroy Grollo.

    "Nikita," the Queen said, in the saddest voice I have ever heard, "Hundreds of lives were lost, because you could not take one.  But I do not blame you.  You are young.  If you still wish to serve me, I will give you another chance."

    I have never once failed my Queen again.

     I was frozen for a moment, but my training had taught me to act fast, and I did.  A server walked past me carrying a platter.  I grabbed it and rushed to the table.

      I touched Allia on the shoulder.  She looked up at me, startled.  "Would you care for some," I glanced at what I carried.  "Lamb?" 

       "No," she said, reaching for her spoon.

       "As you wish my Lady," I said.  I turned as if to go, but pretended to trip.  My platter of lamb flew through the air, and I threw out my arm to stop my fall, carefully knocking the bowl of soup to the floor.  In the brief confusion that followed, I lay on the ground, covered in soup, lamb, and all manner of food.

        I found myself lifted up into the air.  Grollo held me up by my arm.  He glared into my face.  "Who are you girl?" he growled.

           "My name's Aylie," I stammered, trying not to cry.  I felt as if my arm would come off!  "I'm the new kitchen girl."

       "I should kill you right now!"  Grollo threw me to the floor.  "As it is, you will clean up this mess..."  He threw the empty platter striking my shoulder.  "And you will wash every dish for the rest of the month!"

        I lay huddled on the floor as Grollo and his household finished their meal.  When they left, I slowly got up and began to clear the table.  As I mopped the floor and carried stacks of dishes to the kitchen, I began formulating a new plan.  I had to do as the Queen had commanded.

     I admit, it hurts my pride to put this down on parchment, but I know it is only human to make mistakes.  Maybe this will help you to understand me better.

      I was proud when the Queen gave me my first assignment.  Although I was but ten years old, I had been trained within an inch of my life.  I was confident and cocky, although the pit of my stomach was boiling with nerves.

      My target was a man named Grollo.  I will not go into great detail, but his country had been at war with one of our greatest allies for years.  Grollo was one of the Battle Commanders.  The Queen told me he was to be assassinated immediately.

        I was so excited, that I don't remember much of the trip; but I do remember my arrival.  Grollo's house was more of a mansion than anything.  Slaves and servants scurried about silently, and dozens of hunting hounds played in the yard.  I went through the servant's door, and was escorted to the kitchen.  I wore the plain dress of a poor girl, with an apron and cap.  As a new kitchen girl, I was set right to work peeling potatoes.  The head cook gave brisk orders, and the rest of the staff just went about their business as if I'd always been there.

      My job was to wait a few days, and then slip poison into Grollo's food.  (By waiting, the suspision would not fall on me right away.)  I call it Quiet Poison.  It takes several hours to work its way through the body.  If given at dinnertime, the victim usually dies painlessly in his sleep.  Most doctors simply proclaim it a heart attack, and no one knows of murder.

     I worked in the kitchen for three days as ordered, watching closely to learn where I should put my poison.  On the fourth night, as I was adding bread to each plate, I put Quiet Poison in Grollo's soup.

     My heart jumped at every little thing as I took my place at the wall of the dining hall, waiting to serve.  I kept my face stony, staring straight ahead.  Soon, I told myself, soon it will be finished!  After a few minutes, I couldn't help myself.  I peeked at Grollo; and almost shouted aloud at what I saw.

     Grollo had no soup.  He had given it to his young daughter, Allia. 

  The Queen gave me a pony today.  Her name is Zimm, and she was given to me for a specific purpose.  My next assignment is to pose as a Mountain Herder.  Zimm is a Mountain Pony, born and bred.  She is stubborn, but hardy , and an easy keeper; all the marks of a Mountain Pony.  She is a grey dun with a windswept mane.  Secret loves her, and that little pony bosses my big black horse. 

  My mission as a herder shall most likely last a few months.  My hair will be braided in the traditional manner of a Herder, and will trade in my usual outfit for a grey one.  I rather like it.  I will have a long grey poncho rather than a cloak, and leather pants, which will last longer in the mountains than my leggings.

   I think this trip will be fun in many ways, but I must not forget my duty.  I have been practicing herding with some of the horses at pasture.  I think I can pull this off convincingly.  I will miss Secret's fire and absolute willingness, but I have to get to know Zimm better.

As the Herders say:  May your herds never stray!

  The Queen commissioned a painting of my horse as a Blue Eve gift.  The horse himself was my sixteenth birthday present.  She bred him, trained him, and even named him specifically for me.  His parents are the fastest horses in her stable.  As a result of his great training, he spooks at nothing, and his speed rivals even the greatest racers.  He never doubts my commands.  The Queen named him Secret Of The Night.  His coloring is all black so that he will be hidden in darkness. 

   I ride Secret almost every day.  I hate the assignments that do not allow me to bring him along.  He is the only one I can trust; him and the Queen.  It would seem strange, however, for a lowly servant or scullery maid to own such a fine steed.

    No matter what the mission, I bring at least one of my dogs.  They are trained as well as Secret, obeying commands instantly, protecting me, even carrying and fetching things.  They are all Hunting Hounds, which many people own. 

    Owen was another gift from the Queen.  She chose the best of the kennels for me.  He is a loyal companian.  I rescued Fisher from the river when he was a puppy.  Someone had dumped him, and he had scars from abuse.  Now he is the biggest and silliest Hunting Hound I have ever known.  Birdy is a few years older than Owen and Fisher, but still young.  Her wisdom helps to keep Fisher in check.  She is small, but fiercely protective. 

     I asked the Queen one day why there are wars.  I was very young, and did not understand.  She smiled at me in a sad sort of way.  "Kita," she said, "wars are started for many reasons.  Some are necessary to create peace and harmony; others are pure folly."

   "What of the war between the Kents and the Narians?" I asked.

    The Queen was silent for a moment before she spoke.  "That is perhaps the silliest skirmish of our time.  Many years ago, the young Prince of Narosa and a young Duchess of Kent were playing together.  The Prince's hunting hound killed one of the Duchess's prized white cats.  Because of this, bad feelings grew between the two countries.  Those bad feelings grew to dislike, and the dislike became hate.  Now the Duchess and the Prince are long dead, but their descendants continue to fight.  In all likelihood, neither country remembers why they hate each other so."

   I looked dubiously at Birdy, and another of my dogs, Cama, now deceased.  This had shocked me.  That people could kill each other over a minor accident which happened decades ago was beyond my comprehension.  It helped me to realize yet again that my country is fortunate to be led by such a wise and caring leader.  The Queen declares war only for the good of her people, not because of petty arguments or a need for power.

     My father taught me to ride when I was only two.  My great love and knowledge of horses came from his influence I have no doubt.  He and my mother gave me up to be trained when I was only four years of age.  The Queen decided that very few would suspect a girl to be and assassin, much less a young one.  She chose me when she saw I could ride better than any other children my age.   

    I learned all manner of things at the Queen's castle.  I can use any weapon, and know the art of poisons.  A knife feels as natural in my hand as a needle in the hand of a great Lady.  I had to learn all that a Lady would learn; dancing, sewing, instruments.  I learned the chores of a maid, a stable boy, a kitchen girl.  I can cook, clean, and care for any animal.  I can hunt, and trained in basic survival skills.  My job calls upon me to act as all sorts of people.  I even disguised myself as a boy a few times.

    I learned some things that only priveleged Scholars and Scribes know.  I know Old Speak, from which all languages originated.  I can read and write as well as any Scribe, and know more about politics than many in government positions.  I do not enjoy Arithmetic, but I suppose it is just as well that I learned it.  My memorization skills also must be kept sharp, so that I am able to report accurately.   I have been greatly blessed, and well compensated for constantly putting myself in danger.   Very few can speak to the Queen as freely as I.

I am the Queen’s Assassin.  To tell you of my true identity would not be prudent, for I would have to kill you.  It does not matter where you are.  Whether it be another world, or even another time, I would hunt you down.  I have never failed in my duty.  You can call me Nikita.

   I record this my life only because it is to be bound in a book.  The Queen has requested that the Royal Scribe write of my humble, yet dangerous life. Why she should do this I do not know.  Maybe in this way she hopes to share my adventures.  These writings of mine shall assist the Scribe in his task.

     As I said, I am an assassin.  Call me a murderer if you will.  Do not think that I have not faced moral struggles.  I still find it hard to kill, but I now understand that I destroy the life of one, to save the lives of many.