 
## CATHEXIS

## Book One

# Necromancer's Dagger

by

Philip Blood

Version 5.09

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PUBLISHED BY:

Philip Blood

Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger

Copyright © 2011 by Philip Blood

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to a book seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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#### Dedication

There are a lot of people I would like to thank on this series. I started this four-book series many years ago, and over time, many people have helped me along the way. Firstly, I have to thank Rhonda St. Laurent, who was there from the first page, helping me with her knowledge and skills in writing. Ron DeRuyter was my primary reader and editor during the bulk of the entire Cathexis series and I really, really, really appreciate it! (He just hates when I repeat 'really').

But there were many others, Todd Blood listened to me read the daily pages from beginning to end and added many ideas to the story. Dan Althouse read the raw work and bet me a dollar I couldn't finish the series in four books (making his dollar my first one earned). Kathy Van Allen gave me the kindest compliment on this story when she said that she found herself laughing and crying within the same page. And to Marianne Wilhelm, for listening to me and putting up with my mind living inside this fantasy world for two years straight.

I had many test readers, like John, Mary and Leah Savage, Will Ware, and others, I wish I could thank them all, but that would take several pages. You all know who you are, so thanks!

Finally, I'd like to thank my father, Philip R. Blood, who passed away recently, for reading and editing the novels and for getting me into writing in the first place, thanks, dad!

And now...

### CATHEXIS

Book One

### Necromancer's Dagger

#### PROLOGUE: MICHAEL

_The heir to the kingdom of_ Lindankar _was born with the first rays of morning light and by the fall of evening_ darkness, _his death was planned. On his day of birth, the just gathered to celebrate and the wicked conspired to murder and exactly one year after Michael_ Ardellen's _birth the necromancer's dagger would strike._

\- Headmaster Lucent Margraves

Light and focus parted the darkness like the opening of a theater curtain. Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open as she returned from the land of dreams. Fear for her child's safety brought her swiftly awake, but she relaxed when she felt her newborn son snuggled safely against her side.

The new mother looked up to see her husband's concerned face staring down; the skin between his intense blue eyes creased like the furrows of a farmer's field. Elizabeth smiled and reached up to his face with her slim right hand to try and smooth away his worry wrinkles.

She spoke to him with a voice sounding slightly of sleep, "You shouldn't scrunch up like that, your face might take an imprint, like cathexis metal, and then you would go through the rest of life scowling at everyone."

Jatar's brow relaxed, yet his voice betrayed his contained emotion, "G'lan, I thought I had lost you!"

Elizabeth gave him a warm yet serious smile and replied, "If all the evil in the world stood between us, they could not keep me from coming to you."

At her smile and words, Jatar's concern was replaced by a warm flood of emotion. In all ways, Elizabeth was the most beautiful person he had ever met. Her physical beauty took away his breath each time his eyes caressed her features. Her long auburn hair framed her exquisitely shaped face. Her small nose accented her generous and perfectly formed lips and her high cheekbones gave her an exotic trait which showed her royal Hevarnan lineage. They balanced the shape of her face and drew his gaze to her brown eyes. He often found himself falling into those dark wells of smoldering power. She was beautiful, by any man's standards, but her physical beauty always seemed dull compared to the compassion of her soul and there Jatar found beauty unmatched in the world.

With the back of his battle rough fingers, Jatar reached out and touched the side of her soft alabaster cheek in a gentle caress. Then he spoke softly, "I was worried when the stone burned our son and then you collapsed, what happened?"

"It's Michael's aura, my quick look at his aura strength, just after his birth, was not a detailed probe. I knew he had a strong potential, but I hadn't realized his aura was so intense!" Her voice rose with excitement, "The Aurora stone test showed the strongest potential aura I have ever seen! It was so strong it caused the Aurora stone to emit light into the range of heat and that was powerful enough to burn his skin. When I noticed what was happening, I removed the stone as quickly as possible."

"But why did you collapse?" Jatar interjected, concern again etching his face.

She smiled wanly and replied, "Well, I tried to use my powers to heal him, but my aura is still replenishing from this morning's extreme expenditure of giving birth. I went beyond the usable limits of my power, but do not fear for me, my love, I will recover, but let's see how well my healing went for our newborn son."

Elizabeth started to open Michael's wrap, but she paused a moment when she saw the bandage on her left hand.

"He was not the only one burned," Jatar explained simply.

Elizabeth nodded and continued opening Michael's wrap. On his infant's white chest, she saw a faint faceted shaped scar right where the Aurora stone had lain against his skin.

Elizabeth inspected the scar for a moment, but since there was no current danger she did not reach for her weakened powers. She then explained to her husband, "I can heal the rest of this scar away as soon as my powers have a chance to recuperate."

"I don't think you should," Jatar replied.

Frowning slightly, the sorceress asked, "Why?"

"The mark on your hand matches the mark on his chest perfectly. It will serve as a reminder of his wonderful aura, discovered by his mother on the day of his birth. Think of it as a kind of aura birthmark and, since it matches yours, it will also remind him of his mother's love. It's really only a faint scar anyway."

"Well, I'll do as milord desires; after all, I can always remove it later if he doesn't want the mark. Jatar, Michael has the strongest child's aura I've ever seen or heard of, even in my Adept memories! Do you realize what his aura strength means?"

"I have a fair idea; he can be trained as a sorcerer, which also means he must, eventually, travel to the Kirnath School for instruction. Though, I can't say I like the thought of his being away from our protection."

Elizabeth reached out a hand and took hold of his forearm and then replied, "But, Jatar, you've told me many times how important it was to your education when you spent time fostering in the kingdoms of Bralter, Tazlany, and Belorn."

"I hate it when you use my own words to make your point," he scolded, playfully. "Fostering at another kingdom is good training for a future ruling Lord and the friendships he'll form are vital to future peace." Jatar noted that Elizabeth was about to speak so he headed her off. "Next, you're probably going to remind me that you left your country to grow up at the Kirnath School, but our son is not in the same situation. You weren't in Autrany's direct line of succession and both of your parents had already passed away," Jatar reasoned gently.

"You're right, of course; I was only a first cousin in the Hevarnan line, while Michael will be your heir. It is true that he must go to the Kirnath School for part of his training, but remember, I can give him much of the instruction here," she promised. "Let's put that aside for the moment; instead, imagine the things he will be able to accomplish! Our hopes and dreams of uniting more of the kingdoms into a coalition will have an even better chance. With the skills of a Kirnath sorcerer at his call, the necromancers will have trouble opposing his moves. With proper training, he may be able to do more than any Adept alive. G'lan, I don't even know his limits! Until he goes through the change at puberty no one will know his full capabilities, a child's aura only shows potential, but his potential is already extraordinary!"

Excitement danced in her eyes as Elizabeth took hold of Jatar's arm and squeezed. "Think of it, a future ruling Lord with more than full Adept powers! What a legacy for your throne!"

The dreams of her son's future successes brought another thought and a cloud of worry shaded her expression. "Jatar, we must quickly downplay this episode. We should put out a story blaming a faulty Aurora stone for the display of light. Let people think that Michael was re-tested with above average results, but only slightly better than normal."

A puzzled expression came across Jatar's face at his wife's sudden change in tone and he asked, "Why the secrecy?"

"Remember the necromancers, I've told you of their link with the Dark Plane. They wield evil powers and use their connection to the darkness toward the enslavement of every country where they can gain a foothold. The Kirnath sorcerers are the only organized force capable of opposing their dark powers. The last thing the necromancers wish to see is a ruler, with Kirnath training, wielding strong aura power against them from the throne of a powerful nation like Lindankar."

Jatar sat next to Elizabeth and took her soft right hand between his calloused fingers. "We have you here to protect our son from their evil plots. There aren't too many of these necromancers, are there?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

Elizabeth conceded the point, "No, the ordeal of becoming a full necromancer tends to destroy the majority of neophytes making the attempt."

Jatar sprung his point, "Then, with your training and powers, you should have no trouble protecting Michael if they dare to show themselves in Lindankar, just as you have guarded me from their evil plots." Jatar knew her capabilities and truly trusted her to protect him and his child on that front.

Elizabeth was warmed by Jatar's belief in her aura skills, but she knew it was imperative that he understood the full danger of the necromancers. "I will do my best, but remember, I am only one sorceress and, though their numbers are few, there are enough necromancers to overcome me if they make a concerted effort. Until now they have not thought it worth the risk of public exposure, but your moves toward creating a united Council of Lords must have them worried. If they thought a sorcerer of extreme power was going to rule from Lindankar's throne, furthering your direction toward unification, they might think the risk of exposure worth the assassination of Michael while he is still untrained." As she spoke, Elizabeth hugged her newborn son protectively to her soft breast.

Jatar strode across the room with clenched fists to gaze out the window at his capital city. "They wouldn't dare," he said, intensely.

Elizabeth shook her head in negation and said softly, "For something as important as an extremely powerful Kirnath ruler, they might risk coming out of their dark holes. I've often warned you about the necromancer's lack of fanfare, you may not see them, but trust me when I tell you that they are the true enemies to your aims of peace." Her deep brown eyes held Jatar's gaze for a moment and then she added, "Humor me about hiding the true strength of Michael's aura."

Jatar bowed formally from the waist and answered, "It will be done as you ask." He was becoming concerned about his wife; he didn't want to stress her further with worry about these necromancers, he figured that she had been through enough on this day of giving birth.

Elizabeth sighed and eased herself against her bed cushions. She adjusted Michael's wrap and then again spoke to her husband, "It's time for you to go out and placate the nobles. Even as we speak, the mill that produces rumors is probably in full production of that tiresome product called gossip."

In an attempt to lighten the mood and ease her worries Jatar turned and struck an exaggerated, regal pose, raising one hand as if ready to speak in oratory fashion. "I go to make meaningless pleasantries with spying conspirators and cryptic nonsense with tiresome court cretins... or was that the other way around?" he asked, stopping his proclamation as if puzzled and going back over his own words.

Elizabeth shook her head in amusement.

Far away from Tarnelin, the capital city of Lindankar, where Jatar just left his wife and newborn son, an old keep sprouts from a granite ridge like a broken rotted tooth pointing at the sky. Deep in the corrupted roots, three conspirators gathered to plot murder. In a dim chamber, a single torch cast twisting shapes of shadowy creatures on the rough-hewn stone wall, but the true monsters faced each other across the top of the coarse wooden table.

You would be hard pressed to find three more different men, yet some dark force had brought them to an uneasy alliance.

The first conspirator looked like an ancient wrinkled corpse. His thin emaciated body was concealed by a dark hooded cloak. Only the tip of his gnarled nose projected from within the shadows of the cloak's cowl. His crinkle-skinned hand never strayed far from the hilt of a dagger that was tucked through a black cord belt at his waist. His name was CAracusS and he wielded the dead powers of necromancy.

He addressed the other two men in a monotone whisper as rough as a death rattle. "I traveled by projection on the Dark Road and have just returned from Tarnelin; the sorceress bore her cursed husband an heir to the Lindankar throne. The child already showed aura power and so he must die."

The second conspirator wore rich garments of the nobility, which were made from silk and soft leather with white fur accents. He was on the young side of middle age and he sat back in his chair as if surveying the world for his own amusement. There was the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth and an amused sparkle deep in his dark eyes.

He spoke and his jovial tone was in stark contrast to the necromancer's graveyard whisper, "Then we are agreed on this plan: I will supply both of you with inside information and use my position to manipulate the necessary people to get Major Von Dracek into Lord Jatar's palace, at the appropriate time, one year from now."

He turned his smiling eyes on the third member of the conspiracy and said, "Major, you will spend the year preparing Lord Tysol to be our tool. He must be fashioned into a diversion worthy of Lady Ardellen's attention. The sorceress must be too concerned about her husband's safety to notice the presence of a necromancer in her very palace. With her attention diverted, CAracusS can summon his evil creature and let it loose on Lord Jatar."

The third conspirator was obviously a military man; he wore a simple yet well-groomed uniform of the Tchulian mercenary corps. His face was clean shaven, his jaw hard, like wrought iron. His light brown hair was cut so short that he nearly seemed bald. His eyes were deep set and dark brown. The hovering brows and long thin nose gave him the look of a bird of prey. The Major nodded curtly to the noble and said, "And once your beast has consumed Jatar's soul, what of his wife, the Sorceress? I want that Kirnath bitch and all her kind... dead."

The necromancer rasped out his reply, "She dies, but that is his job." CAracusS turned his yellowed eyes on the nobleman.

That man now spoke, "I suppose I can do away with one unsuspecting woman." The nobleman had his habitual smirk on his face and he picked at some dirt under one of his fingernails.

The Tchulian mercenary officer frowned and leaned forward to stare at the man's smirking face; he smacked the flat of his hand onto the table top to get the smirking noble to look his way and then pointed a finger at him as he said, "Never underestimate the powers of the Kirnath sorcerers."

The nobleman chuckled as he held the mercenary's eyes boldly for a moment, though he did not answer.

The necromancer pointed at the nobleman with a shriveled finger that was little more than skin-covered bone and spoke in a death-bed whisper, "On the day we strike at Jatar, you will go to the church with Lady Ardellen and her young spawn. There you will arrange for them to both die, swiftly and without a mistake! At nearly the same moment, I will use my necromancy to open the bridge between the worlds and bring forth a Darknull. I will bargain with the beast and arrange for it to consume Lord Jatar's soul. With his body empty, I will use this cathexis dagger to switch my consciousness into Lord Jatar's body and take control, becoming the ruler of Lindankar!" CAracusS paused briefly as he withdrew a highly-polished blade from his belt and then drove the sharp point into the wood of the table.

The Tchulian mercenary looked at the dagger curiously. Everyone had heard of cathexis metal, but few had ever seen one of the nineteen objects made from the rare substance. He contemplated the perfect mirror surface of the silvery blade curiously and wondered if all the stories were true, was this simple dagger, made from cathexis, truly more valuable than a kingdom? Suddenly his gaze returned to the nobleman and he asked, "And how are you so sure you can kill a Kirnath sorceress?"

The nobleman sniffed and adjusted the fur at his collar, but instead of answering directly he turned his amused gaze on the cadaverous necromancer. "While you are availing yourself of the late Jatar's body and throne, I will have the sorceress and her son killed by assassins." He quickly held up a hand to forestall the mercenary's outburst. "My men are well trained for this task and they will be armed with a poison that disrupts the powers of a sorceress. With her mind clouded, the Kirnath witch can't focus and use her aura powers."

At that revelation, the Major sat back into his chair and then said, "And when we are successful, then what happens?"

The nobleman shrugged, "After CAracusS is in control of the ruler's body everyone will take his orders as if he were Jatar. Then you, my good Major, will assist with the purge of Jatar's loyal officers and take command of the military."

There was a brief silence as the major smoothed his slim mustache and goatee with a thumb and forefinger. He leaned forward, placing his callused right hand on the table; the ruby eyes of his Death's Head officer's ring glinted in the torchlight. "How do I know you two will keep our bargain after the Ardellen family is dead?"

The hooded necromancer whispered in reply, "Unless you have changed your mind since the last time we spoke, all you desire is the destruction of the Kirnath. Of that you have the best assurance of all, it is in my best interests. The Kirnath have repeatedly attempted to eradicate the necromantic arts; they don't 'approve' of our methods. This time, we will purge the sorcerers and all their kind from the world. We will take their precious school and burn it to the ground."

The Tchulian merc raised one hand with the index finger extended to make his point, "Just remember, I am to be there when the Kirnath Adepts and their school are finished." For once his emotionless face showed a squint of intense hatred.

"As you wish," rasped the necromancer and waved his liver-spotted hand in dismissal of the petty detail.

The Tchulian major's face returned to an iron mask and he leaned back in his chair. "The day cannot come too soon."

"You hate them, hey?" the nobleman asked in a soft voice, then a knowing smile spread across his handsome face.

"I have my reasons and that is all you need to know," spat the Tchulian major, his back straight with military formality.

The nobleman raised one lace-cuffed hand and tapped his index finger repeatedly against his lips while staring at the major. Finally, with a chilling smile, he pushing his chair back and stood. "Then it is agreed, one year from today, on the first birth celebration of the Lindankar heir, Lord Jatar Ardellen's soul will be destroyed, his body and kingdom stolen, and his wife and child killed. Then we will be in control of the most powerful kingdom in the north."

#### CHAPTER ONE: TYSOL

_Though other scholars might begin their chronicle of the Final Battle in ancient times or, much later, when the boy killed his friend and came of age, or perhaps at the time of the Sundering... I contend that the turning point in history was that fateful day, during the first week of spring, in the year 3012 AG. It was on that day that Michael Ardellen turned one year old and the world shuddered with foreshadowing of the epic events to come. On that day of_ summer, _the Ardellen family took the first step off a cliff and plummeted into the maelstrom of history. It was on this exact day that the three conspirators: a nobleman, a mercenary major, and a necromancer culminated their plan to steal the throne of Lindankar._

\- Headmaster Lucent Margraves

It was a hot sultry day without the slightest breeze; even the wind seemed to hold its breath waiting for the events of the day to unfold. The brightness of the day was in stark contrast with the darkness of the deeds to come. The land of Lindankar was poised to celebrate, but destined to mourn. Merchants, with their long mule trains of fabulous goods, flocked like flutters to seed, enticed by the scent of profit that floated in the very air of the celebrating capital city. Fancy coaches trundled in through the city gates, followed by their full entourage, as all the nobility came to attend the festivities. Ruling Lords and important Ambassadors from surrounding kingdoms arrived with great pomp and self-importance while the common folk poured into every inn and tavern to talk about the big event. It was the eve of Michael Ardellen's first birth celebration and his official recognition as heir to the throne.

Lady Elizabeth Ardellen stood directing events in the elegant banquet hall. She stood near the long dining table which was set to seat thirty-two honored guests during the evening's celebration dinner. At this very moment, Elizabeth was thinking that not all of these `honored' guests were necessarily honorable, but this dinner for the visiting rulers, ambassadors, and other sundry notables was traditional and, therefore, nearly unavoidable.

Tapestries draped the walls and depicted single and family portraits of past Ardellen generations. Servants flittered around, like flutters making a nest, cleaning, placing dishes, and adjusting tablecloths.

Elizabeth watched over the proceedings from the center, giving a helpful hand here and a good suggestion there, wherever her guidance was needed. She noticed a spot on a crystal glass and began polishing it when a household servant approached; it was Gavin, a stiff and formal long-time servant of the Ardellen family.

Gavin's immaculately clean white and gold uniform hung from his thin frame as if his bones were a set of connecting hangers. The old servant spoke stiffly to Elizabeth, "Milady, Lord Jatar requests your presence in his private chambers."

Lady Elizabeth straightened up and turned to face Gavin. She liked the old man and decided to tease him a little. With a twinkle in her eye, she said, "Does he? Well, Gavin, I'm too busy right now, so you can tell him to come down here." She hoped to get a reaction from the somber servant and wasn't disappointed.

Gavin looked confused and puzzled, but he replied as diplomatically as possible. "Milady, he seemed very adamant about obtaining your personal attention on a question about his wardrobe. He has just finished his bath and is not sure what his attire should be for tonight's festivities."

Elizabeth turned back to her crystal glass, as if unconcerned, and answered, "Tell him he'll just have to wait." She continued to polish the glass while watching the servant from the corner of her eye.

He remained standing, while shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot, nervously. Still trying not to smile, Elizabeth held the crystal up to the light while inspecting the shine and said, "Is there something else I can help you with, Gavin?"

Resigned to his fate, the servant prepared to leave and replied in a heavy tone, "No, milady."

Elizabeth waited until he started his turn to depart and finally said, "You look positively morbid with your shoulders slumped down like that, Gavin. Cheer up, Jatar won't do anything to you, though come to think of it," she added, taking hold of her chin thoughtfully, "rulers have been known to kill the bearer of bad tidings."

Gavin stopped and, if possible, his expression grew even more pitiful.

Elizabeth suddenly smiled warmly at the old servant as she said, "Would it make you feel better if I came back to see Jatar with you?"

With a look of relief, the servant nodded and answered, "A great deal, milady."

"Well then, let us depart immediately. However, in return, I will require your aid in a little plot."

With an all-new rueful expression, the servant asked resignedly, "Plot, milady?"

"Oh yes," she answered with a mischievous little smile, "there is always a plot."

Gavin addressed Jatar nervously and recited the words Elizabeth had told him, "Milady bade me inform milord and I quote, `If you wish to see me immediately then come down to the dining room dressed as you are, otherwise, don't bother me.'"

"She said WHAT!" The nearly naked Lord Jatar Ardellen exclaimed in a shout.

Gavin dutifully started to repeat Elizabeth's message, "If you wish..."

"If that's what she wants, fine," Jatar interrupted and stomped toward the door in his undergarments. The angry ruler of Lindankar grabbed the door handle and flung it open and then his body started forward a half-step before he saw Elizabeth in front of him, leaning on her shoulder against the doorframe, a smile peeking out of her eyes.

She raised her eyebrows as she gave his body the once over from the top of his head to the toes of his feet and then commented, "Isn't that outfit going to be a little drafty for the dining hall?"

Jatar's expression changed rapidly from anger to surprise and then to understanding and finally back to feigned anger as he spoke with a hint of playfulness, "Oh ho, my little prankster thinks to amuse herself at her husband's expense!"

Jatar leaped forward and grabbed Elizabeth around the thighs, which elicited a startled yelp. He then straightened up and bent her over his broad shoulder while heading back into the room.

"That will be all for the moment," Jatar calmly told Gavin as he passed the old servant with his wife's rump high in the air.

"Thank you, milord," Gavin answered, without changing his normal straight-faced expression. He then turned and departed the room, closing the door behind him as he departed.

As Gavin walked away, he heard a high-pitched scream and then peals of laughter. The playful royal couple would have been amazed to see the brief smile of approval flash across Gavin's wrinkly old face before his expression resumed his normal competent and serious demeanor.

Sometime later, Elizabeth was helping Jatar dress for dinner within their chambers when she said, "Given who is attending our dinner party tonight, this could turn into a very interesting evening, I feel a tension in the air."

Jatar watched his wife's concentrating face as she adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Your Kirnath abilities tell you this?" he asked.

"No, my woman's intuition. Are you prepared for the friction that is bound to commence with both the Ambassador of Amak-Ta-Dol and the Lord of Olsk in the same room?"

"Of course," Jatar replied, "though I shall endeavor to mediate between them so that a new skirmish does not break out in our very Banquet Hall. I'm more concerned with Lord Tysol of Datoria. Frankly, I was surprised to see that he accepted our invitation; he must know that it was only sent as a token. He has made no secret of his opposition to our attempts to start a coalition of Lords. He's been particularly adamant in opposing a united effort to free Autrany from the Usurper."

At the mention of Autrany, the country of Elizabeth's birth, she stepped to the window and gazed out at the city lights. Her spirits were in anguish at the thought of her proud people under the grip of a usurping tyrant. Her powerful aura stirred in the depths of her brown eyes as strong emotion welled up in her heart.

"When are we going to come to their aid, Jatar? They are my people as well as these," she said, gesturing across the lights of Tarnelin. "It has been nearly a year since the Usurper's army marched across Autrany. If only we'd seen it coming, we could have helped defend them against the foul attack," she lamented.

Jatar shook his head sadly, "But we didn't know and the attack was so sudden. You were pregnant and about to give birth. It was the perfect time for the Usurper to move. We will do something about that tyrant, soon, I promise. In two days, I will convene the first Council of Lords. With the united support of our allies, we will be strong enough to liberate Autrany and its people. When Autrany is free of the tyrant, we will place a member of the Hevarnan blood line back on the throne," he promised.

"If only some of my relatives survived. I was sure some would have made their way to our protection by now. I can only hope that they are living in hiding within Autrany's occupied cities," she replied and added a silent prayer to G'lan for their safety. "Except for Michael, I would have gone in search of them myself," she told him quietly and lowered her head in grief.

A moment later, Elizabeth looked up and there was a sudden hardening in her features. "Jatar, don't let Lord Tysol disrupt your plans. This new council could solidify the friendships you've created since you became Lord of Lindankar. Let's make Autrany's sacrifice count. We'll turn this tide of evil around and rebuild Autrany as part of the new alliance!" she exclaimed as she got her mind back on positive things.

"Then the first thing we'll need to do is stifle Lord Tysol's mouth," Jatar noted with annoyance. "He sows the seeds of contention within the ranks of the Lords by spreading rumors and lies. His dislike for me is well known, so it doesn't bother me all that much, but I have heard rumors of him spreading lies about you. These lies hurt our cause," Jatar stated, while fingering the hilt of his sword.

Elizabeth was intrigued. "What have you heard?"

"I haven't heard anything specific, just rumors that you are 'controlling' me with your 'dark' powers. He infers that I am a puppet on the throne enthralled by an evil sorceress. He hasn't said it to anyone we could use as a reliable witness, he's careful about that; but if he ever makes that mistake in my presence, I'll call him out," Jatar finished, gripping his sword hilt until his knuckles showed white.

"Jatar, you must not put yourself in danger on account of my honor. You are too important to the negotiations. If we are ever to have peace in the lands and stop this constant destructive warfare someone must take the lead and show an ability to understand and compromise with his neighbors. You've worked so hard over these last few years and we're finally starting to see real progress. If we were to lose you now, besides breaking my heart, it would undo everything we have accomplished," his beautiful wife pleaded.

"Well, not everything; we have 'accomplished' a beautiful son named Michael and, after our tryst this afternoon, perhaps we've 'accomplished' even more! Besides, it's Michael's first-year birth celebration, so I refuse to be unhappy, no matter who is here," Jatar said to try and lighten the mood. He was tired of discussing the depressing machinations of Lord Tysol.

Picking up the flow of his thoughts Elizabeth put on a sly smile and said, "Well it's hard to argue with that kind of statement." She winked at him and added, "Did milord wish to ruffle my clothes again, or may I be excused to don my dinner apparel?"

Jatar stood rubbing his chin with one hand and appraised her slim rounded form with one eyebrow raised. "Hm, given that choice..."

"To dinner, before the guests tear each other apart, besides," she added with a teasing smile and tilt of her head, "there's always later tonight. For now, why don't you wait for me in the south hall alcove while I throw on some clothes? It won't take too long."

Lord Trask was a large man; he stood two full hand spans over six feet. His large face was nearly covered with a thick red beard which went down and nearly touched his chest. On his way to the banquet hall, he found the slim athletic form of Jatar standing behind a chair in an alcove where he was waiting for Elizabeth. Jatar was looking out the window at a palace garden while thinking about his son and the future. Two chairs and a small table were before him facing the window.

"Berelle, it's good to see you again," Jatar said and greeted his foster brother with a huge grin that proved he really meant it.

"And you, Jatar, it has been too long," Lord Trask replied with an equally large grin, his voice a deep baritone that sounded like it had the power of the north winds of his homelands.

Jatar stood back and took a good look at his big friend, he had to look upwards to do so. The large man was dressed for dinner in an understated long jacket of thick coarse material and matching pants of dark blue. The shirt had a high collar, buttoned at the neck and lacked the ruffles which were the style of the time. Berelle reached up with his right hand and pulled at his stiff collar, uncomfortable in the dress clothing.

Jatar grinned at his huge friend as he said, "How can a man who ventures around the cold north in a rusty chain mail shirt, which outweighs a small horse, look so uncomfortable in simple cloth?"

"I'm used to good steel, but this... why is this collar so tight?" he growled, pulling forcefully at the confining material around his neck.

Jatar slapped his friend on the back, to no effect, and said, "Thank G'lan you'll never change, Berelle. How are Pricilla and the children?"

"She's doing well, but she has reached the sixth month of her term making the journey here too strenuous. That is the reason I must depart immediately after Michael's investment. Jerome and Calt are growing strong and Brelt is almost ready to learn the sword," Lord Trask reported with a father's pride.

"Come now, Brelt's what, three years old?" Jatar asked, amused at his friend's optimistic pride.

"Yes, but he's another one like Calt, a hellion. His mother is about to pack it all in and become a hermit. Just before I left, he got into the stable yard and managed the neat trick of rolling around in the manure; I don't know why. Eventually, he must have tired himself out because he went to bed. Meanwhile, his mother was frantically looking for the boy. Jatar, you should have seen the look on Pricilla's face when she finally found him by following the smell of manure. He was in bed, with his clothes on, covered head to toe in excrement." Berelle's smile was broad and proud as he recounted his son's latest adventure.

Jatar poked Berelle in the chest with his forefinger as he said, "He reminds me of you. Remember the four years that you, Pellev, Verdew, and I fostered together? It seems like we were in trouble more often than not. I recall one episode during the year we spent here, when all four of us got into the snerg pens. Remember how we pretended to be knights on battle mounts as we rode our sordid, snorting, and squealing stallions? When we were through, I think there was more mud and snerg manure than boy on what walked into the palace. After they scoured us, with both water and words, I remember Grandfather putting us over his knee in hopes of beating some brains up into our heads."

Laughing, Berelle clapped Jatar on the back with his big meaty hand. The blow caused his friend to stagger forward a half-step. "I don't think it worked, at least not the first time, but it wasn't the only time your grandfather put us over his knee before he died. It's too bad he isn't around, physically, to do the same for my boys; I could use the help! If your Grandfather hadn't passed away, I would have sent for him to straighten out young Calt. You know, it's been a while since I've had a chance to speak with your Grandfather... would you mind?"

"Of course not, Berelle, he always enjoys speaking with you, but..." Jatar glanced over his shoulder to make sure that no one was near enough to listen, "...I don't have the family ring right now."

Berelle looked puzzled. "I thought you always wore it?"

"G'Taklar, a young cousin, is on his first embassy to Zinterdalin to negotiate some trade agreements for Lindankar. Those negotiations are very important, so I wanted to give them my personal attention, after all, G'Taklar has to deal with Lord Ufer Hervet."

"Do you think it was wise to send your inexperienced cousin to deal with Lord Hervet? He will be lucky to come away with his shirt!" Berelle scoffed.

"I know, but with Michael's official recognition as heir coming up, I couldn't be away. I made the decision to send the family cathexis ring with G'Taklar. I've worn it long enough to imprint, so when he needs advice, he can consult with my personality within the cathexis ring. I know it was a big risk sending the ring, but in a way, I'm still with it, guiding G'Taklar from within. My cousin is an honest and intelligent youth who only needs some seasoning to make a fine man. He's spent too much time studying in the palace and not enough time experiencing real life. The negotiations are important enough to be worth the slight risk to the ring, yet not so difficult that G'Taklar can't handle them with an occasional input from my imprint within the cathexis. Besides you can well bet that I sent some worthy protection with G'Taklar. No one knows of this, except me, Elizabeth, and now you, so I would consider it a great favor if you would keep it behind your beard."

"Of course, Jatar, am I not your bond brother, sworn with blood?"

Jatar smiled and looked at the faint scar on the palm of his right hand. "Yes, you are; which is why you are one of only five people who know the Ardellen signet ring is made out of cathexis. I also remember the day we cut ourselves with that rusty old scullery knife and clasped hands. You know, it's a lucky thing we didn't die of the rot from that filthy thing."

"I know, but I still honor that pledge and always will, brother," Berelle held out his hand and Jatar clasped it in a tight grip.

The two men turned away, each ignoring the wet eyes of the other.

At that moment, Lady Elizabeth Ardellen arrived looking resplendent.

Her gown was designed in the Kirnath School colors of maroon and gray with the bodice cut low and laced tightly at her small waist. Her brown hair, with bronze highlights, was done up tight with small ringlets hanging down on the left side of her neck. Lying on her skin, just above the bodice of her gown, was a silver chain holding a tiny Aurora Stone which glowed white from her aura power. Gone, for the moment, was the playful girl who had been with Jatar earlier, in her place stood the Sorceress Lady Elizabeth Ember Ardellen. The aurora stone displayed her full power for all to see and her regal Hevarnan lineage showed in every graceful move.

The two conversing Lords paused to gape; stunned at the captivating vision of the sorceress.

Smiling warmly at Jatar's long-time friend and foster brother, Lady Ardellen approached and said, "How are you, Berelle? I trust Pricilla and the children are well?"

Her radiant smile flustered the northern Lord even more; he wasn't used to the spectacular dress of Lindankar's court, or the extraordinary beauty and regal bearing of Lady Elizabeth. "Ah, fi-fine thank you," stammered Berelle. He was having some trouble deciding who was in control of his eyes.

"And?" she asked, giving him an even broader smile.

"And... what, milady?" he asked, having missed her second question completely.

"Priscilla and the children?" she prompted.

"Oh! They are fine, fine. You're looking very, ah, very..."

"Very what?" she asked, totally amused.

"...very fine this evening," he finally managed.

"Thank you, Berelle; it's so nice of you to notice. I'll miss seeing Priscilla again, but I understand she has your next child well on the way?" Elizabeth prompted.

"Who?" he asked, his mind not caught up to her words yet.

"Your next child," she repeated as she reached up to take his large left ear in her hand so she could use it for a handle to shake his head.

"Oh, yes, of course! I'm leaving soon to get back for the birth!" he finally answered, massaging his ear while grinning at Elizabeth ruefully.

With a last amused glance at Jatar's foster brother, Elizabeth gestured in the direction of the dining hall. "If you're both ready, I suggest we make our entrance. I'm sure the snarling weff pack is waiting to tear into us," she noted, yet smiled to show that she looked forward to the challenge.

Jatar glanced at the still stricken Lord Berelle. "Ahmmm, yes, shall we?" he said while clearing his throat and using his hand to hide a smile. He offered his arm to his beautiful wife and they walked down the hall to the ornate double doors of the banquet hall.

A servant opened the doors as they entered. Lord Berelle Trask followed along a few steps behind.

A low murmur of conversation hummed around the banquet hall. Most of the sound emanated from clusters of people who stood about like islands in a sea; occasionally a lone ship would chart the unfamiliar waters to test the climate of a different port.

The room was dominated by a long dining table adorned with white and gold tablecloths with polished silver and shining goblets. Giant crystal chandeliers, situated above the table at three places, reflected rainbows of light in a myriad of glittering sparkles.

Four unobtrusive, yet vigilant, guards stood on duty in the corners of the room. They were attired in white leather and highly polished light mail chest armor. Their uniforms were accented in Lord Ardellen's colors of white and gold.

With his head held high, Lord Jatar entered the hall with his Lady's hand placed lightly on his left forearm. He stopped and surveyed the room while nodding to some of his supporters and gazing sternly at his few known adversaries. Conversations faltered and then slowly picked up again when the Lord and his Lady moved to join one of the nearest groups of people.

Elizabeth and Jatar stopped to speak with the ruler of Olsk and his wife, and Lord Trask joined the group.

"Good evening, Brik, and how are you, Lady Margret?" Jatar said, greeting Lord Rinholt and his wife. "We're so glad you could make it to our celebration."

"Glad to come, Jatar," he answered and then nodded to Elizabeth. "We hear you put on quite a banquet. And good evening to you, Lord Trask," Brik added, noting the arrival of the large ruler of Bralter.

Two other men moved over to join their group. Like light and shadow, they arrived together. The blond hair color of Lord Verdew contrasted starkly with Lord Pellev's long dark brown hair.

"Lord Pellev and Lord Verdew; speak of the Darknulls and here they are!" Jatar said jokingly. "Berelle and I were just talking about our fostering years and here the four of us are, together again."

Berelle stepped forward with a big grin for their foster brothers. "Yes, Jatar and I were just remarking that Pellev was an excellent mud and manure collector when he was younger."

Lord Pellev Welter looked puzzled as he stated, "Excuse me?"

"You remember, Pellev, don't you, riding the snergs!" Lord Verdew prompted.

"Of course, riding the snergs, I'd almost forgotten." He turned to face Lord and Lady Rinholt, and then explained with a smile. "Jatar, Berelle, Verdew, and I were fostered together; we each spent a year at the other's homes. We got into all kinds of boyhood shenanigans." His sparkling gaze flicked to Jatar as he added, "Now your son will be getting into trouble soon, won't he, Jatar?"

"The sooner the better, I can't wait to see the man he will grow into," Jatar replied with pride.

"Is fostering always done in your countries?" Lady Rinholt inquired politely.

"It is an old custom that our fathers revived," Jatar explained, "they decided to send their sons to other kingdoms so that they would understand their neighbors and form personal friendships which might help them avoid wars in the future. Spending a year growing up somewhere gives you a whole new outlook on that place."

Berelle nodded in agreement and said, "I know and trust my foster brothers Pellev, Verdew, and Jatar because I shared a piece of life with them. It is people like him," Berelle gestured toward where Lord Tysol and Major Von Dracek, the Tchulian merc, were conversing, "who I worry about because I don't know how they think."

Pellev turned slightly and looked over his shoulder to where Berelle had gestured. His eyes squinted with intensity and he said, "You're right, I don't trust Lord Tysol; that man bears watching."

Separate from any other groups, the young Tchulian Major, Harland Von Dracek, spoke conspiratorially with Lord Tysol of Datoria. Von Dracek wore the brown military uniform of his country's famous mercenary corps. He stood to Lord Tysol's right to allow the Lord of Datoria to look directly across the room at Lord Jatar and his foster brothers.

Tysol was of medium height and build. His eyes were too small and close together for his face, giving him a slightly cross-eyed appearance. He wore a gaudy gown of turquoise silk and had gold chains with embedded multicolored gems around his neck.

The Major gestured slightly with his head toward Jatar and Elizabeth as he said, "Do you see, milord, how she never lets him out of her reach?" Von Dracek's voice was almost a purr and his intense dark eyes never left Lord Tysol's as he worked on the man's mind.

"Yes, I see, that sorceress bitch has him completely enthralled," agreed Lord Tysol with a fanatic's conviction, "It's just as you have told me, Jatar isn't master of his bed, let alone his kingdom."

"You are very shrewd, milord," the Tchulian merc agreed, though he thought, _As shrewd as a farmer's snerg, but your amazing stupidity is what makes you perfect for my purpose._

Tysol glared intently at Jatar's handsome face and said, "But he was once a real man, before this monster, this sorceress, destroyed him?" Tysol asked and nodded his head as if this was an original thought he had just conceived.

"Yes, Lord, a man's man, a warrior Lord, like his father," Von Dracek agreed. "But the Kirnath sorceress has robbed him of his honor."

"Is he as good with his sword as they say?" Tysol asked for the hundredth time since Von Dracek had begun teaching him to fence.

"Good yes, but not up to your artistic skills. With the Tchulian fencing style that I have taught you over the past few months there are few men who could match blades with you now," the merc assured him, as he thought, _Come on, you sniveling coward, don't try to talk yourself out of this again! It took me six months of hard work to turn you into a decent swordsman; you might actually make him sweat, but kill Jatar? Not a chance. If we wanted that I would have dueled with him myself._

Tysol smiled in grim anticipation. "Yes, it's been good of you to come and instruct me in the finer arts of the blade. I would have come to the Tchulian academy myself when I was younger if my father had not needed my help so much."

To which Von Dracek thought. _The more probable truth is that his father was too cheap and you were too afraid,_ but he said, "Of course, I'm sure you would have been an excellent Tchulian battle commander; perhaps we can work on that next."

"I would like that, they'd call me `General Tysol, commander of conquering armies,' it has an appealing ring to it. A battle commander like in the old days, before any of these Kirnath conspirators infiltrated the nobility to sap the strength from the warriors."

_You couldn't command the latrine scrubbers successfully, you pompous dolt,_ the merc thought in amusement, but said, "You are correct; battle is the only way to test a man's true mettle. These treaties and coalitions must be halted. Each country should govern itself and control that which it is powerful enough to hold. You don't want these Kirnath, or anyone else, taking control of Datoria away from you, milord, correct?"

"Of course not, nor would I permit them in the first place! Kirnath are turned away at our borders and hung if found within illegally! No, I must make a stand against their tyranny! Lord Jatar must be released from the control of this foul sorceress. He lives as a shell of what he was because of that woman's control, but I will set him free so that he may die as a man. I will give him salvation, a warrior's honorable death in battle. And, as he coughs out his last breath on my sword, he will thank me for setting him free at last." Lord Tysol spoke in oratory fashion with a fanatic's bright gleam in the depths of his eyes as he gazed off to nowhere. After a moment, he raised his glass to toast with the mercenary.

Major Von Dracek raised his goblet to meet Tysol's and his thoughts were masked behind a face of stone. _The sooner I am done with your supreme stupidity the better. If Jatar doesn't kill you then I will enjoy the pleasure._ He smiled at the Lord of Datoria as they drank, but his slight smile was for a different reason than his companion imagined.

A servant stepped into the room and rang a small chime; the sound was high and clear as it resounded about the Hall.

Lord Jatar stepped clear of the group to which he had been speaking and addressed everyone present.

"I would like to welcome you all to Lindankar's Palace for the recognition ceremony for my son, Michael, and I'd like to thank you for coming to the pre-celebration dinner in his honor. If you will all stand by your seat at the table, I will propose the traditional toast."

Lord Jatar escorted Lady Elizabeth to one end of the table and then returned to stand before his seat at the opposite end.

Without the guests knowing, Elizabeth concentrated as she began to viewing their auras. She had decided to use the upcoming declaration of good will to find out which leaders or ambassadors bore ill will toward her husband and Lindankar.

From the table before him Jatar took hold of his goblet. He raised it up into the air and spoke the words that this traditional ceremony required. "I welcome you to this repast on the eve of my son's official designation as heir to the throne of Lindankar. May everyone at this table be treated as equals and let no one fear for their life or soul."

The majority of those assembled at the table intoned the traditional response: "And may you, in turn, be safe."

"Let all who are present now speak their feelings on the legitimacy and acceptability of the heir without fear of reprisals," Jatar continued in his formal tone.

As tradition called for, most of them replied: "We find him legitimate and acceptable."

"On my behalf of my son and his mother, we thank you," Jatar answered and raised his glass before calling out in a clear strong voice, "To Michael!" Then Lord Jatar drank to his son with all the assembly following suit.

As Elizabeth drank to her son, she pondered the aura of Lord Tysol of Datoria. As everyone made the traditional responses, his aura patterns had proclaimed his falsehood, especially during the promise of Jatar's safety. She decided he would bear closer watching and resolved to speak to Jatar of the danger as soon as possible.

On the other hand, she thought, we knew he opposed us, so it may only be those feelings showing through. It is unlikely that he'll attempt anything sinister within our palace. She also wondered about the Tchulian merc, Harland Von Dracek; he had full aura shields up which completely hid his aura reactions from her special sight. It was possible that he had natural shields, a few people did, but he would bear watching as well; there was something odd about this Tchulian officer.

With the traditional response complete, Jatar spoke in a less formal tone, "Now, fair ladies and gentle sirs, we hope you will enjoy the breaking of your fast as our guests, please be seated."

The large staff of kitchen servants filed out in a line and all were dressed in Ardellen white and gold tunic and pants. They each carried a steaming bowl of aromatic driken soup as the first course of the evening.

A guest, seated two chairs to the left of Jatar, proclaimed loud enough for the Lord of Amak-Ta-Dol to hear, "It seems that Amak-Ta-Dol gets its soup before Olsk, just as it gets first choice in trade goods. Did they bribe your cooks as well as your merchants, Jatar?"

Jatar did a mental sigh as he resigned himself to an evening of battling and refereeing with these two long-time rivals. Jatar interjected a quick statement before the Lord of Amak-Ta-Dol could get his blood boiling for his reply. "We try and give equal choice to both of your nations."

Then the three of them were off into a discussion of trade. Meanwhile, down the table, another conversation was taking place.

Lady Margret, wife of Lord Brik Rinholt, the ruler of Pruta, was seated three chairs down on Elizabeth's left and she proclaimed, "This soup has an exquisite flavor!" the middle-aged woman exclaimed after taking her first taste of the soup. "Lady Ardellen, if I remember correctly, driken soup is made from a root found only in your northern mountain heights."

Elizabeth smiled politely toward Lady Margret and replied, "You are indeed correct; it is considered a delicacy in Lindankar."

"Is it true that hordes of the souldead roam those mountain peaks?" Lady Margret asked with a shudder.

Elizabeth smiled as she replied, "No, the numbers of the souldead are often exaggerated. They are not often seen anymore as most have been hunted down and dispatched. Yet, the danger from the remaining souldead is the reason that driken soup is considered a rare delicacy."

"If the souldead have been hunted and many killed, it follows that the survivors must be the meanest, smartest, and toughest of the gruesome bunch," interjected Lord Brik.

"Undoubtedly true, though I have never encountered one myself, so I cannot speak from experience," Elizabeth replied politely.

Lord Tysol was seated midway down the table on Elizabeth's right and he spoke harshly, "Of course not, hunting is a man's sport and the weaker sex should leave it to those more suited to the pursuit."

Elizabeth was instantly on alert, prompted by her aura observation of Lord Tysol's falsehood earlier. The sorceress considered her response: _What is his game behind this obvious insult_ of _women? Is he trying to anger me?_ She decided not to let him succeed, so she raised her eyebrows as if in surprise and asked, "Why do you believe that, milord? Do you refer to the obvious physical difference between the sexes?"

"Women are certainly inferior to men physically, however, I also refer to the temperament of women; they are not suited for a straightforward, open, and honest battle. Confronted with the Desecrator's souldead, a woman would probably cower behind the protection of a man," Lord Tysol proclaimed.

Elizabeth read his surface thoughts and watched his shifting aura colors to see the true meaning behind his words. She knew he was trying to insult her and wondered if he was really the simple sexist his words proclaimed, but she could see he believed what he said was the truth. "So, you think women are dishonest cowards?" Elizabeth probed.

"Those are not precisely the words I said," responded Lord Tysol, though, in his surface thoughts, Elizabeth read that he agreed with her words completely. The fiery colors of his aura changed their patterns as he lied.

Elizabeth frowned at him slightly as she replied, "Perhaps not precisely, but I was close enough. This interests me... so let's examine your two accusations one at a time. Do you think that a woman's meek temperament is a product of her environment, or do you think women are inherently cowards?" Elizabeth inquired curiously.

"I think it is in a woman's nature to be outwardly timid," he replied in a light flippant tone as if speaking to a simpleton.

"Outwardly?" Elizabeth prompted casually.

"Yes, confronted with an open battle a female will outwardly act timid to finagle some poor male into putting themselves at risk to protect her feigned frailty."

Elizabeth caught something in his mind about Jatar, but it was too fragmented to be completely coherent. Her attention was suddenly drawn to the patterns of his aura and what she read as courage suddenly flared up in brighter colors. That was extremely odd, almost as if some outside force was bolstering his confidence.

Tysol didn't notice her deepening frown and continued speaking. "A man will come at a problem honestly, while it's a woman's way to use a convoluted path, a manipulative approach versus a straightforward solution. Women use their reputation of soft helpless timidity to trick naive men into protecting them; it disgusts me."

"I see, and that's where the dishonest part comes in, right? Women trick men into things, instead of doing them for themselves. Do I have all this correctly?"

"You have an amazingly good grasp of the idea for having just heard it," Lord Tysol replied, his voice rising and taking on an insulting tone.

Jatar had been listening in to the last part of their conversation, along with most of the table. When Tysol barked his obvious insult at Elizabeth, Jatar decided that it was time he put a stop to the man. "Tysol, I will not put up with you insulting my wife, now apologize for insinuating that she is being dishonest and manipulative."

Tysol's aura patterns flared up again with more courage and Elizabeth suddenly picked up the clear passage of a thought flowing across Tysol's conscious mind. At last, she read Tysol's true aim clearly; he was using his arguments about women's dishonest natures to bait Jatar into protecting his wife's honor! And, with courage flaring in his aura, it was simple for him to overcome any fear. Elizabeth tried to stand up and put a stop to what was happening, but she was too late.

Lord Tysol stood up and faced Jatar disdainfully and barked, "Normally, I wouldn't think a man such as you could be manipulated by a woman, but not all women have the same abilities; these Kirnath monsters have powers of deception far beyond that of normal women."

Jatar leaped to his feet knocking over his chair. He was angry and quite shocked that Tysol would so openly insult his wife.

Elizabeth tried to interject something from the other end of the table, but Jatar spoke over her in his anger. "You will depart these premises, immediately, and were it not for the traditional promises of your safety at this table I would call you out now."

"Her womanly cowardice is rubbing off on you, Jatar, you are afraid to face me in a duel, so you use this excuse to avoid honorable battle. Well, I release you from the traditional host protection," and then Lord Tysol pulled his dagger from his belt and slammed it point first into the table.

Jatar's eyes narrowed with grim anticipation as he headed for Tysol. He spoke in a low calm voice which hid his anger well, "Then, according to the rules of the Duel, we shall meet before the day is done, at ten before the twelfth bell. May your soul find its way to the Dark Plane," Jatar added and punctuated his sentence by slamming his dagger into the table next to Tysol's, thereby, officially accepting the challenge.

Tysol plucked his dagger from the table and spun on his heel to stalk out of the room.

Lord Jatar pulled his dagger out as well and, after a moment to gather in the reins of his anger, he addressed the rest of his shocked guests, "I would like to apologize for this outburst, please continue with your dinners." He then turned and caught the eye of a kitchen servant to signal that the next course should be brought to the table. Once everything seemed in order, he added, "Please excuse me, I must go and prepare."

During her husband's speech, Elizabeth sat back in her chair, stunned. Too late, she realized that Lord Tysol had maneuvered her and the conversation to bait Jatar into this duel. He had done it with the skill of a master tactician. As the host of the dinner, Jatar would have been prepared to accept veiled insults with outward calm in an attempt to keep peace at this gathering to honor his son; however, by insulting his wife Tysol had made Jatar angry enough to react without thought.

As she stood to follow Jatar out of the Banquet Hall, Elizabeth replayed her conversation with Tysol through her mind, but she still could not believe he had the brains capable of maneuvering them so easily.

From across the table, Major Harland Von Dracek, one of the three conspirators, and the real master tactician, smiled with satisfaction. With only the final scene to be acted out, the result of a year's hard work would be accomplished. The following day would see the conspirator's plan fulfilled.

Jatar paced back and forth in the sitting room while Elizabeth sat with her arms crossed, deep in thought. She shook her head sadly and said, "I feel so stupid, I was reading his surface thoughts and I still didn't see this coming in time to warn you! A fine Sorceress I turned out to be."

"Don't be too hard on yourself; as I understand it, you can only read a person's thought just before they speak or act. I was the one who jumped in with my ego, at least you were trying to find out what he was up to," Jatar answered, disgusted with himself.

Elizabeth continued to stare sightlessly and then said, "I should have been able to handle him, but I just couldn't figure out what he was trying to accomplish. He obviously orchestrated the whole thing, that's easy to see in retrospect. What I don't understand is why he wanted to face you in a duel? Barring an accident, you'll tear him apart."

"I don't understand that either. I could see him plotting a sneaky and underhanded maneuver to undermine my reputation with the other Lords, but I would have thought him too cowardly to actively seek out a duel. Something is giving him enough confidence to challenge a swordsman with a fairly skillful reputation," Jatar replied, in a puzzled tone, as he continued to pace about the room.

"That's what worries me," Elizabeth responded in a quiet voice. "You understate your abilities with the sword and your reputation. There is something treacherous going on here, but I can't quite put my aura on it. At the dinner, I saw something odd in Tysol's patterns, courage suddenly expanded just as he challenged you to the duel. Not only that, but as Tysol departed I clearly caught one of his thoughts; he believes he can kill you."

Jatar pondered this new information and looked for some logical explanation.

His wife's voice hardened to steel, "Well, there is one thing I'll do for you, when you're both sworn into a fair duel, I'll watch his aura to see if he lies. If he speaks falsehood, then I'll drag out the truth. In a fair duel, I know you will take him easily, so, it follows that, if I make sure the fight is fair, all will be well."

"Midnight is only a half-bell away; I should change into something more appropriate for swordplay and begin warming up," Jatar decided.

"I want to check on Michael, something is wrong here, I'm sure of it, I just don't know what." With an apprehensive look, Elizabeth headed for the nursery to see their young son.

A coach, pulled by two pitch-black horses, clopped to a halt on Tanner street. Exhalations jetted from the dark horses' nostrils like sporadic bursts of steam from the spout of a boiling teapot. The shades over the coach windows were closed to give the lone occupant privacy from the groups of drunken commoners who staggered along the city streets looking for their next tavern. The coach's occupant waited inside until the street was empty. That didn't take long, this was a seedy part of town and most of those celebrating avoided it instinctively.

A cloaked shape left the coach when it was only a half-bell until midnight. He crossed the rough uneven street swiftly. The cobblestones were already wet with the night's dew and a mist was just beginning to form.

Major Von Dracek left the coach in the care of his driver and slipped into the dark maw of a silent alley mouth. Two alley purclaws were startled and scrambled to get out of his way. The major paused at a rough wooden door on the right side of the narrow alley and checked to make sure no one was near. Once satisfied that he was alone, he took out a single key from beneath his black cloak and inserted it into the waist-high iron lock. The rusty mechanism opened reluctantly after one revolution of the key and the sound of the grinding metal lock screeched eerily in the stillness of the night.

The conspirator slipped inside and closed the door quickly, as if trying to keep the darkness outside at bay. From there it was only a short walk down the dim hall to the door at the end. Just as he reached the door, a dead raspy voice spoke from the other side of the wooden portal. The voice was unmistakably that of CAracusS, the necromancer, which Von Dracek remembered from a year ago at the secret meeting of the three conspirators.

"You may enter, Major, the way is open," CAracusS rasped.

The Tchulian merc stepped into the dingy room and saw the necromancer. He sat in the room's only chair and in front of him there was a small round table. The dingy room was dimly lit by a single tallow candle on the old table. The candle stood in a pewter candle holder near the bony fingers of the necromancer's veined hands.

"Are you ready to go?" Von Dracek inquired, obviously in a hurry.

"Is everything going as planned at the palace?" CAracusS asked in return, while remaining in his chair.

"Perfectly; in less than a half-bell Lord Jatar will enter into his duel with our fool, Lord Tysol. That should keep his wife's attention and, more importantly, her powers, focused on his safety, but we must hurry to get back to the palace in time."

CAracusS scowled in disapproval at the major, which caused the myriad of wrinkles in his brow to dig even deeper trenches in the lines of his ancient face. "I'll tell you straight, I don't like this part of your plan where I'm drugged. You didn't mention that detail at the planning meeting, just in the most recent message which you sent along with the guard uniforms," the necromancer grated.

"It is the only way. I didn't know it was necessary until my last communication from Raven," Von Dracek lied. He'd known from the beginning, but wanted to make sure the necromancer did not have a chance to argue. "My spy at the Kirnath School said that a full Adept, like Elizabeth Ardellen, could sense your conscious necromantic powers from quite a distance. She might sense you even when she is occupied and I concur. I can sense you from a short distance myself and my training hasn't been refined in that area. The only way to be safe is to bring you into the palace drugged and nearly unconscious, while her attention is taken up with her husband's struggle. Then, if I can't sense you, we'll be fairly certain that she can't from an even further distance. Tomorrow, I will wake you with the drug's antidote while the sorceress is at the church, away from the palace. Then you can open the gate to the Dark Plane."

CAracusS grimaced as he tried to pull his thin cracked lips back into the semblance of a smile. "And when Jatar's soul is destroyed, I will have his young body. Explain again why it is that you have some of these Kirnath powers, yet are not one of them?" the necromancer asked slyly.

"As I've told you before, necromancer, that is none of your business. Just take my word for it that I have some of the Kirnath skills," the major answered curtly. "Do you have everything you need to open the rift to the Darkness?" he asked, changing the subject back to the details of their plot.

CAracusS's eyes narrowed at the rebuke, but he answered the merc's question. "Two of my servants have a drugged man in the next room; he'll need to be carried. Will my men have a problem entering the palace carrying a body?"

"Have they ever bargained with the Darknulls?" Von Dracek asked in reply.

"No, they are not necromancers," CAracusS assured the merc.

"Then the sorceress will not sense them, so they'll be no problem. If anyone takes note of your men carrying him, I will say he's drunk; there is plenty of that going on this night." The merc reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of powder. "Here is the drug I have prepared. Don't worry, CAracusS, when the time comes, I will give you the antidote and you will come to your full senses within a half-bell."

CAracusS looked at the vial dubiously.

Von Dracek ignored his look and continued. "You better call your men in for their instructions, we don't have much time. The duel will commence soon and, if our plan is to work, it is imperative we reach the palace just as it starts."

As Von Dracek finished speaking, he pulled out the cork from the vial in his hand and carefully poured out a small amount of gray powder into CAracusS' upturned palm.

"Tatrin pollen," Von Dracek explained, answering the inquiring look of CAracusS' upraised eyebrow.

The necromancer called his two men into the room and spoke to the ruffians, "This is Major Von Dracek. You are to follow his orders explicitly; do you understand? Good, now go and load the man you captured earlier into the coach out back."

After the two henchmen acknowledged CAracusS' orders they went to do his bidding.

CAracusS looked at the powder Von Dracek had given him and paused before he brought it to his mouth. "There better be no treachery here, major, or death will be your best choice of futures." After finishing his threat, the necromancer swallowed the powder and washed it down from a wine sack on the table. Within moments, his cadaverous body became rigid and unmoving in his chair.

"Stand up and follow me," commanded Von Dracek. Induced by the tatrin pollen's effect, CAracusS obeyed mechanically.

The necromancer, his two men, and the captive were all dressed in the livery of Tchulian guards, which matched the driver of the coach. Upon reaching the vehicle, Von Dracek commanded the drug enthralled CAracusS to enter and sit down. One of the necromancer's men rode up top with the driver, while Von Dracek and the others rode within the dark interior of the coach.

A drunken reveler had paused to watch them enter the dark coach and depart. He decided that wherever that morbid party was headed is a good place to avoid; he was smarter than he knew.

With Michael safely guarded by men whose loyalty Lady Elizabeth had just confirmed through aura truth test, she felt confident enough to focus her attention on the action about to happen within the ballroom. She gazed about the room while letting her aura perceptions rest for a moment on each noble present. None of their auras showed her anything except excitement for the upcoming spectacle.

Elizabeth noted the absence of the Tchulian major and grew uneasy. She remembered him talking with Lord Tysol earlier, prior to the dinner. She wondered if he was with Tysol now to give him a few last pointers for the duel. Lady Ardellen figured that Von Dracek would gravitate toward a combatant since he was a professional mercenary and they just loved to see a fight. It was obvious that he would side with Tysol; Tchulians were professional mercenaries, working for the highest bidder and their dislike for Lindankar policies for peace was public knowledge. Elizabeth decided to check and see if he was indeed with Lord Tysol and, if not, she needed to find out what the Tchulian was planning.

Jatar came in with his three foster brothers accompanying him like escorts to the flagship; they were acting as his official seconds. The large and red-bearded Lord Berelle Trask walked in front of Jatar, while Lord Pellev and Lord Verdew followed behind. Berelle led the way through the throng like an icebreaker ship in the frozen waters of his northern homeland.

They worked their way over to Elizabeth, who searched her husband's face as he approached. From what she could see, he looked in control and confident. She did a quick check on his aura and saw blue shades with a few orange and red tips flickering. Elizabeth read this as an indication that he was fairly calm, though more anxious than his demeanor depicted. As he approached, she decided to bolster his confidence a little, so she smiled and said: "Milord is looking fit this evening; are you going to bother with a sword or will your dagger suffice?"

Jatar guessed the reason behind her words, but appreciated the attempt to lighten his worries. "If milady is so confident of her champion, will she grant him the boon of a keepsake?"

Elizabeth looked down and removed the wedding ring from her left hand. When she pressed it into her husband's palm she said, "Take this ring, which you once gave me as a symbol of your love, now as the symbol of my love and that, as the token of my faith, you will return it to me."

Elizabeth looked into her husband's eyes and witnessed the love within their depths. She released the tiny gold ring, with its single clear stone, into his large callused palm. She placed both of her smaller hands around his hand and closed his fingers around the keepsake. The ring was too small to fit even his little finger.

From the far side of the Ballroom they saw a ripple of movement which was accompanied by a quiet murmur; Lord Tysol had arrived. Leading the way through the crowd was the captain of his personal guards, followed by Tysol himself, and then two more of his guards. Lord Tysol's face was creased with the lines of a scowl as he surveyed his opponent. He could see Jatar standing across the room with his wife before him, both her smaller hands still clasped about one of her husband's hands. Lord Tysol was not scowling for the reasons most of the spectators believed; he was upset because Major Von Dracek, his confidant in this duel, was missing and nowhere to be found. Tysol could not understand why his friend had not been there to counsel him before his duel, or why he wasn't here to act as his second.

Lord Brik Rinholt, ruler of Pruta, had been chosen to arbitrate the duel. He stepped forward, between Jatar and Tysol, and spoke in a loud voice: "Everybody please move back and clear a circle."

The crowd of spectators reluctantly backed up, leaving an empty circular area in the middle of the room. As the Seconds for the duel, Lord Tysol's guard captain and Lord Trask met with Lord Brik in the middle of the circle to confirm the rules of the engagement.

Then Lord Brik again spoke to the crowd: "This duel is to be fought with the traditional rules; each combatant is allowed one sword and no other weapons. I will call it finished when either man is incapacitated beyond the ability to fight or when either man begs mercy and accepts that he was wrong and so apologizes, or when either is dead."

Lord Brik turned first to Jatar and said formally, "Do you, Lord Jatar Ardellen, ruler of Lindankar, swear to fight within the rules of the engagement, as stated, with no tricks, lies, magic, or weapons other than your sword?"

"Yes, I so swear," Jatar replied with his eyes locked on Tysol's.

Lord Brik faced Tysol and repeated his question.

Elizabeth read Tysol's aura and she noted immediately that he seemed extremely agitated; his aura flickered and wavered wildly, with lots of red and yellow peaks to the outside. The elevated levels of courage were gone and she could read his immediate surface thoughts, he was wondering, _Where is he?_

_Where is who?_ thought Elizabeth, _The Tchulian?_ However, she said nothing since the sorceress had not seen any signs of treachery as the ruler of Datoria answered Lord Brik's question.

"I also swear," Lord Tysol replied.

Lord Brik continued: "If one of you should die, may G'lan protect your soul from destruction." Then he backed away, leaving them standing alone in the circle and said, "Let the duel begin."

Since armor, of any kind, was prohibited in a traditional duel, Jatar was dressed in black cotton pants and a loose white shirt. For good footing, he wore soft leather shoes with no heel. Tysol wore dark blue silk pants with a sky-blue silk long-sleeved shirt and tight-fitting brown shoes.

Each man held a rapier, with the blade approximately three feet long and about a thumb's width across, sharp on both sides with a narrow point. They were quick weapons, which could be used for either a slash or a stab, and had a cross piece just below the grip to protect the hand.

On their left hands, each combatant had on a leather fencing gauntlet, traditionally used to parry a thrust. Before donning his gauntlet, Jatar placed Elizabeth's ring in the breast pocket of his shirt.

Tysol's black leather gauntlet was made of thicker leather than Jatar's, which gave his hand more protection, but allowed less dexterity.

The two men approached the middle of the circle and faced each other. Their gleaming weapons swept up to the 'on guard' position with the sword hand low and the sword tip at their opponent's eye level.

Basic instructions from his old fencing master passed through Jatar's thoughts: Watch the eyes; they often signal your opponent's intent to attack, but watch his chest even more for it must move to supply the power. Watch the sword least, for it will often trick and fool the unwary.

Jatar looked into Tysol's eyes and saw confidence in the disdainful squint which met his gaze. Jatar decided to be cautious; something was giving his opponent the belief that he held the edge in this fight.

The two men slowly began to circle _._

Jatar was still trying to make sense of Tysol's challenge; he wondered what made the man so confident against an opponent with the reputation of a master swordsman? Could it be treachery, or did he really believe that his skills were superior?

A slight tightening at the corner of Tysol's eye gave a signal of his first attack. He tried a compound movement involving a low feint, which Jatar ignored, followed by a quick upward thrust toward the eyes. After the feint, Tysol's body gave away the real move and Jatar sidestepped right to let the blade pass by harmlessly. The Lindankar ruler withheld the obvious riposte because he was not yet sure of his opponent's skill with the sword.

As Jatar stepped aside, causing Tysol's sword to miss his body, the crowd gasped. To the unknowledgeable, Tysol seemed to nearly skewer Jatar.

Again, the voice of his teacher echoed in his mind. Let an unknown adversary reveal his style before you commit yourself to showing him yours. Your patience may be rewarded when your opponent overextends in an attempt to get through your defense and that is a good time for your first strike.

Jatar analyzed the attack his opponent had just launched, it was fairly skilled and the gracefulness of the feint showed the fine tuning of recent practice, yet the simple feint and attack were not up to Jatar's level of expertise. He wondered if Tysol was acting in an attempt to draw him into underestimating his skill. Jatar continued to be patient.

Tysol circled to his right, while stepping carefully. The two sword tips were in constant motion as each swordsman tried to get the advantage of line. To the untrained spectators, it looked almost as if nothing were happening, yet whole attack series were conceived and, as quickly, discarded as an opponent countered the other's position with minute shifts of their sword or movements of their feet.

Suddenly, Tysol struck again, he beat Jatar's sword to the side and then came in for his opponent's heart with a lunge. Jatar batted the foil of the sword aside with his gauntlet so that it passed to his left, yet he still didn't make the riposte that presented itself; he wasn't quite ready yet.

"You fight like a woman, Jatar, which is fitting since your puppet strings are held by one," Lord Tysol sneered contemptuously as Jatar stepped back from the Datorian ruler's latest attack.

"Your weight shift and footwork were sloppy on that last lunge, Tysol. You should work on that or it might kill you one day," countered Jatar.

With his face turning red, Tysol launched himself into a swift attack, involving a feint followed by a circular motion of the sword tip designed to bring his sword to the open side of Jatar's defense.

Jatar easily circled his blade to counter and brought it around to confound Tysol's move. The opening was there, and it held little risk, so Jatar performed his first riposte. He used a blindingly fast double feint that brought Tysol's blade out of line, which left an opening for Jatar's blade to glide through and pink his opponent shallowly in the upper left shoulder.

Like a rose blossoming in the morning, the red blood of Tysol's body seeped into his sky-blue shirt in a slowly expanding circle.

Tysol cried out in pain and belatedly beat Jatar's blade aside. Then, rapidly, with little finesse, he made a counter-riposte, but Jatar used his gauntlet and easily pushed the blade away from his body.

A rage began to boil on Tysol's face as his pupils closed to mere pinpoints in the irises of his eyes. A glistening line of spittle ran down from the corner of his tightly clenched mouth and you could almost hear his teeth grinding to powder in his mouth.

Tysol leaped forward in an obvious thrust meant to pierce Jatar's body, but Lord Ardellen's blade pushed the oncoming blade aside, which caused the two men to meet nearly chest-to-chest in a bind, corps et corps.

Tysol's left hand made a quick twist and jerk which caused a hidden dagger from within his sleeve to drop into his waiting hand. Without hesitation, he brought it up in a wicked stabbing motion designed to angle between the ribs for Jatar's heart.

Jatar's attention was still on his opponent's eyes and body, so he felt Tysol's weight shift. With the athletic moves of a practiced swordsman, Jatar twisted his body at the last moment, which caused the hidden blade to miss its intended target and scrape along his ribs. Blood gushed from the ragged cut and quickly soaked into his shirt, but the blade had not penetrated into any of his vitals, so it was not lethal. The sudden shift of weight to avoid the blade cost Jatar his balance and the two men fell to the hard floor with Tysol landing on top.

Tysol quickly shifted his grip on the dagger and raised it over his head and then plunged the blade straight down toward Jatar's heart.

The watching crowd gasped in horror at the treacherous attack, but Elizabeth's gaze was locked on the dagger in concentration.

As the blade struck Jatar's chest it abruptly stopped; the tip barely pierced his heaving chest. The pinned swordsman didn't give Tysol a chance to repeat his failed attack. All in one motion, Jatar rolled the Datorian ruler to the side and violently tossed him away. The two combatants scrambled to their feet and were up and ready to face each other again, ready to fight. Blood soaked the side and breast of Jatar's shirt. A few voices called out above the din to stop the fight, but Jatar ignored them and extended his blade with the point towards Tysol to discourage a lunge by his opponent. He quickly assessed his wounds and blood loss. He soon decided that although he was not seriously hurt, he did need to finish the duel quickly before he lost too much blood and, therefore, strength.

"Halt!" Lord Brik called out, "a foul has been given!" he exclaimed, referring to the dagger in Tysol's left hand.

"I waive my right," Jatar called out, to let the duel continue.

Lord Jatar had watched Lord Tysol early in the match and analyzed his style enough to guess what form of parry Tysol would use to a specific attack. Jatar performed a feint, knowing where Tysol's blade would go to parry his fake thrust, but Jatar sent the real attack in over his adversary's wasted parry. The sharp tip of his rapier pierced Tysol's right upper forearm and the sudden pain caused him to drop his sword.

The next thing Tysol saw was Jatar's sword tip at his throat. With abject fear crawling across his face, the Lord of Datoria dropped to his knees. The treacherous dagger fell from the grip of his left hand and he grabbed his wounded right arm.

Jatar spoke to him with utter disdain and, from his tone, it was obvious that what little respect he had held for his opponent was gone. "You are forsworn and a disgrace to the title of ruling Lord. By all rights, I should kill you now, but I do not wish to soil this fair blade any further with the sewer water of your body. Get you gone from the sight of honorable men and women and let no one in Lindankar show you the courtesy due the lowest of animals."

"I call foul as well; you bear armor to a duel!" Tysol accused, his eyes shifting to the crowd wildly.

Jatar reached into his bloody breast pocket and removed Elizabeth's ring, two furrows were evident in the soft gold, caused by the opposing edges of Tysol's dagger where it struck the center of the ring. "Here is my armor, my wife's wedding ring, given as a good luck token!" Jatar exclaimed, holding the ring high for all to see.

Jatar turned to his guards and commanded, "See that this piece of trash departs my palace, immediately." Jatar turned his back contemptuously and walked out of the room; his wife joined him at his side.

Tysol trembled with anger. "Help me up, you imbeciles!" he hissed to his guards.

The watching crowd had been quiet until this point. They were caught up in the drama of the moment, but now the dam broke and debate exploded into a thousand forms of life.

As soon as Jatar and Elizabeth were outside the room, Jatar sagged against his wife; he was weak from the loss of blood.

Elizabeth quickly helped him to a chair in their sitting room and then went to close the door. "I knew you were more severely wounded than you let on! You had to try and end it quickly, didn't you?"

"Yes, he surprised me with his confidence in his skills. I'm not sure, but I don't think he intended to use that concealed dagger from the start; I really believe that he thought he could take me easily. Did you... OUCH, careful!" he exclaimed ruefully.

Elizabeth continued removing his shirt, though she quit tugging so hard.

He continued, "Anyway, did you see the confidence he showed early in the bout? He had me thinking that he had more skill than he did! I was probably more cautious than I had to be, though that may have saved me in the bind when he went for his hidden dagger."

"My heart stopped when I read his intent, just before he stabbed you, and I almost interfered with my powers. I wanted to run to you and cure the wound! Remaining outside the circle was the most difficult thing I have ever done. I did see, from your aura, that you weren't mortally wounded, but then he was on top and he raised that dagger to plunge it into your heart, so I had to intervene. I only used a slight push to guide the dagger into the center of the wedding ring."

"You did that?" he asked in wonder.

"I'm sorry if it angers you, but I could not allow his traitorous attack to put your life in danger! Besides, that dagger was outside the rules," she defended.

"I'm not angry, my love, I thank you for your assistance. Besides, at that point, Tysol had already relinquished his rights. That was quick thinking to use the ring, it saved argument."

"Yes, I could have just stopped him, but everyone would have known," Elizabeth noted as she examined the wound in Jatar's side. A look of concentration came over her face as she focused her aura powers. She used her Adept vision and saw his aura burning in high flames of black and red in the torn wounded area at his side. She began to soothe the aura around the edge of the wound while closing in slowly on the center. She reformed the damaged aura to match the existing white and blue healthy aura colors around it. She worked until the damaged area color and texture was even and indistinguishable from the rest. His body paralleled the change to his aura to fit the new pattern and his tissues re-knit and healed as the aura healed.

"I'll never understand how you do that," Jatar said, with awe in his voice as he looked at the fresh new skin of his side.

Elizabeth moved her gaze to his chest. The bloody wound showed a round circle, where her ring had been pushed into the flesh of his chest. In the center, there was a slash where the tip of the dagger had also penetrated.

As she concentrated her aura power into the wound, she answered his question. "Think of the body and aura as one, when the dagger wounded the body it changed the aura to match, so when I change the aura back, the body changes to match, you see?" she answered, while healing the chest wound, "The aura and the body are linked; one is the reflection of the other."

As Elizabeth finished her minor lesson, she decided that since she had cured his body it would be a good thing to take his mind off the whole nasty business. She leaned over Jatar, as if to inspect his side, which gave him an interesting view down her low-cut dress.

"I hear, but I don't completely understand," Jatar answered, "but that's all right, so long as you understand how it works. However, you do it, I thank you; I feel completely whole." To demonstrate his health, Jatar pulled Elizabeth into the chair on top of him and kissed her welcoming mouth.

A moment later, Elizabeth came up for air and said, "I pronounce the patient healed."

"Now, I do think I remember something you said, earlier, about ruffled clothing later in the evening?" Jatar noted with a sly smile.

"Now, whenever did you hear me say that? Besides, I'm sure you're too tired from your duel and need your bed rest, don't you, milord?" asked Elizabeth with a cute little smile and a provocative wiggle.

"I agree with you, bed is where we shall retire, though I doubt I will go to asleep immediately." The completely healed Lord Jatar picked up his wife and carried her to their sleeping chamber.

#### CHAPTER TWO: JATER

The morning of Michael's first birth celebration arrived with bright sunshine through the window of Lord and Lady Ardellen's sleeping chamber. Jatar opened sleep encrusted eyes to see dust motes dancing in a beam of early morning sunlight. The empty rumpled white linens next to him were evidence of his wife's recent occupation.

Elizabeth's melodic voice spoke from across the room, "Good, you're awake. I was just about to get you up anyway."

"Vorg's breath, you can't hide anything from a sorceress! What did you do, see my aura change when I woke up?" Jatar exclaimed petulantly, his hair sticking out in all directions.

"My, aren't we grumpy this morning. And no, I didn't watch your aura, you simply stopped snoring."

"I don't snore."

"Yes, you do; and how would you know anyway, you were asleep!" she argued, logically.

Jatar held up one hand with three fingers extended and counted them off. "I forgot the three most important rules; never argue with a woman, certainly not with your wife, and most especially never argue with a sorceress. G'lan help me, you're all three!" Jatar groaned and pulled the covers over his head.

Elizabeth picked up their son and turned him so that his small face pointed toward the bed. "Look, see that lump in the bed? That's your lazy father who won't even get up to wish you a joyous first year of birth."

Jatar surfaced from the covers, like a breaching whale, which sent the covers off the bed while he bounced up onto his knees. "That's right, today is Michael's birth celebration; we must make ready for the ceremony!"

Elizabeth smiled warmly at the disheveled apparition kneeling on their bed, happy that her ploy had worked so well. Jatar's back was to the bright sunshine and, from Elizabeth's position, his features were obscured by darkness. Her smile slipped into worry and a matching shadow crept over her soul, but then Jatar moved and his smiling face returned to sight.

"Let me hold my son!" he exclaimed.

Elizabeth smiled again and handed Michael into her husband's waiting arms. The sorceress wondered why she was worried since the immediate threat from Tysol was over. She decided to try and enjoy the festivities of the day and set aside her worries for another time.

Elizabeth smiled slightly as she watched her husband and their son; it always amazed her how a man who could fight to the death in a sword duel, or negotiate sternly with other kingdoms, could then hold his baby son so gently and lovingly. Elizabeth realized that she was in love with him as much now as she had been when they married six years ago, perhaps even more so.

Jatar cradled his son in his strong arms and looked down into the boy's face. "Today is your day, son. Before it is over, I will affirm you as heir to my throne!"

The three conspirators gathered in a room within the Ardellen palace in Lindankar. The necromancer was still under the influence of the tatrin pollen. He sat unmoving in a chair while staring off into nothing. The Tchulian mercenary, Major Harland Von Dracek, sat at the nearby table conversing with a nobleman, the third conspirator of their group. That man gestured toward CAracusS by waving an arm clothed in an embroidered sleeve with lace trim.

"So, Major, you had no trouble sneaking CAracusS and his victim into the palace?"

"One of Jatar's guards actually helped us carry the man in, after I explained that he was drunk from celebrating; it was almost too easy," Von Dracek reported.

"That's because the duel between Tysol and Jatar was a spectacular diversion. Congratulations are in order, Major. It's just too bad you didn't get to watch after all the time you spent preparing Tysol for his performance. Elizabeth's attention was riveted on Jatar when Tysol surprised almost everyone by pulling a concealed dagger. I had to contain myself lest I laugh aloud when I saw Tysol stab him, it was wonderful. That lout was such a good puppet, I only regret that I didn't get to see Jatar kill him, it would have brought tears of joy to my eyes," he raised a lace cuffed sleeve and used his forefinger to wipe away an imaginary tear as he reminisced with glee.

Von Dracek looked at him sternly as he said, "Weren't you worried that Jatar was mortally wounded? Tysol could have killed him and that wasn't supposed to happen. His death would have put a serious crimp in our plan!"

The nobleman took no notice of the Tchulian merc's tone, answering, "Oh, by G'lan's enormous nose, I could see, instantly, that he was not so seriously wounded that he would die, it just added to the whole drama of the hilarious affair! I would pay to see him stabbed again, what fun!" the man exclaimed. "He was in little danger, with his wife watching over him there was more than simple fate at work. It would have taken a miracle of chance for that dagger to strike that ring."

"To business!" the mercenary major exclaimed, "Are you sure that Jatar will not ignore the message and go with his wife to the church anyway?"

The nobleman shrugged as he answered, "As sure as anything is with something as complicated as this plot, but some chances have to be taken. Don't worry, I'll do my best to make sure things go as planned," he said with a casual flip of his hand as if to wave aside the worries.

"I don't like leaving anything to chance, but it's too late, at this point, to change anything. I'll begin awakening the necromancer so that he will be fully recovered soon after Lady Ardellen's departure," the Tchulian decided.

"Then I'll make my departure, I find CAracusS a bit of a bore, really," the nobleman said, knowing that the necromancer could hear him, but not yet respond. "Well, I must get back to the fun, acting is such an underrated endeavor and I find myself becoming quite the master over the years. Now I'm on to my next performance in the Great Hall!"

Von Dracek frowned as he watched the pompous noble leave; the man was starting to seriously annoy the sardonic Tchulian merc, he was taking far too much pleasure in this business. To the Major, this was serious, something he had worked toward for many years. He would not enjoy what they had to do to Jatar, or the child, but some things had to be done to achieve important goals and the destruction of the Kirnath was the goal that drove Von Dracek's every waking moment.

In the palace of Lindankar, the great assembly hall was filled to overflowing. Most of those assembled were high ranking nobles here to witness the confirmation of their future sovereign in this ancient ceremony of their land. Jatar and Elizabeth sat on two throne chairs which were placed on a raised dais at one end of the spacious hall. Michael's crib stood to the right of the ruler's thrones, where Elizabeth could keep an eye on their son. The future heir was sitting up and looking out at the many faces of the watching crowd with the carefree attitude of a one-year-old.

As per custom, the Captain of the palace guards came forth and knelt before the thrones. Captain Fintok had been Jatar's Knight Protector since he was designated heir to the throne at Jatar's first birth celebration, many years ago.

"Captain Fintok," Jatar began, "have you found six men you deem worthy to be honored with the post of Michael's Knight Protector?"

"I have, milord," Captain Fintok answered.

"Bring them forth."

Getting to his feet, Jatar's old Knight Protector marched to the side of the hall where six young men stood at attention, all of them wearing shining light chain mail.

The captain gave a crisp command and the six men followed him out before the thrones. At the captain's hand signal, the men turned, in perfect precision, and dropped to one knee, facing their Lord and Lady. The captain remained standing to the side and he stated, "I present the six candidates who have proven themselves in the Great Trial, milord."

Captain Fintok gestured to each as he spoke their name. "This is Hetark, son of the late Captain Halson Deverin, of the Lindankar guard. The next man is Gustin, son of Yul Hearthforge, from Lashbrook, in the northern mountains. You already know Becaris, son of Sir Gregory Betherferd, from the Alaspern province. The man next to him is Drake, son of Denton Rider, the Head Forester, from Royal Oak. The final two are the twins Rasal and Lasar, sons of Stark LeKevern, from Lindankar. After years of constant practice, rigorous training, and then six months of fierce competition and grueling tests, these six candidates were chosen out of the hundreds who competed for this honor. They are the strongest, fastest, smartest, bravest, most skilled, and truest men in the kingdom. I recommend any one of them, without reservation, to be knighted and assigned as the personal guard of your son and heir, Michael Ardellen."

Jatar and Elizabeth stood and walked forward to the first knight kneeling in the line. He was a few years older than the five other young men. Hetark was of average height with short blond hair and a light beard that hugged his face like a carpet; Jatar sized him up and liked what he saw. Then the ruler asked, "Hetark, what is the most important duty of a knight?"

"To serve and protect their Lord," he answered immediately.

"And in what ways would you serve and protect Michael?"

"With all my love, strength, skill, wisdom, experience, and life, milord," answered the calm and thoughtful man.

Elizabeth watched his aura colors and got the impression of a man well-endowed with the self-assurance that comes from repeated testing and success.

Jatar stepped down to the next candidate in line and found a huge man with midnight black hair and a clean-shaven face. Jatar gazed at the large boned features of this man's face and thought he could see a surprisingly compassionate look behind the tough exterior. "Gustin, if an assassin threw a knife at your charge, what would you do?"

"I would step in front of the thrown knife and then kill the assassin," replied the large man, without hesitation, and nodded his head once, as if to confirm his answer beyond dispute.

"But, how would you kill him with a knife in you?" Jatar wondered.

"I would manage, milord," the big man replied, and looked right into Jatar's eyes with the conviction of a man who knows his own capabilities.

Jatar spoke low to Elizabeth as he stepped further down the line, "You know, I believe he would."

The next man was of above average height and weight, yet he still looked small in comparison to Gustin, who knelt to his left. He had long flowing brown hair which hung down a hand's length past his collar. Even as he knelt, he held himself with formal dignity. His body and clothes were groomed to perfection. A family crest adorned the left breast of his dark blue velvet doublet, proclaiming him a son from one of the most prominent noble houses in Lindankar. Jatar knew him well and asked, "Becaris, you come from a noble house with all the birthright of the firstborn. Why do you wish to give all that up to become the Knight Protector?"

"I am Michael's man; I have known that since your son was born. I know I must protect the heir to the throne with honor, duty, and life. I don't know what it is, but I have something important to accomplish in the service of your son. My father and I have spoken and when I expressed my true feeling, he agreed that this was the best course for my life to take. I have relinquished claim to my family title, passing the honor of first born to my younger brother."

"And what if you are not chosen?" Jatar inquired.

"Then I will find another way to serve Michael. In any event, I will not take back what I have given to my brother." the young man proclaimed proudly.

Jatar stepped to the next candidate and found the opposite of the huge Gustin. The young man before him was small; the word 'compact' came to Jatar's mind. He was finely muscled to the point where each cord was clearly defined beneath the skin. Jatar had the impression that the young man achieved maximum use from every attribute that he had been blessed with from birth. The oval face was framed by light brown hair and he sported a drooping mustache which added to the slightly mischievous look on his young calculating face. He looked Jatar in the eye as if to say, `Ask me your worst; I'm ready for anything,' so, Jatar decided to oblige the small man.

"Drake, if Michael was in danger and ordered you to go somewhere, therefore, putting him in greater danger, what would you do?"

"I would try and to reason with him, milord, and, failing that, I would remain to protect him anyway," he answered.

"So, you would disobey his direct order, even though you could be found guilty of treason later and put to death?"

The young man answered without hesitation, "If the amount of danger warranted the action, yes, milord."

Jatar nodded, liking the answer, then continued down the line to the final two men. Looking at them was like looking at a double image, they were identical twins, both with long black hair which served to frame striking steel gray eyes. They were of average height, though their arms showed the heavy musculature of extraordinary upper body strength.

"Rasal," Jatar said, speaking to the first twin, "if your brother, Lasar, was wounded in battle, dying, and you might save him by leaving Michael's side, thereby only slightly increasing his danger, what would you do?"

"I would swear to avenge my brother's death when it did not conflict with the care of my charge," answered Rasal with a grim look on his face.

Jatar stepped before the other twin and asked, "Lasar, if you were dying of a wound, as in the situation I described to your brother, what would you do?"

"I would tell my brother to leave me and I would die happy knowing I had passed on in the service of my charge, Michael Ardellen, long may he live!"

Jatar looked to Elizabeth who gave him a nod signifying that all six of the men had answered honestly.

Elizabeth asked them all a final question. "Would you swear, on your eternal souls, that you are true to the Ardellen's and to Michael, with no other allegiance?"

All six of the young men responded 'yes' and Elizabeth confirmed their answers by watching their auras and verifying that they remained constant. She again nodded to Jatar, telling him of their true commitment.

Jatar then turned to Captain Fintok. "I find these men exceptionally suited to their task, I thank you, Captain. As always, my friend, you have done an impeccable job."

Lord Jatar faced the watching assembly and raised his voice so all could hear. "Now comes a difficult choice, each of these men is dedicated to the service of our son, Michael, each has trained for the honor of Knight Protector and each of them is worthy. Lady Ardellen and I must now confer before making our choice."

Jatar stepped back from the kneeling men and spoke with Elizabeth quietly.

After a few moments, Jatar walked forward again and faced the crowd, with the six kneeling candidates before him; he drew his sword and held it above the heads of the young men, pointing up at an angle toward the ceiling, and then he called out in a loud voice for all to hear, "I choose to break from tradition at this point in the proceedings!"

There was a low sound of questioning voices from the assembly, but Jatar ignored them and continued speaking.

"Normally, we would adjourn to the antechamber to inform our selected candidate of our acceptance in private, he would then accompany us back to the throne to be knighted, thereby showing you our selection. Instead, I intend to make our choice publicly."

Again, the crowd murmured at this change in the expected ceremony.

"I do not do this to be insensitive to those not chosen to the post, for they are all ready to die in the defense of my son! Each of these men has my greatest respect, and I bow to their courage and dedication," Jatar inclined his head as a show of respect. "Indeed, they are all worthy of knighthood and the title of Knight Protector. And so, we now choose to knight, not just one, but all six of these courageous young men. We give them all the title of Knight Protector!"

The crowd of spectators burst into conversation at this unheard of, but welcome, change in tradition. Most of those watching were rooting for one candidate and this way everyone's choice won.

Jatar ignored the noise of the people, raised his sword high, and moved over to the first in line. He proclaimed in a loud resounding voice: "In the name of G'lan, I, Lord Jatar Ardellen, ruler of Lindankar, give you the rights of Knight Protector," and Jatar brought the sword down to rest on Hetark's right shoulder as he spoke the words. "Do you swear to protect and serve Michael Ardellen, so long as you and he both live?"

"I do, milord."

"Then arise, Sir Hetark, Knight Protector of Michael Ardellen!" Jatar took a gold ring from Captain Fintok, who stood to his left, and placed it on the third finger of Hetark's right hand. The upper portion of the ring was formed in the shape of a shield. Jatar moved down the line of kneeling men as he repeated the ceremony and gave each of the new Knight Protectors a matching ring.

When they had all been knighted, Jatar spoke to the knights in unison. "You six men must now become as close to one another as real brothers; let all the energy you have spent on competition now be used in pursuit of friendship and cooperation with one another in your service to my son. Captain Fintok was designated as my Knight Protector on my first birth celebration; let his example serve as your model."

Jatar, having completed the knighting, stepped back and made a proclamation to the assembly: "These six men were once in contention, now I ask that they be equal brothers in arms, I give you the Knight Protectors of Michael Ardellen!"

The crowd erupted into cheers for the new Knight Protectors.

When the tumultuous applause had faded, Elizabeth spoke to the six knights in a voice which carried, so all could hear. "Now, good sir knights, do your first duty as Knight Protectors and bring your charge forward for the instating of his birthright." In a quiet voice, for them alone, she added, "Bring the whole crib and set it before us."

The Knight Protectors, three of them to a side, reverently picked up the white and gold crib which held baby Michael, their young master. The pride felt by these young knights shown from their faces like beams of sunlight. They picked up and then placed the crib gently in front of the waiting parents. Michael stared up at the large men and a smile came over his face, perhaps because of the bright highlights gleaming off the shining chain mail, or perhaps he sensed a little of the love and protectiveness pouring out of these tough men.

With a sweep of his arm to point out the six Knight Protectors, Jatar said, "I have broken tradition and knighted six Knight Protectors so that Michael will never be without at least two loyal knights within call, protecting him always. You six are now brothers, as if you came from the same womb, and Michael is your son now, as he is mine, he is your liege lord, who you have sworn to protect, and he is your country's future ruler, guard him well."

The answer came in unison: "We will, milord."

Jatar spoke out to the watching throng, "Now that Michael has his Knight Protectors the moment has come; I, Lord Jatar Ardellen, do formally designate my legally born son, Michael Ardellen, as my heir and first in line of succession to the throne of Lindankar. Let the celebrations begin, the land and people of Lindankar have an heir to the throne on this wondrous day!"

The cheers of joy sprang forth from the assembly of nobles and, as the doors opened at the back of the Great Hall, the cheering spread from the palace across the city like a cresting ocean wave until the whole city celebrated the crowning of the new heir.

One of those celebrating in the Great Hall, who dressed in the fine clothes of the upper nobility, smiled and cheered with the rest, yet his thoughts were far from celebrating the new heir. He knew that before the sun set, Lord Jatar's soul would be forfeit. The picture of what was about to befall Jatar so amused the man that he laughingly grabbed at the nearest noble and turned the man around. "Isn't it a wonderful day!" he proclaimed and clapped the man on the back in celebration.

"Yes, it is!" the surprised noble replied. "Wasn't it a grand idea to appoint all six Knight Protectors for young Michael?"

The conspirator continued laughing as he placed his arm on the other noble's shoulder and replied, "Oh yes, Michael should be well protected now," but he added in thought, _At least until I have him killed later today._

Both nobles walked out of the hall together, heading to celebrate for two totally different reasons.

A full bell later, Gavin, Jatar's personal household servant and old friend, stood before the door of the Ardellen's sitting room and stated, "Your coach is here, milord and milady."

"Thanks, Gavin, that's good timing," Jatar responded. "Elizabeth has just finished getting Michael ready for his church blessing. Are you the only household staff member still here at the palace?"

"Yes, milord, I thought you might need something, so I stayed to help."

"That was very thoughtful of you, Gavin, but the rest of today is for celebrating and I expect to see you out having a good time with the rest of the household staff. Go ahead, Gavin, enjoy yourself, I promise you, it won't hurt."

"But what if milord or milady is in need of something?" Gavin asked with a furrowed brow.

Elizabeth spoke up from where she leaned over Michael's crib, "Then we can fetch it for ourselves. Besides, we'll be out of the palace for the rest of the day, anyway, so there's no need for anyone, except the outer guard, to remain. Now go out and have some fun!"

Gavin's stern face looked so completely unhappy at the thought of having fun that both Jatar and Elizabeth burst into laughter. "Oh, stop it, Gavin!" Jatar exclaimed. "Now I order you, as your ruler, to go out and not come back until you have drunk five cups of ale at the nearest tavern, kissed at least one girl, laughed at three jokes, and told at least one of them to someone else."

"Three jokes, milord?" Gavin repeated with a look of concentration, he had taken Jatar far too seriously, "What if they don't make me laugh?"

"Then you'll have to listen to more until you find some that strike you as funny, now out you go to start your merry making assignment," Jatar ordered in amusement.

Elizabeth adjusted the purple blanket wrapped around Michael and then Jatar accompanied them down to the coach waiting in the courtyard. Four of the Knight Protectors stationed themselves around Elizabeth and Michael; Hetark and Becaris took the lead while the diminutive Drake and towering Gustin followed. As they neared the Grand Entranceway, they came upon two of Jatar's boyhood foster brothers; Lord Pellev Welter, ruler of Tazlany, and Lord Verdew Kestle, ruler of Belorn.

"Pellev, Verdew, are you both going to Saint Helen's church for Michael's service?" Jatar asked.

Lord Pellev smiled and replied for both of them. "Of course, Jatar, we wouldn't miss it for the world."

A palace guard approached in such an obvious hurry that Hetark and Becaris stepped between him and Michael, just to be safe.

When he was near, the guard stopped and spoke quietly to Jatar, "Lord, Captain Fintok sent me to find you. There has been trouble with Lord Tysol's departure at the city gate. The Captain requests your counsel on what action should be taken. A meeting of the military and guard officers is convening in the strategy room to discuss our response to this provocation."

"That must be handled with care, Jatar," Elizabeth cautioned, "we may be at war if we give Tysol a rallying call which unites the people of Datoria. Perhaps you should see to this personally."

"But I don't want you going to the church alone, Elizabeth; the meeting will have to wait."

"I have the Knight Protectors with me, I'll be fine," she assured her husband.

"I will follow her, Jatar, and I promise to look after your wife and son," Lord Pellev offered.

"And I, too, will go with them," Lord Verdew added.

"I would appreciate it greatly, brothers," Jatar said with relief.

"Don't mention it, Jatar, after all, what are foster brothers for if they can't escort their brother's lady to safety?" Pellev asked with a warm smile.

"Then, if you're sure you will be all right?" Jatar asked, turning back to his wife.

"I'll be fine," Elizabeth reassured him, "I'm a Kirnath sorceress and I have four brave Knight Protectors and two ruling Lords to protect me. If I'm not safe, then we're in more trouble than threats from the Lord of Datoria. They need your wisdom to handle that idiot. This is another one I owe Tysol; there will be a reckoning someday."

Elizabeth gave Jatar a quick kiss on his cheek and walked out with Pellev, Verdew, and the Knight Protectors to the waiting carriages.

Jatar headed for the west wing for the meeting with his officers.

Major Harland Von Dracek entered the palace sleeping chamber and found CAracusS seated next to a table where a gagged man lay bound. The captive's eyes darted around wildly looking for unlikely help. The merc major ignored both his struggles, and his pleading eyes, and spoke to the seated necromancer. "I see that the antidote has taken effect; are you fully recovered and ready to begin?"

The voice of CAracusS replied in his raspy monotone, "Yes, the last effects of the pollen are gone. Is everything going according to plan?"

"The Kirnath sorceress has taken her child to the church and Jatar is busy in the palace handling the prearranged Datorian disturbance. As we expected, all the servants have gone into the city to celebrate so, for all intents and purposes, the inner palace chambers are empty," the major answered.

"What if we're disturbed while I use our subject to open the bridge to the Dark Plane?" the necromancer asked, while gesturing with his dead gray hand toward the bound man on the table.

"I ordered your two underlings to stand guard at the entrance to the guest hall. They will keep anyone from disturbing us."

"Excellent, then we are ready to begin," CAracusS replied as he walked over to the fireplace and grasped the hot poker embedded in the coals. When he pulled it out, the end of the rod glowed orange from the intense heat stored within the ugly metal.

The bound man's eyes widened as the necromancer approached. CAracusS slowly lifted the searing hot poker toward the poor victim's straining face. Fear exuded from the bound man's eyes like the sweat that seeped from his pores.

The necromancer brought the hot iron near the terrified man's face, until his victim could feel the heat on the very surface of his eyes. CAracusS used the tip of the heated metal to follow the contours of his victim's bound body. The slow movement of the hot poker allowed his victim to feel the heat, yet not know where and when it would touch him to burn. When the necromancer reached the man's chest, he suddenly brought the poker down. The material of the man's shirt burnt through, almost instantly. Then the red-hot tip reached the tender skin and the unprotected flesh sizzled against the hot metal.

The poor man screamed in agony and writhed with intense pain as he strained against his bonds. The gag muffled the sounds of his screams. A pitiful mewing sound began after the hot iron was lifted from his chest and began the inexorable trip back toward his horrified face and his wide, terror filled, left eye.

When the burning metal reached its next target the muffled sound of excruciating pain again filled the room and his bound body arched with insufferable anguish.

"Is it the pain that attracts the Darknulls to the bridge?" Von Dracek asked in a controlled voice, he didn't enjoy the man's pain, but he'd seen men tortured for information before.

The necromancer replied in a conversational tone as he applied the hot poker to another part of the poor man's body, "No, it's the suffering of the spirit, the anguish of the person's soul which comes with the understanding of his total helplessness without hope of succor. The Darknulls feed upon the aura spirit of the living and the agony of a soul is like the aroma of a succulent roast. The greater the spirit writhes the farther the aroma travels within the Dark Plane.

"I have found that torture brings about the greatest anguish of the spirit and that attracts the most powerful of the Darknulls. I have seldom opened the bridge, after the successful mutilation of a conscious subject, without finding at least a Baron, or an Earl, waiting to bargain for the tortured soul of my damaged bait." To punctuate his speech the necromancer dispassionately applied the hot metal to the inside of the victim's right ear.

Nearby, in the palace strategy room, Lord Jatar stood at the head of a long table with his top military and guard officers seated on either side. After discussing the Datorian situation for nearly a full bell, Jatar concluded the meeting by saying, "Then it is decided; Captain Fintok will command an honor guard to escort Tysol's party to our borders." He turned to the Captain and added, "Your men must be well briefed on their necessary conduct; under no circumstances are they to begin a skirmish with Lord Tysol's guards! They're to ignore any provocation or insult, their main purpose being to act as a buffer between the Lindankar populace and Tysol's people."

Jatar's longtime Knight Protector answered, "It will be as you command, milord."

The ruler of Lindankar placed his hand on his knight's shoulder as a symbol of his support, "I trust you to take care of this, Fintok. If Lindankar ends up in a war with Datoria, I don't want anyone saying that we caused it with the poor treatment of their worthless ruler. This way, any declaration of war may be somewhat unpopular and his troops will not be as motivated. We will have to make sure that the correct story of his treachery and oath breaking is spread within Datoria; honorable men will not wish to follow an oath breaking coward."

The officers all nodded or made comments of agreement.

"Those of you who have an assigned job know what to do. So, unless there are any other questions, this meeting is concluded. Now, I must attempt to rejoin my wife and son in the city. Thank you, Gentlemen."

The smell of burnt hair and cooked flesh permeated the room. It all originated from the bloody mass of flesh on the table next to CAracusS, the necromancer. Suddenly, the man stiffened and then relaxed as his heart finally gave out from the pain. Major Von Dracek was watching and spoke up immediately, "He died, is that supposed to happen?"

CAracusS scowled, "No, I need his soul in his body to attract the Darknull. I've experienced this problem while torturing men previously, however, if I hurry, I can often restart their hearts."

The necromancer placed his hand, palm down, a foot above the singed chest of his, now, still victim. Then he reached for his powers from the darkness. A small jolt of electricity arced down and struck the man's chest. His muscles convulsed in a sudden spasm and he took in a ragged gasp of air.

CAracusS spoke excitedly, "There, you see? I've had much practice at restarting a heart; it takes just the right amount of power!"

The once sound human body was again alive, but the wrecked human flesh would not cling to life much longer.

CAracusS lifted his bloody fingers and closed his eyes to concentrate as he again drew on his connection to the corrupt powers of the Dark Plane. A rift in the fabric of reality tore open between the Dark Plane and the palace in Lindankar. The necromancer only opened a small rift so that nothing could squeeze through, but communication was now possible across the void.

Something, dark of color, indeterminate of shape, and alien to this world waited on the other side. To Von Dracek, it felt as though a sickness welled up within his body. He felt weak and ill, as if he had been on his deathbed for weeks.

The necromancer spoke to the foulness within the rift in a commanding voice: "Who comes to bargain at my offering?"

The voice which replied was not audible in the way humans hear, it reached within the minds of those in the room. If Von Dracek had been asked to describe the voice, he would have said it sounded like the bubbling gurgle of a wounded man choking on his blood, but it really made no sound. The Darknull communicated within the listener's mind and a human's mind lacked the means to properly understand the alien information. The words were clear, but the form of the perceived sound was foul. In an attempt to make sense of the alien intrusion, the person's imagination associated the information with the most horrible and disgusting experiences it could conjure up. No two humans ever heard a Darknull exactly the same way, but it always sounded horrific.

"I am Baron Qyrmswav; who wishes to bargain for the souls of humans?" Von Dracek heard the disgusting words formed from the sounds of wet crunching bugs under bare feet.

The necromancer spoke in a hurried voice to Von Dracek.

"We're in luck, a Baron has responded!" Then, louder, to the Darknull, he croaked, "I, CAracusS, the necromancer, possessor of powers from the Dark Plane, called you to this place to make a bargain for the soul of this human." He pointed a deathly pale finger at the tortured wreck on the table and then added, "And, for the soul of Lord Jatar Ardellen, ruler of this land."

"What do you ask for in return?" the horrid voice asked.

Von Dracek shook his head as he tried to clear the disgusting sounds from within his mind.

"That you destroy no one else; unless I give you leave, and that you depart when your task is done or when I command. Finally, that you come once more to my call, so that I may offer you a new bargain in the future," CAracusS demanded.

"Then I accept your bargain, human; open your bridge," the Darknull commanded.

CAracusS was so pleased with the bargain, and so accustomed to the touch of the Dark Plane, that he ignored the sound of the Baron's voice in his brain, even though it sounded of ripping skin being torn from living flesh.

"Our bargain is sealed by the power of our souls, Baron," intoned the necromancer and then he concentrated his power into the rift and tore it open wider.

The grotesque amorphous shape of the Darknull oozed into the room. Instantly, the feeling of sickness spread to gigantic proportions. Looking at the Darknull caused Von Dracek's mind to do the same to his vision as it had done to his hearing. Trying to make sense of the foul creature caused his brain to form countless shifting visions of horror, as it tried to compensate for the alien presence. Squashed human heads dripping brains, floating eyeballs which rapidly swelled into explosions of dripping gore, huge black teeth which were broken and pointed with bits of bloody flesh caught between, open sores with oozing yellow pus that ran down to drip on the floor. Just as it seemed to take one disgusting shape, the Tchulian merc's confused mind shifted it into a new grotesque vision.

Major Von Dracek had calmly held a conversation with the necromancer while an innocent victim had been brutally tortured, yet upon the entrance of the Darknull, he backed up against the wall and then vomited on the floor. Unnoticed bile dripped down his chin and onto the lapel of his uniform.

The foulness of the Darknull has no compare.

The necromancer spoke harshly to Von Dracek, "Get a hold of yourself, before you excite the Baron with your fear. Besides, it's time for you to find Lord Jatar and send him here to meet the Baron."

With visible effort, the Tchulian merc gathered the reins of his emotions and straightened up. He wiped the bile from his slim beard with the back of his hand. "Yes, I will go do my part and I'll post your guards to make sure Jatar does not get out of these rooms once he enters."

With the squashing sound of steaming guts bursting from a slit stomach, the Baron broke into Von Dracek's thoughts, "Do not fear that he will escape me once he comes within my grasp."

Von Dracek did not answer, he didn't trust his voice. He nearly gagged again, so he left the room as quickly as his dignity allowed.

The interior of G'lan's Temple was constructed of white marble. Three large pillars stood along each wall to the left and right of the entrance. Pews lined the hall divided by an aisle which ran straight to an altar at the front. The pungent fragrance of incense filled the air.

The young heir to the throne of Lindankar, Michael Ardellen, lay on top of the white altar surrounded by colorful flowers of golden yellow and white.

Ordained Followers of G'lan, in their white robes and red sash, hovered around like a flock of hummers with only one flower to service. The High Follower was reciting a benediction and sprinkling fragrant red rose petals on the child. Lady Elizabeth Ardellen stood to the side, watching the proceedings with the careful eye of a mother. The church overflowed with the city's populace, there trying to catch a glimpse of the young heir. They knew he represented the future of their proud country.

The High Follower continued his benediction, "May holy G'lan bless this child, anointing his brow with wisdom, his hand with mercy, and his heart with compassion. In the name of the Good Son, we bless Michael Ardellen, on this, his first celebration of birth."

Elizabeth's mind wandered to her husband as she listened to the ritual words of the Follower. Jatar was so proud of his son; she wished he were here to see the way his people loved their young shaard. The sorceress sent her aura searching toward the palace for signs of her husband's familiar patterns. Suddenly, as though the wind blew the smell of rotting corpses into the church. As soon as she sensed the foulness, Elizabeth knew that a Darknull beast had just entered the world in the direction of the Palace. At another time, with her mind this occupied, even her finely trained Kirnath abilities might have missed it at this distance, but she had sent her mind searching for her husband's location in the direction of the palace and that was where the foul feeling she sensed emanated.

Fearing for her husband's life and soul, Elizabeth spoke quietly, yet intensely, to the Knight Protector seated next to her, "Becaris, bring the coach around to the side of the building, immediately."

He left to do her bidding without question.

Lady Ardellen quickly went to the altar.

"Follower, I must return to the palace, immediately," she stated.

He could see the urgency in her eyes and hear it in her voice, "What is the matter, milady?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

"I can't explain it, but I must return now. Tell the people that I am not feeling well and must take my rest." Elizabeth then gathered up Michael's wraps and picked up her son. She hurried to the side door exit and the other three Knight Protectors followed her out, their eyes scanning for threats.

A loud murmur started up as the ceremony was abruptly interrupted.

Seated in the front row of the congregation, the third conspirator's eyes narrowed in surprise, something was wrong, but unfortunately, for him, he was in no position to interfere. He just had to hope the Sorceress would arrive too late to make a difference. He stood and worked his way toward the exit. Things had changed and he needed to get in contact with his hired assassins so that they could be redeployed.

In the alley, outside the church, Gustin opened the door of the newly arrived coach and Lady Ardellen quickly entered. She spoke hurriedly to the knights: "A Darknull has entered our world, nearby. I sense its foulness coming from the Palace; we must get there as quickly as possible."

The knights got the carriage underway immediately. Elizabeth appeared calm as she gently rocked Michael. He began to cry, either from the jouncing of the carriage, as it hurled down the road, or because he sensed his mother's troubled feelings. She crooned softly to her son, but her worried thoughts were with her husband, _Oh, Jatar, why am I away from you? With both duty and_ love, _I am sworn to protect you from the Foul Realm. Jatar, my love, hold on, I'm coming. I can't live without you! Please,_ G'lan, _let me be wrong!_

To the knights, she called out calmly, "Faster, please!"

Jatar left his officers in the meeting room; they would soon be leaving the palace on their various missions and destinations. The Lord of Lindankar headed for his private rooms to quickly freshen up before leaving to find his wife at the church celebration.

Coming to the Grand Staircase, Jatar saw a Tchulian major. The Lindankar Lord was puzzled by the merc's presence for a moment, but then he remembered the man's face from the state dinner the night before. He was here to represent the Tchulian battle school at Michael's investment. Jatar noticed the major's pale face and a stain on the front of his uniform.

Acting as if he was in a hurry, Von Dracek approached the bottom of the staircase. "Lord Jatar, one of your household servants has fallen down and is injured. I can't locate any of your other servants to help. Do you know where I can find them?"

"They've all left, which servant is it?"

"He's an older gentleman, I don't know his name."

"It must be Gavin, that stubborn idiot was supposed to go with the rest of them. All right, where is he?" Jatar asked, with worry for his old friend showing on his face.

"He's down the eastern hall, near the visitor's apartments. We moved him into the third room on the left. Is there anyone else around that could help us with him, a physician, perhaps?"

"You might catch some of my officers, if you hurry; they're just leaving from the main courtyard. Tell them we need medical supplies and a healer. Then, have someone go bring Lady Elizabeth and my son back from church; she can help," Jatar ordered. The ruler's face showed lines of worry for the stubborn old servant. He quickly turned and headed toward the visitor's apartments.

Von Dracek waited a moment and then followed after Jatar, but the merc kept a short distance behind, so he wouldn't be seen. When they neared the chamber where CAracusS waited with the Darknull Baron, the Tchulian stopped and waited to make sure no one came this way to interfere with the proceedings.

Jatar quickly moved along the rooms and passageways of his palace until he reached the correct chamber. Without knocking, he opened the door and stepped inside. On the table, he saw a bloody body with someone standing in front of it blocking most of his view.

_How did Gavin get so severely wounded falling down?_ Was Jatar's immediate thought, but then he felt the sudden sickness as the Darknull attacked.

The foul creature descended over his body and immediately began to consume his living soul. A Darknull is horrible for your mind to see and hear, but nothing compares to the agony of actual contact and the feeling of your soul being consumed by its malefic touch.

Jatar cried out in pain and fear as the Darknull engulfed him and burned into his aura, like acid on metal. Lord Jatar staggered back to the wall as he writhed in pain. Upon striking the wall, he rolled along until his body blindly ran into a small table, which held the lit oil lamp for the room. His hands groped for a weapon, as his warrior spirit came forth, responding to an attack. His searching hand found the oil lamp, which he dashed onto the floor where the bulk of the Darknull stood. The lamp burst into flames and the Darknull jumped back from the burning heat. Jatar remembered Elizabeth telling him that the Darknulls could be hurt by fire. The flames were alien to the Dark Plane and the dark essence of the creature could be hurt by the bright fire, though it could not kill the creature.

As the Darknull pulled back from the hot licking flames, Jatar used his brief respite to dash out the side door through the adjoining chamber, into the main corridor. Jatar ran toward the front of the palace, but he felt and heard the Darknull enter the passage in swift pursuit. He entered the large east hall a moment ahead of the pursuing alien monster and slammed the door. With a swift thought, he grabbed the lit oil lamp, and smashed it over the closed door to put a wall of flames between himself and the Darknull. The door caught fire quickly and so did the old dry tapestries which covered the entire wall. Within his mind, Jatar heard the sounds of a thousand people being ripped in half, it was the voice of the Darknull crying its frustration from the other side of the burning door.

Jatar turned to continue his flight, but was confronted by Major Von Dracek coming in from the other side of the hall. The merc officer held his sword unsheathed.

"What is this, more treachery?" Jatar called out accusingly.

"You cannot pass this way, Lord Jatar. Your fate is calling and it is my duty to see that you meet it," Von Dracek replied, coolly.

Jatar dashed to the right side of the hall, which held many weapons on display. He pulled a rapier down just in time to parry a thrust from the Tchulian Major.

"Very good, milord, your reputation with the sword precedes you. I've often wondered how good you actually were," Von Dracek stated, flippantly.

"It seems that you are about to find out, major," replied Jatar coldly. He started a flurry of cuts, which caused the major to back into the middle of the room before he fought Jatar to a standstill.

Behind him, where Jatar had entered the large hall, the wall with the tapestries and door were completely engulfed in yellow flames from floor to high ceiling, causing extreme heat and silhouetting the two swordsmen against the burning backdrop.

Von Dracek paused and took a step back after their initial confrontation and stated, "You are very good, milord, perhaps I underestimated your skills a bit when I trained Lord Tysol to fight you!" Then, once Von Dracek caught his breath, he tried a thrust, coming in low toward Jatar's right thigh.

Jatar replied, "So, you are the reason behind his sudden skill and limited bravery. You didn't think he could actually take me, did you?" As he asked his question, he sidestepped the major's attack and countered with a riposte, which made the major parry furiously to avoid a cut to his head.

"Of course not, our puppet performed just as expected," Von Dracek explained, as he countered Jatar's cut with the forte of his sword.

Quickly manipulating his sword with thumb and forefinger, Jatar grazed Von Dracek's blade subtly to induce his opponent to respond in the same line. That move created a sudden opening which allowed Jatar's blade to slide in and pierce the major in the left biceps.

Von Dracek grimaced and stepped back as he beat Jatar's blade aside.

Jatar gave the merc a grim smile and said, "I'll bet that hurt, didn't it?"

Losing his concentration, slightly, the young major attacked furiously.

Jatar knew he had the Tchulian rattled, so he spared a quick glance toward possible escape. He spotted the door across the hall from the burning tapestries just as two men entered. They took up guard positions to block him from escaping through the door and drew their swords. Since they he didn't recognize the men and they didn't come to his aid, Jatar reasoned that these two must be part of the plot.

The frustrated Darknull screamed from beyond the flames. Jatar knew that the ravenous fire would soon consume the door so he had to win this duel before that happened and the Darknull gained entrance.

Jatar trapped the Colonel's sword with his in a bind and they came chest-to-chest, but Jatar suddenly stepped back out and forced his blade to ride up and off the top of Von Dracek's sword. The sharp tip sliced into the major's forehead.

Blood began to run down the Tchulian's face into his eyes. The major cursed Jatar, showing a little fear in his voice for the first time. Von Dracek suddenly knew that, incredibly, he was going to lose this duel if he relied solely on his skill with the blade. Extending his blade, the major leaped back to keep Lord Jatar at bay for the moment the merc needed to concentrate. The Tchulian focused his secret aura powers and extended his palm forward. He sent an aura attack from his palm which struck Jatar in the chest with a blast of pure of aura energy. Blue visible light from his left hand flashed across the space between them and struck the surprised ruler of Lindankar in the chest.

Lord Jatar flew back from the impact and slid to a heap on the floor; the clothing on his chest was torn and smoking from the searing power of the blast.

"Vorg take that bastard, he nearly had me!" exclaimed the Tchulian, as he wiped the blood from his eyes.

The burning door burst inward in a blast of purple energy and a cloud of sparks. CAracusS lowered his bony hands and stepped to the side.

The dreaded Darknull oozed its foulness into the room and the scowling visage of the necromancer followed close behind.

"What happened here?" CAracusS demanded, when he saw Jatar's lifeless body piled on the floor.

"I could ask the same of you! Jatar wasn't supposed to get away from your beast," countered the wounded Major.

"Baron Qyrmswav, is Lord Jatar still alive?" the necromancer asked the Darknull.

Von Dracek backed away from the approach of the malefic beast.

Sliding its putrid mass over the body, the Darknull replied in its foul voice, "He is no more, there is no spirit left to consume. What soul shall you supply to take his place and complete our bargain?"

CAracusS was stricken by the news that Jatar was dead, but he gestured toward his men guarding the exit. "Take those two and then go."

The two men by the door tried to flee, but the Darknull got between them and escape. They tried to back away, but the Baron descended on one of them. His victim started to scream horribly as his soul was torn from his body and consumed.

The second of the two underlings tried to appeal to CAracusS. "Please, master, call it off. You promised to make me a rich man. Don't let it eat me, I beg you!"

Qyrmswav finished with the first man, whose dead body fell limply to the floor like meat devoid of bones. The dread Darknull Baron slowly approached the second man. To heighten his fear, Qyrmswav came for him slowly, speaking to him, and the beast's voice sounded in the man's mind like oozing putrid flesh sliding off bones.

"I'll tell you something the Darknulls learned a long time ago from Vorg, the Desecrator, never trust a necromancer."

Then, with the swift speed of a striking slither's head, Baron Qyrmswav leaped on top of the screaming man and consumed his soul. Once finished with his meal, the Darknull left the hall to depart back through the bridge between the worlds. The necromancer closed it as soon as the Darknull was through.

CAracusS and Von Dracek turned Jatar's body onto its back before they spoke.

"You may have ruined all our plans," the necromancer accused, "the imprint from my cathexis dagger can't enter a dead body. Only a living vessel can attract the imprint! Jatar was supposed to have his aura eaten and his body left functional, or did you forget our plan?"

"I remember, but it's not my fault that he escaped from your grisly friend. Jatar was the greatest swordsman I have ever faced; I had to kill him, or he would have killed me and escaped! He would have gone through your two men without breaking stride. But come, he is dead, and we must flee Lindankar. The guards will have seen the smoke and be here soon. I don't want to be found with the body of their dead ruler!"

"There is one chance," the necromancer answered and his eyes narrowed in thought. "You remember how I revived my torture victim? Jatar's body is whole, his heart has just stopped; let's see if we can get it beating again."

Placing his ancient shaking hand over Jatar's still chest, the necromancer drew energy through his connection with the Dark Plane.

Von Dracek saw the lines of purple lightning strike from CAracusS' hand to Jatar's chest and the body jumped. CAracusS listened to his chest, briefly, before applying a second jolt. that did the trick and Jatar's chest began to rise and fall as his body started breathing again.

"Your magic seems to have worked; will Jatar wake up now?" asked the Major.

"No, remember the Darknull said his spirit was no more, it must have been destroyed, or it went on to The River. Only his body is functioning now, as if in a coma. Under normal circumstances, he would never reawaken, however, my cathexis dagger will allow us to change all that. Now we must be quick, you guard the door while I finish the transfer."

CAracusS pulled the dagger from his waist and placed it in Jatar's hand. Then he took a small green bottle from his pocket and removed the stopper. With a quick toss of his head, he drank down the thick contents in one gulp. He grimaced at the foul taste, momentarily, and then his body convulsed, as the quick acting poison started to take effect. Spasms shook the necromancer's cadaverous body and, moments later, he keeled over, dead.

A few seconds later, Jatar's eyes fluttered open and he groaned as he slowly sat up. His fingers tightened around the cathexis dagger in his hand, then he, suddenly, used it to stab the necromancer's wrinkled body in the chest.

Von Dracek went for his sword, but Jatar looked up with a frown which was hauntingly familiar; the necromancer had often used the same expression.

"Oh, stop it, you fool, it is me, CAracusS. I just wanted to make it obvious to Jatar's guards that I killed this necromancer with my dagger. Assassins don't normally take poison, unless they are going to be captured."

Von Dracek's eyes widened, "Incredible, it actually worked! I mean, I know how cathexis metal stores the imprint of the one who carries it for a time, but knowing and seeing it are two different things." As he said this, Von Dracek thought, _I want that dagger; a man with one of the nineteen cathexis artifacts could be immortal._

They heard the sounds of guard's voices calling Jatar's name from a nearby room.

CAracusS swiftly gave the merc some instructions, "When the guards get here, I'll tell them that three assassins tried to kill me. I dispatched this one with my knife and you slew the other two. Now, quickly, stab my two dead servants with your sword, so it looks like you killed them."

The Tchulian major had just finished stabbing the second corpse, when a group of six guards poured into the room with drawn weapons. The first of Jatar's guards to enter saw Von Dracek with his sword drawn. The guard raised his crossbow and yelled, "Drop that weapon!" He aimed the loaded bow at Von Dracek's heart.

Von Dracek quickly dropped his sword and stated, "I defended your ruler, ask him yourself."

The man the guard thought was Jatar said, "Yes, put down your bow. This man helped me defeat these three assassins! Without his aid, I would now be dead." CAracusS got Jatar's body to his feet and added, "Now, help me to my rooms. Though I am not wounded, I do need rest. Have someone dispose of these bodies. This Tchulian major is to be let into my rooms anytime he wishes; he is a hero in Lindankar."

The leader of the guards looked puzzled by this, he knew how Jatar disliked the Tchulians, but he bowed to his Lord's command and the orders were given.

It was one year since the birth of Michael Ardellen and the first part of the conspirator's plan had succeeded; the soul of the necromancer CAracusS was in control of Lord Jatar's body.

#### CHAPTER THREE: ELIZABETH

The careening carriage clamored to a halt in the courtyard of the Lindankar palace. The six horses were gulping for air and hot sweat ran down their steaming flanks. The right-side door burst open as Elizabeth swiftly exited with her son held in her right arm. Behind her, the four Knight Protectors followed like thunder behind lightning.

As Elizabeth approached the twin doors of the main entranceway, she thought about her small son cradled against her side. How do I protect Michael? If I leave him with his knights, I won't be there to protect him from the evils of the Darknull. If I take him with me, I will be hampered by having to hold him and will be unable to give him my full protection.

She paused for a moment, quickly weighing possible solutions. Then she turned and handed Michael to Hetark giving him orders, "Follow me close, but wait where I tell you. And, for Michael's safety, do not, under any circumstance, go anywhere else."

In the main hall, various wings split off in different directions. On the right, the Grand Staircase led up to the second floor. Elizabeth stopped for a moment and concentrated on the foulness of the Darknull; the taint of it wasn't very strong anymore, which probably meant the Darknull creature was gone. However, she could still feel the rank signature of the Darknull coming from the direction of her apartments, upstairs.

Making a quick decision, she turned to the knights and gave her orders, "I think the Darknull beast has been within the palace, but it has departed. Hetark and Gustin, you wait here, with Michael. Drake, I want you to go just outside the Main Entrance and watch for trouble. If something happens, give a signal to Hetark and Gustin, who will then bring Michael upstairs toward my apartments so that I can protect my son. Becaris, you come with me."

The knights accepted her orders without question and began taking their positions. Elizabeth didn't wait; she immediately started up the stairs, with Becaris following close behind. Using her aura senses, Elizabeth followed the foulness that stained the passages of her home. The concentration increased as she neared her rooms. When the door to her chambers was just ahead, she turned to Becaris and whispered, "Stay here, but if you hear or see anything wrong, retreat to Michael and defend him until I return."

"Unto death, milady," Becaris answered, placing the gauntlet of his clenched right hand across his chest in salute.

Now alone, Elizabeth turned and continued toward the foulness. She gathered her emotions and settled into a calm state of readiness. She was prepared to use her aura powers for the salvation of her husband or, if too late, the protection of her son.

She entered her sitting room and relief washed over her like a torrential rain on fire, she saw Jatar's unmistakable back sitting in a chair, but words of relief froze on her lips when she sensed the foulness emanating directly from Jatar. Fear returned, like the freezing chill of winter. Dreading what she would find, Elizabeth extended her perceptions to read her husband's aura patterns. She knew his aura as well as her own, but to her dismay, her aura gaze revealed a strange set of patterns in Jatar's body. This was a false pattern, not Jatar's real soul. This terrible news confirmed her worst fears; Jatar's soul was no more and his body had been taken by an imposter. The import of her discovery shocked Elizabeth, and she staggered back a step, bumping into the door, as she thought: _This isn't possible... the body is the aura and the aura is the body, no invading aura should be able to inhabit a body without changing that body... unless... unless the body was vacant... which means, oh G'lan... Jatar!_

Time seemed to move slowly as the being who possessed Jatar's body turned toward the noise she had made when she hit the door. There was a flicker of surprise on Jatar's face, but that was quickly masked and his familiar voice asked, "Elizabeth, I didn't expect you back for some time. Where is your son?"

_He said, `your' son'!_ Elizabeth thought, as she used her special sight to inspect the aura showing around her husband's body, though she searched, she finally had to admit that the body before her held no trace of her husband's spirit. The answer was clear; her husband was dead. Elizabeth knew of nothing else which could completely remove a person's aura. The hideous taint of the Dark Plane continued to assault her aura senses. There was little doubt that, somehow, a necromancer had gotten within her beloved husband's body. Finding her voice, she fought to compose herself and the rigorous training at the Kirnath School came to her aid. By force of will, she held onto outward control as she answered, "Michael was tired, so I came home early and placed him in the nursery to sleep." This was a lie, Michael always slept in the small chamber reached through this very room, as the real Jatar would have known.

"Very good," CAracusS answered, then asked, "So, ah, what's our plan for the rest of the evening?" Meanwhile, the necromancer was thinking furiously, _What happened? She was supposed to be killed by our assassins! I am too weak from the Darknull summoning to fight with a Kirnath adept! I'll have to delay her until Von Dracek gets here, between his aura powers and my link to the Dark Plane, we should be able to overcome the powers of this sorceress._

Elizabeth spoke as calmly as she could feign, "I just wanted to tell you I was back, but I need to finish putting Michael to bed. I'll return in a half-bell or so." Elizabeth fought to keep her voice steady, she desperately wanted to let loose her fury in a fierce blast of aura power which would disintegrate this foul creature, but she could not afford to start a battle with Michael unprotected and she didn't know if the Darknull was still within call of the necromancer.

"Fine, I'll wait for you here," he said, but his thoughts were quite different. The necromancer planned to enlist Von Dracek in preparing a trap. He now believed that the sorceress was not as sensitive as Von Dracek imagined. The necromancer thought he had Lady Elizabeth completely fooled.

The old necromancer looked at her through Jatar's young eyes and found her features exquisite; he abruptly decided to make use of his new young body. She thought him her husband and he figured there was always time to kill her after sampling her treasures.

Elizabeth sensed his disgusting desires and, to keep from giving herself away by displaying her deep revulsion, Elizabeth turned and departed from the room. Her mind was spinning, but her thoughts went to her small child: _I must save my son, you foul creature, but don't rest easy for I swear that I will return to totally destroy you and your kind for what you've done to my beloved husband!_

Elizabeth walled off grief into a portion of her mind so that she could deal with it later, when her son was safe.

The sorceress left the room and quickly went down the corridor to Becaris. With a motion of her hand, she signaled him to follow her to the main entrance. Once there, she grabbed a pen and wrote a message, which read:

To those commanders and servants who are loyal to the Ardellens, take heed.

While we were away, at our various celebrations on this day of Michael's birth, a necromancer used a Darknull beast to slay Lord Jatar's spirit, though the creature left his body intact.

A necromancer then took over his body, probably using a cathexis artifact. To your eyes and ears, he looks and sounds like your true Lord, but he is not. By use of my Kirnath powers, I can see from his aura that he is no longer Jatar, he is a murdering impostor.

I know this is hard to believe, because most of you know little beyond the legends of cathexis. Let me give you the facts quickly, there are nineteen known artifacts made from cathexis metal and they come in many shapes, knives, swords, shields, rings, circlets, earrings, and some unknown others. Each, large or small, has the unique property of imprinting a person's aura. This includes their personality and virtually everything that makes an individual who they are. The object then retains this psychic imprint permanently. When combined with a person's aura and the circumstances are correct, it can sometimes take over another person's body; for example: when the body is empty of aura because the spirit was destroyed.

This is not a myth; it is the truth. I have seen and touched cathexis metal myself and spoken with imprints of the past owners. I tell you now, this evil spirit in Jatar's body cannot let those who knew Jatar well continue to live, he will have to kill you all, lest you give away his secret. I must protect the heir, so I cannot take the risk of staying here to try and convince you or to battle the necromancer. At your first opportunity, flee for your lives, and meet me in a year's time in the deep glens of the great Gellern forest. Ask for 'Ember' and you will be brought to me.

I swear to you, as the wife of your deceased ruler, I will avenge my husband. Michael will take his rightful place on the throne of Lindankar. I do not have time to write more, soon that evil thing in Jatar's body will discover that I have fled and he will attempt to hunt down and kill me and the heir. For the safety of Michael, I must go.

G'lan save you all.

Lady Elizabeth Ember Ardellen.

"Becaris," she said, gaining his attention when she was done writing. "Michael and I will be leaving. I want you to give this letter to our personal servants, retainers, and the main commanders of the military and guard. Do this secretly, yet swiftly. Let them read it and then take it to the next. Do not let Jatar or any strangers read the letter, or see anyone else reading it; do you understand?"

"Not really, milady, why can't Jatar read it?" the knight asked reasonably.

"You will understand later. I don't want you to read it until every household servant and commander you can find, before midnight, has read the message. Once you read the message, do as it says," she commanded.

"All right, milady, if you say so. It doesn't tell anyone to do anything... wrong, does it?" asked the worried and puzzled Becaris.

"No, it is what Jatar would want. Delivering this message may save countless lives, but it is not without risk; will you do it?" asked Elizabeth, looking into the young man's intense brown eyes.

"Of course, milady, but is Michael going to be safe?" he asked, concerned about his charge.

"Delivering this message will help protect him," Elizabeth replied and then added, "I'm taking Michael away from here because no one who remains will be safe, but this message must get out."

"Then I will carry your message," promised the Knight Protector and left to begin his assignment.

Now she turned to the blonde Knight and said, "Hetark, I want you and Drake to take Michael to the stables, where you are to prepare eight mounts for a long ride. Gustin, go and get provisions for five people, to last two weeks, and meet us in the stables. Let no one see you or know what you are about; now off with you."

Elizabeth turned and went back up the stairs toward her rooms. She slipped quietly into the chamber next to her sitting room and procured clothing for her and Michael. She quickly changed into leather riding gear and then packed up two bundles of clothing. She soon left the palace proper and headed toward the stables.

Dubar, the assassin, lay in the hay of the loft overlooking the stable. From his vantage point, he could see three of Michael's Knight Protectors below: the large one was saddling the horses, while the blond bearded one was provisioning the packs, and the short one was holding the Lindankar heir.

Dubar and his men had been hired by the third conspirator to kill Lady Ardellen and her son. Having missed their opportunity at the church, when Elizabeth departed early, their employer had brought them to the palace within his royal coach. He told the assassins to wait for Elizabeth in the stable and then departed.

Dubar had no idea how the nobleman had known that Lady Ardellen would be coming out to the stable after just arriving a few minutes before, but he had been right. As soon as he spotted some of the knights entering the stable, holding the young heir, he signaled his men to get ready. They had orders to attack at his command. Where her son went, the Sorceress could not be far behind.

Dubar took out the vial of Etterine poison and carefully worked out the old cork stopper. Once he had it free, he took the bolt from the loaded crossbow beside him and dipped it liberally into the gray cloudy liquid. Once satisfied, he replaced the bolt in its slot, and then eased the crossbow carefully into position in the hay in front of his body. He sighted down the shaft toward the double doors across the length of the barn and waited for his chance.

As Elizabeth neared the stable, her mind was occupied by her worries about the necromancer within her husband's body. She kept her attention, and powers, concentrated in his direction in case he started to use his connection to the darkness.

Elizabeth reached the stable and opened the door a body's width, before slipping inside.

Dubar saw her step in and took careful aim with his poisoned bolt. With a squeeze of his finger, he let the deadly bolt fly. The moment he pulled the trigger, he whistled shrilly, and then scampered to his feet. He scooped up the large battle ax he had ready and leaped down to a pile of hay below.

Although Elizabeth's concentration was on the palace and the necromancer, her powers were active, so she sensed, more than saw, the deadly bolt streaking for her heart. Desperately, the sorceress tried to raise her shields and move out of the way, but she felt as though she were swimming through brown syrup; there just wasn't enough time. She barely managed to turn before the bolt hit, with stunning force, driving its way into the far-right side of her chest. Time sped up and Elizabeth felt herself slammed against the wooden door. She slid to the ground as her knees gave out. Desperately, she tried to regain control of her pain-wracked mind.

From places of concealment, the other assassins hurled forward in a surprise attack on the unsuspecting knights, who were only now starting to realize that something was amiss.

Dubar had given his men quick and terse instructions, they were to keep the knights busy until he could finish Lady Ardellen. He ran lithely past the battling knights, with his eyes locked on the stricken Kirnath Sorceress. As he ran, he lifted the heavy ax with which he planned to strike her head from her shoulders in one massive blow. He figured that even a sorceress couldn't heal herself from such a terrible wound.

Gustin saw three dark shapes baring naked blades rushing forward, so he bellowed with his considerable lungs, "We're under attack!"

The massive knight let one hand release the saddle he was holding and slapped the horse before him on the rump; it leaped forward, knocking down one of the approaching men.

Hetark's blond bearded face was calm as he stepped from behind the horses into the path of the two other oncoming assassins. He swept his sword from his sheath in a fluid motion. "Keep Michael safe!" he exclaimed to Drake. The smaller knight stood holding the bundled little boy a few paces behind Hetark.

The leader of the assassins reached Elizabeth and prepared to strike with his raised ax.

Inside her body, Elizabeth was fighting a battle. She had regained her concentration and reached past the pain with her aura powers. She sought the wound and the metal bolt, which transfixed her lung, but then she felt the effects of the Etterine poison. It ate at her concentration like acid. Elizabeth strove to concentrate her muddled thoughts and marshal her powers of healing. She ignored the bolt and bent her power on changing her poison-tainted blood back to normal. She knew she could deal with the bolt once her mind was entirely free of the poison's effect. With her mind absorbed with the internal battle, she had no idea that death approached on the edge of a hurling ax blade.

Gustin looked toward Elizabeth and saw her on the ground; a man was nearly to her and he was brandishing a huge ax. With no time to reach them before the ax fell, and having no bow or sling, Gustin did the only thing he could; he threw the heavy saddle with all his strength. It flew the full forty feet which separated them and, just as the ax began to fall, the saddle struck the man in the back with great force. The impact of the heavy leather knocked him and his ax against the wooden frame of the stable door with a loud 'thump'.

Gustin trusted Hetark against the two opponents charging him and he noted Drake retreating with Michael. With his charge safe, for the moment, Gustin turned his full attention on Lady Ardellen. The big knight ran toward her assassin like a charging hoofhorn.

Hetark didn't wait for the two assassins to attack; he leaped toward the nearest man, thereby reaching one opponent before the next could arrive. With blinding speed, and utter control of his body, the knight sidestepped the man's thrust and slashed the attacker's throat open with a quick pull of his blade. The man fell, gurgling, to the soft floor of the stable while Hetark stepped clear of the dying man and faced his next opponent.

The man attempted a foolish slash with his sword, which Hetark parried, then he coolly ran the assassin through the chest. It wasn't for naught that Lord Jatar had searched the entire Kingdom to find his son's Knight Protectors; they were the six greatest fighters in the land.

Just as Hetark finished off his second opponent, the assassin's third henchman recovered from the glancing blow of Gustin's horse and leaped for Hetark's back, brandishing his sword.

The attacker never made it to Hetark because Drake threw a dagger with his free hand, while holding Michael safely with his other arm. The throw took the last attacker in the center of his back, he dropped instantly.

Though momentarily stunned from the impact of the saddle, Dubar quickly regained his balance and started to raise his ax, but even though Elizabeth was right before him he spotted a huge man only strides away and coming fast. Raising his axe, Dubar turned to finish the approaching knight; he thought the Sorceress helpless from the poison.

Gustin was concentrating so hard on arriving in time to stop the assassin that he had not even pulled a weapon.

As the man swung the ax down toward Gustin's head, the knight reached up and met the shaft of the plunging weapon with his open palm. The hardwood smacked into the center of his hand with a meaty `thwack'. The heavy ax was brought to an instant halt. With a heave of massive muscles, built up nearly from birth on the anvil of his father's smithy, Gustin wrenched the ax from the other man's weaker grip.

Dubar was momentarily stunned; nothing should have been able to stop the weight of that ax, certainly not a man's arm.

Gustin brought the flat of the ax back around, in a cross-swinging motion, which struck the assassin on the side of his head. The massive weight of the ax broke Dubar's skull and he fell, dead, at Gustin's feet.

Dubar's body fell next to Elizabeth just as she finished pulling the bolt from her chest while healing her wound with her aura powers. Now that she'd neutralized the weak poison, it was easy for her to match her wounded aura colors to her normal patterns and her body changed to match the repaired aura. The ugly wound in her chest closed and then gradually vanished.

Gustin had seen the bolt sticking out of her chest as she'd fallen so he knelt to see if there was anything he could do to save her life. Worry creased his large face into a map of lines; yet, as he took hold of her she looked up and said, "I'm all right, Gustin, is Michael safe?" The worry for her son was very evident in the tone of her voice.

Gustin gaped at the blood on her clothes, but the bolt lay in her hand, not embedded in her, as he thought he had seen.

"Are you not wounded, milady?" he asked.

"No longer, Gustin, I'm fine."

"Michael is safe, milady," Drake explained, having just approached. He extended the young boy, who was reaching to get to his mother and started to cry when his efforts were in vain.

Gustin helped Elizabeth stand. She looked at the bolt she still held in her hand and then tossed it to the ground a few feet away. She bent down to the body of the dead assassin and searched his pockets, she soon came up with the vial of Etterine poison.

Looking at Gustin, she explained. "I believe this is a poison which is effective on Kirnath because it ruins your mind's ability to concentrate. It's rare and, luckily for me, this batch is evidently old and has very little potency left; still..." she said, dropping it to the ground, "smash it."

Gustin needed no further instruction; he brought the heavy ax down and smashed the bottle to dust.

Elizabeth held up the heavy purse she'd also found on the body. "He had this," she said, pouring out a few of the gold round, "I'd say a man like this would not have this kind of wealth, unless he had just been paid to murder someone."

Gustin nodded, it rang true.

Elizabeth took her struggling son and he immediately calmed down now that he was back in his mother's arms. "Thank you all for your swift protection, but we must get moving. This is only the first of the attacks we will face once they learn I have escaped. Trust me; I will explain what has happened when Michael is safe, but for now, we must flee."

"They're gone," stated Harland Von Dracek to CAracusS, who was pacing up and down the carpeted floor of Jatar's study like a fangclaw in a circus cage, all he needed were bars and a worn track beneath his feet to complete the picture.

"How sure are you? I thought she was completely fooled when she spoke with me," complained CAracusS, shaking Jatar's handsome head with disbelief.

"I'm positive, a gate guard told me she rode out with three men and four spare horses; she knew you were not her husband."

"How could she know, I let nothing slip," CAracusS answered, vehemently.

"She sensed you, necromancer, like I can sense you now. An initiate with aura powers can sense the presence of the Dark Plane. It leaves a mental stink that even I, an informally trained sorcerer, can pick up when I get close to you," complained Von Dracek with a curl of his nose to emphasize the foulness.

"Nonsense, I smell nothing," replied CAracusS, sniffing disdainfully.

"This is hard to explain, but it's not a real smell, you don't detect it with your nostrils. Think of it as explaining colors to a blind man, it's nearly impossible because he lacks a basis of comparison; but take my word for it, if I can sense you, then a concentrating Kirnath Adept could detect traces of you from leagues away."

CAracusS merely scowled at the Tchulian.

Von Dracek continued: "That's why we hoped her attention would remain on the church ceremony instead of the palace, long enough to keep her aura powers from picking up your scent. Obviously, it didn't work and now we have a bigger problem; the wife of our murdered victim is a Kirnath Adept and she knows what we have done."

"She is only one woman," CAracusS pointed out.

Von Dracek shook his head sadly, "She could cause us trouble when she spreads the story about what happened to Jatar and you can bet her guesses aren't too far off the mark. Her early instruction on everything to do with aura power certainly covered the use of cathexis artifacts. And never forget, she is a fully trained sorceress, we'd be fools to underestimate her power."

"I do not fear these sorcerers. She may have fled the city, but there is still enough time to catch her before she can contact anyone and do us harm."

The Tchulian nodded and replied, "We will try and catch her, but even if she escaped, we will have a few weeks to consolidate our position before some upper-level commander hears one of Lady Ardellen's rumors and begins to put them together with the strange changes in their ruler's personality and policies. However, just to be safe I think we should start the personnel changes, immediately," Von Dracek counseled.

"Do you think it wise to begin the accusations and removals of the key officers this quickly?" wondered the necromancer.

"I don't see that we have any choice. Lady Ardellen may be spreading those rumors all too soon. I think we should make our first major move tomorrow and imprison the top military leaders; they carry too much weight with the troops."

"Won't that make people, even more, suspicious about their ruler?" worried CAracusS.

"The leaders, yes, but most of the populace will believe anything their beloved Lord Jatar tells them, without question. It's the commanders and the household servants who will notice the difference in how you act. No matter how good you are, those who were close to Jatar will begin to suspect and, if they hear the rumors... no, they must be imprisoned or killed, and quickly," finished Von Dracek, striking his gloved fist into his palm.

"Then, I should be making up some pretext for their arrests, perhaps something about a plot to assassinate myself and Lady Ardellen? We could incorporate yesterday's fake assassination attempt. We can say that Lady Ardellen is in flight from more of the assassins and I could send you out to save her. After all, it will make sense; you are the hero who saved me from the other assassins. I'll tell them that most of the military leaders and some household servants were in on the plot, so we are locking them all up until Lady Ardellen and the heir are safe and we can get this whole thing sorted out. Later, when we've blamed Lady Ardellen's death on the assassins, we'll sentence those imprisoned to death," the necromancer said, finishing his proposed plan.

"Good idea, why don't you polish the story tonight and you can implement it tomorrow. Meanwhile, I will begin my attempt to track down the missing heir and his Kirnath mother. I'll use my personal Tchulian troop, they can be trusted to do as I say," explained the major.

"I can help you track her down. I have control of a few vorghouls; it's time we put them to use. I'll send them into the forests and fields to help flush out the quarry for you. Once they have something which Lady Ardellen wore recently, they'll follow her trail better than a blood weff. Vorghouls can follow a scent anywhere."

Von Dracek raised an eyebrow at the mention of using souldead. "And how will my men and I avoid being eaten?"

"Take this pendant with you," CAracusS said as he removed a gold chain with a thick circle attached. Within the gold circle was a silver equilateral triangle. "If you ever get into trouble with the vorghoul, just show them this pendant and they will leave you and your party alone. Don't lose it," finished the necromancer sternly.

"Don't worry, I value my life. Now, before I go, is there anything else we need to discuss?"

"Yes, I can't seem to locate the Ardellen signet ring and I can't just ask someone where it is, I'm the one who's supposed to know!"

"Have you looked for it, thoroughly?" asked Dracek, with a puzzled frown.

"Of course, but it's not with any of their other valuables; besides, I thought Jatar wore it at all times."

"It's possible that he may have sent it to validate an ambassador's credentials, but that would be very odd. I'll have to give this some thought. Why don't you ask for an update on all foreign embassies which have been sent out in the last six months? At least then, we can find out about possible carriers. Oh, and have you seen our co-conspirator around? I have some questions for him about Lady Ardellen's escape."

"No, and you're right, that fool caused all this. He assured me that his assassins had loosened the wall stones above the front entrance to the church, and that they were going to push them over onto Elizabeth and the child as they departed from the ceremony. That pompous little shit hasn't dared to show his face since he bungled his end of the deal. Forget the fool, for the time being, we don't need him anyway, everything is under our control.

Von Dracek replied, "I wonder where he is?"

"Don't worry, like the proverbial bad coin, he'll turn up, eventually."

Elizabeth and the Knight Protectors finally slowed their horses to a walk. The horses were sweating profusely, nearly done in from the long fast gallop out of the city. The four riders dismounted and walked their mounts along the forest path. They had switched to the spare horses and back again, twice, prolonging the distance that they traveled at a gallop before giving the horses this much-needed rest.

Their initial ride got them clear of the city and surrounding farm lands. A few minutes ago, they had entered the northern edge of the vast Gellern Forest.

Now that the long gallop was over, Elizabeth decided it was time to explain everything she knew about what had happened. When she concluded her tale of woe, the knights were silent for a moment in thought. Finally, Drake asked, "Then, once Becaris reads your message, he will try to rejoin us within the forest?"

Elizabeth nodded and replied, "That is my hope. Eventually, I want to meet up with the other knights as well as our loyal leaders, retainers, and servants. I'll have the Kirnath secretly gather them as they make their way deeper into the woods." Elizabeth stopped speaking for a moment and the concern about the danger to those loyal to the Ardellens was obvious in the faraway look in her eyes. "I will ask the Kirnath to help us gather any refugees who come into the woods and send them on to wherever we end up."

Hetark glanced back toward the capital, though it was long since out of sight. "What about Lasar and Rasal, they were in the city at the time we left."

"Becaris will show, or explain, the letter to them," Elizabeth replied.

"It's hard to believe that just this morning we were knighted and now we are fugitives," mused Drake as they continued to walk.

Elizabeth gave him a sidelong glance and asked, "Do you regret taking your oath?"

Drake looked shocked as he replied, "No, milady!" He abruptly stopped and released his horse's bridle and, with a swift pull, he drew his sword and knelt before Elizabeth, "I am Michael Ardellen's man, his Knight Protector, and I hereby reconfirm my oath to him as Protector and to you, milady, as my ruler and the mother of my charge."

The other Knight Protectors also knelt and reconfirmed their oaths. The party had come to a halt in a small glade beneath the canopy of tall trees; the open forest floor was coated with brown twigs and leaves from countless winters. These acted to dampen sounds to a minimum. Lady Ardellen stood in the center of her three knights as they knelt to offer their pledge. The knight's gauntlets were clenched around their sword hilts, the tips of their swords pressed into the soft leaves.

The utter trust, honesty, and love that these young men displayed to Elizabeth's penetrating aura gaze made her emotions well up and tears came to her eyes. A moment later, she found her voice, "Rise, my knights, you will never know just how much your loyalty means to me in this dark time. From all the Ardellens, including Jatar's spirit, wherever it may be, we thank you. Now, let us continue, for we have far to go and I fear that danger will overtake us anon."

"To where do we travel, milady?" asked Drake.

"To the end of the world, the northern end, but to be precise, Bralter. I would have liked to take Michael south, to the Kirnath School, but I think our pursuers will look for us along that path. For now, let us continue toward Mordan's border, where we will petition Lord Stalt for leave to cross through to Bralter. That is a country where we will be welcomed and protected, it is the place where Jatar's foster brother, Lord Trask, rules in the north."

"If they expect us to go south, then why are we traveling in that direction now, milady?" asked Gustin.

"I don't want to attempt a crossing of the mountains into Mordan with such a small party, with few provisions, so we must skirt the lower portions of the western range until we can make it around the end. We can re-provision in Mordan and then travel north along the other side of the range, toward Bralter. This way, we also leave a false trail toward the Kirnath School. It should take our enemies a little time to get organized enough to mount their pursuit, so I think we are safe enough to continue along this path for a short time."

Just two bells behind Elizabeth's fleeing party, Major Von Dracek and a squad of twenty Tchulian Mercs galloped out of the city gates; each man trailed two extra mounts to help close the distance on their quarry.

Within the capital city, Lord Jatar Ardellen's coach pulled up to a shabby little tavern. Two brutish buildings leaned in on the tavern from either side, squashing the smaller building into submission. The tavern's upstairs windows were like two rectangular eyes looking down forlornly on the street. A faded sign hung at an odd angle from the one surviving hinge. The sign had once proclaimed this the Saucy Wench and pictured a buxom girl clenching six mugs of ale in her meaty hands, but now the old sign was almost completely faded back to the original wood grain.

CAracusS slipped out of the coach and pulled up the hood of his cloak to conceal Jatar's fine clothes and well-known features. The necromancer spoke to his driver in a low voice which wouldn't carry far, "Move the coach down a block and wait."

His drivers and guards looked at each other in puzzlement; this was odd behavior for their ruler. CAracusS ignored them and stalked toward the tavern entrance.

With his dark cloak wrapped around his finer clothes, the necromancer slipped into the tavern's smoke-filled common room, without attracting much notice. He moved toward the back of the room, purposefully, as he headed toward the dimly lit corridor. The corridor led to a rear exit door which opened onto a small dead-end alley.

CAracusS went out into the alley and closed the door. The cobblestone alley sloped inwards from either side toward the center drainage trough, where dark water sat stagnate, showing green bubbly patches floating here and there. To the right of the door, the alley ended into a tall refuse heap made of garbage, slime, old junk, and other unspeakable muck.

CAracusS approached the pile and stopped a few paces away, before glancing back over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching. It wouldn't do for someone to witness Lord Jatar trafficking with evil creatures of the night. When he was satisfied that he was alone, he turned back to face the refuse heap and spoke in a quiet, yet commanding voice, "Step forth; it is your master, CAracusS, who calls you!"

A vorghoul creature emerged from behind the refuse. Even though it was stooped over in a crouch, which nearly brought its hands to the ground, the beast still stood over six feet tall. The creature's misshapen body had corded muscles which bunched and rippled with the promise of incredible strength. When standing erect, the vorghouls long arms hung down to its knees. The long arms made the legs look too short for the length of the body. Two incisor teeth projected down, well below the lower lip of its wide mouth. Its hands were hairy, with long, dark, pointed fingernails which could almost be called claws. It was all the more horrible because hints of the original human features were hidden among the abominable additions to its grotesque physique.

CAracusS raised his right hand and purple energy from the Dark Plane crackled and ran down the length of his arm. "Do you know me?" he demanded sternly.

The vorghoul spoke and its speech was impaired by the huge teeth extending from its mouth, "I know you, Mafter."

"Good and what is your worthless name?" asked CAracusS, as he lowered his hand and let the energy from the Dark Plane cease.

"Werwoe."

"How many of your brethren wait outside the city?"

Werwoe struggled with the concept of numbers for a moment and then held up two clawed fingers.

"Take this piece of cloth to your brethren and smell the scent. The woman who wore this last night is outside the city. She travels with a child and three men. Find and kill all the adults, you may eat the men, but under no circumstances are any of you allowed to consume the woman's body. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Kill and then eat them."

"Kill the adults, but don't eat the woman, do you understand?"

"Don't eat them," the vorghoul agreed.

"Eat the men, not the woman!" stormed CAracusS, as he quickly extended his hand to let loose a small bolt of purple energy which struck the creature. "Darkness, why didn't Vorg design these creatures to have half a brain?"

Flinching from the pain, the monstrous creature nodded and said, "Yes, Mafter."

"Good, now, one more very important thing, the small boy she carries is not to be harmed, in any way. If he is damaged, I will send you, Werwoe, and those who harmed him, to the Dark Plane to be consumed by the Darknulls, even if you lacked a part in the mistake, understand?"

"Not the Darknullf, pleafe Mafter, Pleafe!"

"Bring the boy safely to me and you shall dine on the warm blood of mortals, nightly, for a full moon," CAracusS promised.

"I leave to eat them now!" the monster exclaimed, and leaped up and backward, launching itself off the refuse heap toward the eaves, where it caught and swung itself up and over the edge of the roof and out of sight.

"But don't eat the woman," CAracusS said quietly to the empty alley, as he shook his head in sad resignation.

A man happened to see the misshapen form of the vorghoul as it slithered over the outer wall of the city. He dropped the bottle of wine he had been drinking and hurried away, swearing off liquor and hoping that it had been the drink that brought on this vision of horror within the fair city of Tarnelin.

The Knight Protector, Becaris, was standing in the barracks near the palace, with a colonel in the Lindankar army; they were alone in the officer's room. When the officer finished reading the message Elizabeth had written, he frowned and then refolded and slapped the note against his palm. He spoke to Becaris in a short, clipped, pattern of speech, "Have you read this?"

"No, sir, I have not. I have been instructed to wait until I have delivered it to all the ranking commanders and personal servants of the rulers," Becaris responded formally and stayed rigidly at attention.

"And have you done that?" the officer demanded.

"Nearly, sir, you are the last officer; I showed it to the servants first."

"Then, read it now," the officer commanded as he held the message out to Becaris.

Becaris opened the message and quickly scanned its contents, he swallowed and then read it again more carefully.

The officer then spoke grimly, "This letter is counseling treason and you may be an accessory. Consider yourself under arrest and follow me, we are going to see Lord Ardellen and expose this treasonous letter to him, as it should have been done many bells ago!" The officer held out his hand for the letter.

Becaris gave it to him. The colonel turned his back and headed toward the door.

The confused young knight started to do as ordered, but Becaris was a man who believed in destiny and when it called, he went with his gut. In this moment of decision, he considered Lady Elizabeth: who she was, her integrity, and her royal bloodline, everything he knew of the Kirnath sorceress. When he'd last spoken to her he considered how she had sounded and the undercurrent of pain he'd seen deep in her eyes; pain which would have come from the loss of her beloved husband. She'd looked like a cornered pack mother protecting her cub. In his heart, he could not believe she lied and if she told the truth, then she was out there, protecting the heir, his sworn charge, and nothing could make him break his oath as Knight Protector of Michael Ardellen.

His decision made; the knight acted swiftly. He pulled his belt dagger and used the pommel to strike the colonel across the back of his head. He quickly caught the officer's falling body to keep it from making noise as it landed. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm not your soldier anymore, I am a Knight Protector of Michael Ardellen and, somewhere out there, he needs me," he said softly to the unconscious officer.

He tied up the colonel with some rope he found in the closet and then put him under the desk. Taking the man's keys, he locked the pompous officer in his room and made a quick stop at his own chambers before heading to the stables. It was dark when he rode out of the barracks and into the city. He would be leaving Tarnelin soon, but first, he had one more errand to perform.

Becaris located the correct street and found the modest apartment for which he was searching. He knocked at the thick wooden door, which was answered by a portly woman with red rosy cheeks and dark hair; she was dressed in a simple yet clean dress with a cream-colored apron. The woman was rather short, so Becaris had to look down as he said, "Is this where I can find the Knight Protectors, Lasar, and Rasal?"

The woman looked at his clothes and her gaze took in the polished light armor, rolled back lace cuffs, and the broad lace-decorated baldric that hung across his body from the right shoulder, proclaiming his noble house. "Who wishes to speak to my boys?" she inquired.

"You are the fair mother of my friends? I am honored to meet you. Please excuse my rudeness in not introducing myself; I am Becaris, their brother Knight Protector," and he doffed his tall wide brimmed hat and bowed, sweeping the hat clear to the ground.

Embarrassed at the compliment from an obvious noble, she opened the door wider and said, "Please, come in, my boys have just finished eating."

Stepping into the simply furnished apartment, Becaris noticed that the mother of his friends looked furtively around the room, obviously embarrassed, so he turned and inspected it and then spoke in a sincere tone. "What a beautiful house you have, milady. I wish that I could have grown up in a house which made you feel as welcome, comfortable, and at home. I envy your sons."

"Thank you for your fair compliments. We do our best for our boys; they have made us so proud," replied the small woman.

Lasar came in from the kitchen door and, seeing Becaris, his face blossomed into a smile. "Becaris, what brings you here on this fair evening?" he exclaimed, but his smile slipped when he noticed the stern expression which Becaris was trying to hide from his mother. Lasar called his brother from the other room, "Rasal, you best come in here, Becaris has some news for us, I think."

Becaris handed Elizabeth's message to Lasar, who began to read it.

"Would you like something to drink, milord?" asked the boy's mother.

"Yes, please, a glass of water would be wonderful," replied Becaris, with a half-bow to show his gratitude.

Rasal came into the room, as his mother went into the kitchen, and he too read the letter. Becaris waited for him to finish before speaking, "I believe what that letter says. I saw Lady Ardellen just after she went to see Jatar and, on her return, all color had left her face. I believe that is when she found out he had been killed and his body possessed. She wrote this letter and had me show it to all the servants and commanders. The last colonel who read the contents of the message tried to arrest me and take me before Jatar. I had to disable him and stuff him under his desk."

"Dead?" asked Lasar.

"No, he will recover, but I tied him up before I left. I packed up my traveling gear and I am leaving the city, as instructed. I thought you would like to have the opportunity to make your own decision about what to do."

The two brothers looked at each other and, without even speaking, they communicated in a glance. They both faced Becaris and Rasal spoke, "You're not going to wait the year to join up with Lady Ardellen and the others, are you?"

"No, I have decided to disregard that portion of the letter. Michael may need my protection. Lady Elizabeth stated that they will be pursued, so I will try and catch up to Michael or, failing that, I will try to stop the pursuers from reaching their quarry."

"Good, we're coming with you. Give us a moment to pack and say good-bye to mother and we'll be right out."

Becaris grinned with gratitude and said, "I had hoped to have the two of you at my side, but it was a decision that you had to make for yourselves. Gather your gear, my brothers; I'll be waiting at the stables."

Drake spoke quietly to Elizabeth to avoid waking Michael, who slept fitfully in her arms. "Milady, we must stop to let you and Michael rest, it lacks only five bells until dawn."

Elizabeth looked up tiredly and replied, "Yes, Drake, you are right. Look for a good place to rest a few bells, we all need it."

A short time later, they came to a small stream that crossed the path. Hetark led them upstream a short way until he found a clearing which was hidden from anyone traveling on the path by a gently rising hill.

"In four bells the sun will come up, I will take the first watch," Hetark said to the other two knights.

Drake nodded and said, "Wake me after about one bell and I will take the second watch, then I will attempt to wake Gustin for the third," Drake began to smile and added, "I'm not sure I can shake his fat carcass awake; I bet he sleeps like a hibernating beruin."

"Fat, I'll have you know this is solid muscle!" Gustin snapped back, just a little too quickly.

Drake grinned and remarked, "Hey, Hetark, I think I hit a nerve."

Hetark smiled at this friendly exchange, but said, "Why don't you tend the horses, Drake? Let `solid muscle' and I set up camp," Hetark suggested.

"Fat, he says," Gustin muttered and then added, "we're not done with this, little man."

Drake smiled and said, "Oh, I know, I'm just getting started."

"I can take a turn at watch," Elizabeth stated, entering the conversation as she came walking up to where the knights were joking. At her approach, Drake and Gustin grew quickly more somber.

"You can have the fourth watch, milady, after Gustin," Hetark answered. Gustin started to speak, but Hetark gestured for him to be quiet with a finger held to his lips, where Elizabeth could not see.

But Elizabeth discerned Hetark's ploy, yet she decided to let him get away with his gallant deception, she would need her rest in the coming days. She lay down under her blanket and fed Michael before attempting to sleep with her fatherless child held gently to her bosom. The brave young knights ignored the sounds coming from beneath the shaking blanket as grief for the loss of her husband caught up with the young mother. Finally, the sounds of restful breathing commenced as Elizabeth enjoyed a brief respite from her grief and worries by the medicine of peaceful slumber.

At dawn's first light, Gustin awakened the rest of the tired travelers. Elizabeth smiled at Hetark. "I should be angry with you for attempting to deceive me, but I'm really thankful, so I find it hard to scold you."

Hetark replied humbly, "I shouldn't have tried to mislead you, milady, please accept my apologies. What gave me away?"

"Your aura, but I appreciate the rest. However, while the others are getting the horses ready, I have something I wish to ask of you."

"Anything, milady," the knight answered, sincerely.

"Remember that you said that, you see, I want you to teach me to fight," Elizabeth explained, while looking intently at the knight's aura and facial expression for his reaction.

Elizabeth noted Hetark's consternation as he tried to figure out how to break his reply to her gently, he was obviously searching for the right words. "Milady, it's not that easy. I practiced for years to reach this level of expertise and, excusing my presumption, but I had the advantages of being a man during those years."

"Don't worry about insulting me, Hetark, I know you aren't used to the idea of a female warrior, but remember that I am a Kirnath Adept. I have been trained in the most important discipline, how to learn. I'm confident that I can learn anything I put my mind to and, due to some of my training, it will be at a considerably accelerated rate."

"But still, milady, to start from the beginning and teach..."

Elizabeth interrupted, "It won't be from scratch, Hetark; I had a little training at the Kirnath School, a few years ago."

Hetark didn't look too impressed at this confession, in his opinion, battle techniques taught by a group of healers did not carry much weight, but Elizabeth excused his prejudice, it was formed from the cover stories which the Kirnath themselves fostered to keep their other skills a secret.

Hetark looked apologetic as he said, "What I could teach you, in a short time, would put you in greater danger than teaching you nothing. You might feel competent enough to fight and, if you met a real warrior, you would be hurt or possibly killed; I can't take that responsibility. Perhaps, someday, when we have the leisure to learn it correctly," Hetark's words trailed off as if the subject was closed.

"Hetark, to pass the tests and become Michael's Knight Protector you had to be among the best fighters in the kingdom, correct?" she asked suddenly, surprising the knight with the change of subject.

"I can fight, milady," the knight replied humbly.

"Good, on guard, warrior!" Elizabeth said, and she set Michael down on her blankets. She pulled a dagger from the sheath at her waist and approached Hetark.

Hetark stepped back and held his hands wide as he said, "This is foolish, milady, what will my taking that blade away from you prove?"

Elizabeth smiled and just said, "Defend yourself, Hetark; I can heal you if I cut you, but the pain will be real. As your ruler, I order you to defend yourself against my attack."

Realizing that she meant what she said, Hetark quickly assumed a crouch, with a purclaw-like grace. He assessed her stance, noting that she placed too much weight on her back foot and locked the wrist of her knife hand too rigidly to maneuver it correctly. Seeing the move he needed to step within her guard and remove the knife, Hetark launched into action.

When he moved, Elizabeth wasn't there, in fact, she moved faster than a person's reaction time should have permitted. She stepped away from his advance and brought the knife up toward his face.

Hetark had to throw himself sideways to avoid the sharp edge, but then decided to turn the move into an attack, and sprung from the somersault toward Elizabeth's legs.

But again, she wasn't there; she flew over his low leap in a hurdle which began long before it was possible to see him coming. He landed hard and she came down on his back. Elizabeth tapped him lightly on the back of the neck with the butt of the knife, before he could move, to show that she had him and could have used the blade.

She stepped away and sheathed her blade as she stated, "Enough, now are you convinced that I will not fall to the first trained warrior I face?"

"Truly, I thought myself one of the best fighters in the kingdom, but if you can defeat me, that easily, there is no reason I should be teaching you; perhaps it is you who should teach me," Hetark exclaimed with chagrin.

"Hetark, I have seen you fight; you are an incredible warrior, one of the best I have ever seen," she replied honestly.

"But you, a barely trained woman, defeated me, easily," he answered, still showing amazement in his voice.

"I cheated," she said simply.

"You did what?" he blurted.

"I cheated, I used my Kirnath abilities to read your surface thoughts so that I could see what you intended, just before you acted; I even picked up your criticism on the placement of my weight and my wrist being too stiff."

"You can read my mind?" Hetark exclaimed, in an almost choking voice, a little fear showing on his face.

"Only your surface thoughts," she answered quickly, "I can't just walk through the corridors of your mind, looking in any door. I also want you to know that I have never read your thoughts before, and I won't do it again, unless you give me your permission. I needed to show you that I can learn in ways that you didn't understand, or even think possible. We don't tell most people the full capabilities of the Kirnath; it makes people fear us too much. You are my friend, Hetark; please don't be afraid of me. I showed you this Kirnath ability because I trust you, now won't you trust me?" Elizabeth asked, as she looked intently into his eyes.

"I will try, milady, but it is difficult," he answered, trying to be truthful.

"Think of it less as mind reading and more like seeing someone's expression. A person's expression is a clue to what they're thinking, as their surface thoughts are a clue to their inner mind," she said, in an attempt to explain it in terms to which he could relate.

"That helps, a little, but about your lessons, why do you need them when you can read a person's intentions? If you can take me this easily, then you can defeat most warriors," he reasoned.

"That's true, however, there are some people out there with mind shields, some are trained and some are natural, but they do exist. I ran into one just recently. Do you remember the Tchulian commander who was at the palace, Harland Von Dracek? He had a shield which I could not penetrate. It was the thought of him, and shields like his, which convinced me to learn to fight for real.

"You see, Hetark, I rely too heavily on my Kirnath powers, but I refuse to be caught unprepared for any eventuality in the upcoming confrontations. I'll do whatever it takes to give myself another edge to strike at our enemies. Right now, I run for the life of my son and that doesn't put me in a position where I should be making threats, but I'll tell you this, they have awakened a predator who only slumbered in content. These conspirators thought me a house purclaw, with its claws removed, a minor pet, easily destroyed. They miscalculated. I am awake now, and I will shake the world until the vermin who attacked my family drop out, like the hidden insects that they are, and then, I will squash them."

Hetark was taken aback with the passion and conviction of this great Lady of whom he realized he knew so little. Then he said, "I understand now, milady, and I will teach you want I can."

"Thank you, Hetark, that means a great deal to me. Now, get up and show me what was wrong with my weight positioning and how supple my wrist should be when fighting with a knife." Elizabeth took a fighting stance.

Hetark stepped behind Elizabeth to show her the proper positions and maneuvers to improve her technique.

Gustin and Drake soon had the horses ready to go, so the lessons had to be physically concluded, however, as they continued down the southern forest path, Hetark instructed Elizabeth verbally on the various facets of personal combat. Soon Drake and Gustin were also joining in the conversation. As they instructed her in the different forms of combat, she watched in their minds to actually see how it was done and to imprint their aura memories in her mind.

Behind Elizabeth, Michael, and the knights, the vorghoul creatures loped along the forest path at a league eating pace, occasionally bending to the ground to smell the scent of their quarry.

Werwoe was in the lead, and the other two followed a step behind, on either side, forming a rough triangle. As he ran, the horrid beast chanted to himself and the two who followed:

"Kill the men, kill the woman,

eat the men, not the woman.

Bring the boy alive and well,

take the cloth and follow the smell.

Kill the men, kill the woman,

eat the men, not the woman..."

It was not long past sunrise, when the three horrid creatures came to where the trail of their quarry left the path for a short way. After a moment of hesitation, they followed the trail over the hill. When they discovered the remains of the camp, they became quite agitated, their movements jerky and swift.

They sniffed the ground extensively where Elizabeth had lain. As they inhaled the strong aroma of their prey their mouths hung open as they salivated; they were not far behind.

Lifting their misshapen heads, the vorghouls cried out their insatiable hunger with a high-pitched warbling screech and then with renewed vigor they leaped to the hunt again, swiftly closing the gap on their prey.

Drake was a few paces behind Elizabeth and Hetark, while Gustin rode a little ahead at the point position. Drake turned his head and listened intently for a moment, then called to Elizabeth, "Milady, did you hear that strange call?"

Elizabeth gave him a questioning look and answered, "No, I was speaking with Hetark, what did it sound like?"

"It was high pitched, a lonely sound, which just trailed off at the end. I spent my youth growing up in this forest and I've never heard any sound like it in these woods."

Elizabeth called forward to Gustin, "Bide for a moment, I need to concentrate." Then she closed her eyes and extended her aura perception in an ever-widening circle. The further out the circle went the slower it traveled as she taxed her abilities to look for enemies.

Drake and Hetark watched her face and saw a sudden tensing of her upper cheek muscles and a slight squinting of the skin around her eyes; after another moment, her eyes opened.

"What did you hear?" Hetark asked.

"I wasn't listening; I was searching for auras around us. I located three distorted auras traveling swiftly up our back trail." Elizabeth cast a worried look at the bundled-up son she held in her arms.

"What do you mean by 'distorted auras'?" asked Drake.

"They're souldead, probably vorghouls," Elizabeth answered, with a tired sigh.

"Vorghouls!" exclaimed Hetark, "I thought they were extinct."

Elizabeth shook her head, "No, there aren't many left, but they do exist."

"Yes," Gustin broke in, having trotted his horse over from his point position, "I've tangled with them in the mountains of my home province. They are hard to discourage, even when you have a large band and there is only one. We have never managed to kill one before, so I have no knowledge about the truth of their invulnerability."

"They are not immortal," Elizabeth explained, "they just have an extremely long lifespan, but they can be killed, though they are very tough. If we tangle with them, don't forget that their claws inject poisons which can paralyze a human, so do not let them scratch you."

"I've heard they drink human blood," Drake noted.

"It's true that they drink the blood of their victims and eat them, but not because of any supernatural gains. Drinking blood is an instinct that Vorg gave them to increase fear in the minds of his enemies," Elizabeth explained to an attentive audience. Then she added, "Vorg's evil creations are one of many things we are taught about at the Kirnath School."

"Can we outrun them, milady?" asked Hetark.

"Only for a short distance; a horse can out sprint them, but the pace they are approaching at is greater than our horses can maintain for any lengthy period."

Drake spoke up with a fearless nonchalance, "Then, if they can be killed, I suggest we set a trap which will remove them from our list of problems."

"It won't be simple," cautioned Elizabeth.

"Nothing worth doing ever is," the small knight replied with a predatory smile.

Sometime after the vorghouls had left Elizabeth's old camp to continue their hunt, Major Von Dracek's squad of twenty men arrived at the same site. Their tracker waited until the main squad caught up and then he led them off the path to the empty clearing where their quarry had slept.

Von Dracek spoke with his second in command, Corporal Bante. The corporal's dark olive skin and slighter build set him apart from the other Tchulians. Bante was an import from the far southern nations. He had an obvious sword training scar, which went down the left side of his mouth, but it wasn't his skill with a blade that had originally caught Von Dracek's attention, corporal Bante had a strong aura pattern.

"From the signs around their camp, Mauklar thinks we are only two bells behind," Corporal Bante reported.

"We will cut that lead down today, their horses are less rested than ours," predicted Von Dracek.

"Mauklar also said something about some large claw marks around the camp which were made after the party had left," Bante added. Then he watched, curiously, as Von Dracek fingered a strange pendant hanging around his neck. Bante had never seen his commander wearing it before this hunt.

"Hm, well that is good news, of a sort. Perhaps we shall find them sooner than I first predicted," the major decided.

"So, you know what those marks represent?" questioned Bante, cautiously.

"Yes," Von Dracek answered, playing with his corporal. It was obvious that Bante desperately wanted to know more, but was too afraid of his commander to press him for the information.

Bante lowered his voice to make sure that none of the enlisted men could hear, before he asked, "Why don't we try locating their auras to confirm their direction and distance?"

"Listen and learn, Bante; as I've told you before, a well-trained sorcerer can feel another's aura touch. Lady Ardellen is much more than that, she is an Adept. She might pick up our probe and that would alert her to our presence. We will continue using normal means of tracking, for the moment, there will always be time for the other, later. Keep your aura shield up in case she checks her back trail, we don't want her knowing who is following," commanded Von Dracek.

"I've never fought a Kirnath before; may I have the pleasure of killing her?" Bante asked.

Von Dracek gazed at his young protégé and shook his head sadly. "The Kirnath are far stronger than you think. It will take every trick I have to defeat her, so, when the time comes, remember that she must be killed swiftly, hopefully, by a surprise attack. If she gets by me then attack with everything you have, though I doubt it will do you any good; an Adept is extremely dangerous. Now, prepare the men; it's time we got back on their trail."

"Can you see anything?" an excited Drake asked Gustin.

"Not yet, so calm down and stop fidgeting," Gustin replied, in a quiet and reproachful voice.

The small Drake took offense at Gustin's tone. "Well, when we do engage the beasts, just make sure you don't get your wide posterior in my way, that thing could block out the sun!"

"Have no fear, little man, just try and keep up with me," countered the huge Gustin.

"Me, keep up with you? You great lumbering ox, I could run backwards and still arrive before you!"

"Do you always fight battles running backward? That says much for your prowess."

Drake was working up to a suitable response when Gustin quickly raised his hand, in a cutting motion, to indicate someone was approaching.

Drake was instantly all business.

The three pursuing vorghouls came over the rise at a fast pace, swiftly following the clear scent trail of their quarry. They continued directly down the straight forest path.

When they reached a point where some large green and bushy shrubs came close to the road, Gustin and Drake fired two crossbows downhill from their concealed position; both bolts connected with the vorghouls. Gustin's bolt caught the leader in the thigh and Drake hit one of the two trailing vorghouls in the ribs.

With an instant howl of rage, the three grotesque creatures stopped and turned, with surprising swiftness, to charge the shrubs where Gustin and Drake were hidden. As their backs came around to the shrubs on the other side of the road, Elizabeth and Hetark let loose with their two crossbows. With the targets now somewhat stationary the shots were easier. The vorghoul with the bolt already projecting from its side, received another in the upper shoulder blade. The previously unwounded creature caught a bolt in the small of its back.

Again, the beasts spun and howled their rage, they seemed hardly put out about the bolts sticking out of their bodies or the red blood pouring from their wounds. They were momentarily confused, but just as they were ready to charge the shrubs, toward Elizabeth and Hetark, Gustin and Drake fired the last two crossbows that the three knights had brought. This time, Gustin missed, but Drake hit the vorghoul who already had a bolt in its back. The new bolt went through its lower calf.

At that point, the vorghouls split up. Two rushed up the hill toward the bushes, where their concealed attackers had fired twice, while the leader went for the shrubs where Elizabeth and Hetark were hiding.

Gustin and Drake stood up with their weapons ready.

Gustin had an ax in one hand and an incredibly broad, wicked looking, hunting knife in the other hand. Drake had his rapier in his right hand and, in his left, he had a poniard of about four hand spans in length, which narrowed to a needle-sharp point. They met the two wounded vorghouls, simultaneously. Drake went for a low disemboweling thrust with his rapier, but leaped back before it connected. The problem was, the vorghoul had just come close to separating his head from his shoulders with a sweeping horizontal blow from its extremely long arm.

Gustin moved with a grace which belied his size as he stepped within the swing of his creature. With a blur of steel, Gustin buried his ax in the junction of the creature's shoulder and neck. Blood spurted out and splattered Gustin across the face and chest, but the creature was still in the fight. One of the creature's thick arms battered Gustin from the side. The knight had to release his ax, where it was still embedded in the creature's shoulder, as he rolled with the blow and staggered beyond the creature's reach.

A few feet away, Drake regained his balance from his hasty retreat. Then he had to dodge, furiously, to avoid the long reach of the charging vorghoul. The creature was only slightly hampered by the bolts which stuck out from its side and upper back. The towering beast leaped toward the small knight, who continued to retreat in front of its awesome onslaught. Unfortunately, that is when Drake's foot caught on a root and he went down, backward.

Before the creature could pounce on the fallen knight, Gustin made a flying tackle onto that beast's back and locked his right arm under its thick biceps, up behind the vorghoul's neck. Using the hunting knife, which he still clutched in his other hand, he repeatedly plunged the broad blade into the creature's side. Gustin used his massive muscles to sink the blade into the hilt as he searched for its pumping heart.

Just as his knife found its target, the creature's clawed hand tore through the tough leather protecting Gustin's thigh and its venomous claws injected poison into the knight's body.

As the big man fell, he looked up to see the other vorghoul standing above him and reaching for his head to rip it from his shoulders. Gustin's ax was still embedded in its shoulder. The poison locked Gustin's muscles and kept him from avoiding the creature's reaching claws. Fatefully, Gustin watched the claws as they reached down and grasped his head, but that is when the hilt from Drake's poniard appeared in the creature's left eye. Gustin continued to fall and he found himself looking at Drake, who was just regaining his feet.

The vorghoul clawed at the hilt of the knife projecting from its eye socket, but it was still on its feet.

Drake rammed the point of his sword through the creature's heart and used his entire body weight to drive it home. The vorghoul howled and clubbed Drake to the ground with one of its meaty fists. However, it finally staggered and then fell as it died.

Gustin felt his muscles continuing to lock up as the paralyzing poison coursed through his veins but, with an incredible effort of will, he began to pull himself toward the empty crossbows. Drake looked across the clearing to see what had transpired with the third vorghoul.

Down near the road, Hetark met the leader of the vorghouls with his sword and dagger.

Werwoe was the least wounded of the monstrous creatures, with only one bolt in the thigh. It limped swiftly up to the waiting knight and attacked with a sweep of its left claw.

Hetark let the blow meet his dagger's point and the creature's own power sink the blade into the hilt, but Hetark lost the knife when the creature yanked its hand back. Then, the massive vorghoul leaped forward and closed the distance to Hetark in an instant.

Hetark was unable to avoid the attack, he had not anticipated a creature of this size moving so fast, or leaping, so far, on a wounded leg. The knight desperately tried to bring his sword into play, but only managed to pierce the shoulder of the creature as it hit him with the massive weight of its body. The impact knocked Hetark to the ground. Before he could move, the beast leaped onto him and leaned down with its mouth gaping wide. Its two projecting fangs ripped open the right portion of the fallen knight's neck and blood gushed out of the mortal wound.

The creature raised its gory visage up to howl in triumph, while Hetark's blood streamed down the outside of its throat. Then, its gaze shifted to Elizabeth and her son.

Drake was desperately racing toward the creature, but he was too far away to stop its advance on Elizabeth. The sorceress stood with Michael supported by her left hand and arm. Her right hand lifted to point at the creature, palm out.

A crossbow bolt, from across the path, punctured the vorghoul squarely in the back while, simultaneously, Drake launched a dagger in a lethal arc from his hand to the creature's neck. At the same time, Hetark focused his remaining energy and stabbed the monster in the belly with his sword. All of this happened just as a beam of blue light from Elizabeth's hand lanced out to strike the creature in the chest. The aura energy from Elizabeth raced around the exact contours of the vorghoul's body, battling its distorted aura, which finally succumbed to the overpowering energy of the Kirnath sorceress. Any remaining unused aura power pulled back down the beam, returning to Elizabeth's body.

With an audible thump, the vorghoul toppled to the ground, totally lifeless.

Elizabeth quickly knelt by Hetark, who looked up into her eyes as he tried to smile. He managed to speak in a rough whisper through the blood coming from his mouth, "I tried my best, milady, I'm happy to die knowing that you and Michael are safe."

Elizabeth placed her hand against his wounded neck and answered, "Save your pretty speech for another time, I will not let you die." Summoning the full aura remaining at her control, she concentrated and poured her power through her hands into Hetark's aura in the area around the ragged neck wound. The ragged hole was rapidly pumping out Hetark's blood onto the ground, so the sorceress had to work swiftly. Soothing the ragged colors of his wounded aura to match the original hues, Elizabeth caused the neck tissues to re-knit. The flow of blood slowed and then stopped as Hetark healed swiftly. Concentrating completely on the rapid healing, Elizabeth didn't see Drake kneeling, with a look of awe displayed on his incredulous face, as he watched her perform the magic art of aura healing.

Soon Hetark was whole again and although blood still stained his clothing and armor, his body was repaired completely.

"Milady, I don't believe it. I should be dead, but you saved me; it just isn't possible!" exclaimed the incredulous Hetark as he reached to feel his repaired throat.

Elizabeth answered Hetark as they hurried across the path to check on Gustin. "Many things people think of as impossible, are possible, Hetark. We have a saying in the Kirnath, 'You can do it unless you have convinced yourself that it can't be done'." Elizabeth suddenly had the feeling that she was forgetting something extremely important concerning possibilities, but she could not quite put her aura on it; she hoped it would come to her later.

They found Gustin twenty feet from where he had been poisoned by the vorghoul. The poisoned knight had managed to load and shoot a crossbow into the last creature while he was almost completely paralyzed. The weapon was still clenched in his immobile right hand.

"Is he dead, milady?" Drake asked quietly, as he knelt by Gustin's big motionless body and picked up the fallen knight's large hand in his two small ones.

With a quick glance, Elizabeth checked Gustin's aura and then replied, "No, the vorghoul's poison only paralyzes their victims, that way they can drink the blood from the flowing veins."

"Please help him, milady, I owe him my life. If he had not leaped onto the back of that monster, I would be dead now," pleaded the young knight with uncharacteristic seriousness painted on his round face.

"Do not fear, Hetark is well within my powers to heal," Lady Ardellen assured the concerned knight.

Bringing her remaining aura powers to play, she placed her hand over the heart of the brave knight and altered his damaged spirit to match its original colors, thereby changing the composition of the poison to the natural blood that ran in his veins; the paralysis ended.

The big man slowly began to stir, but Elizabeth said, "Hold still for a moment longer, Gustin, while I heal your thigh." She concentrated on the aura around his leg wound and healed it swiftly.

Gustin regained his feet, then tested his leg gingerly. He grinned broadly when he found that it worked normally. "Thank you, milady, I think it works better now than originally."

"No thanks are necessary; in fact, I must thank all of you, on behalf of Michael, for your brave acts in protecting him with both life and limb."

They muttered their responses in embarrassment at the praise from their Lady.

Drake straightened up before the big knight. "Gustin, I find myself in your debt, thank you for saving my life. I will try and repay you as best I can, though it may take a long time as it must stand second to my pledge to Michael's safety."

"It's all right, Drake, you owe me nothing. You saved me from the vorghoul that was about to remove my head from its proper place on my body, with that amazing throw of your poniard. Perhaps you could try to teach me to throw a knife like that, someday?" the towering Gustin asked, looking down with a shy grin.

Drake's shock at his friend's close call was subsiding; it was obvious that Gustin was completely back to normal, so Drake's natural mischievousness immediately returned to take up its normal residence behind his eyes. "Well, I could try, but large fingers are somewhat clumsy for knife throwing."

Gustin looked startled for a moment, but recovered quickly, he knew the game was afoot again. "Well, that's all right, knife throwing is for little men anyway, their arms are too short to properly fight with a sword," Gustin told him with a grin.

"Reach isn't everything," Drake retorted, "you big bruisers just bash your way through an opponent with brute strength, it takes the brain to defeat an opponent with pure skill and finesse."

The danger was over and the two of them continued to warm up their good-natured argument as they walked off toward the picketed horses.

Hetark and Elizabeth looked at the two unlikely friends; Gustin towered over Drake, yet the smaller man made up for it by gesturing wildly to emphasize each point. The bantering of the friends and the release of tension from the recent fight was just too humorous to ignore, the two spectators had to smile.

By the time they walked the short distance to the horses, Elizabeth and Hetark were back to business. Hetark helped Elizabeth onto her horse and handed Michael up. She placed him into the makeshift sling that she used to carry him while they rode.

#### CHAPTER FOUR: VON DRACEK

Drake looked back down the forest path. "Do you think we are safe now that these creatures are dead?"

Lady Ardellen considered and then said, "Possibly, for a day or so, but I don't think they were the only pursuit sent to apprehend us."

"Can you do your searching thing again and find out?" asked Gustin.

"Yes, and I will, however, I think I should explain a few things about aura powers. I have used my aura powers repeatedly during the past day. You've seen a little of what I can accomplish and it probably looks wonderful, but these powers are directly tied to my aura, my life spirit, and each use of that aura diminishes my energy. The power is not limitless; in fact, I have used quite a bit of my available power healing Hetark and Gustin."

"Will your power return?" Hetark asked, suddenly concerned.

"Yes, but it's kind of like a well, if water is taken away too quickly the water level drops too low and no more water can be taken from the well until is seeps back in to refill. Your auras are like the water in the well with one difference, if you run the well dry it will refill, but if a person ever uses their entire aura, they die."

"Are you in any danger, right now?" asked Hetark while watching her face intently and biting his lower lip in concern.

"No, I am somewhat low on power, but nowhere near putting myself in danger, yet. The check on our trail will not use much energy and it may net us some important results, so I think it's worth the energy expenditure, though I strongly suggest that you try and keep yourselves healthy, healing draws a large amount of energy from me," she explained.

"In other words, watch out for low branches and duck, so you avoid smacking your clumsy head," Drake cautioned Gustin sarcastically.

"Fine, Grace, and you should try and keep from falling off your horse, although I don't know why I'm worried, it would only be a short trip to the ground," replied Gustin as he emphasized the word, 'short'.

"Could you two give it a rest, I need to concentrate on checking our back trail for a moment," Elizabeth asked, with a sigh.

She sent her aura out again in a slowly widening circle, searching for the presence of other auras. Elizabeth's perceptions passed over the auras of plants and the different auras of animals, until she found a large grouping of human spirits. They were very close and approaching swiftly.

Elizabeth probed them quickly, but the range was too great to learn much. She did discover that two of them had mind shields _._ After returning from her sojourn, Elizabeth considered her options and then she spoke to her waiting knights. "There are twenty-two men on horseback following us. They have two extra mounts, per man, and are approximately one bell behind us."

"One bell!" Drake exclaimed, "I thought any normal pursuit would be a few days behind us!"

"As did I," answered Elizabeth, "but the fact remains, they are right behind us and closing. I also picked up another thing; two of them have aura shields up and working. Those shields block my attempts to read them."

"Does that mean they are sorcerers?" inquired Hetark, as he thoughtfully scratched at his close-cut blond beard.

"It's possible, not all users of aura power come from the Kirnath School, though it is rare. Untrained sorcerers seldom have the control necessary to make full use of their potential. It's also possible that someone has taught them how to create shields, or planted them. Lastly, they could be natural shields, but I doubt that conclusion, because natural shields are extremely rare so two among twenty-two is very unlikely."

"So, it's safe to assume that they have these shields up purposely to keep you from reading them, right?" asked Hetark.

"Yes."

"That means that they expected that you would locate them; do you think they knew it when you sensed them?" he asked.

"Not unless they were better sorcerers than I am, my touch was very light. Fortunately, I was trying to conserve my powers, so I didn't push at them enough for anyone, except the best, to know it," she explained.

"Do you have any idea who they could be?" Hetark asked.

Elizabeth thought for a moment before answering. "They are Tchulian mercs; I read that from some of those who were unshielded. Lately, some Tchulian officers have been getting some limited aura training, though they've tried to keep it a secret from most of the world. The Kirnath have learned that much for sure. And, at Michael's acceptance dinner, I noted that Major Harland Von Dracek had a mind shield. At the time, I couldn't be sure it wasn't just a natural shield, but now I think it was more than that, which makes him a prime suspect in the plot against us. It is likely that he is one of the two shielded men in pursuit."

"Well," Gustin put in, "we should quickly decide what we are going to do; with their extra mounts they will eventually catch us if we try and run."

Drake chimed in and said, "And, we should avoid a fight; we can't risk using the Lady's powers of healing again so soon. Not to mention, there are a lot of them, even with the element of surprise on our side."

Hetark considered their options and then asked, "Perhaps we should attempt to separate them into smaller groups? That way, with the element of surprise, we could whittle them down."

Drake nodded and replied, "If we pretended to split our group in two, maybe they would do the same in an attempt to follow both."

Gustin smiled, "That might work, but we'd need to know if we had succeeded before we engaged one of their groups."

"I could use my powers to check and see how they split," Elizabeth reminded them.

Hetark turned to Drake, "You grew up in this forest; tell me about the road ahead."

"There is a fork in the road about two leagues from here," Drake replied and then described the terrain ahead.

With that knowledge, Hetark proposed a plan, "We can ride to the crossroads and have Drake and Gustin take the southwest fork, while Lady Ardellen and I continue along the southeast. We will gallop fast to put some distance between us and the Tchulians who follow. Then, we will cut across through the forest and Elizabeth can use her aura powers to locate Gustin and Drake so that we can regroup. If our pursuers split up, as planned, Gustin and Drake will set up an ambush for the group which followed them and we will rejoin them to spring the trap. Our horses will be tired, but we can procure some of their mounts and make a quick run for it to get ahead of the second group. Once we have rested up, we can choose to continue or set up another ambush for the rest of the Tchulians."

"What if they don't split up?" Gustin asked.

"Then, we'll just leave you to finish off the whole bunch by yourself, until we think of something else to try," Drake replied sarcastically and gave Gustin an annoyed look.

"No problem, let's do it!" Gustin exclaimed.

Drake shook his head and said, "If they all follow Gustin and me, then Hetark should continue on, getting our Lady and the heir to safety, agreed?"

Elizabeth frowned, but Hetark answered, "Agreed, but if they all follow Elizabeth and me, then we'll have to cut across the forest to regroup. After that, we'll have to come up with another plan."

Gustin nodded.

Hetark then said, "OK, let's get moving; Gustin and Drake will as much of a head start as possible to set up a good trap. I just hope we get to use it."

The Tchulian troop reached the fork in the forest path.

"They've divided up," the scout, named Mauklar, said from where he crouched on the ground at the crossroads examining the tracks of their quarry.

"Did they really divide their group or is this a ruse of some sort?" Von Dracek asked the scout.

After examining the ground again, carefully, Mauklar replied, "As far as I can tell, two horses carrying riders and two spare horses went each way."

"Can you tell which way the Kirnath bitch went?" Bante demanded.

"Not with certainty, but I would hazard a guess that the woman went on the southwest fork. Look at these hoof prints; you can see this horse is carrying more weight by the difference in depth of the print. The two horses that were ridden down the southeast path had riders with close to the same weight, so those were probably two of the men," the scout calculated.

"But are you sure?" questioned the major.

"No, sir, if the woman weighed close to the same as the man she rode with, I might be wrong, but it is unlikely."

Von Dracek snorted and said, "Not that unlikely, you imbecile, remember that she rides with three of those worthless new Knight Protectors and one of them was big enough to double as a tusksnout. He's probably riding the horse that is carrying the most weight, so I'd guess she is probably in the other pair."

"Don't you think that this is a wise time to check which direction the woman really went, using the other means at our disposal?" the corporal asked his stern commander.

"I would have already done that if I thought it was a good idea, corporal. However, there is still the chance that she doesn't know we are tracking her group. I don't think she could sense me without my knowing it and I know for sure that, unless I caught her at the perfect moment, she would detect my probe if I sought her by aura touch. So, we'll play the percentages. Until we know she is on to us we'll keep doing this the hard way, but since we can't afford to pass up the possibility that she was the other rider with that ox of a man, I'll send some of you after them. Bante, take half the soldiers and follow the two men who went down the southwest path and I'll take the other half after the woman on the other path. Drop your shield, once, at the top of each bell and I'll contact you to compare our progress."

Elizabeth and Hetark paused for the second time to let the sorceress use her powers to check on the location of Gustin and Drake. Just over a half-bell earlier, Elizabeth and Hetark had left the path and headed across the rough terrain of the forest at the fastest pace possible. Unfortunately, the going was tougher than they had anticipated; bushes and brambles often blocked their way, making them detour around. Then, at one point, a stream with high banks blocked them until they found a place where it was possible to ford.

"How far away are Gustin and Drake, milady?" asked Hetark.

"About another league," she replied and then held up her hand to signal him to wait a moment as she concentrated on the dim glow of distant auras. "Unfortunately, our enemies are slightly closer; we must fly if we are to be of any help."

"Then we shall fly, somehow, milady," and he spurred his horse on through the forest, ducking and swerving to avoid branches.

Elizabeth knew that she was slower than Hetark, since she had to carry Michael, so she called out to the knight. "The second squad is far behind us, so I am in no danger."

Hetark answered, "I cannot leave Michael unguarded, milady!"

"He is not unguarded, but he will be in more danger if we don't take out those Tchulians ahead of us, or if we lose Gustin and Drake. Now Ride! I will be there right behind you, don't worry."

"Hetark considered this and then nodded. The knight spurred his horse and rode off at as good a speed as he could manage through the brush and trees.

"Where are they?" an excited and concerned Drake asked for the tenth time as he paced back and forth behind the trees which hid them from the nearby forest path.

"I'm sure they are fine. I bet they are just having trouble traveling across the forest without a path," Gustin assured him calmly.

Drake then complained, "If they don't get here in time this trap isn't going to work. Shortly, the two of us are going to be breastplate deep in ten to twenty Tchulians, who think we would look better impaled on a sharp pole and two of them may be aspiring necromancers, or worse. To put it simply, I'm not really happy about the situation!"

"All right, let's pack it up and think of something else to try later," Gustin answered as he started to stand up.

"No, we put too much work into this ambush, it will work!" exclaimed Drake, reversing his opinion since Gustin agreed with it.

"All right, we'll stay and hope our friends make it here in time," Gustin agreed congenially.

"No, they might not make it and we would have to fight too many soldiers by ourselves," Drake retorted, still pacing and shaking his head negatively, unhappy with either choice.

"Look, if you don't make up that pea brain soon, our group of party guests may get here and make it up for you. Now, I have a suggestion, why don't you get down near the road, as planned, and keep watch on the path. When you see them approaching, you can decide if there are too many or not. If there are too many, we'll stay hidden and let them ride by, but if you fire your bow, I'll take it to mean that the ambush is on, all right?"

"Don't forget to pull the rope at the right time," Drake reminded the big knight.

"Don't worry," Gustin promised.

"And you'll be right down? I mean, I probably could take them alone, but I don't want to leave you out of the fun!" he exclaimed, trying to make Gustin think he wasn't nervous.

"How thoughtful of you to leave one or two for me," Gustin replied with a sarcastic smile.

Grinning back at the big man, Drake replied with false bravado, "Just don't try to oink up more than your fair share, understand?"

"No problem, need a boost up onto your horse?" Gustin asked with a smile and a bantering tone.

"No thanks, my horse doesn't like other large animals too close," Drake replied, with a wink.

Once he was mounted up, Drake turned and drew his sword. He raised the blade and stood in his stirrups. His warhorse pranced in the soft sod of the forest, as Drake called out to his friend. "Ho, Gustin, if we're going to do this, let's do it right! We'll teach them not to threaten Michael and show them why we are the Knight Protectors." He finished with a salute, "For Michael!"

"For Michael," Gustin agreed and smiled at his small friend, while pulling his own sword in salute. "Send them to the Dark Plane, Drake."

"You can count on it," the smaller knight answered and wheeled his horse around to canter proudly down to the path.

Sensing that he was closing on his quarry, Corporal Bante pushed his men along at a fast pace. The Tchulians galloped around a bend in the road and found a horse standing sideways on the path with a very small man sitting calmly in the saddle. With a swift move, the mounted man brought up a concealed crossbow and fired at Bante's men. The streaking bolt hit the throat of a soldier to Bante's right and knocked him off his horse backward.

The small man on the horse then saluted them with the empty crossbow, before wheeling his horse and riding off at a gallop down the path.

When the Tchulian officer finally recovered from his initial shock, Bante screamed orders at his men, "Run down and kill that man!"

The troop of mercenaries had slowed, but at the corporal's command, they kicked their mounts back into a full gallop and followed the fleeing man down the forest path.

In a perfect move, which could have been used in a clinic on horsemanship, Drake slid his horse to a sudden halt and spun it around sideways in front of his charging pursuers. He brought his crossbow up again and calmly inserted the crank to begin the loading process, as if totally unaware that ten wrathful soldiers were storming down the path, only heartbeats away from trampling him under their thundering horse hoofs.

The horseman's strange attitude finally made Corporal Bante realize that something was wrong, but his realization came one instant too late and the trap was sprung. Bante tried to yell for his men to stop, but a rope suddenly came up out of the dirt of the path and went taut at neck level only a half-length in front of the charging troop. A few of them saw it and tried to react, but there just wasn't enough time. The group plowed into the rope, which bowed yet did not break. Men were yanked off their horses as if an invisible angry giant had reached from behind and grabbed them by the head and then yanked hard.

Confusion reigned supreme; horses reared and ran every direction. Only one man had managed to stay on his mount and a crossbow bolt struck him in the chest a moment later, knocking him to the ground with the rest of the men.

Bante got to his feet and yanked out his sword. He looked down the road at the man on the horse, just in time to see him raising his reloaded crossbow to his shoulder again. Bante dove to the ground and the bolt took the man standing behind him in the leg. Bante waited on the ground a moment longer; he expected another crossbow bolt from whoever had pulled the rope and he wasn't disappointed. The bolt hit another one of his men who had been standing and looking around for the foe, which made him an excellent target.

Bante jumped back to his feet and yelled for his men to charge the trees off to the right before the hidden crossbowmen could reload. His men were trained soldiers and once they heard the voice of a commander giving them an objective they could understand, they reacted. The six remaining soldiers leaped up and brandished their weapons as they charged the thicket.

Bante quickly ran to the one horse that had stayed close to his floundering group of men and mounted up. Once in the saddle, he immediately galloped toward Drake.

Seeing the corporal mounted and approaching, Drake tossed the empty crossbow to the ground and drew his sword, while kicking his mount into a gallop toward the corporal.

As their horses passed the two men's swords met with a loud clang and a flash of sparks. Both men wheeled their mounts around, using their knees to control the trained horses. Then they charged together again. This time, they met at a slower pace and exchanged three blows before the horses separated. Bante's horse stumbled and lurched sideways, tearing fresh smelling divots of sod out of the brown forest floor as it struggled to regain its footing. Drake wheeled his mount expertly and spurred ahead toward his opponent.

Nearby, Gustin saw six soldiers charging him from the path. He looked down at the two unloaded crossbows wistfully and then calmly picked one up. Without bothering to use the loading crank, Gustin grabbed the thick bow string with both hands and held the stock loop with one foot on the ground. With his huge back and arm muscles bulging, he pulled the thick string straight back against a tension that human muscles were not meant to attempt; it locked. He quickly dropped a bolt in and grabbed the second crossbow, without taking the time to check the progress of his charging adversaries. He efficiently loaded the second bow in the same fashion. Holding that crossbow in his right hand he picked up the other in his left. When he looked up, the Tchulians were only six feet away and coming fast. He fired both bolts directly into the chests of the two nearest men. They went down like chopped wheat, their falling bodies slowing the soldiers behind them as the two dead men landed in their paths.

Gustin threw the two useless crossbows at the other four men to help give him time to draw his sword and ax.

The four remaining attackers dodged the bows and jumped over their two dead companions. They were met by the charging Gustin, who roared his challenge like a primordial beast. The big man leaped into the midst of the four men and sunk his ax into the head of one while he parried a blow by another soldier's sword.

Drake and Bante were still fighting, each trying to get the upper hand. Drake managed to come in on a low line, when he noticed the Tchulian's blade move too high and out of position as his horse pranced. Drake's sword sliced through the material of Bante's trousers and into his thigh. The wound was deep, but would not be incapacitating while he was mounted on his horse.

Screaming his fury, Bante attacked Drake with powerful overhand blows, as he tried to beat the knight's sword out of position. Drake would have been all right, if he had not decided to attempt a complex fencing attack he had recently been practicing. The intricate compound attack was lost in the swirling shuffle of the spinning mounts, and one of Bante's brute force swings beat his young opponent's sword out of line to the right. Bante's sword came in through the opening, as swiftly as a serpent's strike, and pierced Drake in the upper left shoulder. Drake managed to lessen the severity of the wound by leaning back from the lunge, which was hampered by the clashing mounts. Bante's sword only managed to pierce him shallowly, but that was bad enough.

Now it was Drake's turn to curse his stupidity, as their horses danced apart, he saluted his opponent with his sword, then urged his horse back into the battle.

Bante decided that he'd had enough of this fight; he hated an opponent who didn't have the decency to be afraid of him and die. He began to concentrate on gathering his abilities in aura power to blast this cocky young knight out of his saddle.

Drake had no idea that he was in any danger other than the sword and continued to fight.

Gustin was in trouble, he interposed an enemy between himself and another then beat that man's sword aside and ran him through before the man behind could get around, but the third man was free and stabbed at the unprotected side of the huge knight. Gustin did the only thing he could, he grabbed the incoming blade with his empty left hand, cutting himself badly in the process, but he managed to turn the blade and keep from getting skewered.

The man he had just killed dropped to the ground and the one behind him came in for the kill.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Hetark charged into help. He yelled a war cry and the man who had been about to attack Gustin had to turn to protect himself from this new adversary.

"It's about time!" exclaimed Gustin as he turned with a grin to fight the one remaining opponent on his left. He lifted his bloody hand to his mouth and tasted the blood with his tongue, his opponent paled at the sight.

Hetark called to Gustin as he fought with his opponent, "We heard there were two knights trying to take all the glory, so we decided to see what the fools look like."

"Hah!" Gustin exclaimed simply and attacked his man with a backhand slash toward the eyes.

Down on the path, Drake and Bante were still battling. Bante gathered his aura power and raised his hand to unleash it at the unsuspecting Drake, but a voice from the side rang out high and clear in a mocking tone. "Wouldn't you prefer to try that on a full sorceress, you misshapen toad," Lady Elizabeth Ember Ardellen said as she slowed her horse to a stop. Her eyes shone with intensity as she watched the Tchulian officer's aura build for an attack so she calmly raised her shields.

A sudden look of fear came over Bante's face, he immediately changed the direction his hand was pointed and unleashed his bolt of aura power at the sorceress. The red lance of his angry aura power streaked across the ten feet, splashed away from Elizabeth and rapidly expanded into a thinning ring of light. The sorceress sat untouched on her horse and then she laughed at him as she said, "Is that really the best you can do, little magician?" The term was derogatory and Elizabeth nonchalantly raised her right hand.

The blood drained from Bante's face, as if a faucet had been opened in the bottom of his feet. His total amazement at his thwarted attack quickly turned to full panic and the corporal wheeled his mount to gallop away like the Desecrator himself was after his soul.

Drake started to chase him, but Elizabeth called to him, "Hold, Drake, let him go. We don't have the time right now; we need to see if the others need our help."

Hetark fought his opponent carefully and efficiently with the patience of experience, eventually, his man made an error and Hetark's blade came through the opening with the inevitability of the sun rising. He ran his man through the upper chest, which was a fatal blow.

Gustin traded two or three attacks and parries, then he just beat his man's blade on its side so strongly that it went a foot and a half out of line, the Tchulian soldier was wide open for the thrust that skewered him to the cross piece of Gustin's blade.

Gustin spoke in a conversational tone as the man's dying face came close, "It's not nice to stab at a man who's busy fighting someone else, wait... your... turn, remember that next time." Then he pulled his blade out and let the man sink to the ground, dead.

Hetark had seen Gustin's last blow and heard his remark.

"Remind me to be polite to you in the future, you give hard lessons."

Drake and Elizabeth cantered up and Elizabeth said, "Is everyone all right?"

"I'm fine," Hetark answered.

"I'll survive," Gustin responded cheerfully.

"Let me see to that hand, Gustin," Elizabeth demanded, her brow wrinkling in concern at the sight of his blood dripping from his clenched fist.

"Don't waste your powers on such a small scratch," he answered, making light of his injury, "How did you know it was injured, by the way?"

"When I choose, I can see a wound by the difference in the color of the aura, but this time, I just saw the blood," Elizabeth replied.

Gustin looked down at the blood dripping from his hand and said, "Oh, it's no worry... don't waste your power on this little nick."

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and glowered at the knight. "I don't want any arguments, bring that hand here at once; you can't protect Michael very well if your hand is incapacitated. You too, Drake, down off that horse, I need to see to that shoulder wound."

Looking a little sheepish, Gustin and Drake came over to let Elizabeth heal their wounds.

While she performed her healing arts, Elizabeth scolded the two wounded knights. "Now, what possessed you two numskulls to take on the Tchulian soldiers alone? I thought we agreed to ambush them as a group?"

"We didn't want to waste our carefully prepared ambush, it was such a perfect spot for it," the embarrassed Gustin replied.

"If either one of you had been killed, I would never have forgiven you," Elizabeth stated.

"We had them taken care of, no problem, milady," Drake assured her bravely.

"Sure, other than a couple of wounds and a much-needed rescue, you had them right where you wanted them, at your throats," Hetark chimed in, sarcastically.

"We'll try and be more careful, milady," said Gustin, and Drake nodded.

"Thank you and, now that I've scolded you, I will say that I think you were incredibly brave, stupid, but brave and I love you both for it," and Elizabeth awarded them with a nod of thanks. "But please, be more careful, I want to keep you around for quite a long time. I foresee a time when Michael will need all of his Knight Protectors. We are heading into the maelstrom now and the world will be hunting for Jatar's heir. It will be a long and bloody battle before he regains his rightful throne and he will need your strength, wisdom, protection, and instruction if he is to come through this alive."

Touched by Elizabeth's open feelings of growing affection during such a rough time for her, the eyes of the two tough knights misted up. In embarrassment, both men turned their faces away and tried to look casual.

Drake took out a cloth and wiped both his eyes while saying, "Excuse me a moment; I must have a gnat in my eye."

Gustin nodded, "Yes, I think there's a cloud of them around." Then he wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

Hetark looked around carefully and spoke in mock bewilderment, "I don't see any gnats."

Drake and Gustin ignored his comment.

"Milady, I think it's time we got on our way. Let's try and collect the soldier's horses to use as extra mounts," Hetark said to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth looked down to the scene of the battle on the road where the wounded or dead Tchulians lay about, like fallen leaves from a tree. "Fine, while you do that, I'm going to talk to that soldier with the leg wound, perhaps I can get something useful out of him about his leader," Elizabeth decided, gesturing toward the path where a Tchulian lay holding his leg.

Drake replied, "I'd better go with you; Hetark and Gustin can track down the extra mounts."

"If it will make you feel better, though I'm sure I can handle one wounded soldier."

"You never know, he might have a concealed dagger to throw or something else. I will keep an eye on him while you question the merc," Drake advised.

"Have it your way, come on," she said and picked up Michael from where he sat playing with leaves in the cradling roots of a large tree.

The wounded soldier lay in the dirt of the road surrounded by two dead men on either side. He was curled up into a fetal position holding his leg, which was obviously causing him dreadful pain. He didn't look altogether happy with the world.

Elizabeth stopped, three paces in front of him, and crouched down so he could see her without lifting his head. "I am not here to torture you for information, I am simply here for a trade; I'll heal that leg and you will be out of pain, in exchange for three questions answered truthfully. Otherwise, you can just lie there until your friends arrive and hope that they have a healer with them; but you do look like you're in extreme pain."

The man didn't reply to Elizabeth, but his dark eyes shifted to her and then to the watchful Drake.

"Still not convinced? Well maybe this will help; here are the questions I would ask you to answer: Is your commander named Harland Von Dracek? Were you instructed to kill us or capture us? And, were you part of the plot to kill my husband?"

The man winced from a sharp pain in his wound, but then hissed, "You can kiss my..."

But, at that, Drake kicked him in the wounded leg and said, "Be civil or I'll add another wound, this one around your throat."

The soldier sucked in a breath in pain and glowered at Drake, but held his tongue.

Elizabeth stood up and started back toward the horses.

Drake took hold of her arm to stop her as he said, "Milady, if we worked on him a little more, I'm sure he will answer your questions."

"He already did: Von Dracek is his commander, Michael is to be captured, the rest of us killed and he was not part of the plot to kill Jatar, which is the only reason he still lives."

"But how...?" Drake exclaimed, rubbing his head with his hand in puzzlement.

"The answers were in his mind, by asking the questions I made him think about the answers. Although he had no intention of helping us the answers still passed through his surface thoughts. I doubt he would answer us voluntarily anyway, he has a much greater fear of his commander than of me."

Gustin and Hetark had gathered the extra mounts, so now they had two spare mounts for each rider.

Hetark spoke to Elizabeth and Drake as they mounted, "We need to be on our way, it's not an opportune time to run into the other half of these soldiers."

The sorceress quickly explained, "I confirmed that it is Von Dracek commanding the Tchulians and you are correct, it's time we started getting as far ahead of that evil man as possible." Suiting action to words, Elizabeth guided her horse into a canter down the forest path and the three knights quickly followed.

They rode along the forest path passing in and out of the occasional slanted beam from the afternoon's golden sunlight. To either side of them, the quiet forest of tall majestic trees passed by like the world's largest cathedral. Elizabeth's mind wandered as she rode, pictures of the happy times she had spent with her husband roamed through her consciousness. She recalled a picnic along the fringe of this very forest, three summers ago, where Jatar had skimmed stones down the creek while she watched. She remembered watching the rings as they expanded to the creek's shore and thought of Lucent, one of her Kirnath instructors, using expanding water ripples as an example of expanding your aura perceptions in ever widening circles.

She also thought about the night when Jatar had so proudly introduced her to his foster brothers: Pellev, Verdew and Berelle. He had been like a schoolboy after his first kiss, she remembered looking at his aura and how it shone with bright highlights mirroring his excitement and love.

I wonder what his brothers are doing now? she thought, I hope they are safe; they probably don't even know Jatar is gone.

In some ways, she wished she shared their ignorance. She contemplated her husband's personality, he had been such a good man and ruler, his foresight in choosing six Knight Protectors was already bearing fruit as they bravely protected his son and heir.

Jatar now lives on through you, Michael, the young mother thought, as she looked down to where the infant slept fitfully in her jouncing sling. You are my last connection with Jatar... wait! That's what I forgot, where has my brain been? Jatar's spirit is gone, but I can still speak with his personality through his imprint in the Ardellen family ring. Jatar sent the signet ring with G'Taklar on that embassy to Zinterdalin. I've got to recover that ring before it falls into the hands of our enemies!

As she thought about Jatar's cathexis ring, Elizabeth fingered the most precious of her family heirlooms, a small round earring she wore pierced through her soft earlobe.

The pine needle road curved up a gentle rise in the forest, where it entered some low hills.

Elizabeth's mind returned from her wanderings; Michael's weight was causing her an ache where his sling hung around her neck. She decided that they could all use a short break, as long as Von Dracek was far enough behind.

Her thoughts went to Von Dracek and his men. She now knew that they planned to take Michael from her for some evil purpose and her and these brave men.

A seething anger burned in her mind as this normally gentle young woman considered her pursuer's plan. Elizabeth forced her mind to calm and her pulse slowed to match the rhythmic motions of her mount. When her mind was clear, she slowly extended her aura in a widening circle, like a ripple in a still pond, as she quested outwards for traces of Von Dracek's men on their back trail.

Due to the nature of her aura expanding in a circle, Elizabeth's perception extended out in all directions. To her shock, she located the burning glow of ten human auras arranged in an ambush which she and her knights had just entered. Holding onto her visible emotions, like the reins of a wild horse, Elizabeth looked carefully at the layout of the enemy soldiers. She and her knights wouldn't be completely into the kill zone for another fifty feet or so, but it was already too late to turn back.

She spoke in a low voice to her knights, "Don't look anywhere or react, but we are surrounded by the Tchulians. Get ready to follow me on my signal."

Again, she quickly checked the placement of their enemies with her powers, looking for a seam in this net of death in which they had unknowingly been entangled. Then the sorceress found one slim hope. There was a slight ravine between two of the hidden soldiers which could provide her party some protection. Most of the soldiers wouldn't be able to see them to fire a bow and only the two closest were in an optimum position to shoot at them if they broke through at that point.

"Now!" she yelled. Without further warning, Elizabeth kicked her horse into a gallop and made a sudden left turn off the road into the trees.

Her horse leaped, as if stung, and lunged off the path and up the short bank into the forest. Elizabeth charged forward and the three Knight Protectors raced to keep up. The sorceress raised her aura shields, she didn't have nearly enough power to protect the knights from the crossbow bolts, but she could stop them from striking her or Michael.

The enemy soldiers were not long in reacting to Elizabeth and her knight's move, since they had been prepared for action as their quarry neared the center of their trap. So, although they were momentarily surprised by the sudden departure of their prey, they were still quick enough to shoot their bows.

Three crossbow bolts zinged across the forest. One 'thunked' into Gustin's leg with a dull wet sound and the other went low into the chest of Hetark's horse, causing it to stumble, momentarily. The third hit the neck of the empty horse he was pulling by the reins. The extra horse went down. which yanked the reins loose from Hetark with a jerk and caused his second spare mount to fall as well. Hetark was delayed slightly and fell behind the others by four lengths.

Hetark cursed his luck, but he didn't want to put Elizabeth in danger by slowing them down, so he decided to get a new mount and stop the enemy from pursuing. He yelled to the others, "Go on without me, protect Michael and Elizabeth; I'm going after their horses!"

Before anyone could argue with him, he turned his wounded horse and galloped off toward the likeliest area for their enemies to have placed their horse picket.

Hetark slipped over the side of his horse to use the body of his animal to protect himself from half the area that an arrow or bolt might be launched, unfortunately that still left him exposed on the other side. The swish sound of flying death whispered its call as crossbow bolts passed close by, then one struck his saddle and another hammered into his left shoulder, nearly causing him to fall from his horse. He angled his horse through a thick group of trees to give him further protection from the enemy's shots. Hetark made it through their gauntlet wounded, but alive. His horse was not so lucky and her breath became labored while her eyes rolled wildly and blood foamed from her mouth.

"Come on, baby, I know it hurts, just a little further," he whispered to the dying mare, knowing the pain she felt because of the duplicate bolt stick in his shoulder.

Coming over another rise he spotted his goal; the soldiers had picketed their horses on a rope tied between two trees, only sixty yards ahead. Just then, his horse finally gave up the fight and its front legs buckled. Together, horse and rider fell. Hetark was launched over the head of his falling mount. He tried to turn the fall into a roll and partially succeeded. However, the protruding bolt caught in the ground and wrenched painfully in his left shoulder as he rolled across the forest floor. Suddenly, that last sixty yards looked like twenty leagues to the bloody, battered, and wounded knight.

Elizabeth had looked back to see what was wrong, just in time to see Hetark angle away from the group on his wounded horse. She had started to turn her horse, but felt her son in the sling and realized that she could not risk the heir; she knew that Hetark would have to survive this one alone.

As she rode on, tears came from her eyes, but she looked forward and concentrated on staying on her fast-moving horse as they galloped through the trees.

Figuring that they were past the trap and out of range of the bows, Elizabeth dropped her shield to conserve her powers. It was then that Major Von Dracek stepped out from behind a tree and released an aura attack in a bolt of yellow energy. It hit Elizabeth before she even knew what was happening. It was similar to the attack she had used on the vorghoul. The energy wrapped itself around the contours of her body and began to burn and eat away at her aura.

The suddenness of the surprise attack came too close on the shock of the ambush and Elizabeth's aura had been overused and weakened from the recent uses. Only her training from her Kirnath School and the strength of a mother protecting her son allowed her to reclaim control of her aura through the burning pain.

With an ear-shattering scream, the enraged sorceress brought her aura powers under control again. In a blinding flash of aura, Elizabeth destroyed Von Dracek's attacking power, but there was a cost; that effort damaged her spirit.

By then, their galloping mounts carried them past Von Dracek; yet Hetark was nowhere to be seen.

Von Dracek leaned heavily against a tree and watched the retreating backs of Elizabeth and her two remaining knights. His body was weak from the expenditure of spirit and his mind dumbfounded that she had, somehow, survived his attack.

He had expended almost every bit of power he had in an effort to destroy the sorceress before she had any chance to resist, but he had expected to get some of that expended energy returned to him once hers had been consumed. Somehow, she had turned the tables and destroyed all of the aura power that he had sent, so nothing would be returning. It would be days before his powers healed to their full capacity.

The only consolation was that he had seen the wound to her spirit in her aura colors. That meant she would not have her full abilities back for even longer. He could afford to follow her for a few days, recuperate his aura, and still attack before she recovered.

He turned and looked toward the horse picket, then he became instantly concerned; two of his men were ahead of him and running in that direction. He remembered that one of Elizabeth's knights had ridden away from the others. Dredging up what little energy he had left, the major began to run toward their horses. His only hope was the scout who had been left to guard the mounts.

As the dust settled around Hetark, he lifted his head and looked toward the enemy's horses. He winced as his wounded shoulder informed his body that movement was not in his best interest. An enemy soldier, with a drawn blade, was running toward him, his fast pace eating up the last forty yards to where Hetark lay nearly helpless.

Hetark looked back at his dead horse and saw his loaded crossbow still, miraculously, attached to the back of his saddle. He wondered if he had the energy to get to it in time. Finding strength from pure desperation he half crawled and half drug himself to the weapon. It was tied onto the saddle by a leather thong. He didn't have time to untie it, so he reached down to his boot knife, which he discovered was now missing.

Telling himself not to panic, he managed to pull his sword and cut the thong. He could hear the footsteps of the approaching man behind him, crunching the forest leaves in quick jabbing steps, so he rolled onto his back and fired up at his leaping attacker.

The bolt struck the Tchulian scout on the left side of his chest and spun him around, but his momentum carried him down onto Hetark who watched helplessly as two hundred pounds of man landed on his poorly treated body.

The impact knocked the air from his lungs. After a moment, Hetark gasped in a breath and then mustered up the strength to push the wounded enemy off his chest. The man let out a moan of pain as Hetark pushed him onto the ground. Hetark staggered to his feet and looked toward the horse picket. Everything around him, including the ground, seemed to move in a slow rotating fashion.

His first crazy thought was, _How did I get drunk?_ Then he remembered the crossbow bolt in his shoulder and started into a tilted, staggering run toward the horses. He knew that more enemies would soon show up for a chance to stick something pointy into his already mistreated body.

When he reached the horses, they shied away from the smell of blood coming from Hetark's wounded shoulder. He untied the first horse and reached up to the saddle horn to pull himself up with his good arm. Once there, he maneuvered the horse over to one end of the picket line. He leaned down to cut it loose, nearly falling off his horse as pain shot through his shoulder from the embedded crossbow bolt. He took that end of the line and rode to the other side where he cut the other end free and then looped both ends around his saddle pommel. All thirty-two horses were now attached to the loop of rope he had secured to his saddle horn.

Starting slowly, he got the whole herd moving into the forest; luckily the horses were skittish and eager to run.

From behind him, he heard the sounds of pursuit, but they were too late, he had the horses going faster than a man could run.

Now, he thought, if only I can keep from falling off until I get far enough away, I should be fine, but the world kept spinning.

Major Von Dracek was livid. He paced up and down by Mauklar's mortally wounded body, occasionally kicking him as he passed by to punctuate each sentence. Mauklar had stopped moaning after about the fourth kick, the pain had shocked him into unconsciousness.

"Vorg take you all! I want to know who let that bastard get through to the horses, it was only one man, there are eleven," he paused long enough to kick Mauklar again, "make that ten, of you brave, tough, mean, and girlish simpletons!" He kicked the body at his feet again, then he continued to rant and pace. "I'd make you carry me to Lindankar on your filthy backs if I wasn't too embarrassed to return!" He gave the still body of Mauklar another boot and then added, "Big tough Tchulian soldiers, the best in the world, soldiers who can't even stop one man from taking your horses, let alone a Kirnath sorceress!"

Mauklar, who was now dead, received one last kick as Von Dracek finally walked away from his cowering men. Just as they started to relax, he suddenly turned and spoke again, the men jumped, having thought him finished. "Make camp here; obviously, we aren't going anywhere for a few days," then he turned his back and walked away, still fuming.

Bante waited for what he considered a sufficient time, hoping his commander has cooled down, before approaching the major to say, "We have a horse, Sir."

Von Dracek looked up from the log on which he sat and frowned up at Bante.

"Oh, did our quarry feel sorry for us and drop one by?"

"No, sir, it was one of that knight's two spare mounts, it wasn't hurt badly when it fell, perhaps a few bruises. Did you wish to take the horse and follow them alone?"

"Of course not, but I will use it to go for more competent help. Where is the beast?"

"The men have it, over there," Bante answered, gesturing with his hand toward a nearby stream. "What should we do in the meantime, Sir?"

"Have you considered suicide?" the major asked, viciously.

"No, sir," the corporal replied, quietly.

"Maybe you should, you let your men get ambushed and killed and then ran like a coward. Now you have let our quarry escape with our horses. If, by some chance, you don't decide to kill yourself, then start walking," he commanded.

"Should we follow the sorceress?"

Von Dracek closed his eyes as if counting to ten before he replied, "No, you imbecile, do you think that if they can wipe out a mounted group of our soldiers, without losing a single man, that they can't do it again when the men are on foot? Bante, pretend not to be the fool you actually are, it would be such a pleasant change. Head back to the city, I will send new mounts for you and the men. It wouldn't do for the citizenry of Lindankar to see ten Tchulian mercs returning from being whipped like common weffs by three boys, a woman and a child. May Vorg defile our souls if the story ever gets out that they killed ten Tchulians before making fools of the rest. Try not to get lost or fall in any holes on your way back, understand, imbecile?"

"Yes, sir," replied Bante in a tightly controlled voice. He was fuming inside at having to take the insults Von Dracek was dealing out, but he feared the man too much to show his anger, so he just took the abuse and dreamed of the day he would kill his commander, slowly.

Von Dracek watched his corporal's eyes carefully as he responded to make sure the proper fear was still keeping him in line. After a moment of study, he was satisfied, so he added in a calmer voice, "Now, fetch me that nag. I can't wait to degrade myself before that slimy necromancer. I'll have to tell him about the awesome exploits of the crack Tchulian soldiers I recommended we send to kill a woman!"

The corporal happily left his angry commander to go and order the horse made ready.

Meanwhile, Von Dracek was thinking, _If only I could choose the men who become officers, but I have to take imbeciles, like Bante, just because they have the auras necessary to learn the art; it's a sad world._

"I knew I shouldn't have let that corporal get away," Drake said wistfully. The sorry looking group were walking their horses along the forest path. They hoped Hetark would catch up to them, but, with each passing moment, that hope dwindled.

Gustin looked at the hunched over body of Elizabeth, who rode with both hands clenched around the saddle horn to keep herself from falling. Then he spoke softly to Drake, "Who would have thought that the corporal would double around us and meet up with his commander in time to warn him and set up that ambush?"

"He is half rodent, or more than half, he must have ridden through the bush."

"Well, I think I owe that rodent for this," Gustin said, pointing to the crossbow bolt, which projected from his thigh. He had a piece of cloth tied around it to slow the bleeding, there had not yet been enough time to attempt any further medical aid.

Drake nudged his horse until it moved up next to Elizabeth's mount and then he said, "Milady, what's the matter, are you wounded?"

Looking up tiredly, Elizabeth gave the concerned young knight a wan smile through the strands of hair which hung down around her weary face. Her answer came in a whisper. "I am indeed injured, but not in the physical sense. We suspected, but weren't sure, that the Tchulians had sorcerers with enough training and power to deliver that strong an attack. If I had been ready for it, I could have defeated it without damage, but I wasn't and it caught me at a bad time. I'm sure he planned it that way. He meant to destroy my aura and kill me and he nearly succeeded; I barely managed to get control of aura and destroy the attacking energy. He lost a lot of power in that attack, but I damaged my spirit and that is much worse than just losing aura power," she explained.

"What does it mean when you say your spirit is damaged, is there something we can do to heal it?" the small knight asked hopefully.

"No, this is something only time can heal. Think of it as a wine skin, it's easy to replenish the wine when it is used up, but if the sack itself is damaged it must be glued and mended before it will hold the wine again," she said, to explain in terms he would understand.

"Can you use any of your powers before it is healed?" asked the concerned Drake.

"Yes, but every use of power diminishes my reservoir and what is used will not come back swiftly until my spirit heals," she replied, bleakly.

Gustin spoke in a sharp tone, "Quiet, I think I hear horses. Yes, we must run, milady; there are many horses coming, ride swiftly, ride!"

They urged their horses into a gallop. Gustin looked back for signs of pursuit and spotted a single rider coming around the bend. The pursuing rider swayed wildly in the saddle and then suddenly tumbled off his horse, falling to the ground. Gustin reined in and watched as a large group of riderless horses appeared around the bend behind the fallen man.

"It's Hetark!" Gustin called loudly to Drake and Elizabeth.

Drake heard him and galloped forward until he could lean down and grab the reins of Elizabeth's horse to bring it to a halt.

Gustin swiftly rode back to the fallen body of Hetark. When he arrived, he dismounted without regard for the pain in his wounded leg. He knelt by the fallen knight where he lay on his back, covered in dirt caked with dried blood. Gustin propped him up and gave him a drink from his belt skin. After a moment, Hetark cracked his eyes open slightly and managed a bit of a smile in thanks to the big man. "Have I taken The River to the afterlife?" he jokingly asked with a croaking voice.

"No, my friend," Gustin responded quietly, "you have a few things yet to do in this world before you ride The River; besides, I'm too ugly to be your Greeter."

Hetark looked back at the pack of horses which had come to a stop a few yards away. "I brought you a new horse."

"I can see that, Hetark, quite a few, actually. How did you ever manage that?" Gustin asked with a gentle voice and a simple smile.

"I got a good deal; all I had to trade them was one healthy Knight Protector for a half-dead one and the horses. It seemed like a bargain at the time," the wounded knight explained.

Drake and Elizabeth arrived and dismounted; Elizabeth immediately knelt by the fallen knight. "Is being mortally wounded becoming a habit, Hetark?" she asked, but she smiled at him to take the sting out of her words.

He looked up at her and replied in a weak deadpan voice, "I'm not positive, but I think someone may be trying to kill me, can you imagine that?"

"They're probably after you for assaulting your poor friends with your odd sense of humor," Drake answered, from where he stood nearby.

Elizabeth rubbed her forehead with the fingers of her right hand and tried to concentrate on focusing her weak powers to heal the wounded aura of the knight. She was so tired and weak that she could not get herself into that calm center she needed to project her aura and heal. Reverting to her earliest classes in healing at the Kirnath School, Elizabeth began to use the words that she had not needed in years to focus her power. In a soft chanting voice, Elizabeth spoke a few words that were strange to the ears of the knights,

"Aleir nu sien, E' dir lih brees.

Aleir nu sien, E' dir lih brees.

Aleir nu sien, E' dir lih brees, A' Terelat."

As she finished her chant, she took hold of Hetark's shoulder gently. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Sweat began to seep from the pores of her face and then she spoke softly, "Drake, pull the bolt from his shoulder, slowly."

Drake reached over and gently pulled on the barbed bolt. He expected resistance as the barbs dug into Hetark's flesh, but the bolt came out easily, as if the tissues were moving out of the way. When the end of the bolt came out of Hetark's shoulder, Drake saw the wound quickly seal over and then heal.

Without breaking her concentration, Elizabeth moved her hand over to Gustin's leg and, a moment later, she instructed Drake to pull the bolt from his leg the same way.

When he was healed, she opened her tired eyes, but when Hetark started to speak she held one of her slim fingers to his lips to quiet him and then asked in a barely audible voice, "You managed to take all of their horses?"

He nodded.

"Thank you, Hetark," she whispered, her strength weakening, "this means that they can't catch us for a few bells." She turned to Drake and said, "I must rest, will you please watch over Michael?"

He nodded. With the last of her strength Elizabeth handed the young heir to the small knight, but when she tried to stand her body finally gave up and the world went dark as she lost consciousness. Gustin caught her before she could hit the ground and the three knights shared a look of woe at the sight of her unconscious body.

Gustin carefully lifted her up and cradled her against his huge chest and then carried her off the road towards a shady glen. Once there, he gently lay her down in the soft pine needles. He sat down beside the unconscious lady and placed her tired head on the pillow of his lap.

It was dusk, so Drake began building a fire nearby, while Hetark worked on picketing the horses. Gustin pulled his sword out and lay it near his reach. He prepared himself to stay awake and guard their courageous lady until she woke refreshed or he died of old age.

#### CHAPTER FIVE: CAracusS

Two nobles sat together in a private room within the Lindankar palace. One of the two men had made sure no one else was around or had seen them enter.

They were sharing a bottle of dark red wine poured into slender elegant glasses; a loaf of thick crusted bread and a crock of butter were also on the table.

Confident that they were alone, one noble held his glass up to the light while gazing into the depths of the wine; the beam of sunlight from the single window reflected blood-red bands of light across his face.

He smiled and spoke to the man in the other seat, "So, Armal, you really think that Olsk is in for a good period of prosperity with the new trade agreements you and Jatar have arranged?" As he spoke, he took out a dagger and cut himself a piece of the bread.

"Of course, but hasn't your country been prospering under the increased trade for years now?" the ruler of Olsk asked in return.

The other noble finished eating his bite of bread before answering, "Indeed, but on the other hand, the Prutians have been a thorn in our side for quite a while. I think it's about time that our allied countries get together and bring Pruta to its knees. United, we have the strength to annex their whole country, while only taking acceptable losses to our armies."

An absolutely incredulous look came over Lord Armal's face as he stared in shock at the other noble, who was calmly sipping his wine after his bold statements on declaring war. Lord Armal gaped with his mouth open for a moment, before finally finding words, "You must be joking. Pruta isn't our enemy or Lindankar's and, until this moment, I had no idea that you held any anger toward that country. What makes you think that I, or Jatar, will even consider joining you in an attack on an ally who has given us no provocation?" Lord Armal then watched the straight face of the man sitting across from him as he waited for a response.

His drinking companion set his glass down carefully on the table and then a twitching began in the corner of his mouth, which soon developed into a grin, which almost instantly turned into laughter. He slapped the table and then pointed at the staring Lord Armal, as if he was the funniest thing he had ever seen. At first, Lord Armal was insulted, but then he realized that his colleague had just played a horrendous joke on him. The continuing laughter grew infectious, so he began to laugh as well.

Finally, their fit of laughter ran down and Lord Armal spoke.

"You really had me going, I thought a monster had possessed you, or maybe one of those necromancers had brain-altered you, or something. I can't believe I bought that line about you taking over Pruta with our armies! I think Lord Rinholt would have turned into a vorghoul if he had heard your joke."

"Perhaps we should share this bottle with the good ruler of Pruta? Why don't you write Lord Rinholt a note and I'll have a servant deliver it? When he gets here, I'll set him up for a good laugh," the nobleman promised.

Lord Armal grinned wolfishly as he replied, "That stuffy old bird needs a good joke played on him; all right, we'll do it!" He lifted a piece of paper from the stack on the table, thought for a moment, and then wrote a quick note to the other ruler.

His friend across the table was still smiling from his fit of laughter as he picked up the knife again and asked in a pleasant voice, "Bread?"

"Why, thank you," Lord Armal replied, "it does go well with the wine."

After cutting him a piece, he scooped a dab of butter onto the dagger and inquired, "Butter?"

"Most definitely!" Lord Armal exclaimed with gusto and leaned forward to proffer his piece of bread.

Reaching up almost casually the man accelerated the butter coated knife and jammed it, to the hilt, in the ruler's left eye and then asked calmly, "Knife? Oh, sorry, I see you already have one."

Lord Armal's head hit the table with a dull thud, which upset his glass; the spilled red wine ran across the table to mix with the red blood that ran from beneath the dead ruler's head.

The other man rescued the note that Armal had written, before the blood or wine could reach it, and then picked up his glass of wine, took a sip, and spoke to the dead body.

"Actually, I meant every word I said about declaring war on Pruta; I was laughing because I know something funny about Jatar that you don't." He leaned down to the dead body's upturned ear and whispered, "Jatar isn't Jatar, but don't tell anyone, promise?" He sat back in his chair, took another sip of wine, and had a quiet laugh at his joke. Then he added, "I happen to be sure that Jatar will be delighted to help me destroy Pruta, right after we finish taking control of your country. After all, they seem to need a new leader, their old one is kind of down and out! I think there must be something going around, Lords are dropping like flies."

Angleing down through the forest leaves, the new rays of sunlight pierced the thin swirling mists which still lingered after the twilight's departure. Drake squatted by the fire as he heated water in a small pot to make tea. Nearby, Gustin and Hetark sat on a rough log oiling and cleaning their weapons. Elizabeth stood a few paces away, looking off into the still forest; she turned and came back to the campfire.

"Tea, milady?" Drake asked, holding up the steaming pot to show his modest accomplishment.

"Yes please, Drake, that would be very welcome on this unseasonably chilly morning." She took the cup from him and sat down on the log by the other two knights before adding, "Well, I have some good news for us this morning; the Tchulians have given up and are headed back toward the city."

"I don't mean to presume, milady, but was it a good idea to tax your powers so soon after your wounding?" asked the concerned Hetark.

"Though my spirit is wounded, I am still able to use my aura for something that doesn't take much power, like checking our nearby surroundings," she explained.

"Did you account for them all?" Gustin inquired; everyone knew he meant Von Dracek.

"Yes, I had to look a bit further, but I located a shielded person traveling on horseback along the road. The other ten were closer, but headed away from our position, on foot. One of them had a mind shield, so it is probably that corporal."

"A pox on that man," Drake muttered and then added dryly, "So, they have given up the pursuit. I'm not sure if I know how to travel without someone trying to kill me every league or so."

Gustin answered him in an amused voice, "I could fill in for them, if that would make you feel better, Drake." Gustin fingered the dagger he had just cleaned suggestively.

"Perhaps you could fill in, they were kind of inept," Drake responded.

"Ha... ha," Gustin answered in a pretend laugh.

Hetark sheathed his clean sword. He had a thoughtful look on his face as he leaned forward and put his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped between, Then he said, "Milady, I know this is a painful subject, but I feel we need to ask more questions about what happened to your husband. We need to learn everything about our enemies if we are to be any help in unraveling this twisted plot. During these last two days I've learned one thing for sure, there are many things that I have taken for myths or old wives' tales which are actually real. Is it too soon to ask you questions?" he asked and the concern for her grief was evident on his serious face. "If so, I can wait," he added.

"No, Hetark, I have sworn to avenge my husband and place my son on his rightful throne so, if I am to expect your help, it's only right that you know everything that I can teach you. Ask your questions and I will answer them as honestly as I can," Elizabeth assured the knights.

"Could you explain, again, how it is possible for a person to take over another person's body?" he asked, obviously having difficulty with the idea of magic.

"It has to do with cathexis metal artifacts," she said and then took a moment to considered before saying, "Long ago, a blacksmith discovered a single strange rock in an ancient crater. It was made of solid metal, though not of this world. We don't know how, but he used this metal to make various objects. It wasn't until much later that people discovered that these objects had a unique property; they store the memories of a person. In fact, cathexis metal stores them so thoroughly that it makes a duplicate of the person's memories and personality, pretty much everything non-tangible about a person."

"You mean the person's mind is absorbed into the metal?" asked Drake, scrunching his face up in a frown.

"Not absorbed, it makes a duplicate; we call it an imprint, but it doesn't affect the original at all. They discovered this by accident, when an imprint "talked" to a different person who picked up the same object, later on."

"How did this object speak without a mouth?" Gustin asked.

"The imprint speaks within your mind; it's similar to your own thoughts, but distinctly someone else. I know this sounds confusing, but it's something that you have to experience to understand completely," she explained. "Your mind fills in the 'voice' for you, in fact, it even sounds like the person, though it's not really words you hear with your ears."

"Do people get to talk to themselves when they have made an imprint?" Hetark inquired.

"No, something about your memory meeting itself doesn't work; you just meld back together again. In a way, you're talking to yourself every time you think, it's more of the same thing."

"So," Drake asked, "the blacksmith made a bundle selling these things, right?"

"Not according to the story. At first, the cathexis metal didn't show any special properties, other than being as shiny as good silver, but much harder. After a few months, he had sold most of the objects he made, but it wasn't until a few years later that the unique properties of the metal were discovered. You see, it takes a while for the imprint to be created; the metal has to be touching the person for quite a long time. It takes at least a few years before an imprint will manifest. However, once they discovered these imprints, everyone tried to get the blacksmith to make more, or tell someone else how to do it. Unfortunately, for him, he had used all the metal he originally found. It's said that they killed the poor man, while attempting to force him to tell them the correct alloy mixture for cathexis metal."

"How many of these cathexis objects did he make?" Gustin wanted to know.

"Nineteen is the number accepted by most scholars, but there may have been more, which were lost, or hidden, before anyone tried to account for them all," she answered.

"So, people can talk to the imprints in these cathexis objects. What happens after the person dies?" Hetark asked.

"That's part of what makes cathexis so valuable, the person's imprint isn't lost, you can always speak to an imprint once it is imprinted in the metal."

Drake leaned against a tree trunk a few feet away. "What happens if another person imprints the same piece of cathexis? Do the two imprints get mixed up, or does the new one replace the original?"

"Both imprints are kept and they are completely separate. The newest imprint is usually the dominant one, unless a prior one has an incredibly strong aura in life, but that is rare," the sorceress answered.

"What do you mean by dominant?" Hetark prompted.

"When you pick up an imprinted cathexis artifact the dominant imprint can talk to you and, if you will it, any other imprints can speak with you as well. It has something to do with your spirit being the strongest influence on the metal... normally," she added after a pause.

Drake interjected a question, "You keep making exceptions, what's that all about?"

"Well, this isn't well documented, but it seems possible that an imprinted artifact, with a strong aura attached, can overpower the real person's weaker aura, if there is a severe enough difference between their aura strengths. The theory is contested by many scholars since the only reported cases happened far in the past," she explained.

"You're saying that it's possible for one of those things to take over another person's body if they pick it up?" Gustin asked, not sounding too happy about the thought of things taking over his body.

"No, an imprint lacks power over a person's body," she corrected.

"Wait, you said that the scholars weren't too sure about that," Drake interjected.

"What I said is that an artifact with a strong aura attached might overcome a weaker person's aura, but an imprint without its aura has no power. You must separate the idea of the imprint of a person's mind from the presence of a person's soul. A person can imprint cathexis, but they do not leave any of their aura attached to that imprint, however, when a person dies, their aura is released. Normally, your soul departs to go to The River, but not when you have imprinted a cathexis object; the imprint attracts the departing soul. The soul is attracted to the cathexis imprint and they join within the cathexis object. Once united, the imprint becomes the real person without a body."

"Excuse me, could you translate what you just said into understandable language," Gustin pleaded.

"When someone dies after a short time their healthy spirit leaves their dead body and joins the 'River', departing our world for the next. I know this because I have witnessed it myself."

Drake interjected a question, "Why did you say 'healthy'?"

"I have also seen the auras of the souldead attempting to leave their dead body and join The River, but they cannot and, in the end, they just dissipate into nothingness, that's why they are known as the souldead."

"Why don't the vorghoul's spirits depart?" Hetark wondered.

"When Vorg created the souldead, he distorted their auras to the point where they can no longer journey to the next plane," she answered.

"Vorg, don't tell me that he was real too!" Drake exclaimed.

"Of course, you don't think that the souldead just made themselves, do you? The term vorghoul comes directly from the name of their creator, Vorg the Desecrator, but don't worry, too much, about him, he lived more than three thousand years before you were born. His body is dust by now," Elizabeth counseled.

"All right, I understand that your spirit leaves when your body dies, what was the rest of that you said concerning the cathexis artifacts?" Hetark asked, trying to get things back on track.

"Your aura leaving is the normal way of things, except if you have a cathexis imprint of your personality; it seems that the aura will seek out the imprint and attach itself rather than seek The River to go on," Elizabeth explained.

"But that means a person with a cathexis imprint can never go on, how horrible!" Hetark said.

"That's what was thought for many years, but then they found that if the imprinted person wants to be released and the physical owner of the cathexis object wills it, the aura can leave for the next plane, it is as simple as that," she explained.

"Well, I like that a bit more," Hetark noted.

"Yes, but if the person with the aura imprint wants to go and the owner doesn't will it, they are trapped. People have used this to extort aid from an imprinted person, forcing them to use the skills and knowledge which they possessed in life. After a specified time, the captor promises to release their aura. The flip side of this is, if the soul doesn't want to go, nothing we know can drive it out of the artifact."

"But what good is staying? If it takes massive aura power to take over a person's body, then most souls couldn't do it anyway," Gustin postulated.

"Yes, but this brings us to the part which deals with Jatar. If the aura of a body is destroyed, yet the body is intact, then an imprint within a cathexis artifact can take over the empty shell. All it would need is to touch the empty body."

"How can an aura be destroyed, but the body left intact?" Hetark then asked.

"Generally, it cannot, but there is time between the destruction of an aura and the decay of the body. During that time, the body can be saved if a healthy aura takes up residence."

After a moment to digest her words, Hetark asked, "And what can destroy an aura without hurting the body?"

"There are a few ways; a sorcerer could use their aura to destroy yours, like Von Dracek tried to do to me in the ambush. Or a Darknull beast could do it; they consume auras like food." Here her voice grew soft as she said, "I believe that is what they did to my Jatar. At the church, I felt a Darknull enter the world from the direction of the palace. I believe it consumed Jatar's soul and then a cathexis artifact was used to implant a new aura and personality into his vacant body, that of a necromancer." Elizabeth shuddered as she remembered the feel of the corrupt aura in her husband's body.

"It's too bad that Lord Jatar didn't have one of those cathexis things, we could get rid of that evil thing's aura in his body and put the real Lord Jatar's soul back!" Hetark exclaimed forlornly.

"He does have a Cathexis imprint, Hetark, the Ardellen family signet ring is made of cathexis," Elizabeth said quietly.

"Then what are we doing? We need to find that ring and restore Jatar to his rightful body! Drake cried out and jumped up from the log, like he was going to charge right out and find the ring.

"Believe me, when I say that I wish we could, but there is one thing about a Darknull's attack that you aren't considering. When a Darknull beast attacks a body, they don't kill it, physically, they consume the aura. His aura can't be in his ring because the Darknull consumed his soul."

A single tear left a glistening trail down Elizabeth's right cheek as a small crack in her walled-up emotions opened for a moment, then she regained control and continued speaking, "But you are right about one thing, I plan to find that ring, so that I can at least speak with the imprint of my husband. It won't be the living person, but it's the only thing I have left." She looked down at her tense interlaced fingers and then made a conscious effort to relax them before continuing, "Now you know that our enemies did far worse than just kill my husband, they destroyed his immortal soul."

"Where is the ring now?" Hetark asked gently.

"Jatar's cousin, G'Taklar, has it in Zinterdalin. I haven't yet had time to make a plan on how to contact G'Taklar, or meet up with him to get the ring. Still, as far as I know, we are the only living people who know he has it, so it should be safe. However, we must stop him from going back to Lindankar to meet the necromancer he will think is Jatar."

At the thought of the murderous necromancer in her husband's beautiful body, Elizabeth felt a flash of rage, but she quelled it, for the moment.

"I have another question about cathexis imprints; if the minds of several people are in the same object, can the imprints communicate amongst themselves?" Hetark asked.

"No, imprints aren't alive, like a person; if the physical owner wills them to be silent, they cannot speak, think, or even dream. When the wearer again allows the imprint to speak, it's as if no time has passed for the minds in the object. On the other hand, if the imprint is given leave to speak, it experiences everything that the owner of the cathexis object experiences," she explained.

"How does this metal do all this?" Drake asked, shaking his head in disbelief of the whole thing.

"Answer that question and you will be a rich man indeed, the nineteen cathexis artifacts are the most precious, and sought-after, treasures in the world. The few people who own one generally keep that fact a secret lest thieves and murderers besiege their lives. However, to try and answer your question, as far as we can surmise, the metal picks up and stores energy patterns, very similar to the patterns which form in your brain. A person's aura carries those patterns and, if the metal spends enough time within the aura, it will absorb that pattern.

"In a very limited way, the Kirnath sorcerers have learned to do a similar thing; we can learn from another person by absorbing information that they are thinking or talking about and store the information in our own minds. It's really the same thing as normal learning, without the in-between step of translating the teacher's memory into a language, which they speak to you, and then you translate back into memory in your brain. Speaking of which, unless you have any further questions right now, I'm ready to continue learning about combat. Now that we aren't under immediate pursuit, I'd like another lesson."

"But you're wounded, milady," Gustin remarked, like a mother hen.

"Only my spirit, my body is in need of something to undo the kinks from so much riding," she insisted.

"Let's work with a knife again, if you think you're ready?" Hetark said and then called out, "Drake, stop prying bark off that poor tree and come here. I want you to mock fight at half-speed with Lady Ard..."

Elizabeth interrupted Hetark, "If I am your companion in arms and your friend, I think it's time we dropped some of the formality, call me 'Elizabeth'."

Hetark nodded and continued, "Drake, I want you to fight at half-speed, we're going to work on the strategy of the knife fight. Like any form of one-on-one combat, there are many levels of action taking place. Have you ever played the board game, Battle Square, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Jatar and I played often," she responded.

"Good, real fighting is very similar to Battle Square, think about how you plan on what your opponent is going to do, many moves ahead. Often a good player will plan his moves, and his opponents moves, eight or ten in advance. Not only that, but a good player's plan will force their opponent to make certain moves which he is counting on for his strategy to work; follow me?" Hetark asked.

"Like a duckling after its mother," Elizabeth replied with a grin.

"Good, now, in a knife fight, you play your opponent just like you would in Battle Square, except for one thing, if he takes one of your players in Battle Square you curse, but if he out moves you in the knife fight, you bleed; so, try not to make any mistakes."

Elizabeth gave the knight a slight smile.

Hetark continued, "Now, I hate to complicate things, but it's important to learn how good your opponent is and vary your strategy accordingly. For example, I've found that it's easier to fight a good knife fighter than a poor one and both require different methods. Of course, it's even worse to fight a great one than a poor one, but that goes without saying.

"Anyway, back to a good one fighting a poor one. A good knife fighter will react to your feints, thereby making the move you maneuvered him into making. After a series of these quick maneuvers, called a compound attack, hopefully he will be at the position which you anticipated six moves ahead and that's it for your opponent.

"On the other hand, a poor knife fighter will not react as you would expect him to, even if you fake an opening to which he could take advantage, so I find the unpredictable opponent a little harder to fight."

"I understand," Elizabeth replied.

"When facing an opponent, take the first few moments to study them; don't try for the quick win or you may pick the wrong strategy. If you decide that they are of the poor variety then just play safe, eventually, they will defeat themselves by making a rash mistake which you may safely exploit. Patience beats the bad knife fighter. If they are good, then plan a compound attack which will take them, step-by-step, out of their game plan and into yours."

Elizabeth then asked, "What about an expert?"

Hetark smiled grimly as he answered, "If you deem them to be better than you are, run. Or, if you can't do that, try and settle your differences some other way, or with some other weapon; maybe they aren't as good with a sword? Always look for an advantage."

Elizabeth nodded curtly.

"All right, Drake, I want you to simulate a good knife fighter's strategy, take her out of her game plan, but slowly, let her see how you maneuvered her into exposing her body to your blade."

A servant knocked at the door of Lord Rinholt's temporary apartments in the Lindankar palace and delivered a message.

Lady Margret Rinholt sat in a large stuffed chair reading a book. When her husband opened the delivered note, she looked up over her reading glasses and asked, "What is it Brik?"

"Lord Armal wrote me an invitation, it says and I quote, `Please follow this servant down to the sitting room, I am battling with a bottle of wine which is getting the better of me and I need reinforcements, help!' It is signed, 'Lord Armal, P.S. Hurry.'"

"Are you men going to get drunk yet again? Haven't you gotten tired of headaches with all the celebrating that's gone on these last couple of days?" she exclaimed, in exasperation.

"Don't worry, I won't get drunk, however I will go down and see how inebriated Armal has gotten; perhaps I can get him to agree to a few trade concessions while he's corked like a wine barrel," Lord Brik stated while rubbing his hands together.

"He'll just forget what he promised anyway after he sobers up, but go ahead with your foolishness. I think I'll go and look for Lady Elizabeth. You know, I haven't seen her around for the longest time now. I wonder if she's a little under the weather or something?" she pondered.

"I don't know, though, come to think of it, Jatar seems preoccupied. It probably has to do with that assassination attempt. What a strange affair that was, there is something unusual about the whole thing. Oh well, I won't figure it out while standing around, so I think I'll be off to see the sloshed Lord of Olsk," he decided, turning to leave with the servant who was still standing by the door.

The servant led Lord Brik to the door to the sitting room and then headed back to his other duties. As he left, he thought he heard a thump from the room, but it wasn't repeated, so he just shrugged and continued on his way.

A few bells later, Lady Margret went looking for her husband. After asking around, she found a servant who knew the chamber where Lord Armal had been drinking.

She followed him there and, after knocking and getting no response, she opened the door. The shades had been pulled, so the room was fairly dark. She could make out to two men seated with their upper bodies lying on the table. Lady Margaret turned to the servant and said, "Dead drunk again... can you believe it?" But, as she drew nearer, she saw the blood on the table and screamed.

CAracusS was preoccupied when he came in from the courtyard and started to climb the grand staircase, he didn't look up until a voice rang out, echoing in the open entry hall.

"Jatar, old friend, how goes the ruling Lord business? I hear you locked up your military staff yesterday; what happened, did they march crooked or did you think a quick trip to the dungeons would be good for their morale?"

It took CAracusS a moment to recognize the noble who had spoken from the top of the stairs and then the necromancer's face became angry as he exclaimed, "So, the lost sheep finally returns; where have you been? This was no time for a holiday! Now quit screaming our business out loud for the whole palace to hear!"

The noble smiled with true gusto and exclaimed, "To answer your question, I've been busy. And, if you would prefer a more intimate conversation, I suggest we retire to one of your private rooms where all questions will be answered, or at least a few; you may become very busy in just a bit," the grinning nobleman prophesied.

"Fine, follow me," CAracusS replied in an annoyed tone.

They entered the Ardellen private library and closed the door. CAracusS then spun around and demanded, "Well?"

"Well what?" the third conspirator inquired innocently.

"Where have you been?" CAracusS demanded in exasperation.

"I've been checking out a few things, none of which are your business really but, along the way, I did manage to do you a big favor," he noted with excitement.

CAracusS considered using his dark powers to subjugate the exasperating man so he could force a straight answer out of him, but then, reluctantly, the necromancer discarded the idea. For now, he knew they still needed the noble to play his role. The necromancer answered sarcastically, "Oh, a favor from you, well that reassures me. If I recall correctly, and I do, you fouled up your part of the plan and Lady Ardellen escaped with the heir! Now she is out there somewhere and she knows we murdered her husband and stole his throne! Von Dracek and three of my vorghoul are tracking them down in order to fix your blunder! Vorg help us if they fail."

"It's too bad he can't help us! I would have loved to meet Vorg, that old bastard sure knew how to stir up the pot! Three thousand years after his corpse has crumbled to dust and people still remember what he did; now that's a talent for causing trouble! Ah well, we'll have to settle for my meager attempts, nobody else seems to be carrying on the legacy," he lamented, whimsically.

CAracusS frowned and demanded, "Didn't you hear me? That sorceress bitch is on the loose and you're worried about stirring up trouble? Don't worry, if she escapes, that woman will soon spread the word about what we've done and we'll have plenty of trouble. She must be quickly silenced!"

With a wave of his hand to indicate the trivial nature of the issue, the nobleman answered, "I'll take care of her when the time is right. Besides, you need to stop worrying about that and start worrying about how you're going to raise an army for our war with Pruta," he advised with a straight face.

The necromancer had been about to ask the noble how he was even going to find Lady Ardellen, when the last thing the nobleman said fully penetrated. At that point, CAracusS closed his mouth with a snap, thought for a moment, and then answered, "As far as I know, Lindankar is not at war with any nation right now." A frown of thought appeared on the necromancer's face as he tried to figure out what the nobleman had been blathering about.

"Technically, you are correct, you're not at war... yet. However unless you want to be at war with both Pruta and Olsk, simultaneously, let me make a suggestion: you should publicly announce your support for Pruta and start placing blame on Lord Armal for initiating the murderous attack on Lord Rinholt," he suggested and then nodded his head up and down, as if confirming his words beyond reproach.

"What nonsense are you blathering about?" CAracusS thundered.

As if discussing what he'd eaten for breakfast, he explained, "Well, it seems that Lord Armal fell face first on the dagger I secretly borrowed from Lord Brik Rinholt. Then, that Lord he went down to the same room and fell on the dagger I borrowed from Lord Armal's recently murdered body. However, after I rearranged things, it really looks like the two Lords murdered each other and people do like to jump to conclusions. It continues to amaze me; how about you, aren't you amazed?" he asked flippantly.

CAracusS was gasping for air, like a fish that popped out of its bowl, and he finally managed to sputter, "You did what! That wasn't part of the original plan, you fool! You can't just murder two ruling Lords!"

"Of course, I can! After all, I did, so it is certainly possible, but you're the one who will look like a fool if you don't calm down and get ready to act normally. I hear footsteps approaching and I don't think it's going to be your afternoon tea. Remember to support Pruta and act as their ally, then just move in and start giving helpful orders to their leaderless country. Pretend that you wish to right this wrong, done to their beloved ruler by the heinous... and now dead... Lord of Olsk. By leading Pruta's army of retribution in the destruction of Olsk you can take Olsk under your control and then just keep ruling Pruta when the smoke has cleared," the irrepressible noble explained to CAracusS.

"That's insane, it'll never work," CAracusS stated, his mind working furiously as the echoing footsteps approached.

"That's exactly why this will work; no one will believe the trustworthy Jatar would be insane enough to murder two Lords and attempt to take both their countries!"

Before CAracusS could answer, the footsteps stopped outside the door and they heard a knock followed by a servant's hailing voice, which called out with urgency, "Lord Ardellen, are you there?"

"Yes, come in," CAracusS called out, after a slight pause.

The door opened, but the servant hesitated a moment before speaking, "Lord, I have some terrible news, Lord Armal and Lord Brik have murdered each other and we don't know what to do."

"What?" CAracusS exclaimed, with terrible acting, and then spared a dirty look in the direction of his companion, before adding, "That's impossible, are you sure?"

"Yes, milord, they were just discovered, both dead and, apparently, at each other's hand."

"This is dire news indeed. Take me there so that I can decide what we should do," CAracusS ordered and then followed the servant out of the library.

After the door closed, the nobleman remained, alone, in the room. He took out a coin and looked at the face imprinted in the metal. "Well, you handsome Darknull, we really had some fun today, a good time was had by all! Tomorrow's show should be equally amusing." He laughed and then tossed the coin into the air, caught it and put the likeness of himself back into the inside pocket of his fine doublet.

The great Gellern forest surrounded Elizabeth and the knights for many leagues. A light breeze caused the tall green grass of their forest glade to sway, while the bubbling sounds of the nearby stream called softy to their ears in a natural chorus.

Michael was managing to stand by holding onto a small fallen log, while Elizabeth sat on her knees and held out her arms in outstretched invitation.

The one-year-old decided that the open arms of his mother were a worthy goal and took a step away from the log. Surprise instantly appeared on his tiny round face, as if to say, 'Hey, what's going on here? Stop the world, it's moving on me!'

After that first step, the little explorer swayed back and forth violently, for a few heartbeats, before his sense of balance adjusted to the new sensation. Having mastered the new trick of standing unassisted, he burst out with a high-pitched scream of pure delight, which abruptly cut off when it caused him to sway again and nearly land on his posterior.

He recovered without falling, but the last sway took him too far forward and his choices were fall or save himself by sticking out a foot. His foot lurched forward, just catching himself from falling, and his new inertia kept him going forward, so he had to get his other foot moving to save himself. And so, forward motion was discovered, and young Michael started to walk. He took three shaky and rapid steps, before falling into the waiting arms of his teary-eyed mother.

Elizabeth scooped up her son and clutched his small body to her breast while she told him how he was the most wonderful and clever boy ever born, which, of course, he already knew, but he didn't bother to inform her of that since he hadn't discovered how to form words quite yet.

As she held her young son, Elizabeth's thoughts went out to her lost husband, "I wish you had been with me, just now, my beloved, to see your son's first steps. I promise you this, Jatar, one day your son's steps will shake the world and, in your name, he will accomplish all that you dreamed."

Gustin walked up to where Elizabeth sat on the log, holding Michael.

"Good morning, milady, how is everything with you this morning?"

"I feel better today, Gustin, Michael just took his first steps," replied the proud mother.

Gustin beamed and said, "That's wonderful, though I remember my mother telling me that once I'd taken my first steps, and discovered that I was now mobile, I started getting into everything in sight," he admitted, while taking a seat next to her on the fallen log.

Elizabeth gave him a half-smile and answered, "That's the way of children, everything must be explored. It's part of the survival instincts of the human race; we're driven to learn as much as we can, because knowledge brings safety."

"Well that's true, most of the time, but I grew up in the northern province, where there are many high places. Our village is at the foothills of the northern range, which gives a young child plenty of opportunity to discover the effect of gravity. Too much knowledge of falling is bad for your health," the big man stated, with a sorrowful smile and then he sighed.

Elizabeth was curious, she didn't know much about the big knight's youth, but she replied, "That's what parents are for; they're around to temper the child's insatiable curiosity, to make sure that it doesn't get them into danger. Unfortunately, everything in life is a double-edged sword; the curiosity which drives a child to learn, for their future safety, can also put that child in extreme danger. Life comes with no guarantees, you roll your dice and see if you get the skulls or the roses," she philosophized.

"That's true, milady, and my older brother Dern rolled poorly; he died in a fall off a cliff near my home. My father found him; it was a hard time for my family," Gustin reminisced.

"I'm sorry, Gustin, how old were you?" Elizabeth asked, placing her hand on his big wrist in sympathy.

"I was five, and I remember that my father took me aside that day and he told me that my brother had many important things in life which he was supposed to accomplish. Then he told me that, if I wanted, I could help my brother accomplish those tasks.

"I remember his words clearly, as if he said them yesterday. I told my father that I would try, very hard, to help Dern. Then my father cautioned me, warning me not to live my life for my brother, but that it would be all right to do a little extra now and then in memory of Dern.

"I've never forgotten that promise and I think of my brother often. If fate had not stepped in that day, perhaps Dern, son of Yul the blacksmith, would have become a Knight Protector, instead of me. My brother has been my inspiration, and when Jatar knighted me, he knighted Dern as well. He is always with me, in here," Gustin said, tapping the center of his chest with the large forefinger of his right hand.

"I think that's wonderful, Gustin, and I'm sure Dern is proud of his younger brother. In these last two days, you have shown yourself to be a knight in more than just name," Elizabeth said and moved her small hand to his huge shoulder.

She got to her feet and picked up Michael, then said, "Where is Hetark, he promised to continue my lessons this morning. He's probably off trying to shirk his duty by working really hard on the horses or something; the nerve of the man," she said with a grin which showed she only jested.

"Actually, I did see him over by the horses, milady. May I escort you there?" Gustin offered.

"Why thank you, gallant knight, that would be appreciated," she answered, with a nod of her head.

They walked off toward the horses with Elizabeth's hand placed gently on Gustin's forearm and Michael held safely against his mother's hip.

Major Harland Von Dracek rode his tired horse into the palace courtyard in Tarnelin. Leaping down from the saddle, he cast the reins into a waiting lackey's hands and headed for the main entrance. The door guards recognized him and let him pass without hail. He took the Grand Stairs, three at a time, practically knocking a servant over as he crested the top. "Where is Jatar?" he demanded grabbing the startled servant by the upper arms to give him a shake.

The scared man stammered his answer, "H-H-H-He and the rest of the st-st-staff are in a meeting with the emissaries from Pruta, Sir."

"Where?" Von Dracek barked, giving the man another shake.

"The conference room, in the east hall, downstairs; look for the red door on the right, sir," he finally choked out.

Von Dracek released the servant, turned, and went down the stairs at the same pace he had ascended. Making a left turn, he traveled down the wide east hall swiftly; the heels of his boots echoed in rhythm with his fast pace. He found the door and, without knocking, he turned the handle, then entered.

A man's voice stopped speaking as Von Dracek opened the door and all eyes in the room turned to see who had dared to interrupt the meeting.

"What is he doing here?" a Prutian officer burst out.

From the center of the table, CAracusS turned to address the Prutian officer. "This is Harland Von Dracek, a Tchulian major and, more importantly, the man who saved me from the recent assassination attempt. He is now acting as a military advisor to Lindankar. You are all familiar with the expertise of the Tchulian mercenaries, they are, arguably, the best fighters in the world and Von Dracek is a battle proven Tchulian officer."

There were a few scowls, but most of the men in the room gave Von Dracek an appraising look, with grudging respect on their faces.

Von Dracek took a seat next to Jatar's imposter.

A Prutian officer stood at the podium in front of the long table where everyone was seated. He cleared his throat and then continued from where he had broken off, "As you all know, our Ruler is without an heir, so it will take some time to sort out the various claims to the throne. Lord Armal obviously knew this when he decided to murder Lord Rinholt. He probably thought that Pruta would be an easy conquest once our leader was dead and our political situation in transition, but our military is ready and we are committed to the protection of Pruta and the destruction of Olsk!"

After he finished his speech the officer took his seat. A Prutian emissary directed a question to Lord Ardellen. "Milord, I'm not yet clear on the details of the crime scene. You are an impartial witness, and you were nearly first on the scene, could you explain what you found and your conclusions?"

During the officer's speech, Von Dracek gave CAracusS some extremely puzzled looks, particularly when he heard that Lord Rinholt was murdered by Lord Armal. CAracusS signaled back for him to wait by shaking his head almost imperceptibly. The necromancer stood up and walked up to the podium, where he turned to face the assembled men. He put a grave look on Jatar's face and said, "I was in my library when a servant told me that Lord Armal and Lord Brik Rinholt were dead. I immediately followed the servant down to the room where they had been discovered by another one of my servants and Lady Rinholt."

"Could Lady Rinholt have changed any evidence before you got there, milord?" asked a Prutian.

"No, the servant stayed with her and she fainted to the floor immediately. In fact, she was still out when I arrived and I had her removed from the room. I found the two rulers seated at a table and both were dead from dagger wounds. Lord Armal had a dagger, with the Rinholt family emblem on it, stuck through his left eye. Lord Rinholt had a dagger wound in his stomach, which I assume is what killed him, due to the amount of blood on the floor. Lord Armal's personnel dagger was still clenched in his dead hand; both the dagger and his hand were covered with blood.

"From the evidence, I can only conclude that Lord Armal stabbed Lord Rinholt in the gut, first, and then Lord Rinholt must have pulled his dagger and stabbed Lord Armal in the eye. Lord Rinholt then died of the stomach wound, soon after dispatching his attacker, Lord Armal," CAracusS postulated, lying effortlessly and convincingly, he had practiced this speech several times before this meeting.

"So, you believe there was no chance that Lord Rinholt stabbed Lord Armal first?" asked the Prutian emissary.

"Absolutely not, it's rather difficult to do much of anything when you have a dagger stuck in your brain."

"Then, Lord Rinholt was only defending himself against a murderous attack by Lord Armal of Olsk," the emissary concluded.

"That is the way I read it as well and I'd like to add that, based on these facts, Lindankar must side with Pruta. It is clear that the ruler of Olsk committed the first act of war. Lindankar is prepared to back Pruta against Olsk, should this come to battle. I would like to offer my personal help in organizing things until your countrymen resolve the proper successor to the throne of Pruta. Now, gentlemen, we have much to prepare. I suggest we reconvene, at this same time, tomorrow, to plan our next course of action; thank you," CAracusS finished and walked to the door; Von Dracek got up and followed.

A few minutes later, CAracusS entered the Ardellen private library again, this time with Major Von Dracek. He had just finished explaining to the Tchulian how their fellow conspirator had murdered the rulers of two countries, at the same time, without consulting with his co-conspirators on such a drastic action.

When the necromancer finished his narrative, Von Dracek looked up at him from where he had been staring at a shelf of books and said, "If anyone discovers that Armal and Rinholt did not murder each other, the blame will immediately fall on Jatar because they were killed in your palace. Not to mention, you were one of the first people on the scene and confirmed that they killed each other. Pruta and Olsk would unite against a common foe and then attack Lindankar, likely defeating us and ruining all our plans."

"You see," CAracusS fumed, "he has sabotaged us! I think it is about time we kill that pompous idiot!" The necromancer's tone showed he would really enjoy murdering the man.

But Von Dracek shook his head, "No, the death of yet another ruler would be too suspicious, and might cause the very speculation on your involvement that we wish to avoid. Besides, as a ruling Lord, he can still be of use to us. No, we'll just have to keep this reckless Lord on a shorter leash. Besides, truthfully, he hasn't ruined anything yet, in fact, though his act was bold and rash, it looks as though it might work out like he planned. This could put us in control of two more countries, years before I expected we would get that far."

"Assuming everything falls our way," the necromancer noted with gloom.

Von Dracek nodded and said, "The trick is to win this war against Olsk. They are a larger country, with correspondingly larger manpower for their army; however, with both Pruta and Lindankar combined, we should be able to win. I'm not saying that it will be easy, but if I take command of the war strategy and you put me in charge acting as your liaison to the Prutian commanders, it could work."

CAracusS could see the wheels of thought churning behind Von Dracek's eyes; his pupils had contracted to mere pinpoints. After a moment, the necromancer asked, "How soon do you think we can wrap this up and get back onto our original plan?"

"Oh, I'd say we can probably win the war with Olsk in about five years," Von Dracek replied.

"Five years! I thought it would be over within the year!" the necromancer exclaimed.

"Completely subjugating a country isn't something that happens overnight. It will take hard work to do it even within the five years I estimated and I may have been too optimistic," he explained.

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't complain; Jatar's body is young, so time is not my chief concern. Besides, when the time comes, I will just transfer myself into another young body," the necromancer stated while patting the hilt of the cathexis dagger stuck through his belt.

Von Dracek stood behind CAracusS, so the necromancer didn't see the hungry look the major gave the dagger. After a moment, Von Dracek pulled his thoughts away from the cathexis blade and his plans for taking it from the necromancer someday. He decided it was time to deliver his bad news and said, "We have another problem; Lady Ardellen and the heir are still on the loose."

CAracusS turned around in surprise and exclaimed, "Then why have you returned? She must be killed! We can't afford to let her stir up trouble while we're trying to win a war; it will undermine us!"

"She slipped through the trap I set for her and our horses were lost in the confusion, but I did manage to wound her severely," Von Dracek admitted reluctantly.

"How severely? Is it possible she will die?" the necromancer asked hopefully.

"No, it was an attack on her spirit and, though it was supposed to kill her, somehow, she defeated it. Eventually, the wound she took to her spirit will heal, but it will take time. Meanwhile, while she is wounded her aura powers will be severely limited. If our horses had not been lost, we would have followed and finished her swiftly," he explained.

"Then there's no need to worry, my vorghoul will find and kill them," CAracusS noted with confidence.

"How many did you send?" Von Dracek asked.

"I had three of them near enough when she fled, I sent them all," replied CAracusS.

"Only three, well, that's too bad," the Tchulian merc replied, shaking his head in mock sadness.

"Don't worry, they will kill her, I guarantee it. They're much more reliable than soldiers who can't even keep their horses," CAracusS answered in a mocking tone.

"Don't be so ready to guarantee your beasties; at least half my men came back alive. I found all three of your creatures slaughtered on the road," Von Dracek informed the necromancer.

"What... you're sure they were vorghoul?" CAracusS demanded incredulously.

"They are hard to mistake, you know. Even dead they have a certain look to them," Von Dracek replied, sarcastically.

"This is inconceivable, a woman, with a child, and a few green knights defeat three of Vorg's ancient creatures and twenty Tchulian soldiers!" exclaimed the necromancer, as he paced back and forth in the room in total disbelief.

"One Knight Protector isn't green, his name is Hetark and he has the reputation of being a good commander. And, although the other two don't have much experience, they were two of the most skilled fighters in this whole country, don't count them too lightly," cautioned Von Dracek and then added, "And then there is Lady Ardellen, she is a full Kirnath Adept."

"Warriors, they are just bodies needing disposal, however, I'm growing tired of this woman; she has been a problem from the start. In the beginning, I didn't take her too seriously, but she has now earned my full attention," the necromancer intoned with narrowed eyes. CAracusS opened the door of the room and stuck his head out into the hall before calling loudly to a servant, "You there, have one of the officers I arrested brought to the questioning room; I'll be down, momentarily, to handle the interrogation."

The servant left to do as his ruler commanded.

CAracusS closed the door and turned back to Von Dracek as he explained, "I'm going to recall the Darknull Baron. I'm sure he will relish the chance to consume a Kirnath sorceress. With Lady Ardellen suffering from your attack, the beast should make short work of her soul." CAracusS started rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"How did the arrests of the Lindankar commanders go?" Von Dracek inquired.

"Not as well as we hoped, only about a third of the military commanders and a few of the servants were around when I started the arrests. That sorceress bitch got a message passed around the very night she escaped! Her message explained her suspicions about what happened to her husband and her guesses were fairly accurate. That damned woman figured out our whole plot and warned many of her retainers and commanders. She instructed them to leave here and join her in a year's time. A stupid colonel told me about the note, before I had him imprisoned. That's another thing we owe that troublesome sorceress," the necromancer fumed.

The Tchulian's brow furrowed in thought as he said, "This is bad, it means the rumors of Jatar's possession will spread even faster. We'll need to squash every whisper of these theories or this will be all over the country in days and you'll be under deep scrutiny."

CAracusS' face turned red in anger at Lady Ardellen and the trouble she was causing his plan. After a moment, he finally said, "Can't this troublesome woman just have the decency to die? I've killed her husband, taken his body, and stolen his throne, it is clear that she has lost and is now just clawing at us as she bleeds out."

Von Dracek shrugged and said, "It is not the way of the Kirnath Sorcerers to give up easily. We will speak more about this later; for now, I must get some rest. I've been on the road for the last twenty bells."

With a sarcastic snarl, CAracusS answered, "What, you wish to forego meeting the Darknull Baron for the second time? He doesn't scare you, does he? Never mind, you would only soil yourself again, anyway."

"I can handle your gruesome friend," the major replied haughtily, but his thoughts were of a different nature. _I hope you remember your remarks when I_ pry _that cathexis dagger from your dead grasp!_

When evening hung its dark coat across the sky, the weary travelers finally made camp in the forest. Elizabeth did another check of their back trail and found nothing in pursuit. After Hetark prepared a hot meal over the campfire they sat around to discuss plans. Drake played peek-a-boo with Michael, making funny faces between his hands; it was one of his newest duties as a Knight Protector.

Hetark lay on his stomach, propped over his bedroll. He used a stick to draw designs in the dirt by firelight. After a moment of thought, he asked, "How soon are we planning to turn west toward Mordan? We're just about past the mountains so, if we turn now, we could cross the foothills."

Elizabeth lay curled on top of her unrolled blankets, facing the other three knights across the fire. The flames illuminated her face in the yellow flickering light. For a moment, she contemplated Hetark's question, while staring into the red coals of the fire.

"I'm thinking about changing our plan and continuing to the Kirnath School, it's only another two days' travel south. The Kirnath sorcerers can help protect us from anything, short of an army, and we would have plenty of warning if an army did attempt to approach the school. Staying there a few days would give us protection and time to recuperate. It would also give me a chance to heal my spirit; in fact, the Adepts could accelerate the healing process by transferring some aura energy.

"From there, we could strike out for Mordan, fresh. Besides, I've had a bad premonition about our current lack of pursuit. They haven't forgotten me and their next attempt will be more serious. Now that we have defeated their Tchulian mercs and the necromancer's souldead I have become more than a nuisance or a loose end, they are probably starting to think of me as an actual threat. They'll commit more of their resources to try and stop me, before I cause them real trouble. The necromancer may attempt some type of attack with his dark powers and, unfortunately, I don't know all the abilities that a Darknull grants a necromancer."

Hetark spoke up at that comment and asked, "But you know some things; what can you tell us about these bastards?"

"Only what I was taught by my Kirnath instructors. I know that they don't use the power of their aura; somehow, they manipulate energy they have gained from the Dark Plane. I'll have to stay vigilant for an attack of the unknown as well as keep an eye out for a Darknull. The Necromancer who stole my husband's body brought one of those fell beasts into the world and he may do so again. Right now, my spirit is wounded and I'm weak, so I don't know if I can protect Michael adequately. Right now, the fastest way to get him the protection he needs is at the Kirnath School, even if our enemies anticipate our goal."

"I see, milady; then the only problem with your plan comes when we try to leave the school, they will, undoubtedly, be waiting for us in ambush. However, at this time I see no better alternative," agreed Hetark.

"Then we have decided, we'll make a break for the school and hope that they don't get there before we're ready to leave. If they do, we will just have to come up with a new plan to make our escape, but at least I will be at full strength when we attempt whatever we decide to try. Besides, the other Adepts can help; they are very powerful," Elizabeth finished.

CAracusS had been disappointed when he discovered that the Lindankar palace didn't come equipped with a torture chamber. _How uncivilized,_ he thought. He could not imagine how a ruler could build a palace and not have all the essential tools of leadership nearby. He immediately rectified this oversight by converting a storeroom into a passable information gathering and fear inducing chamber of pain.

Von Dracek had left some Tchulian soldiers at his disposal, so the necromancer used them to remove the contents of the storeroom. Next, he had them bring in some items he desired: a metal table, a brazier with coals, and chains, with ring attachments. He had servants mount the chains to the walls. He also had them bring candles for hot wax, six different knives, two hammers, leather strings, a bucket of water, three pairs of tongs, and a stool for his comfort. He surveyed his accomplishment from the door and thought, _Well, it's rather crude compared to the comforts of home, yet it will have to do._

Now he approached his new room to use it for the first time. Waiting, chained to the table, was a colonel from Jatar's old military staff. He shook in fear, his head turning to stare wide-eyed at the approach of the necromancer, though he saw him as Lord Jatar. CAracusS immediately went over to the shaking man and recognized him as the colonel who had been found tied up under his desk. After he had been released, he had come to CAracusS to expose Becaris and the others who he considered traitors. CAracusS had listened and then decided that, since the officer had read Elizabeth's letter, he could not be trusted. He had the man arrested locked up in solitary confinement, until now.

He looked down at the man's fearful face almost kindly. CAracusS often felt a kindred spirit for his victims. He spoke to the shaking man in a pleasantly conversational voice, "Well, Colonel, we meet again. You should know that I did not specifically ask for you but, now that you are here, we'll have to make the best of the situation. It's nothing personal, but I couldn't allow you to live to talk to any of the other commanders. I would have given you a quick death for your help in coming to me with the information about the traitors, but the fact is, you just slipped my mind. Now it would waste time to get another prisoner up here to be tortured. The truth is, I just can't afford to wait, so, I'm sorry, but it's a busy time."

Behind the gag, the man tried to speak, but only an unintelligible high-pitched squeaking issued from behind the cloth binding his mouth.

"No, it won't help to argue, my mind is made up. We'll just have to make the best of it. We'll start simple and work up to the more excruciating elements." As the necromancer spoke, he picked up a candle and lit the wick from a nearby torch. Then he opened the man's shirt to expose the white skin of his quivering stomach. After a few moments to let the flame melt the wax, he tilted the candle to let the hot liquid pour out onto the soft white skin.

Out in the Gellern forest, Corporal Bante reached the splitting of the paths. The major had ordered him to continue back to Lindankar, but he was considering disobeying. Not far down the southeast path, he knew there was an Inn where he might obtain horses. If he quick marched his men to the Inn, they could procure new mounts. Then it still might be possible to overtake Lady Elizabeth and her knights before they escaped.

He contemplated his options. With Von Dracek out of the picture, he was in charge. However, his commander had left him with clear orders. He considered the consequences of disobedience and the rewards for success. _If I kill the sorceress,_ he thought, _I will get the glory and perhaps a promotion._ If, _on the other hand, I go back empty handed, I'll have a black mark on my record for losing all the men in my first command. I need a victory to offset that defeat._

Having decided which move would best benefit his career, he ordered the men to double time it down the southeast path toward the Inn.

CAracusS decided that the tortured bloody body of the officer had reached its maximum potential of pain and despair. He concentrated and tore open the rift between the planes, calling out into the darkness, "I, CAracusS, call forth Baron Qyrmswav; speak with me now, as our bargain dictates."

A foul disturbance wafted through the rift from the other side and a smell like rotten meat permeated the room. Some time went by and CAracusS figured some creature on the Dark Plane must have gone to summon the Baron. Then, finally, he heard words which sounded like the sucking pop of eyeballs being gouged from their sockets. These sounds formed words within his mind which said, "I am here, necromancer; what bargain do you propose?"

"Would the great Baron be interested in the spirit energy of a full Kirnath sorceress adept?"

"What is the catch, necromancer? The soul of an adept is a rare find, so you would not offer it lightly," the disgusting voice noted.

"There is no catch; she is fleeing from us in the Gellern forest. She is severely spirit wounded and low on aura power, her normal defenses against you are weak and can be easily breached; she is ripe for the plucking. You need only follow her down the path I will describe and that will take you to the general area where she is fleeing. Once there, I assume you can track her by the taste of her wounded spirit. Once the sorceress and anyone protecting her have been consumed, you must then return to the Dark Plane," finished CAracusS, with a merchant's smile painted on his face.

"Which adept is it that I seek?" asked a voice which sounded of ripping and snapping tendons from a knee being forced open backward.

"Lady Elizabeth Ardellen; now, do you accept the bargain?"

"Yes, she will be mine! Long have I lusted to taste the life force of a Kirnath female. Tell me where to find her and I will feast," Qyrmswav agreed.

"Take the southern path out of the city to where it enters the Gellern forest, follow the southwest turn at the fork; she will be somewhere along that path," CAracusS instructed the foul creature. Then he opened the rift wide enough for the Baron to enter the world and begin his chase through the night's cloaking darkness.

Elizabeth got up with the dawn light and contemplated the future. She then used her Aura to check their back trail, just in case. The sorceress abruptly turned and walked swiftly back to rouse the knights. She hurriedly began to roll up her blankets as she explained, "We must leave for the Kirnath School, immediately."

"You don't wish to train a little more on combat this morning?" Hetark asked.

"We'll have to forego that today, we have need of speed if we are going to reach the school before pursuit overtakes us," Elizabeth said, her voice carefully controlled since she didn't want her fear affecting the knights.

"You located some soldiers back on our trail?" Drake guessed.

"Actually, I did locate two groups of humans traveling the path behind us, ten men are just reaching the Targ's Inn and one of them had a mind shield. No doubt, those are the remaining Tchulians attempting to obtain more mounts. However, humans are not my concern or the reason for my haste."

"More vorghouls on our trail?" Gustin guessed.

"I wish that were all," she answered quietly and then spoke louder, "As I feared, the necromancer has sent a Darknull beast, perhaps the very one that destroyed Jatar's soul. That horrid creature is swiftly following our back trail. Right now, it is seeking shelter for the day in a dark hollow, a couple of bells behind us, but close enough for me to sense. If it had been just a little closer, it would have reached us last night. Thank G'lan that the summer sun rises early, or we would have been surprised by that thing," she answered, her voice quivering slightly.

"It can't pursue us in the day?" Drake asked.

"It could, but sunlight makes them uncomfortable, though it won't kill a Darknull. They prefer the darkness of night, when it is more like their own world," Elizabeth explained.

"Well, at least now we know of the necromancer's next attack," Hetark put in bravely.

"Yes, and it is as bad as I expected. We cannot kill this creature. If I were at full strength, I could protect us, perhaps even wound it, but I doubt I could kill such a beast. If three or four adepts attacked one all at once, we might have a chance to finish the monster, or at least send it back to whence it came. Our only hope is to run for the Kirnath School."

Hetark heard the worry in her voice and grew concerned. Then he asked, "Milady, it's more than a day's ride to the school from here, won't it overtake us once night falls?"

Elizabeth's voice quivered even though she tried to keep it steady, "Yes, it will. I will attempt to fight it off and may succeed, if it isn't too powerful."

The knights could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Is there anything we can do to fight it, milady?" asked Drake.

"Fire is the only physical thing which bothers a Darknull. Remember that you cannot kill it, but fire could help to keep it at bay. When it gets near, we must make torches and have them ready to light. I can give you a little notice when the thing is approaching, now that I know it is coming. We'll have to picket the horses some distance away or they will bolt in fear and be lost. Then, we must try to hold it off until daylight comes once again and it retreats.

"Once it attacks, keep in a small group to protect each other's backs, but don't bother with your swords, they won't do anything to a Darknull. Instead, put a torch in each of your hands and wave them around to make a barrier of fire. I will try to drive it away, but my aura is weak so the fire may be our only hope until morning comes and we continue running for the school."

"There must be some way we can help attack the beast! I'm not afraid of this thing," Drake stated bravely.

"Don't try it, Drake, the Darknulls are not of this world. If the Darknull attaches to your body, it will destroy your immortal soul. Remember, the death of your body is a far better choice than the foul kiss of the Darknull beast, for it will consume your soul," Elizabeth explained, looking into the young knights' shining eyes and speaking in a low tone to emphasize the seriousness of the danger.

"I'm not afraid," Drake said again, with his chin held high.

In reply, Elizabeth just answered, "We had best be on our way and we must ride like the wind, the eater of souls will fly swiftly after us once the sun sets."

Quietly they mounted up. Just before they spurred their mounts, Drake muttered under his breath so that only Gustin heard, "Well, Gustin, you're out of a job; we have a real enemy to try and kill me every mile, oh joy."

The morning sunlight cast a band of light across the desktop where Major Von Dracek sat in the Lindankar palace. Three sets of orders lay in the light on the desk and all three were penned in Jatar's handwriting. Von Dracek read them over again, carefully. His thoughts were puzzled: _Why, Jatar? What possessed you to send your precious signet ring with one of these ambassadors? Or, maybe I should say, this ambassador,_ he picked up an order and then decided, _These other two are unimportant, but Zinterdalin is a sticky piece of politics. You should have been there yourself; a substitute, even if he is your cousin, was not enough for that volatile of a situation. Did you send the signet ring with him to show the Zinterdalin ruler that your ambassador had been granted the power to make decisions? Perhaps..._

He picked up a blank piece of paper and began to write. The message was in code, but translated it read:

"Command: N. has replaced J.- War eminent between O. and P.- L. will support P. in the upcoming battles. Need commanders sent to L. immediately - Man named G'Taklar on embassy to Z, apprehend and search for J.'s signet ring, find it by any means possible. - Mj. V.D."

Having finished writing and coding the message, the major went to the closet in the room and removed a small wicker cage. Inside, were three leathery creatures standing on a perch, with their wings wrapped around their bodies, making them into little cylindrical shapes. Each creature stood about two hand spans tall. Two beady red eyes and two large pointy ears peeked out above the wrapped wings.

Von Dracek carefully removed one of the creatures from the cage and then tied the small rolled up message to its blue scaly leg. He took it to the open window. Once there, he placed the winged creature in the sunlight. Slowly, the cold-blooded creature unfolded its wings and stretched, its wing span was surprisingly large, about two feet from tip to tip. After a short time, it bounced toward the window edge, twice, and then launched itself into the air as it took flight for its home in a faraway place.

The orange sun fell toward the horizon rapidly while the long shadows of dusk clawed their way across the path as Elizabeth and her knights galloped through the forest. They had switched horses regularly all day to allow their mounts to keep up this grueling pace. Suddenly, Elizabeth reined in, slowing her horse to a canter, and said, "We are still too far from the school. I cannot reach the Adepts by thought and we cannot reach the school before the Darknull overtakes us. We must use the remaining light to gather wood for a large fire. Once darkness is here the Darknull will catch us and we must be prepared."

They did as she commanded. A few minutes later, Drake and Gustin were out gathering wood when Drake asked his big friend, "What do you know about these Darknull things?"

"Not much," Gustin answered, "just things you hear, like old sayings, 'Uglier than a Darknull', or 'Don't go in the dark or the Darknulls will eat you', that kind of thing."

"Have you heard anything about what they look like?" Drake asked, concentrating on Gustin's reply.

"Not really, only that they are the most hideous things you will ever see," Gustin answered, not really noticing Drake's intense interest.

"They can't be much uglier than those vorghoul, besides, I'm used to traveling with you, so I've built up my tolerance for ugly things," Drake kidded, trying to lighten his spirits.

"Funny, little man. Do you need me to help you load up a couple more twigs? Obviously, a heavy branch would be out of the question," Gustin replied, joining into the banter.

"This is kindling, I leave the lumber carting business to dumb pack animals, like you," Drake fired back.

"I can always tell when you are worried about something, Drake, you start making large and dumb jokes. Don't worry, I'll protect you from the Darknull," the big man assured him, striking closer to the mark than he knew.

"I'm not afraid of monsters, I can protect myself quite well, thank you," Drake answered, a little too forcefully, as if trying to convince himself of his bravery.

Sometime later, Drake stood around the fire with the others and said, "I hate waiting."

All four of the humans waited in a circle, facing out into the hostile darkness. There was a large fire burning at their backs. Beside each knight they had extra wood piled and spare torches stood in a pyramid close to their right hands. The firelight sent their shadows dancing to unheard music against the tree trunks surrounding the clearing.

"Are you sure our horses are far enough away, milady?" Hetark asked. His mind kept jumping from one detail to the next, looking for a flaw in their preparations.

"Yes, Hetark," Elizabeth replied, "the creature won't be interested in horses, not when there are human auras to consume." The sorceress was standing to Hetark's direct left. Michael's head poked out from the leather pack on her back, his arms and legs projecting out of holes which Hetark had cut through the leather. This way, she could protect Michael with both her hands free to defend.

"I hate waiting," Drake noted again, sourly.

"Then why don't you just go out and find the beast?" Gustin asked from Drake's right.

"I'm not a fool; I just don't like this waiting. I wish it would just get here and then I'd be fine," Drake replied.

"The longer it waits, the less time there is until dawn; that's the way I look at it," Gustin explained.

"You would! I just hate waiting. By the way, when you turn to throw more wood on the fire, don't knock over my torches with your big clumsy arms, OK?" Drake instructed Gustin.

"There he goes again with the big man insults, now we know he's getting nervous," Gustin said to Elizabeth and Hetark.

"I am not getting nervous, dimwit," Drake stated scowling at Gustin.

"Temper getting a little 'short'?" Gustin asked emphasizing the word short.

"Now who's making stature jokes?" Drake asked.

"It comes," Elizabeth said softly to an instantly attentive Gustin and Drake.

CAracusS stood on a balcony at the palace, gazing off into the darkness of night as he said, "The Baron should have them by now, it was only a matter of time." CAracusS contorted Jatar's handsome face into a sardonic smile as he considered the destruction of the Kirnath sorceress.

From a pace behind the necromancer, Von Dracek answered, "Good, that's one less Kirnath in the world. It's time to go meet with the other rulers and ambassadors and continue our plans of conquest. Are you ready?"

"Of course, I know what to say," the necromancer replied.

"Good, after you then," the merc answered as he gestured with a sweep of his open hand.

The representatives of Pruta, Amak-Ta-Dol, Quisantia as well as the ruler of Tazlany, Lord Pellev Welter, and of Belorn, Lord Verdew Kestle, were all waiting when CAracusS entered the conference room. Von Dracek took a seat, but CAracusS continued up to the podium and turned to speak to the assembly.

"My esteemed representatives and leaders," and here he acknowledged Jatar's boyhood foster brothers individually with a nod as he added, "Lord Welter and Lord Kestle," then he continued, "I have called you here to clarify some rumors which you may have heard. Yesterday, Lord Armal murderously attacked Lord Rinholt. They fought and both of them died. From the evidence, which I personally inspected, I concluded that Lord Rinholt was attacked and mortally wounded before he defended himself and struck down Lord Armal. Because this outrageous murder took place in my country, in my palace, in my very home, I am declaring war on Olsk! I will support Pruta in their claim against their enemy."

CAracusS paused for a moment and enjoyed the looks of shock on the faces of Lord Welter, Lord Kestle and the two ambassadors of Amak-Ta-Dol and Quisantia. Before they could say anything, he continued, "I'd also like to ask the aid of your countries in righting this terrible wrong, which Lord Armal perpetrated on the people of Pruta."

Ambassador Shulst, of Amak-Ta-Dol, stood immediately and answered, "As most of you know, in the past I have had my differences with the late Lord Armal, yet I always respected him as an honorable opponent. I refuse to believe that he murdered Lord Rinholt. I cannot speak for my ruler in this choice, but I can tell you that I will be counseling him to have nothing to do with this war! Good evening, gentlemen." He turned, picked up his hat, and marched out of the room.

Quisantia's representative also stood and addressed those present, "This is a troubling matter, but without knowing more facts, I cannot counsel my ruler to throw our support behind Pruta or Olsk. Until Lord Kejil makes his decision, you may consider Quisantia neutral in this war. Good evening," he finished and walked out the door after ambassador Shulst.

Now Lord Pellev Welter climbed slowly to his feet and looked Jatar in the eye, as if trying to read something within the depths. After a moment, he said, "Jatar, I would advise you, as your foster brother, to reconsider your position. War is not the answer; it will ruin all your painstaking work to bring peace to the kingdoms. This can all be worked out by negotiations between the two countries; men don't need to die, by the thousands, for the act of one crazy man."

The Prutian representative jumped to his feet and shouted, "We don't want negotiation... we want revenge! Olsk took away our Lord by foul treachery and we will get amends."

"This is insanity! No one will come out the victor in this war, your countries are too well matched," reasoned Lord Welter.

"With the help of Tazlany, Belorn, and Lindankar, Pruta would be strong enough to overcome Olsk without too much destruction," CAracusS reasoned, "Join us; it will reduce the blood spilled in this conflict. You are my sworn brother, help us to right the deadly insult which Olsk has dealt both Pruta and Lindankar," the necromancer implored Lord Welter, trying hard to sound like Lord Jatar.

Lord Pellev shook his head in puzzlement as he answered, "I cannot, Jatar, I represent my people and I will not send them to their deaths in a war without provocation, even when my foster brother requests such action. Ask me for my life and I will give it to you, but not one life of my people will I risk in this senseless conflict. Tazlany will have no part in this," he stood and headed for the door.

"Go then, coward, we will aid Pruta and we'll defeat Olsk without Tazlany's help!" CAracusS called out to Jatar's foster brother's back.

Lord Welter paused at CAracusS' angry statement, but he did not turn to face Jatar as he said, "I will pretend that I did not hear that, because you are my sworn brother and you are distraught, but do not insult me again, Jatar." His voice was very controlled and, as he finished speaking, he continued out of the room.

CAracusS turned to face Jatar's second foster brother.

"Verdew, I don't know what is wrong with Pellev; perhaps you can speak to him and find out what I've done to make him turn his back on our friendship. We are at a time of difficult choices; a usurper has overrun Autrany and Olsk is preparing to do the same to Pruta. We must protect our allied countries by joining together and showing a common front!"

Lord Verdew Kestle stood, adjusted his lace cuffs, and then straightened his doublet, which were all actions designed to give him a moment to collect his thoughts. Finally, he said, "There is much here to study. Olsk has been on good terms with both Lindankar and Belorn for years, as has Pruta. Until now, Olsk and Pruta haven't had any serious problems. I still find it hard to believe that Olsk was attempting a planned action against their neighbor. Perhaps a personal disagreement turned to violence and had nothing to do with a takeover of their neighbor. Without more knowledge, I cannot commit to either side. Then there is the Usurper of Autrany. With Belorn sharing a border with Autrany, we must stay prepared to turn back his army should he decide to continue his bloody expansion. You have sent us troops to this aim, are these now going to be pulled away to the war with Olsk?"

"Of course not, but the Usurper is well entrenched within Autrany, so it will take a long and fierce war to retake that country from his iron grip. Pruta, on the other hand, has not fallen and, with our support, we can keep it that way. Combined, we can take Olsk and then turn our army on the Usurper," CAracusS finished powerfully.

"If Olsk is the aggressor then I am sympathetic to Pruta, but I cannot afford to weaken Belorn's borders by sending troops to help in a war of conquest. We must protect our own country from the aggressive actions of the Usurper," Lord Kestle apologized. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am leaving for Belorn, I have already been gone too long." Giving a short bow, Lord Verdew Kestle left the chamber.

CAracusS faced the Prutian representatives and said, "Pellev always was a coward, but Verdew will come along, after I've had a chance to speak with him in private. Don't worry, even if Lord Verdew doesn't send troops, with both Lindankar's and Pruta's armies under my control and strategy, we will defeat Olsk swiftly and decisively."

#### CHAPTER SIX: QYRMSWAV

Like a rising tide of putrid water, the ill feeling of the Darknull washed over Elizabeth and the knights, the horror had found them. Elizabeth called out into the night with a steady voice, "Depart, foul creature of darkness, for I am a wielder of the Spirit Light! You will receive nothing but pain if you attempt to attack these humans. Be gone, for you are an abomination which does not belong in our fair world!"

From just outside the light cast from the licking flames, where nothing of the creature could yet be seen, Baron Qyrmswav's reply came cloaked in the form of squishing and popping maggots. "I come for you, sorceress; I will dine on your wounded spirit and taste your soul as it writhes in sweet agony."

"You will taste nothing this night, except the pure power with which I will burn you. I am not so wounded that I cannot defend us from your foul touch. However, I am wasting my breath, Darknulls are merely puppets of your necromancer masters, so come dance to the pull of your puppet strings," Elizabeth spoke out bravely.

"It is we who use the necromancers to bridge the planes. Once here, we can dine on human souls, the sweetest of all delicacies. Strong spirits, such as yours, are the sweetest tasting of all human souls and, tonight, I will taste yours. However, sorceress, if you come to me willingly, I will let the others go, including the small one on your back. They will be the hunt of another day," the Baron offered in bargain.

The sick sounds of the Darknull's voice turned Hetark's stomach, but when he heard the bargain it offered Elizabeth anger helped him master his sickness. He called out with loathing, "Depart abomination; you cannot have our Lady to befoul with your disgusting touch. Leave or I swear I will destroy that putrid thing you call a body."

"You, my silly little knight, will be my appetizer," the vile voice answered. Then, with the swift sound of rushing air, the Darknull attacked Hetark.

Hetark brought his two torches up and waved them in an interconnecting pattern. At the same time, he stepped back until his heels felt the burning heat of the campfire. The Baron stopped just outside the pattern of Hetark's waving torches, assessing the barrier, and then the beast darted to the side and attacked. The knight felt the acid touch of the Darknull on his lower right calf and brought a torch down to block. The insubstantial Darknull jerked back away from the painful fire.

Elizabeth grew concerned; she could see Hetark's intricate pattern of defense starting to lose its steady pattern as fear caused the knight to lose concentration. The intense agony, from the brief acid touch of the Darknull and the mind assaulting presence of the beast, had Hetark on the edge of control. Elizabeth could see the patterns of his aura changing as panic overcame reason.

Hetark's mind reeled with the thoughts of flight, yet he pushed down those instinctual reactions and tried to maintain control.

Then, the cool tone of Elizabeth's voice penetrated through his distress, "Stand fast, Hetark, it cannot harm you when the fire is between you and the beast."

Inspired by the catalyst of Elizabeth's quiet composed voice, Hetark began to calm himself from within by using an old soldier's technique taught to him by his first sergeant. He recalled the litany he had been taught as a recruit, " _My body is my army. My flesh,_ bone, _and muscle are my soldiers, but without the mind my army has no commander and the battle is already lost. Panic is death; it leaves your army in a leaderless rout. I control my fears and guide my troops, for I am Hetark, and nothing will defeat my army while I command!"_

Elizabeth summoned her remaining reserve power to come to the faltering Hetark's aid, but then she watched a transformation come over the knight's aura. His face resumed its normal calculating and controlled set and the pattern of the torch defense became as crisp and sharp as a soldier's sword drill while on parade as his fear receded and Hetark regained control.

With a howl of rage, which was ghastly in the minds of the knights, the Darknull withdrew from Hetark's impeccable defense.

"Away, foul monster of the dark, or come feel the burn of fire! I do not fear your foul touch," Hetark called out in a fearless voice.

"Brave words, human thing, but let us see how your fellow mortals handle the pain of soul consumption," the dread Baron replied, with what sounded in Hetark's mind like the crunch of skulls and the squirt of brains being chewed up by giant teeth.

Moving around the circle, the Darknull sought a breach in the defense of its adversaries. It slowly oozed past the calm towering Gustin and then came to a complete halt in front of the diminutive Drake. It watched the small knight, but it did not speak or move.

Drake watched the alien creature and his mind kept seeing one foul image flow into another, all of them coming from the knight's own mind as he imagined disgusting horrors. One was a corpse with birds plucking out the round wet eyeballs, another a living screaming man staked to the ground with insects eating their way into his stomach. Each sick image was more disgusting, and fear began to creep into the fortress of Drake's mind.

Gustin looked over at Drake and saw rivers of sweat crawling down his friend's forehead to drip from his shaking brow.

Before Gustin could speak, Drake screamed at the Darknull, "Leave us alone, foul creature of evil, I do not fear you, depart or die!"

Gustin spoke to Drake in a reassuring voice, "Relax, it cannot..."

But the Darknull's foul thought thundered into Drake's mind and overpowered Gustin's voice, "I feel your fear, mortal man, and before this night is through, I will taste of your agony as I feast on your spirit!"

Like a dam breaking, the fear in Drake's mind burst free of his control and he screamed, "Die, you disgusting filth!" Before Gustin's outstretched arm could stop him, Drake sprang forward and thrust both of his torches into the Darknull's evil presence.

with incredible speed the Darknull oozed back and then rushed behind the stumbling knight. The small knight could not turn quickly enough to defend against the attack. The profane creature attached itself to his back, like some unnatural growth, and started to feed.

Drake dropped both torches and strained his arms back over his shoulders, trying to reach the horrible pain, as the entire rear half of his aura felt the dissolving acid agony of the Darknull feeding on his soul. Drake screamed horribly and collapsed onto his face, while writhing in the dirt of the forest floor in agony.

"No!" Gustin bellowed and leaped forward. He straddled the body of his fallen friend and thrust his torches down onto the insubstantial form of the clinging Darknull.

At the feeling of the fire within his body, the Baron slithered away. The hot flames of Gustin's torches burned through Drake's clothing and singed the skin of his back, but that burning flame felt like soothing water compared to the touch of the Darknull.

"Look out," Hetark called to Gustin, but the warning came too late; the foul creature attached itself to Gustin's back and began to feed. The big man staggered and a groan escaped through clenched teeth as he tried to withstand the terrible agony of his spirit being consumed by the attached monster. With three lurching steps, Gustin reached the campfire and he threw himself backward into the flames and coals, landing the monster in the large fire, along with Gustin's body. Almost instantly, Gustin's clothes caught on fire.

The Darknull slithered out of the fire with a howl of rage.

Hetark spun around and grabbed the kicking feet of the burning Gustin. Adrenaline coursed throughout Hetark's body and with every muscle and tendon straining, he managed to drag the heavy knight out of the fire. Then he dove on top of him, trying to smother the flaming clothing, while burning himself in the process.

The Darknull howled with sick loathsome laughter and leaped toward the unprotected back of Hetark, who was still beating out the flames on Gustin.

From across the licking flames of the fire, the sorceress stood unnoticed, her arms spread wide with palms facing the charging monster. Elizabeth knew she only had one chance, so she waited until the putrid creature expanded to envelop and attach itself to Hetark. Then she released her aura attack.

Blue light streaked from both her palms to impact with a crackle of energy three feet before her body and, from that point, the two beams joined and turned searing white. With a clear, high-pitched note the pure beam of aura energy lanced forward and pierced the Darknull faster than thought. The entire creature was instantly encased with bright light, and its scream of agony assaulted their minds.

Baron Qyrmswav fled the terrible light and pain within its body and the sounds of its agony faded rapidly into the dark of the forest trees as it swiftly fled.

Hetark looked up from the ground in time to see Elizabeth's arms sink down to her sides, then her knees bent and she collapsed slowly and lifelessly to her side on the ground.

By the third morning after Michael's ceremony, most of the foreign delegations had departed Lindankar. Three notable exceptions remained: the ambassador of Pruta, Lord Kestle of Belorn, and Lord Pellev Welter of Tazlany. The Olsk delegation had been the first to storm out of the capitol, escorting the body of their murdered ruler home. Only two of their party had remained in the city, though no one was officially informed of this fact, since they were spies.

One spy obtained a job as a servant in the Tarnelin palace. Getting the job had turned out to be fairly easy, since many positions had opened up when Lord Jatar locked up the household servants and charged them with treason. Currently, the spy was assigned to polishing silver in an antechamber of the palace. In truth, he was listening through a side door into the throne room where Jatar conducted audiences.

Lord Welter, of Tazlany, had just stormed in with the members of his court who had accompanied him to Lindankar. He walked up to where Lord Jatar was in conversation with the Prutian ambassador and then interrupted in a loud voice, "Jatar, I must speak with you, in private, immediately!"

"Pellev, quit being rude, you are interrupting a very important discussion. You may wait your turn for an audience like everyone else," CAracusS answered sternly and then turned back to the ambassador, pointedly ignoring Jatar's foster brother, Lord Welter.

"I mean now, Jatar!" Pellev commanded.

"How dare you command me in my palace; you are pushing your foster brother status too far!" CAracusS replied angrily.

"You will come and explain your plans for entering Tazlany with an army, or we will discuss it publicly here," Lord Welter demanded.

"Fine, I have no secrets from my allies, so speak your piece, Pellev," CAracusS stated, looking down his nose imperiously at his fellow ruler.

"I have learned that you plan to move your army across Tazlany on your way to attack Olsk. What have you to say to that?" asked Lord Welter, as if he had sprung a trap.

"Yes, we would just be passing through your country; what is the problem?" CAracusS asked, as if there was no issue.

"Just passing through? Have you forgotten what destruction lies along the back trail of an army? Have you forgotten what they will do to Tazlany's farms, towns, and women? Not to mention, if I let your army gain an advantage by passing through our country, it would appear that I have given you my approval in your attack against Olsk. That is the same as joining you in this foolish endeavor and it drags Tazlany into the war. No, under no circumstances will your army be allowed to pass through to attack Olsk and that is my final word," the Tazlany ruler finished and crossed his arms to signal the finality of his statement.

CAracusS slowly rose to his feet as he said, "And what are you going to do if we march our army across Tazlany, without your permission... join Olsk against us? There are no neutral parties in this war, Pellev, can't you see that? You are either for us or against us!"

"Is this the man who spoke so often of a lasting peace? Now you thirst for war, but Tazlany will not join you in this insanity, nor will I."

"Then you are a fool, as well as an enemy. Depart Lindankar, before I forget your diplomatic guarantees and have your head struck from your shoulders for being a traitor to everything you and I have shared!" CAracusS exclaimed, hatred obvious in his tone as well as his words.

Lord Welter stood stunned for a moment, but then his face darkened and he answered, "So be it, Jatar, you are my brother no longer." Lord Welter spat on the marble floor in front of Jatar and then spun on the ball of his left foot and marched out of the hall.

From the back of the audience chamber, Lord Verdew Kestle watched with narrowed eyes. However, a moment later, he slipped from the hall and headed for his chambers. Whatever he was about to say to CAracusS was postponed; instead, he went to write a secret message.

At the same moment, the spy from Olsk quickly departed from where he had been listening to this exchanged. He also went to prepare a message detailing the schism between Tazlany and Lindankar. For Olsk, this falling out between Jatar and Pellev was an unexpected, yet beneficial, development. He sent his message by a winged carrier to his fellow spy, who dwelt in another part of the city.

Morning found Elizabeth's small band still collapsed around the fire. A thin trail of smoke rose from the ashes of the spent fire and curled its way high into the green treetops of the Gellern forest.

Hetark had placed the unconscious Elizabeth on her back with a folded cloak for a pillow. Michael was playing with twigs in the pine needles near his mother. Hetark knelt by Gustin as he finished binding bandages around Gustin's seared skin on his broad back.

Gustin glanced over to a fallen log to where Drake sat with his hands clasped and fingers interlaced. The small knight's elbows were on his knees and his head drooped forward in shame. The big knight glanced up at Hetark and spoke quietly, "He blames himself for Elizabeth's condition."

Hetark nodded and said, "Fear is something we all share, but I don't think Drake has truly faced his fear before that battle. From what I understand, everything he has ever feared he convinced himself he could defeat, one way or another. Now he has found something that he cannot overcome, so fear and shame are eating him alive."

Gustin looked with sadness at his once spunky little friend, wishing to see his quick grin and sharp wit again, even if it was aimed at Gustin. "Is there nothing we can do?"

Hetark replied, "I don't believe he is ready for our help yet; he'll have to come to terms with himself first. Eventually, he will need our support; his self-confidence may be damaged for some time to come."

"What of Elizabeth?" Gustin now asked, while glancing at her still form with the pain of helplessness painted on his face.

"I fear for her, Gustin; her breathing is shallow and her face is colorless. I believe she may have taxed herself beyond those limits of which she spoke," he answered. Hetark looked at Michael playing beside his mother and his thoughts reached out to their young charge: _If she dies, this poor child will have lost both his parents._

Gustin sighed heavily; Elizabeth's body looked so frail to him in her unconscious state. He said, "If only I could return the power she used to heal me, I would, even if it meant my death. She healed us when we were in danger, now I feel so helpless!"

Hetark nodded and replied, "I agree, but perhaps there is a way to help Elizabeth. If we can ride far and fast enough, we might reach the Kirnath School before that horrid creature returns from licking its wounds. Once at the Kirnath School, one of the sorcerers could heal Elizabeth, as she healed us. It will be a difficult ride and we are all wounded. Only you are strong enough to keep Elizabeth in front of you on your horse for long but, in your condition, do you think you have the strength to ride hard throughout the day and night while supporting her unconscious body?"

"I would tend her to the ends of the world before I let her fall," the massive Gustin promised.

Knowing how weakened they were from the battle with the Darknull, Hetark knew that even Gustin's strong arms would soon feel the pain from continuously holding Elizabeth in place. He looked into Gustin's eyes and saw that he knew how difficult it would be to accomplish what he promised. In his weakened condition, he might have a hard time keeping himself in the saddle.

Hetark clapped Gustin on a piece of his shoulder that was not bandaged and said, "I know that you would take care of her forever if you had to, Gustin, but I would consider it an honor if I could spell you along the way. Will you permit me the honor?"

"Perhaps, once or twice," Gustin answered, with a wan smile.

"Drake!" Hetark called, "It's time to go. We must ride, without pause, until we reach the Kirnath School and you must carry Michael. Gustin and I will take care of Elizabeth," Hetark called to the seated knight.

"As you ask, so shall it be, Hetark," replied the troubled man. With profound dread in his voice, he then asked, "What if that 'thing' catches us before we reach the Kirnath sorcerers?"

"Then we shall have to fight it off," Hetark replied matter-of-factly.

"Are you proposing that we stop and construct another fire as evening approaches?" Gustin asked.

After a moment of thought, Hetark replied, "I don't think we should. If we hurry, we might make it to the school before midnight. If we stop, I think we will be guaranteeing an attack by the Darknull. By continuing the ride, we could arrive at the Kirnath School before the creature catches up to us."

"If we are without the fire when it reaches us, we will have nothing with which to combat the monster and all will be lost," Gustin added dismally.

"I have an alternative," Drake said and, for the first time since the night before, he showed a little energy. "If the creature is getting near, I will stop to delay it while the three of you continue on toward the protection of the adepts."

"You realize that you are contemplating more than death? That beast consumes souls; if it kills you, nothing may be left to reach The River," Hetark answered, reminding him of what Elizabeth had told them of the Darknulls.

Drake looked away, but replied, "I know, yet what other plan do we have? If that thing catches us, we will all be consumed. At least, this way, when I cease to be, I will know I have conquered my fears and died a true Knight Protector. Michael must be protected at any cost. Perhaps my sacrifice will give you the time you need to get him to safety."

Gustin looked at his haunted friend and weighed Drake's resolve. Then he said, "You are correct, Drake; your plan might save Elizabeth and Michael, yet I can increase the odds of success by joining you in facing the creature. Two of us will help to slow it, even more. We can protect each other's back. Will you guard my back, my friend? There is no other man I would feel more confident with than you."

Drake walked forward and clasped his forearm to Gustin's.

"It would be my honor to die fighting with you at my back, Gustin."

"If both of you are finished deciding how to die, can we get on with our ride? With speed, perhaps we can avoid anyone's soul from being consumed by that awful thing," Hetark exclaimed from Elizabeth's side.

Gustin slapped Drake lightly on the back before mounting, but his mind was on the small man's troubles. Drake had seldom taken anything seriously since Gustin had known him; there was no situation where Drake had not been ready with a quick jibe or witty comment. His serious comments showed how deeply fear had crept into at his friend's mind.

After riding all night on their newly obtained mounts, Corporal Bante and his Tchulian mercs stopped at a stream to water the tired horses. As the horses drank, the Tchulian soldiers changed saddles to the spare mounts.

One soldier looked uneasily at the corporal as he cinched his horse's saddle and then said, "When did the Major say he would rejoin us?"

Corporal Bante lied smoothly to the soldier, while continuing to tighten the straps of his saddle, "He said he would try and rejoin us before we attacked, but he also told me to use my discretion if we got close and had the opportunity."

Another soldier came over to join the conversation. "I'm not as good a tracker as Mauklar was but, from the hoof marks in the stream bank, I think they passed here some five to seven bells ago."

"Then if they stopped to sleep, we could be close. Bide a moment while I think," Bante ordered and then he concentrated and brought his aura powers to bear. He quested outwards, searching for their prey for the first time. He hoped that the sorceress was too tired or wounded to notice the aura probe. Bante's widening circle of awareness encountered Elizabeth's small band only a short ride ahead. Looking quickly, he noticed that the woman's aura seemed extremely weak, so he knew she wouldn't be using any of her powers against him for some time.

Nervous with the excitement of his prey so close and the sorceress so helpless, Bante brought his aura extension quickly back to his body and called to his men, "I have a feeling our prey is very close, so we shall continue without further rest. We might even overtake them before they break camp, so mount up!" Bante called out and added, "Yaslier, you ride point, get out ahead about a quarter of a league. When you come upon them, back off quietly and we will plan a coordinated attack."

Yaslier saluted and rode out ahead of the troop.

The rest of the tired Tchulian mercenaries grumbled as they mounted up, though they were used to following orders.

Bante noticed the reluctance and quickly hit upon a plan.

"Perk up girlies, our chase is nearly at an end. Their sorceress is wounded to the point where she is out of the battle and we will have our revenge for our lost comrades before this day is done!"

The men still didn't look very excited about the prospect of attacking the Knight Protectors and sorceress, so Bante decided to boost their energy with something a professional soldier would understand best. "Each soldier who kills one of our enemies will get triple wages for the month and all of you will get double wages if we take them before this time tomorrow!"

That got a better response out of them and a soldier called out a question, "Are you guaranteeing that pay out of your purse, corporal?"

Jingling a full leather pouch attached to his side, Bante smiled back at the man and answered, "Absolutely. Now let's kill these troublesome knights and, perhaps, you can taste the woman after I'm through; I'll bet none of you have ever had a chance at royalty. Let's ride!"

Bante was pleased with the reaction to his speech and congratulated himself in thought: There, I have promised them payment and a beautiful woman, that ought to keep them motivated.

The troop of mercenaries galloped off with renewed vigor, hot on the trail of Michael, the Lindankar Knights, and the helpless Lady Elizabeth.

Hetark, Gustin, and Drake galloped along the forest trail and their horses' hooves pounded rhythmically on the soft forest path with dull thumping sounds. They rode with a single-minded purpose to go as far and fast as they could manage. They had changed horses four times during the day, but made no other stops.

Drake rode silently, withdrawn in fear of what pursued them and how he would react when it came time to face what he feared. No matter how fast they rode, he was convinced the Darknull beast would overtake them and attack. He carried Michael on his back in the pack sling. The small boy had cried at the terrible endless galloping ride but, eventually, he'd lapsed into a fitful sleep as fatigue set in and he passed out. Drake had checked on him at each change of horses, but he seemed to be relatively fine.

Hetark had taken Elizabeth from Gustin six times to spell the big man.

Each time, Hetark had carried her as far as he could, until each of his arms felt like lead weights as he tried to support her slumping body in front of him in the saddle. Had she been conscious, this would have been easy, but unconscious, her body constantly sagged and tried to slip off the saddle. He'd kept going until his arms began to droop and bend from the weight and he feared he would lose her to the pounding hooves below. Only when he could no longer physically support her another foot would he return her to Gustin's horse.

Gustin had cared for her most the day without a word of complaint and, though he was severely wounded and weak from the burns of the fire, he never complained. His arms felt dead and sweat ran down his face, as a fever burned through his body, but he vowed that nothing would keep him from holding this precious woman.

Night approached and the shadows were getting long, yet the great forest of Gellern seemed without end. Gustin's mind had given up on all thoughts other than staying on his horse, holding Elizabeth in place, and staying on the path between the endless trees which swept past in a continuous blur.

Hetark rode point, about four lengths before the other two knights, but he reined in when he heard Drake call out to stop. Hetark turned and saw that Drake had leaned down to take hold of Gustin's bridle and bring both of their mounts to a halt.

"What's the matter, Drake?" Hetark called out and cantered his panting and sweating horse back to the others.

"Night has fallen, Hetark, and I must have time to build a fire. This is the only way we can last long enough to give you a chance to get Elizabeth and Michael to the adepts," Drake answered, the rigid control in his voice and features very evident. Hetark could see the fear dancing just behind his eyes.

"Then we will stay and fight it off, together," Hetark decided.

"We already discussed this, Hetark, it's my fault Elizabeth is in this helpless condition, so I will protect her the only way I can. You must get her to the school while this beast attacks us, for once it is done with us it will swiftly come after you. We cannot let this beast have Michael," Drake stated.

"I can't leave you to die, Drake! Listen, it wasn't your fault, any man can fear something, Drake, I was scared to death," Hetark admitted truthfully.

"But you kept control of your fear, you didn't let it endanger your friends, as I did," Drake answered, with his eyes downcast.

"I would have given in if Elizabeth hadn't spoken to me when she did; I was on the edge of madness and she barely brought me back," Hetark responded, still trying to convince his brother knight.

"I'm all right, Hetark; I know this is my time. If I can save Michael, then my life was well spent. Now you must ride on, or our sacrifice will be in vain," he commanded sternly.

"I can't leave you to die with that soul eating monster!" Hetark complained desperately.

"Hetark, Michael needs your protection, remember your oath! Gustin is all done in, look at him; without your guidance, he couldn't stay on the path. I'm not strong enough to support Elizabeth and carry Michael, so that leaves you. Ride, Hetark, like a creature of the dark is after you, as it will be once it has finished with us. I promise you, Gustin and I will make it pay dearly for the souls of Michael's Knight Protectors. When Michael has grown, tell him of Drake and Gustin's stand and our willing sacrifice. Tell him, so that he can avenge us on these evil things... and tell him of our love." As he finished speaking, Drake looked into Michael's face to gain the courage for what he must endure and then he handed the child up to the mounted Hetark.

Hetark put the pack with Michael on his back and took the still unconscious Elizabeth onto his horse, with help from Gustin. First, Drake, and then Gustin, reached up and clasped sword arms with Hetark, exchanging a look that told the story.

Hetark spoke again before he turned his horse toward the path, "I will always remember my brothers, Drake and Gustin. Send that thing back to the Dark Plane!" He turned the horses and kicked them into a gallop down the long forest path.

Two bells later, the full dark of night permeated the vast Gellern forest as the two unlikely friends waited for the Darknull that they knew was swiftly coming down the trail of its prey. The trunks of tall trees towered around the clearing where Drake and Gustin had chosen to make their final stand. The two men sat before the snapping and popping fire which burned hungrily in anticipation of more fuel. A wood meal lay in piles nearby, ready to be served to its flaming gullet. Torches stood near to hand, ready for the knight's defense. Gustin had recovered somewhat during the two bells of rest he had gotten while Drake prepared the fire and torches.

Now that the preparations were done and they waited for the Darknull to arrive, Drake asked, "Are you afraid, Gustin?"

"Terrified," the giant man replied, honestly.

"But you always remain so calm and collected, I thought you were impervious to fear," Drake stated, talking to get his mind off their coming end.

"Part of fear is being alone; when you have only yourself to trust it's easy to succumb to fear. I can handle my fear because I am never truly by myself," Gustin explained.

"You mean when you're with Hetark, or Becaris, you don't fear anything?" Drake asked with a puzzled frown.

"No, I fear as much as the next man. Having you or someone else with me would certainly help keep those fears at bay, but my brother Dern is always with me, in here," he said, touching his chest. "Dern keeps me from losing perspective and succumbing to the fears that are natural when danger approaches. When I start to lose control, I just try to think of what my brother Dern would do; he always controlled his fear and used it to channel his faculties and strength. When I fear something, Dern's memory inspires me and helps calm my fear. With his memory by my side, the sons of Yul can face anything, even Darknulls," Gustin stated firmly.

"I wish I had a brother to live up to, perhaps then I could face my fear of this monster," Drake said staring off into the dark.

"But you do, Drake, for I am your brother. Hetark, Becaris, Lasar, and Rasal are your brothers. We will always be with you, physically, or in spirit, so you need never be alone again. I am here for two reasons tonight; one is because it's true that two of us can slow the creature longer and, with this sacrifice, I fulfill my oath to Michael. However, I am also here because you need me at your side. Your brothers will always be there when you need them, Drake," Gustin promised.

Drake didn't answer, but he looked thoughtful. After a few moments, he spoke with difficulty, "Gustin, I'm still afraid."

"I know, Drake. Hetark explained to me that you will have to face your fear and come to terms with it before I can help you," his friend replied, quietly.

"I'm trying, Gustin, but it's hard. I feel so unworthy," the small man said and he was unable to meet the eyes of his brother knight.

"No matter what happens to us, Drake, I will always respect your courage. I'm not impressed by an ignorant man who dies foolishly when he could have avoided it, but I revere the man who fears and overcomes that fear. That man shows the true measure of courage. I watched you stand in the charge of those Tchulian soldiers and calmly load your crossbow, as if you had no worries in the world. Yet I knew that you feared I wouldn't pull the rope up in time or too soon. I respected your courage, right then, because you overcame your fear and met the challenge bravely, knowing and trusting that I wouldn't fail you. In my eyes, when you did that brave act you became a true Knight Protector," Gustin recounted and grasped Drake by the upper shoulder with one of his huge hands, then squeezed lightly.

"Do you hear something, Gustin?" Drake suddenly asked, and fear leaped onto his face instantly.

Gustin listened intently for a moment and then exclaimed, "Yes, build the fire quickly!"

Drake frantically tossed wood onto the flames, which voraciously attacked the new meal.

Gustin watched the shaking Drake finish putting the wood on the fire and noticed that Drake was wide-eyed and sweaty. He could see panic near to the surface of his face. He asked, "Are you all right, Drake?"

"I'm so scared, Gustin, I want to run and I don't know what to do; help me!" the young man pleaded to his friend.

"It's all right, Drake, I understand. There is still time for you to reach the horse picket and try to catch Hetark. I will stay and slow down the monster."

"I can't leave you to die, alone, but I can't face this thing. G'lan help me, Gustin, tell me what to do!" Drake collapsed to his knees in the dirt, his mind in anguish from the fear of the creature and from his self-loathing at being a coward.

Gustin reached his hand down to the small man and pulled him to his feet. Taking hold of his shoulders he looked into his friend's eyes and said, "I'm not alone, Dern is with me. Go on, I want you to go and help Hetark; I'll delay the creature for a while. Just promise me this, if you have to face this thing, before it reaches Elizabeth, I'll expect you to face it like the knight I saw in front of those soldiers. When that time comes, I will be with you in spirit, you won't be alone. Do you understand, Drake?"

Drake looked with shame into Gustin's intense face and nodded, then he quickly turned and ran away toward the horse picket.

Gustin picked up two torches and lit them in the fire. He turned and faced the trail where the evil creature will approach out of the darkness, his large body silhouetted against the flames of the fire. He waited peacefully for certain death and the destruction of his soul. He was afraid, but not alone; he could feel his brother Dern within and he readied himself to do his duty.

Lord Pellev Welter, the foster brother of Lord Jatar and ruler of Tazlany, was camped with his retinue twenty leagues outside of Tarnelin. The wagons and picketed horses were circled around a large fire in the center of the camp. Lord Welter sat on a chair and stared into the flames with his mind in a faraway place. A sentry approached his ruler and waited silently until he was acknowledged.

"Yes, what is it?" Pellev asked.

"Milord, a man has approached the outer sentries and says he has important information which he will only say to you. We searched him and he doesn't have any weapons. What do you wish us to do with him?"

The ruler of Tazlany lifted his right eyebrow in a show of curiosity and then said, "Bring him in, under guard; I'm curious to hear what he has to say."

A short time later, the guards brought forward a simply dressed man and stopped him ten paces in front of their Lord.

Pellev studied him for a moment; the man was dressed in a long dark cloak with a hood which was thrown back. His boots were dirty, as was the lower portion of his cloak. Lord Welter quickly surmised that the man had traveled some distance. After his inspection, Pellev said, "So, my good man, what possessed you to seek out the ruler of Tazlany on this dismal night?"

The man looked nervously at the guards around him, yet decided to speak anyway. "I am an agent of Olsk. I received word from one of my companions that you are no longer happy with the policies of Lord Jatar."

"You could say that we had a falling out, yet that is common knowledge; what of it?" Pellev replied gruffly.

"Representatives of Olsk have commissioned me to offer Tazlany the support of Olsk in protecting your borders against any intrusions by Lindankar's army," he explained in an official tone.

"What makes your government think that Tazlany needs any help?" Lord Welter asked, with a raise of his left eyebrow.

"We only make this as a friendly offer of assistance, we do not mean to impose on Tazlany in any way, nor will we march any armies across your borders during our conflicts with Pruta and Lindankar. My leaders sent this message as a way of pledging our friendship, so as not to put Tazlany in a position where you had to publicly declare your intentions," finished the Olsk representative.

"I see, well thank your leaders for their tact. However, at this time I cannot officially accept or offer support. I still have much to settle and I must speak with my advisors before I make any weighty decisions. Guards, escort our friend to the edge of our camp and release him," Lord Welter instructed.

After the guards took the spy away, Pellev went back to contemplating the flames and the only sound he made was a simple, "Hm."

Gustin heard the sound of Drake's horse as it galloped away down the forest path and then all was quiet except the crackling of the fire.

His thoughts followed his fleeing friend: Don't blame yourself for what has happened, Drake, it will ruin you. I just hope that your fear hasn't already destroyed that brave little man I knew. There was a time when you would have stood up to Ancient Vorg himself, with a mischievous grin on your face and a flip remark for his ears. Don't lose that wonderful ego; it is who you are.

Then Gustin's thoughts turned to his brother Dern: So, Dern, how do you think I've done? I know I was only a knight for a few days, but I did my best. Things just suddenly went crazy. I know it's fruitless to worry about what has already passed, but I need your help, brother. I've sworn my life to protect Michael Ardellen and the time has come to pay the taxman. Help me to be strong, Dern. I must delay this dark monster for as long as possible. I can't let it catch Drake. He fears the death of his soul more than I. To me, death is death, no matter what its form. I will fulfill my oath and under no circumstance will I let that thing get to Michael! He is Lindankar's hope, perhaps the hope of the entire world. I cannot allow this beast a swift and easy victory. Help me withstand the pain, Dern, so that I may die in peace, knowing my friends will make it to safety.

Out of the night, a huge rotting corpse walked up on the stumps of its two ankles. Pieces of the green rotting skin were missing in places and its stomach was split open, the entrails hanging down to the ground and dragging along behind. Its mouth was missing both lips yet, somehow, the grinning black rotted teeth opened and spoke to Gustin, "Good evening, Sir Knight. A fine night for an outdoors dinner, yes?" Gustin heard the voice in the sounds of splintering and snapping knuckles.

"Is that foul image supposed to scare me? Go back to your dark, worthless, world; you disgust me," Gustin commanded.

"What is your name, brave mortal? I want to remember it with the taste of your particular soul," the Darknull replied.

"I am Gustin, son of Yul, the Blacksmith! Come and burn in the light of my fire, sick creature of the dark," he stated bravely.

"As you wish, fool!" Then the Darknull sprang forward to envelop the lone human.

In an effort of will, Gustin forced himself not to run. He lifted his two torches before him and began waving them in the pattern he had seen Hetark use to fend off the creature.

Baron Qyrmswav easily avoided the torch fire, stopping just short of Gustin's sweeping torches. Then the creature said, "You make a pretty display, son of Yul, but how long can you maintain your dance?"

"Not long, but I don't have anything better to do right now," Gustin replied, though he thought: _Long enough to allow Drake, Hetark, Elizabeth, and Michael to reach the safety of the Kirnath._

"Your friends left you here to die, alone. Was your wounded body slowing them down?" the Baron asked, trying to anger his opponent into a making a mistake.

"What makes you think I am wounded?" Gustin asked.

"I can see it in your life force; the flames burnt you, as well, didn't they?" the creature asked with glee.

"I'd welcome the caress of the flames over your foul touch any day," Gustin replied, immediately.

"Perhaps I will let you survive, while..." In mid-sentence, the Darknull darted to Gustin's left side and attacked.

Gustin felt excruciating pain on his side and naturally spun to face the onslaught, but that brought his back away from the fire.

Incredibly quickly, the Darknull shifted around the body of the wounded knight and attached itself to his unprotected back. Then the Baron began to consume Gustin's soul.

Gustin tried to reach the fire again; he knew he could not succumb, this early, or the creature would soon be after Drake. If he could burn the creature off in the flames, he might be able to resume the battle. However, the pain from the attacking creature was too great and Gustin's body just too weak due to his wounds; he collapsed short of the fire.

A loud bellow split the night and, through his pain, the fallen knight heard, "I'm coming, Gustin!"

Gustin looked up through the flames of the fire and saw an apparition. It was a wild-eyed and insane looking horse, with spittle trailing from its mouth. The horse launched itself over the flames of the fire and Drake clung to the horse's back as he forced the crazed mount to obey his commands, even in the face of its fear of the Darknull's presence.

The horse cleared the fire and Gustin's sprawled out body, coming down just beyond.

Attached by a rope to the horse's saddle, a large, oil soaked, bush trailed along the ground. The thick tangle of branches crashed right into the large fire and exploded into flames. The impact knocked hot coals and sparks all over Gustin's prone body, as well as the Darknull.

With a howl of pain, the Darknull detached itself from the knight's back as the burning bush drug across both their bodies.

When the alien creature detached from Gustin's soul, the knight decided getting burnt by fire had never felt so good.

When the flaming bush continued past Gustin, he managed to shake off the pain and stagger to his feet. Somehow, he still had his two torches clenched in his hands.

Drake's mount had gone beyond even the small knight's expert control. Between the fire and the Darknull's presence, the horse went completely wild. Drake leaped away from the horse and landed purclaw-like on his feet. Without pause, he swept up two of the spare torches from the ground, spun around and went back to back with the staggering Gustin.

Gustin lit his friend's torches from his, and they readied themselves for the attack of the Darknull.

"Welcome back, Drake. What convinced you to return?" Gustin asked his friend between gasps for air.

"I remembered how clumsy you were with those big feet, so I knew I better come back and help you up," Drake replied lightly.

The return of their friendly insults told Gustin that Drake was truly back; he had conquered his fears. Gustin felt elated, but he didn't let that emotion show in the tone of his answer. "I had it right where I wanted it," Gustin replied glibly, though after a pause he added, "but thanks, Drake."

"Actually, I really came back because you are my best friend and I would rather die beside you than live knowing I let you face this ugly beast alone," Drake admitted honestly.

"I'm glad you're here, Drake," the big man replied.

"So am I, Gustin, so am I," Drake answered, his fear overcome.

"Do you see it anywhere?" Gustin asked, peering into the dark.

"No, but it's out there; I can feel it. We better keep its attention; we can't have it going after Michael." Then he raised his voice into a shout, "Come on out, Baron of Bile, I have a little fire I want to shove down your disgusting throat!"

Out of the darkness, Drake heard the hissing and bubbling sound of a man speaking through his freshly slit throat, coughing out the words, "So, the little coward returns. Will you face me now, scared mortal?"

"I've got you placed in proper perspective now, puke face. You can kill us, but I won't waste my spit on you," Drake replied. Then he whispered over his shoulder to Gustin, "Quick, help me insult this thing, we don't want it leaving us and going after, Michael."

"Right and we're just the guys to do it," Gustin acknowledged. Then he remembered something Elizabeth had said to the beast the night before. "Listen to this one!" he whispered to Drake and called out to the Darknull, "I hear the necromancers are using you Darknulls for errand boys nowadays."

Somewhere out in the dark, the Baron howled in total madness.

Drake elbowed his friend lightly and said, "I think you struck a little nerve with that one."

The Darknull's voice called out to them with incredible hate pounding at their minds. "The necromancers will all be consumed once we have found what was lost! Until then, we use them for our needs!"

"What was lost?" Gustin muttered to Drake, in a puzzled tone.

"You got me," Drake whispered in reply, but then called out, "Oh, what horse manure; I heard the necromancer in Lindankar claims to have a pet Darknull he uses to spit shine his boots."

With another insane howl, the Darknull rushed to the attack.

Gustin sighed, "I think that did the trick."

"Right," Drake replied dryly.

The foul creature struck without care for the pain of the torches, it virtually slammed into the two knights in its insane anger. They shoved their torches into the creature's body and it began to attack their auras. All three beings yelled with pain as they all toppled to the ground. Drake lost one of his torches and Gustin was very weakly trying to bring his into play. The knights were dying, but they knew they had to hold the Darknull as long as possible.

Slowly the creature began to consume their life spirits.

Drake's face was near Gustin's and he whispered through pain clenched teeth as they fought the creature, "It was a good try, big man."

Gustin was barely conscious when he replied. "I'm glad you're here, my little friend, at the end. Do you think they will make it?"

Near his own limits, Drake answered weakly. "We must believe they will escape, Gustin, we must. Do you hear horses?"

"Yes, by Vorg's rancid breath, that's all we need! It's the rest of the Tchulians come to help this beast. Well if they hurry and kill us, this thing can't finish destroying our souls."

"Always the optimist..." Drake managed to gasp as the light began to fade from his eyes, his voice croaked out a whisper, "Goodbye, Gustin."

Also fading, Gustin managed a weak reply, "Good-bye, my friend."

Michael began to cry from his place in the pack slung on Hetark's back. The past few days had been hard on his mother and his knights, in other ways, they were also hard on the young child. His mind didn't understand this massive break in his daily routine. Being cooped up in the backpack for lengthy periods and then the galloping motion of many hours had finally taken its toll. He'd been out now, for some time, but woke to renewed fits of crying. He was tired, sore, hungry, and did not understanding why. He wanted his food and his mother, not necessarily in that order. He announced these desires in the only royally commanding voice he had at his disposal; he cried his lungs out.

Elizabeth had not awakened since she had fallen to the ground the night before yet at the sound of her son calling her eyes fluttered open and she raised her head, muttering, "Michael?"

Hetark felt her taking control of her balance, so he slowed the horse to a walk.

"Where are we, Hetark?" she asked tiredly, not yet really focusing on her surroundings. She pulled wisps of hair out of her face with one hand.

"Somewhere near the Kirnath School, milady," Hetark stopped the horses and let Elizabeth down so that he could retrieve Michael off his back and hand the crying boy to his mother. Then he said, "Milady, please mount one of the other horses, we have little time."

"But we can't be near the school, it lacked only five bells until dawn and it's still dark."

"We have traveled a complete day and part of another night, milady," Hetark explained.

"Wait, it's coming back to me... what happened to the Darknull? Where are Gustin and Drake?" she exclaimed in concern, suddenly twisting around, hoping to see them coming up from the rear.

"We all survived the attack, thanks to the protection of your powers, but you collapsed after you struck the creature with that beam. Gustin was burnt the worst, though after bandaging he was all right. In case the creature returned, we waited by the fire until morning and then rode all day as fast and far as possible. We were trying to reach the school before the creature caught us again," Hetark recounted.

"Then, where are the others?" she asked in a puzzled tone.

"It became dark and Drake decided that he could buy us time to reach the Kirnath School by delaying the Darknull; Gustin stayed to guard his back. They convinced me that it was necessary for your and Michael's survival. I had to get you two to safety," Hetark explained simply, but the pain of that decision was obvious in his tortured voice.

"That's horrible; you know that they can't stand against a Darknull, Hetark! We must go back and help them!" Elizabeth exclaimed, turning to get to her mount.

"We cannot, milady. I left them over two bells ago, so it is probably too late. Besides, look at who in your arms, can you take him back into the danger of the Darknull, with your power already used to its limits?"

With a haunted look, Elizabeth gazed back down the path toward where her brave new friends were meeting their doom for the sake of her and her son. Tears welled up in her tired eyes and crested over the edge, carving trails down the dust on her cheek. They fell a short distance to land gently on her son. Then she spoke in a quiet yet forceful voice, "You're right, Hetark, but I swear that I will avenge their deaths and my husband's!"

"Can you ride?" Hetark asked.

"Yes."

"Good, we must get on our way, in case the Darknull gets past them," Hetark said, changing his saddle to a new mount.

"Hetark, it will get past them," she answered, placing her hand on his arm.

"I know," he replied, not meeting her eyes. He didn't want her to see the haunted expression they held.

Elizabeth concentrated her meager remaining power and felt for the presence of the Darknull down their back trail. Then her shoulders drooped as she sensed the approaching Darknull, which confirmed the reality of Drake and Gustin's end. She turned to Hetark and placed a hand on his forearm. "It comes for us, Hetark, and I don't have the power to stop it this time," she told him simply.

Hetark quickly strapped the pack holding Michael onto Elizabeth and then he put out his interlaced fingers to make a step for her to climb into her saddle. "Here, mount up."

Elizabeth got onto her horse, but she looked down at Hetark and said, "We can't outrun it, Hetark, it is still too far to the school and the creature is coming too fast."

"I know, Elizabeth; first it was Drake and Gustin's turn, now it is my turn. I will delay it, while you continue toward the school," he explained. He was calm now that he finally knew what he could do to save her and Michael.

"No, Hetark, I cannot let you do this," she pleaded.

"Don't waste Drake and Gustin's sacrifice, milady, they died to keep Michael alive, so ride!" Hetark reached up and slapped the horse on its rump and it took off at a gallop, which effectively ended the discussion.

Elizabeth looked back, once, over her shoulder and saw Hetark resolutely watching her ride away. Then she bent low over the horse's neck and held to its mane, while urging as much speed from the running animal as she could get.

Hetark did not have long to wait, he had just finished lighting a hastily constructed fire and some torches, from his pack, when the Darknull swept down the forest path, coming fast.

When Baron Qyrmswav spotted the brave knight waiting with his fire and torches, it was not amused. "Is there no end to these worthless knights who are willing to face me?" the creature asked, rhetorically.

Hetark heard the foul thought within his mind and answered, "We will fight until you no longer seek to harm the good souls of this world. Be gone, destroyer of life, depart back to your world."

"I do not take my commands from any mortal and, if I had the time, I would make your soul scream! However, do not fear; I will return to take retribution for your impudence!" Without a further thought, the Baron swept past Hetark, intent on following the path of the fleeing Elizabeth and Michael.

"No! Turn and face me, you cowardly monster, fight me!" Hetark cried out, as he ran a few steps after the disappearing creature.

But the Darknull raced on down the path, soon going out of Hetark's out of sight, seeking the wounded Kirnath sorceress and her child. The Darknull could feel the powerful auras of the Kirnath Adepts, not far ahead, and it knew it had to catch the wounded Elizabeth before she could reach the protection of the other sorcerers.

Elizabeth slowed her horse to a halt and dismounted. She could feel the evil presence of the Darknull coming swiftly up her back trail and she estimated that it would reach her in only a twelfth of a bell. That was not enough time to reach the safety of the school.

Quickly, she took off Michael's pack and started to tie him to the saddle. She had decided to send him on to the school, alone, trusting to her fellow Adepts to sense his strong aura and save her son while she stayed and engaged the Darknull.

As Elizabeth pulled the leather straps tight, her eyes came to rest on the palm of her hand. The faint oval shaped scar of the aurora stone caught her eye. It was the scar from that day, a little over a year ago, when Michael's strong aura had blazed forth from the aurora stone. Her scar matched the one on her son's chest exactly. It took her mind back to his day of birth, when Jatar had been alive and they had been so happy.

Her exhausted mind was trying to tell her something. She trusted her instincts, so she closed her eyes and relaxed to let her thoughts drift back to that day. She had been talking to her husband about Michael and the results of the aurora stone test...

...imagine the things he can do; our hopes and dreams of uniting more of the kingdoms into a coalition will have an even better chance. The necromancers will have trouble opposing his moves and I doubt they will even be a serious threat. With proper training, he'll be more powerful than any Adept alive.

Finally, she saw what her tired mind had been trying to tell her; with proper training the power in Michael could handle any Darknull creature, but he didn't have the training, not yet. She had the training to defeat the Darknull, but her power was completely used up for the moment. If she could just wield Michael's power, she would be a match for the that foul monster.

Elizabeth took another quick check on the creature's progress and found she had little time left to decide.

She spoke to her young son, though she knew he could not understand her words, "Michael, I need to do something dangerous to you, if it works, we will be safe, and we will reach the Kirnath School. If it doesn't work, I will die and you will either go with me or be aura crippled for the rest of your life. It is dangerous to pull the amount of life energy I need from a one-year-old. Normally it would kill the child, but you have the strongest potential aura I have ever seen, even as a baby is it strong. Pulling aura from you might not do lasting harm... I just don't know. Children's auras are not fully developed yet, so even though we know your potential is incredible, this would be very dangerous. I am very weak so I would need to pill a lot of power, perhaps too much. I wish you could help me decide."

Michael looked up into the face of his mother and reached out to grab a handful of her hair. He pulled it through his fingers, feeling the softness of the strands and then he smiled.

Elizabeth took this smile as an omen and made up her mind.

Quickly, she tied her horse up securely to a sapling and then looked for the largest tree she could find. She sat with her back to the tree and placed her son in her lap. She slipped her hand under his tunic, placing the scar on her palm directly over the matching scar on his chest.

While the wounded sorceress waited, she went over in her mind what she must do: "Wait until the creature is close; if I start pulling the power too soon it will sense it and stay away. I must overcome my fear and wait until he can no longer escape. Great G'lan, I plead to thee, help me channel Michael's aura, correctly. Please help me, for I must not use it all or he will die, yet I have to use enough to get rid of the Darknull for good. I will only have one chance, so I ask for your help G'lan."

As she finished her prayer the foul Baron arrived.

The Darknull slowed to a crawl and located Elizabeth by the glow of her weak aura and Michael's young one. Quickly, the Baron evaluated Elizabeth's condition and confirmed that the spirit wounded sorceress was finished. It spoke in her mind, savoring its victory over a Kirnath, "So, Kirnath, the chase is finally over. The difficulty in obtaining your spirit will make it even more satisfying. Too bad you are so weak; I feel a little cheated that my meal is so small. Oh well, sometimes quality is better than quantity. Besides, the aura of your child will be a nice dessert."

"No! Elizabeth cried out in emotional pain and struck the Darknull Baron with a bolt of light blue energy from her hand. She nearly passed out from the effort, but she knew she had to convince the Darknull that her aura was completely depleted.

The Darknull pulled back from the beam of light, remembering the recent pain when Elizabeth had struck with her powers, but when the incredibly weak bolt of energy merely singed slightly, the Darknull laughed and said, "Is that all that the mighty Kirnath Sorceress has left to avenge the deaths of her fine protectors? They fought well, but you must have known you sent them to die. From your weak aura, I see that I spoke truly; the destruction of their souls pains you and that pleases me."

"Spare my son and you may destroy me," Elizabeth offered, knowing that it would not take the bargain, but she hoped to draw it closer with conversation.

"I would have made that bargain, which I offered before, but now it is too late. I expended a lot of my energy to hunt you down so your offspring must help replenish my power. I will eat him, right after I eat you!"

The Baron let its body flare out to completely envelop the two mortal auras before it and consume their souls.

This was the moment for which Elizabeth had been waiting.

The sorceress drew on the link she had set up through her palm on Michael's chest and aura power surged up through her hand into her body. It was power beyond her experience. The aura power filled her completely and her wounded spirit was healed, yet still more power came forth from her son. Elizabeth did the only thing she could, she directed it forth out of her body, through her other hand, as fast as she could let it flow.

The light that flashed from her hand was blinding and it struck the surprised Baron's unprotected center. The evil creature of darkness screamed and then tried to run, but the power followed the conduit through Elizabeth and on into the Baron's body. The energy immediately surrounded its entire form.

Elizabeth tried to stop the raw flood of power... tried and failed.

Michael's untrained aura kept pouring out of him and, if Elizabeth had not emptied it into the Darknull, it might have burned out her mind. She tried to stop, knowing her son would die if she didn't cut the flow and exhausted his spirit. With a convulsive jerk, she managed to yank her hand away from his chest and the power cut off. She sought her son's soul and found it, barely; she leaned down in concern and found Michael still breathing.

With her son's life confirmed, Elizabeth looked up in time to see the white energy of Michael's aura dissolving the Darknull's body. It shrank smaller and smaller as the white aura energy consumed its dark ethereal body. The Darknull's screams of pain went on and on within Elizabeth's mind, as its darkness was obliterated by the light. Eventually, it was completely destroyed, gone forever, its horrid voice finally silenced.

Elizabeth stood up with her spirit completely healed. Now that the threat of the Darknull was nullified, she inspected Michael's spirit for further signs of damage. Elizabeth found that he was physically healthy, but his aura was almost completely gone. It hardly registered to her Kirnath senses. Elizabeth searched frantically and, finally, got a faint glimmer. His aura had been used up to a point where his spirit was severely damaged. After a frantic moment of inspection, she was relieved to discover that, although his spirit was damaged, she believed he would heal and his aura would likely return to normal, though that might take a long time.

She put her son back into his carrying pack and mounted her horse. Then she headed for the Kirnath School, deep in thought about Michael's recovery and future.

Elizabeth decided there were two things she must accomplish: one was to keep Michael safe and raise him with the proper instruction in the arts of the Kirnath and the second was to meet with the loyal subjects who had fled Lindankar. Presumably, some of them would follow the directions in her note, which Becaris had delivered. She had promised to have the resistance started and waiting in one year's time. Her problem was that these two things were mutually exclusive.

The place for Michael to receive the proper training is at the Kirnath School. On the other hand, the resistance would need a leader who is mobile and ready to lead them into danger, not exactly the role of a mother raising a son in safety.

Another problem, if she and Michael stayed at the school, then the necromancer would send assassins. The necromancer who took Jatar's body could not afford to let the heir to his stolen throne live. Eventually, one of the assassins might get through and kill her son. Even with the skills of the Kirnath, the threat of an assassin is serious if the target can always be counted on to be in one place. Yet, she could not take a one-year-old child into running battles, or into the atmosphere of the rough men and women she would need to contact to begin her revolution.

Elizabeth fingered the small round hoop in her ear lobe and realized that it had been days since she had last spoken to her grandmother. She wondered if that wise old woman could help her granddaughter solve this dilemma.

Pierced through her ear was a cathexis ear ring, a secret family heirloom. Within her mind, Elizabeth spoke to the imprint of her grandmother in the cathexis, _"Grandmother?"_

In her thoughts she heard the voice of her grandmother's imprint respond: _"Yes, Elizabeth?"_

" _What do you think I should do about this problem?"_ Then she explained her thoughts.

Her Grandmother's familiar thoughts replied, _"I see it this way, your first duty is to your son, no matter what else; agreed?"_

" _Yes,"_ Elizabeth replied.

" _He must be kept as safe as possible. Let me ask you_ this... _if you stay with your son, at the school, will he be safe?"_ the old woman posed.

" _No, assassins might get to him,"_ Elizabeth answered truthfully.

" _If you take him with you to fight, will he not also be in danger?"_

" _Yes, Grandmother, so it looks as though I will have to take him far away and forget the resistance and the promises I made,"_ Elizabeth replied, her spirit downcast because she must abandon the people of her country.

" _Will that make him safe, in the long run? If you take him away and he doesn't get the proper training in the use of his power, what of his safety then?"_ the voice of the old woman asked.

" _But that leaves me no choice at all, Grandmother,"_ Elizabeth complained.

" _No, it just leaves you with a difficult choice. I see only one solution; if he were to grow up at the Kirnath School, secretly, under another name, without knowledge of his station in life, he could be fairly safe,"_ the wise old imprint reasoned. _"No one would know he is there, so they would not send anyone to do him harm."_

" _It wouldn't work, everyone at the school knows me. Spies will be watching the school. They know I grew up there, so that makes it an obvious place for me to flee; I would be recognized,"_ Elizabeth refuted.

" _You would be, if you stayed, but if Michael was there, without you, and unaware of whom he is, he would just seem like any other child. His face is not known to anyone. If you were not there, he would not be recognized, and you could go to meet Lindankar's loyal retainers and begin the resistance,"_ the voice within her head stated, unfolding her plan.

" _I cannot leave my child to be raised without the guidance of the only parent he has left!"_ Elizabeth replied in anguish.

" _Who said anything about leaving him without the guidance of his only parent?"_ her grandmother replied instantly.

" _But you said I should go to start the rebellion,"_ Elizabeth replied, calming slightly.

" _You must be tired, granddaughter, think. How can you be there to give the guidance of a mother and not be there to be recognized? I'm advising you now, yet I doubt anyone would recognize me, since I've been dead for ten years now,"_ the voice of the imprint prompted.

" _The earring! I have worn this cathexis object for the ten years since your death; it will have my complete imprint by now! If I left the earring, pierced through Michael's ear, I could speak to him and guide him through his growing years, at least until it was safe for me to come back. I would be there with him but, Grandmother, the real me would not be with him to see him grow. I would be without my child,"_ Elizabeth realized and her heart throbbed with the pain of that thought.

" _It would be a terrible sacrifice, I know, yet remember, Elizabeth, he would not be without you,"_ she reasoned with her granddaughter.

" _How can I leave him unguarded? He will not know his true identity! He would be alone, except for my voice in his head."_

"Oh, Michael, what am I going to do?" she keened to her son.

" _You do what has to be done, Elizabeth. As you well know from your teaching, the time comes when difficult choices must be made. These evil creatures attacked your family, they destroyed your husband, and then tried to destroy you and your child. They took everything from you to use as they see fit, including the body of your husband. Everything that stands for what is right in this world calls out for justice. The people of Lindankar are waiting for your guidance and the eventual coming of your son. With Jatar gone, you are the rightful ruler of Lindankar, so lead them until Michael comes of age, as is your duty._

_"Of course, your duty as a mother comes first, but this way you have an avenue of choice which allows you to fulfill both obligations. To do so, you will have to live with the pain of not seeing your son grow, yet remember, though you will have no knowledge of teaching him, he will have the complete benefit of your teaching. You will raise him and he will know you as his mother, through the cathexis imprint. It is our family's greatest treasure, use it now, as it has never been used before!"_ her grandmother urged.

" _You're right, I was being selfish. Michael will be safer, here, without me and my people need me to lead the fight. He needs the instruction of the Kirnath and I will guide him from within, through this cathexis artifact. I will be his teacher and his mother,"_ she stated, as she finalized the difficult choice within her mind.

" _A mother is always a teacher,"_ her grandmother added.

" _You're right again and I thank you for your wisdom, Grandmother. I will further_ ensure _his safety by blazing a false trail away from the school. Who would believe a mother would leave her child? Where I go, they will believe Michael went,"_ Elizabeth's mind ran over the details of her new plan, trying to think of everything she could to ensure her son's safety.

Her grandmother's Imprint then advised, _"He will be safer at the Kirnath school than anywhere else, since no one, including Michael himself, will know that he is the heir. A peasant's son is his best cloak of protection, perhaps one whose parents presumably left him on the doorstep of the kind Kirnath teachers."_

Elizabeth saw the wisdom of her grandmother's suggestion but added, _"The adepts will do the standard test for aura potential when he is first taken in, yet he will not be recognized as having any special ability at all because I drained his aura against the Darknull. That's perfect, now no one will suspect he is Michael Ardellen. After the aurora stone_ test, _everyone heard that my son had a strong aura. I even sent word to the school about my son's potential power. With my imprint there to help_ him, _this deception will work. I'll do it, Grandmother, but it won't be easy leaving my son."_

" _I know,_ daughter _, but I know you are strong enough to handle the burden."_

" _I hope so, Grandmother, I hope so."_

The city of Tarnelin was in mourning. A proclamation from Lord Jatar Ardellen had been issued, detailing the deaths of Lady Elizabeth and the young heir, Michael. The celebration had turned into stunned sorrow. Heralds read the proclamation on street corners, or from the town squares, and from the steps of the palace.

The proclamation stated:

Attention, citizens of Lindankar.

_By foul_ treachery, _the country of Olsk has sent agents into the city of Tarnelin. These agents bribed officers of the Lindankar militia and certain servants of the Royal palace staff. Four days ago, they conspired with these traitors to assassinate Lord Ardellen in the palace. By chance, Lord Ardellen escaped and killed three of the assassins._

_On the same day, at approximately the same time, Lady Elizabeth and_ Shaard _Michael were abducted. Efforts to recover them have met with failure and word has reached Lord Ardellen that they have both met their fate at the hands of the Olsk agents._

After questioning each suspected servant and officer, our ruler uncovered the plot and imprisoned those guilty of treason. According to the laws of this country, the traitor's heads shall be struck from their bodies at noon in the central square.

Lord Jatar Ardellen proclaims that our city is to be in a state of mourning for thirty days. He has also declared war the country on Olsk and volunteers for the army of retribution will be accepted at the main city barracks and across the land at all our military outposts.

_May G'lan have mercy on Lady Ardellen and the young_ Shaard Michael _and ease their spirits' journey down The River._

This proclamation is signed by Lord Jatar Ardellen, ruler of Lindankar.

Major Harland Von Dracek walked up behind the back of Lord Jatar's body. CAracusS was standing on a balcony, looking out at the front of the palace, where a herald had just finished reading his proclamation. People were running around the streets and spreading the news like a fire through dry wheat.

Von Dracek scratched at his short beard and said, "Wasn't that proclamation a bit premature or did you receive confirmation of Lady Ardellen's demise from the Darknull?"

"Oh, I'm sure they are dead, though the Baron has not yet returned. The creature is probably relaxing in a dark place after its meal. The Baron will return to the gate tonight, after dark," replied the necromancer.

"Call me a pessimist, but I'm going to continue assuming they escaped until their deaths are confirmed. Now, it's obvious that they were heading for the Kirnath School. Actually, it's too obvious; therefore, it may have been a ruse to make us concentrate our efforts on the school. Still, just in case that really was their destination, I'm going to alert Raven."

CAracusS raised an eyebrow in question at the mention of their spy within the Kirnath School.

"Lady Elizabeth won't count on our having a spy within her precious school, the Kirnath don't believe a spy is possible. They think their mind screening methods cannot be bypassed; I proved them wrong, yet again," Von Dracek explained, while flicking imaginary dust from a fingertip.

"Don't you think it unwise to jeopardize the spy's cover by sending a message? It is unnecessary. We will get confirmation this evening, so you should at least wait until then," CAracusS suggested.

"I'll wait until evening, but if your slimy creature has not returned, I'm sending Raven a message by stirglik. I think I'll also dispatch more soldiers; they might get lucky and catch the sorceress while she is still wounded. Perhaps you should consider committing more of your souldead," the Tchulian commander suggested.

"Vorg's creatures aren't that easy to come by! However, don't worry; you met the Baron, do you think four tired mortals could stand up to that baneful creature?" he asked, disdainfully.

"Jatar escaped and, don't forget, that the woman is a sorceress," the major reminded the necromancer.

"You are the one who said she is wounded," CAracusS argued.

"Yes, but I don't know how much reserve power she still has at her disposal."

CAracusS waved a hand in dismissal and answered, "This discussion is futile, we'll just wait until this evening and then we will know."

Von Dracek's thoughts returned to CAracusS's proclamation and he said, "Blaming Olsk for the murders and asking for volunteers to join the army at the same time was a wise choice. The citizens should be signing up for our army in herds and cheering the deaths of their old commanders when you execute them later today," Von Dracek stated, complimenting CAracusS on his move.

"Yes, it's a fine day. With Elizabeth and her son destroyed I don't see anything standing in our way. The necromancers control Autrany and now Lindankar is in our grasp; I see nothing to stop us from continuing our plans for expansion." CAracusS was pleased and he could not wait to parade his newest accomplishments in front of the Necromantic Council.

Elizabeth reined her horse in at the edge of the trees. At long last, she had reached the Kirnath School, though she had mixed feelings about her return. She could just make out the large buildings of her old school across the meadow. This school had been her home for fifteen years while she learned the ways of the Kirnath Adepts. She longed to go into the familiar halls and reunite with her teachers and friends, but she could not.

Elizabeth carefully kept her shield around herself and her son, hiding their presence from the watch Adept within the school. Elizabeth could not let her presence be discovered lest someone learn that this was her son.

The four major tan stone buildings, with their dark roofs, were laid out in a rough square and encircled by a high wall. The still waters of a moat surrounded the high wall. Some thirty yards out past the moat stood the outer defense, a twenty-foot high and ten-foot-thick stone wall. The main entry gate in the outer wall was always guarded and faced the forest road coming out of the trees to Elizabeth's left. Inside the outer wall, a stone bridge spanned the moat and entered a smaller gate through the high inner wall. That, in turn, led to the center of the main structures. Elizabeth knew there were other smaller structures within, though they were hidden from sight from the forest. There were a stable, blacksmithy, and other structures.

Six leagues away, a road wound down a gently sloping hill and led into a valley with a small village nestled within. Elizabeth could just make out the dim glow of lanterns shining orange light out of the cottage windows and she could see the thin trails of smoke coming up out of a few chimneys.

Lady Ardellen sighed as she gazed upon the school where she had grown up, she had not seen it in three years and homesickness plucked the tender strings of her soul. It was all the worse because she knew she must deny herself entry, she could not afford to connect the Ardellen name with the young boy who was about to join their community.

She spoke to her young son, even though he was asleep in the pack on her back. "I envy you, my son, I would give anything to go back in time and grow up again in this gentle meadow, for then I would still have your father to meet on that beautiful day when he rode his prancing stallion through that gate and into my heart. He is the only thing that ever made me want to leave this peaceful place and I miss him terribly."

Elizabeth rode back into the forest a little way and then dismounted. She took some writing materials out of her saddle packs and wrote a note to leave with Michael. She made sure to use very poor handwriting and misspell words, it read:

Take car o this boi. His ma an pa is deed an e aint got knoen te car fur im, I nowed is perents wel bot I canott take im. His pa gav him the earring, so please let him keep it.

a vilager

an o yeh, he liks goot milc perty fayr

Elizabeth took off her cathexis earring and carefully pierced Michael's ear with it, he cried out for a moment, but Elizabeth quickly healed the small wound. With the brief pain gone the small child stopped crying. When she finished, the earring looked like it had been in his ear for months.

She spent the rest of the afternoon holding and playing with Michael. As dusk's overture played into evening, Elizabeth breastfed her only son for the last time and then she wrapped him in a coarse saddle blanket. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at her beloved son and tried to store his features in her mind for the years they would be apart. Silently weeping, the tired young mother took her son and walked up to the large outer gate to the Kirnath School.

Since the watch Adept made no alarm and the gate guards were busy at cards in the guard house, no one saw her bring Michael to the gate. Elizabeth lovingly arranged him and his blanket for the last time. Then she carefully tucked the note into the blanket where it could be seen. Then, nearly blind from her tears, Elizabeth pounded on the big gate and turned to run back into the cloaking shadows of the forest.

From the edge of the trees, she watched the gate open. The gatekeeper looked around, before walking over to the bundled up young child. He looked at the note and then picked him up in the horse blanket. Then he carried the young heir to the Kingdom inside the walls of the old school.

Elizabeth watched the guard's aura and read his intent to take the baby to Headmaster Corus. He would decide what was to be done with the abandoned child. Lady Ardellen assumed that Corus would read the note and take care of Michael. Then, her imprint would begin her long vigil through the cathexis earring in Michael's ear.

Elizabeth's head drooped forward as the grief for the loss of all her loved ones weighed down her body; she was utterly alone. It was a very lonely woman who mounted her horse and rode down the forest path that dark night, her mind lost in her thoughts of grief. She cantered down the main forest road, back toward Lindankar, headed for the fork in the road.

In her grief, she forgot to check her surroundings for enemies and she didn't see the rope suspended in the tree, nor the Tchulian soldier, who swung out and struck her with the bottoms of his boots. His blow took her on the upper right arm and shoulder and knocked her off her horse onto the ground, where her head hit a stone and she knew no more.

#### CHAPTER SEVEN: G'TAKLAR

Deep below the world of air and light, moisture condensed out of the cool air and formed a drop on a dark stone ceiling. It slowly ran down the tilt of the craggy stone until it reached the lowest point. The droplet of water made no sound to disturb the dead silence that inhabited the dark underground. The drop paused a moment and then slowly elongated, before finally separating from the stone and falling the six-foot distance to land, with a dull 'plip' sound, on the forehead of a young man.

Until that moment, the naked fifteen-year-old had lain unconscious on his back but with the tiny impact of the water droplet, his head jerked though his eyes remained closed. Slowly, he brought his right hand up, past his chest, to the back of his head. He massaged his sore scalp through short brown hair. After running a dry tongue over his cracked lips, he pried open his sleep encrusted eyes. He found that opening his eyes did him no good at all; it was darker than the bottom of a barrel of tar.

The first thought which came to his awakening mind was: _Where, in the Dark Plane, am I?_

The modestly muscled young man sat up. That movement started a sensation of spinning in his head. The young man was of average height, about five feet and two hand widths tall.

He held his aching head in his hands and realized that he had no idea where he was located. He remembered riding along on the return trip toward Lindankar. He had been thinking about a dancing girl from the Zinterdalin palace, then, suddenly, horses were rearing, men were fighting, and people were dying all-round. It all came back in a flash; someone had attacked their troop! He remembered drawing his sword, but something had struck him from behind and knocked him to the ground.

He recalled a foreign-accented voice yelling, "Where is the ring bearer, which one is he?"

Not knowing what else to do, he had quickly taken out the case containing Jatar's signet ring, yanked out the cathexis artifact, and promptly swallowed the thick round ring. That was the last thing he could remember before waking up in this blackness.

He crawled around in the darkness and found out a few things; he was in a small stone room about five feet by five feet and he was chained to one wall by his right ankle. By following the chain with his hand, he discovered that it trailed up the wall to connect to a ring set in the stone. Opposite from the wall was the room's only door. When he checked, he discovered that the door was locked.

_I must have been captured by whoever attacked my troop and now they want to ransom me to my parents,_ he thought, illogically. Then he remembered the ring. _Wait, perhaps it is Jatar's signet ring they want! They must think I know where it is and they're going to torture me for the location!_ That was a little better guess, yet then he thought, _Or, they are slavers and are planning on selling me down south_. That thought was imaginative, though severely back off track.

What shall I do? What would Lord Jatar do? I wish he was here to help me... wait, I swallowed his ring and his imprint is in the cathexis! "Jatar, speak to me, help me!"

Within his mind, he heard Jatar's response, _"What... who, G'Taklar, is that you?"_ Jatar's thoughts came into the young man's mind from the Cathexis ring. Jatar sounded like he was coming out of a deep sleep.

"Yes, it's me, G'Taklar; I'm chained to the wall and locked in a dark cell. What do I do?" G'Taklar asked aloud, not bothering to explain much of anything.

" _Hold on, where did you say you are... and how did I get here?"_ Jatar responded, puzzled.

"Well, do you remember telling me about how to stop the imprints in the ring from listening, or talking, by willing them not to speak or hear. I did that to you after the party, there were some cute girls and, well, you know I, well, I... anyway I forgot to wake you up later and then I took off and stored the ring, for safe keeping. I had no reason to put the ring on again, since the Zinterdalin negotiations were completed. That's why you don't know about the attack. You see we were..."

" _Hold on,"_ Jatar's thought interrupted G'Taklar's, _"I wasn't at the negotiations, that's why I sent my cathexis ring and imprint with you to Zinterdalin!"_

"What are you talking about; you are the imprint in the ring!" G'Taklar replied in exasperation.

G'Taklar's hand shot up to feel his face.

"Stop that!" G'Taklar exclaimed, "This is my body!" Now back under his own control, his hand returned to his side.

Jatar's panicked thought boomed into G'Taklar's mind: _"I am in your body! I can't move!"_

"Of course, you are," G'Taklar replied, exasperatedly, "and I'll thank you not to try and take it over again! You knew you were an imprint on the way to Zinterdalin and when I spoke with you at the negotiations, why don't you know now?"

" _I wasn't at the negotiations!"_ Jatar insisted, sounding confused, _"I stayed back at Lindankar to celebrate Michael's day of birth and designate him heir to the throne!"_

"That's what the real Jatar did, but you, well he, gave me his ring to talk to his imprint for important decisions," G'Taklar tried to explain.

" _Wait, you have to get back to Tarnelin; we need to warn Elizabeth! A necromancer and one of those Darknull creatures are in the palace!"_ Jatar exclaimed, as the dire events at the palace came flooding back into his mind.

G'Taklar's body had the sudden urge to stand, but he suppressed it. "Please, stop that!" he exclaimed angrily, "First off, we aren't going anywhere right at this particular moment and, secondly, how would you know what's happening at the palace in Tarnelin?" G'Taklar questioned the imprint.

" _I was there, a Darknull tried to kill me, but I escaped. Then I fought with a Tchulian major named Von Dracek and something hit me in the chest, some kind of light from the Tchulian's hand. I remember_ a white beam of _light coming at me and then... I woke up here,"_ Jatar's thoughts explained.

"But how could your thoughts travel all the way to the ring from the palace in Tarnelin?" G'Taklar asked the imprint, trying to be reasonable.

" _They couldn't, you have to be in close contact with the cathexis before imprinting can happen, unless..."_ Jatar trailed off, suddenly stricken by the hard truth.

"Unless what?" his young cousin prompted.

" _Unless you die,"_ Jatar answered softly.

"When you say die, you don't mean die as in being dead do you?" replied the confused G'Taklar, unable to accept what he had heard.

" _That's the only kind I know about, cousin,"_ Jatar responded softly.

"Are you trying to tell me you died?" G'Taklar replied incredulously.

" _It seems that way; when you eliminate all the other answers, that's the only solution left. When you die, your spirit leaves your body and tries to go on to the next plane - unless it has an imprint in cathexis metal. The imprint draws the spirit to the cathexis object. Once the spirit reaches the cathexis it replaces the current version of the_ imprint _with the real aura spirit. That's why I don't remember any of your journey, or the negotiations, my real spirit replaced the imprint."_ At the realization that he was truly dead, Jatar's mind left his own troubles and his thoughts went to his wife and child. _Oh, Elizabeth, what's to become of you and Michael?_

G'Taklar was also coming to the realization of what it meant for his ruler to have died, "But you can't die, you're the ruling Lord!"

" _There is no law in the world which says_ rulers _are immune to death, G'Taklar. I remember being struck in the chest by a beam of light, just before I woke up here. That Tchulian officer must have killed me with some kind of magic."_

"Then who rules in Lindankar?" G'Taklar gasped.

" _Elizabeth_ should, _until Michael comes of age. Thank G'lan that I designated him my heir before their plot to kill me succeeded. I just hope the net of conspiracy which slew me did not catch Elizabeth as well... or Michael. We must return to Tarnelin to_ ensure _that she and Michael are safe!"_ Jatar commanded.

"I'm afraid we are kind of tied up now, you see, that's why I wanted to talk to your imprint, I wanted to see if you could figure out how to get us out of here; I think I'm a captive." G'Taklar replied.

" _Where are we?"_ Jatar demanded, though his mind was still really off on his family's troubles.

"I don't know, not exactly. All I know is we're in a cell, about five by five. It's dark and we're chained to a ring in the wall by my right ankle. Last, but not least, I'm completely naked, I don't have a single stitch of clothing," G'Taklar complained.

" _You should fill me in on what got you here,"_ Jatar replied, as he tried to get his mind on his cousin's problem.

"This is what I remember..." and the young man began telling what he could recall of his journey back to Lindankar.

Far away in the Gellern Forest, Corporal Bante stood gloating over the bound and gagged Lady Elizabeth. The Lindankar ruler lay unconscious on the brown leaves of the forest ground. Bante's thoughts were gleeful, _Wait until I've brought back the body of the mighty Kirnath sorceress. I will be promoted immediately and any minor transgressions will be forgotten!_

One of the Tchulian soldiers spoke to the smug corporal, "It was sure lucky that we were waiting there, eh corporal?"

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Bante scoffed, "I chose that spot for our ambush because there was a high probability that our quarry would come back down that road. Remember, I'm the one who thought to cut off that bend in the road and get ahead of her to set the trap," Bante said.

"But we didn't get ahead of her, she was heading back the other way when she came into our trap," the soldier responded.

"Don't quibble, just because she came from the opposite direction means nothing; the ambush could be used from either direction, as I had foreseen," Bante said confidently, lying through his teeth.

"You pulled that out of your butt," a soldier muttered.

"What was that?" Corporal Bante demanded.

"It took lots of guts," the soldier replied louder.

"Yes, it did. Now, who wants to try that royalty I promised before I kill her?" the merc corporal asked.

"She's unconscious, can't we wait until she wakes up?" a different soldier asked.

"I'm afraid not; she's a sorceress, you wouldn't want to get fried by her magic powers now, would you? If you want her, now is the time," Bante offered the rough Tchulian enlisted soldiers.

Hidden in some bushes near the gloating Tchulians, Hetark wiped the blood from his blade onto the jerkin of the dead sentry at his feet. Then he looked through the trees toward the Tchulian's camp. He could see a large unkempt man heading over to where Elizabeth lay on the ground. Corporal Bante was grinning from where he crouched by her side.

Hetark stayed hidden behind the bushes, but moved forward in a low crouch until he was within ten yards of the enemy's camp. He quietly slipped a dagger from his belt and cupped the hilt in his palm with the sharp blade concealed along his wrist. As the soldier reached forward to open Elizabeth's leather riding jacket Hetark stood up and called out, "Get your filthy hands off her, you bastard. You aren't fit to be in the same world as that woman, so join the next!"

All the Tchulians jumped to their feet drawing their weapons, this included the one who had been hunched over Elizabeth.

Hetark brought his arm forward in an up-swinging arc, launching the hidden dagger underhanded at the soldier standing over Elizabeth. The dagger struck the attempted rapist in the throat and he staggered backward gagging on his gushing blood as he fell back into the camp fire.

The other eight soldiers and Corporal Bante started forward angrily toward Hetark when four crossbow bolts struck them from the woods to their right. Three of them went down hard and the fourth collapsed slowly to his knees with a bolt protruding from his stomach.

The remaining soldiers spun to face the new attack and saw the other five Lindankar Knight Protectors step out of the forest, each holding drawn weapons in their hands and each glaring pitiless death from their eyes.

The combatants met swiftly. Drake slew his opponent after exchanging three swift ripostes and parries before slicing the man down the face and then running him through the heart.

Gustin's sword parried the first blow his opponent dealt and then he split the man's skull with the ax in his off hand.

Becaris fenced briefly with his opponent and then cut through the soldier's throat with a blinding back cut that left the man unaware his throat was cut until he inhaled and the blood gushed out of his slit gullet. He grasped at his throat as he sank to his knees and Becaris ran him through the heart.

Rasal and Lasar took the longest. When a soldier approached them in a fighting crouch, they argued.

"He's mine!" Rasal exclaimed.

Lasar put a hand on his brother's chest to halt him and replied, "No, you'll kill him too quickly! I want these filthy attempted rapists to feel some pain."

"I promise that I will kill him slowly, come on let me do it," Rasal begged, solely to torture the sweating Tchulian.

"All right, but he had better suffer for what he planned."

By this time, the man had turned deathly white and was looking around at his other dying companions, he turned to run and ran right into Drake who thrust a dagger into his stomach. Drake had just finished with his other man and stepped up behind this Tchulian merc.

Rasal and Lasar looked into the shocked Tchulian's face as he fell to his knees and Lasar said, "You got off easy, scum!"

Bante was running through the trees with Hetark in close pursuit. The Tchulian corporal was terrified; he could not believe that his victory had turned sour so quickly. In fear for his life, he gathered his aura power and suddenly turned to kill his pursuer.

Hetark saw the fleeing corporal start to turn and launched his body into a flying tackle that caught the Tchulian in the upper body. They landed in a heap with Hetark on top. Before Bante could move Hetark's poniard took him under the chin so forcefully that the blade went clear through his brain and skull, the sharp point projecting out through the top of the dead Tchulian sorcerer's head. Corporal Bante's body stiffened and then went limp with swift death. Hetark yanked out the knife, stood, and turned his back disdainfully on the now dead soldier before heading back to the other knights.

In the dark cell G'Taklar finished telling the story of his capture to Jatar's spirit, "And then I woke up here, naked and chained to this wall of this dank cell!" He spoke aloud even though the conversation was within his mind.

Jatar's thoughts answered matter-of-factly inside G'Taklar's mind, _"I would say that the wisest move you made was swallowing my cathexis signet ring before they discovered it on you;_ otherwise, _they would have probably killed you outright. I think you were right; they're probably planning on torturing you to find out the location of the ring. I'll bet they are just waiting for you to awaken so that they can get started."_

The young man shuddered and said, _"_ Would you mind not talking about torture? It makes me ill."

" _Sorry,"_ Jatar replied, _"but if you want to avoid the real thing we should come up with a plan for escape, or it's 'you know what'!"_

"I'll never get out of here, it's dark, I'm chained to the wall, I don't know where I am, and I'm naked," bemoaned the young G'Taklar.

" _Quit whining, I'm here with you. Remember when you came to me and said you wanted some real adventure in your life? You said you were bored with court life and you wanted to have one of those_ old-time _adventures you read about, well this is it,"_ Jatar explained, trying to get G'Taklar going.

"This isn't what I had in mind, I pictured me killing the bad guy, returning the stolen round, and getting the girl. Being naked in a dark cell about to be tortured wasn't part of the story, as least not as I saw it," G'Taklar complained.

" _Well, this is how real adventures go, you get cold, hungry, tired, and you're in mortal danger quite often. Congratulations, you've hit the big time in adventures,"_ Jatar told him sarcastically.

"Thanks, a whole bunch," G'Taklar replied dryly.

" _Look at the bright side."_

"What bright side, it is pitch dark in here," G'Taklar responded dryly.

" _You could be dead, I am,"_ Jatar responded.

"Oh, that cheered me right up," G'Taklar noted.

" _Enough of this nonsense, it's time we figured out how to get out of here. Start by running your fingers over the lock on your leg shackle, I want to feel the mechanism,"_ Jatar instructed.

G'Taklar complied.

Jatar felt what G'Taklar's fingers felt and he thought to the scared young man, _"Good, it's a large lock of poor workmanship. It's likely they stripped you to take away any sharp tools you might have had that could pick a lock. Feel around the floor and see what you can find, we need a pointed object,"_ the older cousin requested.

After only a moment G'Taklar said, "How about this piece of straw?"

" _Keep looking,"_ Jatar answered.

The young man crawled around the room while feeling around on the floor. Eventually, he found a piece of string, but nothing that could be used to pick the lock. After searching the room twice, he stopped and spoke in a panicked voice, "There isn't anything and soon they'll be coming to torture me! What should I do, Jatar?"

" _Calm down, there are always options in life, you just need to look for them. Let's make a list of what we have,"_ Jatar answered.

"That's easy, we don't have anything," G'Taklar exclaimed petulantly.

" _We have a few items, for_ example, _string, straw, a chain connected to your foot, fingernails, spit, hair and a ring, at least when it, eventually, comes out"_ Jatar listed carefully.

"None of those will get us out of this chain," G'Taklar moaned.

Jatar's thought broke in, _"Quiet, did you hear something? Yes, I think there's a rat in here!"_

"Oh, now that's just great, I'm naked and a rat is here in the dark somewhere!" G'Taklar groaned, scurrying back against a wall and shuddering. The picture of a huge rat stalking him in the dark room came into his mind.

" _Are you obsessed with this naked thing? I want you to calm down, that rat could be your ticket out of these chains. Now listen to me carefully, you need to catch that rodent and then kill it before it bites you too much,"_ Jatar instructed.

"What do you mean, catch that rat? I'm not touching that thing," the young man announced.

" _Would you rather be stretched out on a torture rack? I know you want to be taller, but that's a rotten way to get there,"_ Jatar reasoned.

G'Taklar took a different tack, "Why do we need that rat? I'm not going to eat it, really, I'm not hungry."

" _You're not going to eat it, although someday you may find that there are worse things you may have to eat to survive. Luckily for_ you, we _just need its body, though not for food."_

"How am I supposed to catch a rat in the dark?" G'Taklar asked peevishly.

" _Listen carefully to locate it in the room. When you hear it just_ pounce _like a purclaw. Once you grab it, twist its head to snap the neck. There, that doesn't sound so bad, does it?"_ Jatar noted.

"Yes, it sounds terrible!" he complained.

" _Hot coals, burning out your eyes..."_ Jatar said, starting to describe the future torturing session.

"All right, all right, I'm listening for the rat," G'Taklar stated, reluctantly.

He waited and got up in a crouch poised on the balls of his feet. After a couple minutes, he finally heard a tiny scratching sound come from about three feet away. He leaped across the room in a low skidding dive while swiping his arms together in front of his body. He felt a small furry thing bounce over his left arm.

"Damn it, I missed!"

Jatar remained silent.

G'Taklar got up and waited again. Eventually, he heard the noise again and leaped in that direction, arms wide and sweeping forward. Again, he felt the rat scurry over his forearm but, this time, he turned swiftly and made a grab for the small creature. His hands grasped the hind quarters of the wriggling little beast. The swift turn made him fall sideways and he brained himself as the right side of his head smacked into the dark stone wall. The pain was so great that he nearly passed out, yet G'Taklar managed to hold onto the rat. He grabbed the rat's head with his free hand and quickly twisted the wiggling creature between his two hands. The clawing, biting animal finally went limp.

"By Vorg's souldead, I nearly bashed my brains out on that wall!" G'Taklar exclaimed while rubbing his head with his left hand, the dead rat in his right.

G'Taklar suddenly remembered he was holding a dead rat and his hand opened and he tossed it away from him with an exclamation of: "Yuck!"

" _You did fine. Now go and find that dead rat,"_ Jatar instructed.

"This is disgusting," G'Taklar responded, but complied by searching around in the dark until his hand encountered the warm, dead body of the rat. "All right, I found it, now what?"

" _Start ripping it apart, we need to tear out the largest bones. Then we can use them to pick this lock,"_ Jatar explained.

Muttering, G'Taklar started ripping at the rat's body and immediately had difficulty with the operation. "This isn't easy, any suggestions?"

" _Try your teeth,"_ Jatar responded.

"Come to think of it, I'm doing all right with just my fingers," G'Taklar replied in response to Jatar's suggestion.

After a short time, G'Taklar managed to pry some bones away from the tendons and tissues of the rat.

" _Now, try and pick the lock,"_ Jatar instructed.

"I don't know how to pick locks," G'Taklar complained.

" _I'm not a sorcerer at it myself, but let me give it a try,"_ Jatar insisted.

"And how do you propose to do that since you don't have a body!"

" _Just relax your arms and think about letting me use them,"_ Jatar coaxed the young man.

"You're not going to take over my body, are you?" G'Taklar asked, fearfully.

" _Of course not, I'll only have control of your arms."_

"All right, go ahead," G'Taklar agreed reluctantly.

Jatar found himself in control of G'Taklar's arms. The limited control was a strange sensation, yet that was all G'Taklar's mind was allowing. He chose a thinner bone by feel and inserted it into the lock. He twisted it around in a counter-clockwise motion, trying to move the single tumbler. The bone snapped.

" _Vorg's breath,"_ Jatar cursed in G'Taklar's mind.

"This feels weird, my arms are doing things I'm not telling them to do," G'Taklar declared.

" _You should feel what it's like to just have control of arms and nothing else,"_ Jatar responded.

He picked up another bone, this time, he used the thickest one he had. It bent, but then the tumbler gave and the bone moved around in a circle and the lock snapped open.

" _I got it!"_ Jatar exclaimed, _"Stand up and see how the chain is connected to the ring."_

G'Taklar took back the control of his arms and did as instructed. By feeling up the chain, he found another of the same locks holding it in place at the ring.

" _Good,"_ Jatar said, the then added, _"Give me control of your arms again; I need to pick this one as well."_

"Why?" the puzzled young man inquired.

" _A thick chain like this can make a formidable weapon when swung around,"_ Jatar answered.

"Yes, like in the story of Furnian the Mighty. He used the short chains still shackled to his wrists to fight his way out of the den of the dead," G'Taklar said, brightening at the thought of one of his favorite fictional hero's exploits.

Jatar was amused by the sudden enthusiasm that boiled up in the young man, he knew how much G'Taklar had read and studied. _"I hope this chain works as well for you as the shackles did for the warrior in your story,"_ Jatar said, to help maintain G'Taklar's enthusiasm. This was the first thing that had really gotten the young man's mind off his fear.

Once he managed to unlock the chain from the lock Jatar said, _"Now that we're free of the wall, let's examine the door."_

G'Taklar walked over to the door and felt around. He found that it was a door made of oil-soaked rough hardwood with rusty iron bands reinforcing it near the top and bottom. There was no locking mechanism on this side of the door. "We're stuck," he exclaimed forlornly, "there's no lock for you to pick on our side." Fear was seeping back into his mind at the thought of the possible torture to come.

" _Come on, 'Tak, would Furnian have given up so easily?"_ his older cousin asked, trying to give him encouragement.

"No, but he's so strong he would have just kicked down the door. I'm not that strong or large," G'Taklar responded.

" _Everyone has their gifts in life; I've always been impressed with your intelligence. From what I have seen you've read and learned more than any other boy your age. That's one reason I sent you to negotiate with Hervet, I trusted the brain in that head on your shoulders,"_ Jatar told him, figuring it would not hurt to throw the boy a compliment.

"Not enough to send me to Zinterdalin without your imprint watching over things," G'Taklar responded.

" _Oh ho, I see you were bothered by that. Listen, I didn't send the ring because I thought you were dumb, I sent it because you lack real experience. This way I could start giving you the experience to go with the book knowledge and natural intelligence you already possess. With my imprint to help you through the rough_ spots, _I could let you go alone._

" _There were some advantages doing it that way, you arrived with the outward look of being young, in charge, yet alone. I'm sure when Lord Ufer Hervet looked at you and learned that you were leading this embassy; he thought he had a golden opportunity in the negotiations. He knows what experience is worth. In the first exchange of words he probably filed you away as smart, yet completely green._

" _I can only guess, but after negotiating with you and my hidden imprint, he probably went somewhere quiet and pulled his beard out in frustration,"_ Jatar thought, picturing the frustrated ruler.

"He did seem to turn red a few times after I delivered some of the lines you supplied," G'Taklar admitted.

" _That would have been great to see! Did his right eye start twitching?"_ Jatar asked.

"Yes, quite often, but he always smiled and spoke as if nothing were wrong," G'Taklar described.

" _That_ twitch _is a dead giveaway with him, Lord Hervet was about to burst a seam in anger every time he twitched. You see, 'Tak, that's what I meant by experience. Some people have empirical knowledge of the world and some people have learned purely by_ studying _. The most formidable people are those who have learned the knowledge and gained the experience to use it, a rare combination. That's why I sent you on this embassy, to gain that experience to go with the knowledge you already possess. My imprint was there just to smooth the process by helping you avoid the pitfalls of inexperience and to accelerate your development. If I hadn't trusted you, would I have let you borrow the most precious object the Ardellen family owns? This ring is priceless beyond imagination; countries could be purchased with it. Wars would be fought over it if anyone knew it was cathexis, yet I trusted you with this heirloom. That trust was well founded; it was quick thinking to swallow it when that sneak attack took place. At least now we have a chance of getting the ring out of here and back to Elizabeth. So, try and quit worrying so much and use the brains G'lan gave you; your worry is getting in the way and mucking up the works,"_ Jatar stated, finishing his lecture and hoping the boy felt a little more confident. He would soon need all the confidence he could muster.

"I'll try my best, Jatar, but I wish I was a natural at these things, like you," he lamented.

" _No one could ask for more than your best, 'Tak, but don't think I just knew everything. I've been getting wise instruction from my father and grandfathers ever since I took the throne. This ring has their imprints in it as well. Unfortunately, you can't use their knowledge for a while."_

"Why?" G'Taklar asked.

" _My aura is attached to this ring now. Until you release me and I want to go, it will keep you from contacting any of the other imprints within the ring. With my aura attached to the ring I am too strong to allow the imprints through."_

"You mean your soul is in this ring?" G'Taklar asked in amazement.

" _Yes, it will not go on to the next plane until released."_

"That's horrible, your soul is trapped! What happens if I release you?" the young man asked.

" _My imprint will remain, but my soul will go on to join The River,"_ Jatar answered.

"Then that's what I'll do!" G'Taklar decided.

" _Eventually, yes, but I don't want to go yet,"_ Jatar explained.

"Why not?"

" _Because an imprint is just that, a copy. Right now, my soul is here, so this is the real me. I want to see and speak to my wife and son before I depart this world. Perhaps I will wait until Michael is old enough to release me himself, as I did for my father. That way he will know his real father and not just the imprint that will stay with him through the family ring,"_ Jatar explained.

"Then we'll just have to get out of here, together," G'Taklar reasoned.

" _Right, and since there is no mechanism on the door, what possible methods could be used to lock it from the other side?"_ he asked, now that he had G'Taklar calm and thinking.

"They could have padlocked it or they could have used a drop bar," G'Taklar decided.

" _Right, how could we tell?"_ Jatar asked, already knowing, but wanting the young man to gain some confidence by thinking of a few things.

"If I shake the door, we might hear the lock rattle," G'Taklar answered.

" _Good idea! But what if the door doesn't shake?"_ Jatar prompted.

"Then it is probably held by a drop bar."

" _Right, so give it a try,"_ he told him, now that the young man had figured out what to do.

Alternately shoving and quickly releasing the door, G'Taklar tried to rattle it.

"It's pretty solid," G'Taklar reported.

" _Check the door jambs, how large are the gaps?"_ his cousin requested.

G'Taklar responded after a moment, "The gap on either side is about the width at the tip of my smallest finger."

" _Yes, I could feel it. Get the string you found earlier, perhaps we can get it around the drop bar and lift it up and out,"_ Jatar suggested.

"Great idea!" G'Taklar said with new enthusiasm for possible escape.

He found the string and tried to feed it through the crack between the door and the wall. After a couple of tries, he said, "It keeps bending and falling down, we need something to help it through... straw!"

" _Good thinking,"_ Jatar encouraged.

"I'll use it to guide the string through," he explained, unnecessarily.

After a few more attempts, he managed to push the string through until just the end was left sticking out of the door jamb.

" _Now try and hook the end back in lower down, below the bar,"_ Jatar instructed.

Taking a long piece of straw, G'Taklar spent a few moments fishing for the string, eventually, his patience paid off and he felt it come back through on the end of his piece of straw.

" _Now, be careful, the string isn't too strong. Lift the two ends up and see if the bar will lift out of its slots,"_ Jatar instructed.

G'Taklar did as his older cousin suggested, but after a moment, he said, "It's stuck; if I pull any harder, I'm afraid the string will break."

" _All right, lift both ends of the string with one hand while you rattle the door a little to loosen the bar."_

"I'll try it," he promised and attempted the maneuver. After a moment, he said, "It's moving

" _Good, once it's high enough to be out of the holder, lower it back down carefully, if it was a tight fit it should catch on the top of the holder."_

When he was finished G'Taklar asked, "All right, should I try and open the door?"

" _No, it won't open anyway, we need to do the same thing to the other end of the bar,"_ Jatar explained.

"Of course, there must be two holders, one on each side of the door."

" _Yes, we need to lift this end up, hoping that the other end doesn't drop back into its slot. If both are raised, you can try to push the door gently open."_

A short time later, they had the board out of its slots.

Jatar explained the plan, _"You're going to push on the door with you left hand while keeping the string held up with your right. If this has worked, the bar is going to drop to the floor and the door will open. That will make some noise and might bring your jailers running. In case it does, as soon as the bar drops, turn immediately and pick up the chain for a weapon. Then move swiftly out the door. You want to surprise them, if possible. If it's too dark to see, don't go so fast you fall down some stairs or into a pit,"_ Jatar cautioned.

"I've got it, is there anything else you want to tell me before I do this?" he asked, hoping Jatar had a brilliant idea he had not yet shared.

" _Just don't get so excited that you don't listen to me; we have two brains here, let's use them both, right?"_

"Right," G'Taklar echoed.

The young man paused a moment to take a breath and then dropped the bar and quickly turned to get the chain. G'Taklar pushed the cell door open with his left hand while holding the chain ready in his right. The screeching sound of the rusty hinges murdered the silence. In the near pitch dark, G'Taklar could barely make out a corridor going straight ahead.

" _Go, quickly,"_ Jatar's thought urged the frozen youth.

"Sorry," G'Taklar muttered and then started down the corridor. He noticed he was passing other cell doors to either side. After the third one, his corridor dead-ended into another hallway where he could turn left or right. "Which way?" he asked Jatar.

" _Look both ways for me... good! Does it seem lighter to you on the right?"_ he asked after G'Taklar complied.

"Yes," the young man responded.

" _Then that's the way we want,"_ Jatar suggested, directing his cousin.

G'Taklar moved carefully down the new corridor and he noticed it was definitely getting lighter as he progressed. After thirty yards, he came to a stairway going up.

" _Wrap the excess chain around your arm, carefully, so that you don't make rattling noises. Now, look up the stairs, I want to see what's at the top."_

G'Taklar complied and they could see the stairs going up about thirty steps. At the top, there was a short stretch of floor and then a closed door. Dim light seeped in from around the edges of the doorframe.

" _Go quietly up the stairs, if you hear something, pause and listen."_

G'Taklar did as Jatar suggested.

" _All right, now listen at the door,"_ Jatar instructed.

"I don't hear anything. Wait... there are footsteps coming!" he whispered in sudden fear.

" _Yes, I can hear them; it sounds like two or three people and that's too many. Quickly, go back down the stairs and retreat to the corridor we haven't tried yet,"_ he instructed the terrified boy.

"What if it's a dead end," G'Taklar asked as he navigated down the dark stairs.

" _We know the other one ends at our cell, it can't be worse than that,"_ Jatar responded logically.

"I see your point."

They arrived at the new corridor and moved down it a short way. It soon became too dark to see, though by feeling along the rough stone wall G'Taklar could tell that the passage continued.

" _Stop, we're far enough down this dark passage that their light shouldn't reach us, let's take a look at our captors. If they come this way we'll have to run, but I'm pretty sure that they're headed for your cell."_

They heard the door open at the top of the stairs and saw the three men coming down. The man in the lead held a lit torch. They were dressed in brown military uniforms with an emblem on the left side of their chest. The emblem depicted a skull with a dagger thrust sideways through the empty eye sockets.

" _Tchulians!"_ Jatar exclaimed, _"That's one of their elite squads; you can tell by the skull patch,"_ Jatar informed G'Taklar.

" _Those are the same bastards who attacked our troop,"_ G'Taklar informed Jatar, this time in thought.

" _So, Major Von Dracek wasn't alone in his plot against us; other Tchulian mercs are involved in this conspiracy,"_ Jatar surmised.

" _What should I do?"_

" _Wait until they've gone down the hall to your old cell, then slip across the opening of the corridor. We'll try and sneak up the stairs ahead of them."_

When the three soldiers reached the junction, they turned left and immediately stopped.

"The prisoner's escaped!" the one in the lead exclaimed.

" _Vorg's breath, we forgot to close the cell door! In the torch light they can see it open, which means you escaped!"_ Jatar exclaimed in thought, _"No chance to slip by them now, you should move quickly down the corridor behind us; they may check to see if you're nearby!"_

G'Taklar immediately turned and started down the hallway. Behind them, they heard the footsteps of the approaching Tchulians echoing in the passages.

Then one of the soldiers said, "He couldn't have gotten past us in the guard room, so he's still down here. Hewten, go back for more men and torches to help us search. If we don't find him, the commander will feed us to the souldead."

Then the soldier raised his voice and yelled out into the dark, "Listen up, boy, if you're close enough to hear me come out and give up. I promise that if you tell us where to find the signet ring and we recover it; I'll guarantee your freedom. The ring is all we want. If you continue down these corridors you will, eventually, reach some rubble where the wall has crumbled, revealing some natural caverns. Those caverns aren't freedom, they're death. Souldead haunt the old labyrinth of caves below us. One such creature down there is particularly nasty, we've tried to hunt him down for the past five years and, during that time, he's killed over forty soldiers. We've found dead men with a hole in the top of their skulls where he sucks out their brains. Give yourself up and you'll get a fair deal, I promise."

" _Something about that man's voice doesn't make me want to trust him with a coin purse, let alone your life,"_ Jatar told G'Taklar.

"What about the souldead?" G'Taklar whispered in a barely audible voice as he questioned Jatar.

" _I'm not fond about fighting souldead in the dark, but I'm positive that you will be killed by these soldiers if they acquire the ring, no matter what they promise. Sometimes it's better to take your chances with a possible danger rather than a sure one. If there are caverns, there are exits to the caverns; let's see if we can find one,"_ Jatar recommended.

" _I guess you're right, besides I just can't stand the thought of torture, especially when it's my body being tortured,"_ G'Taklar reasoned in thought.

" _I can't say that I blame you. Well let's get on our way, the sooner we get started the sooner we'll see the light of freedom, outside,"_ Jatar stated optimistically.

Gustin carried Elizabeth away from the dead bodies of the recent battle and took her to a clearing by a tiny brook. He sat down on the carpet of brown pine needles and then cradled her head in his large lap.

Hetark sat down next to them and swabbed her forehead with a cloth soaked in cold water from the bubbling stream.

Eventually, her eyes fluttered open. A moment later, focus returned as she looked up into Gustin's face. "Gustin, have I overslept?" she asked in a soft drowsy voice.

"No, milady, you may sleep as long as you wish," he replied gently.

Elizabeth's brow furrowed as she tried to bring her clouded mind under control, "I had a horrible dream! You, Drake, and Hetark were all dead."

"It nearly wasn't a dream, milady, but remember the story of the famous old coin, the one that always pops up to cause trouble?" he replied by way of answer.

She suddenly tensed as the memory of recent events started to return, but then she smiled. "This is wonderful, you're alive and... Hetark, you too?" she asked after turning her head and seeing the other knight.

"Yes, the creature didn't find me all that appetizing; he wanted to move onto the main course. Drake is also alive and Becaris, Lasar, and Rasal are here, yet before I explain what happened, please, where is Michael?" he asked and the concern for the safety of the heir showed on his voice and strong face.

"Michael is safe," Elizabeth replied.

"Even from the Darknull?" Gustin asked.

"That Darknull will never foul the air of this or any other world again! With Michael's help, I destroyed it," Elizabeth stated with satisfaction.

"But where is Michael now?" Hetark asked.

"He is at the Kirnath School," Elizabeth explained.

"Good, then we should get on our way there soon ourselves. I'll feel better when some of us are there to guard him against danger," Hetark stated as he got to his feet ready to go.

"We're not going to the school and don't ask why, at least, not yet. I'll explain further when you're all together. Tell me how I came to be here. The last I remember I thought the three of you were dead and I was heading back down the forest road to the fork. I wanted to confirm that there was nothing I could do for any of you. Then I was going to turn at the fork to lay a false trail away from Michael. That's all I remember, except I think I fell off my horse," she added, wrinkling her brow in puzzlement toward the end.

Gustin answered, "Drake and I were nearly done for, the Darknull had us both and it was sucking out our life. It was the most painful thing I have ever endured," the big knight explained, not mentioning Drake's episode with his fear. He continued, "Drake heard the horses first. I immediately remembered you telling us that the other Tchulians were on our trail. I thought they had caught up, but it turned out to be the other three Knight Protectors who had decided to follow us and take out any enemies that they found pursuing.

"They saw the Darknull on top of us and attacked. It leaped away from us and I found the strength to call out and tell our friends to use torches, there were plenty lying around. They took up positions above us with torches and the Darknull decided it would take too long to subdue us, so it went on after you.

"Our mounts had run off, so it took us awhile to find them and follow. We caught up to Hetark who was also trying to find his horse," Gustin stopped talking to let Hetark take over the narrative.

"The same type of thing happened with me, except it didn't even pause to fight," Hetark explained, "The creature must have known that you were getting close to the Kirnath school. I didn't give the creature credit for that much intelligence, but it just left me standing there, worthless," Hetark noted with chagrin.

Gustin took up the narration again, "We caught up with Hetark and came after you and Michael. Drake was riding scout ahead of us and saw the markings of an ambush in the trail. We followed the trail of their horses and found them near here, you were unconscious and they were going to kill you, eventually."

"Eventually?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes," Hetark responded simply, not saying anything about the near-rape.

After a moment, Elizabeth's eyes flared slightly as she figured out the implication, "I understand, Hetark," Elizabeth said and the thanks were evident in her soft tone and the way she held his eyes for a moment.

Gustin finished describing the rest of the rescue. "I carried you over here to this brook and it's been about two bells since the battle. We've been frantic about Michael. Becaris, Lasar, Rasal, and Drake are out looking for tracks to see if any riders departed with Michael before we arrived."

"I'll go and bring them in," Hetark stated and went to his horse to mount up.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and let her head drop back into Gustin's lap as she rested while they waited for the other knights to return.

When they heard horses approaching, Elizabeth got up and greeted all the knights warmly. After they dismounted, she recounted her adventures since leaving Hetark. She did not mention the cathexis earring. When she finished her story, the knights were quiet for a short time and then Drake spoke.

"We cannot leave Michael there without guidance and protection, milady, we swore an oath to protect him!" he exclaimed, speaking for all the knights.

"He'll have guidance, Drake, and his best protection is his anonymity. Our presence would take that away from him," Elizabeth countered.

"But, milady, what if someone finds out? No one there will know that he needs protection," Becaris said, entering the discussion.

"Don't you think I'm concerned about that? Leaving him there was the hardest thing I have ever done. I am his mother; it ripped out my heart to leave my child! But I didn't leave him completely defenseless, but I can't tell you the details," Elizabeth half explained.

"Milady," Drake began, "I don't know what it is that you can't tell us about, but if you don't convince me that Michael is going to be safe, I will go back to guard the boy. We swore an oath to protect Michael, you're asking us to put that aside. If he is truly safer without us then we will stay away, but I'm not convinced," Drake stated forcefully surprising Elizabeth with his intensity.

Elizabeth paused for a moment and considered; the cathexis earring her family possessed was secret. Its secrecy was for good reason; murderers and thieves would attack and kill her entire family to find the location of a cathexis artifact. The only reason her family had kept it for so long was by keeping it hidden. To tell these men of the earring would be breaking her own oath of secrecy, one she had sworn when she became the keeper of the artifact.

She considered her options for a moment before answering the waiting knights. "I have sworn an oath of secrecy that I cannot break, but let me tell you this; by arcane methods I will communicate with Michael and he will always have the guidance of his mother. I will not know what is happening to him, but I will be there to give him guidance. Please don't ask me to explain any further. If you have any suspicions about how this is done, please keep them to yourself, the safety of my entire family rests with your silence," she pleaded to the knights.

Hetark and Gustin exchanged looks of comprehension, but they did not discuss their conclusions aloud.

"All right, that takes care of the guidance question, what about protection? Can your arcane means do anything physical to help Michael?" Drake asked.

"No, I can only give him advice."

"And at his current age, this advice means nothing. He'll have to be older before your advice will help him, correct?" the knight asked, continuing his line of thought.

"Yes, right now his only protection lies in his remaining hidden," Elizabeth answered.

"Milady, that is not sufficient! However, before you protest, let me propose this: of the Knight Protectors, Becaris and Hetark are the only faces that are somewhat known, correct?" Drake asked.

Elizabeth nodded slowly.

Drake continued, "Let Gustin and I take jobs at the school, I could work in the stables and Gustin is the son of a blacksmith, he could get work in the smithy. Our faces are not well known; we could stay out of sight and watch over Michael. Who would know? I think the gains outweigh the risk; he might need us before he can understand enough to follow your direction," Drake said, his eyes pleading with Elizabeth.

Before responding she contemplated his arguments and then she said, "If you wait awhile so that your arrival does not coincide with the arrival of Michael, it might be safe. You would have to lead the lives of simple farm hands; Michael's safety would rely upon not giving yourselves away. You might have to stay there working silently for years," she warned.

Drake checked with Gustin by a quick glance and the big man nodded, then Drake answered, "We can do it, milady; Jatar said he always wanted at least two Knight Protectors with Michael, this way his wishes are still met."

Elizabeth held up a finger, "And... you will have to let me tamper with your minds. I can block the knowledge of who you are and of Michael. I will make a trigger which will release your memories the first time that you see the full moon. This way when the Adepts give you a cursory reading, which they will do when you apply for jobs at the school, you will not give away Michael's identity, or your own. Then once you see the full moon your memories will return."

Drake frowned, but Gustin answered for both of them, "We trust you, milady, and will submit to whatever you wish to do to our minds."

Drake took a breath, but then nodded in agreement.

Elizabeth answered, "Then it is decided, the two of you shall stay and take jobs at the school. Meanwhile, I also have jobs for the rest of you. Becaris, Lasar, and Rasal, you have made a good team so far, so I am going to have you continue together on an important assignment.

"First though, I am about to share a secret with all of you what you must never mention to anyone except the seven of us and Michael someday, understood?"

They all nodded.

Elizabeth took a breath, but unlike the cathexis earring she left with Michael, she had not sworn an oath to keep this secret, though she had known she must in most circumstances. "All right, the Ardellen signet ring is more than just a symbol of office, it is one of the nineteen cathexis artifacts. Its value is extraordinary, that of whole kingdoms. No one must ever learn of this fact, but you must all know it so that you understand why Michael must have that ring. In it are the personalities of past Ardellen rulers and, more importantly, his father's imprint. With that ring, Jatar's imprint can guide his son.

"G'Taklar, a young fifteen-year-old cousin of Jatar, took it on an embassy to Zinterdalin. By this time, he should have started the journey back toward Tarnelin. I want the three of you to find G'Taklar and explain the situation. Then I want you to bring him and the signet ring to me. Seek me in the land of my birth, Autrany, in the city of Myrnvale."

They digested this news for a moment and then Becaris said, "But, shouldn't you have some of our protection with you while we are out seeking the ring?"

Elizabeth smiled, "Hetark will stay and accompany me to Myrnvale. He will also continue my combat instruction. First, we will travel to Roper and after finding the right person, we will then move on to Myrnvale, where I will begin recruiting an army."

"Milady, there aren't any soldiers to be had in Myrnvale, the armies of Autrany were destroyed in the war when the Usurper and his Bliksian army overran the country. Autrany is in complete chaos right now. It would be dangerous for you to go into that country while it is occupied by the Usurper and his armies," Becaris reminded Elizabeth.

"I know, Becaris, but there are no safe paths for any of us now. Autrany is one more thing the necromancers took away. I am of the Hevarnan bloodline and members of my family are the rightful rulers of Autrany. If all my relatives were murdered by the Usurper then I am heir to the throne, though I hope some survive. Jatar and I had already begun plans to mount a campaign against the Usurper to drive him from my family's land. Now the subjects of Autrany won't receive the help they need from Lindankar to defeat the Usurper and his armies. Though Autrany's militia was defeated, there will be many refugees. They may have become bandits holed up in the mountains. They will be the nucleus of my army. By the time Michael comes of age I swear I will have an army for him to lead and, once we have taken back Autrany, we will march on Lindankar and take down the necromancer who murdered my husband and stole Michael's throne."

At that bold proclamation, the knights were silent in thought for a moment. They all knew that what she was proposing was a mountain nearly too steep to climb. Finally, Gustin spoke, "Those bandits you are talking about are going to be a pretty tough crowd for a Lady such as yourself."

And Becaris added, "Perhaps you should think this through, milady."

"I have and though I appreciate your concerns for my health, I do have a plan. For the time being I will be going in disguise. Besides, Hetark will be there to look out for me," she said to reassure the protective knights.

Gustin didn't look convinced, but he refrained from saying anything else.

Hetark looked pensive as he said, "Even assuming this works, it's going to take some time to weld that army together, defeat the Usurper of Autrany, and then take on the necromancer in control of Lindankar." Hetark wanted to make sure Elizabeth understood the enormity of what she contemplated.

"I have time, it will be years before Michael to come of age. My son is going to lead this army of retribution," she prophesied.

"Now that sounds like a good plan," Gustin exclaimed.

But here Elizabeth turned to Becaris, Lasar and Rasal as she said, "Just remember, I need that signet ring for Michael. Find it at any cost and bring it to me in Autrany. If something happens to me, I want you to take the ring to Michael when he is about seven years old and have him put it on so that his father's imprint can speak to my son," Elizabeth instructed.

Becaris asked, "Where shall we begin our search?"

"G'Taklar is probably celebrating his first successful mission by sampling every Inn along the trail back to Tarnelin; I'd start there. Find him and bring me that cathexis ring!" Elizabeth ordered with a determined look on her face.

Somewhere in a dark cave under the mountains, far away, G'Taklar spoke into the darkness, "G'lan I'm thirsty! I'd shake Vorg's putrid hand for one drink of water!"

" _I know."_ Jatar replied, _"Stop and listen again, I want to check on our pursuit."_

G'Taklar stopped feeling along the rough walls and paused a moment in the dark to listen, then he said, "Nothing, it's been over two bells since we last heard any of the search parties."

" _I just wanted to be sure,"_ Jatar answered.

G'Taklar started moving slowly down the corridor.

Since their escape, they had reached six dead ends and each time they had backtracked and taken another passage. They had also descended four flights of stairs deeper into the earth.

G'Taklar noticed a change in the wall texture and said, "The wall feels different; it feels like rough stone, more natural."

" _Feel around it again,"_ Jatar asked.

The young man complied and Jatar felt the rough stone through his fingers and said, _"I think you finally reached the original caverns."_

"Oh good, now I don't have to worry about soldiers catching me, I just have natural drop-offs and murdering mutated souldead to contend with," G'Taklar exclaimed sarcastically.

" _It could be worse,"_ Jatar answered.

"Oh, how?"

" _I'm not sure, 'Tak, but I'll keep thinking about it,"_ Jatar replied in jest, trying to lighten his cousin's spirits.

"That's what I thought. G'lan I'm thirsty!" G'Taklar exclaimed.

" _You said that already."_

"I know, but I'm still thirsty."

" _Do you think it's going to get better if you keep asking?"_

"You know the old saying if you don't ask, you'll... whaaaaa!"

G'Taklar had not been careful and he had stepped forward without first feeling carefully for the floor when there was none. He reached wildly in the air for something to grab, but to no avail. With arms flailing, he fell only to land hard on his back, sliding down a very steep decline. He continued to scream, "Yaaaaa."

" _Shut up! Get your feet around in front of you, otherwise plan on landing on your head,"_ Jatar shouted mentally.

G'Taklar shut up like a clam snapping closed and worked on getting his sliding body under control. He was about halfway around to getting his feet out in front of him when his body went completely airborne. He screamed again, but his bellow was abruptly cut off as his body struck freezing water. He plunged down into the depths and lost his sense of direction in the pitch-dark water. He didn't know which way to swim to reach the surface and panic set in immediately.

Jatar's calm thoughts pierced his consciousness, _"Drop the chain or you'll sink!"_

G'Taklar quickly released the heavy object.

" _Now relax and keep holding your breath, you will start to rise toward the surface. Come on, relax! I know your breath is running out, but you must wait. As long as you relax and hold your breath you'll rise toward the surface. Wait for it, all humans float! All humans float!"_ he promised.

With Jatar's voice to help, G'Taklar finally got control of his mind and relaxed while holding his breath. His lungs began to burn with the buildup of carbon dioxide, but now that he wasn't struggling, he felt a sensation of rising. He swam in the direction he was naturally moving and, after three strokes, G'Taklar felt his head break the surface.

He immediately gasped in some much-needed air. He tread water and enjoyed the simple sensation of breathing. After a moment, G'Taklar had recovered enough to communicate with Jatar sand stated, "I'm glad you were here; I didn't know all humans float."

" _Well, truth is, most of them float,"_ Jatar replied.

"But you said they all did; I could have been sinking!"

" _Yes, but given your naked state and body shape, I figured the odds were better that you were a floater than that you would choose to swim in the right direction,"_ Jatar explained calmly.

"You lied to me!" And the fear and fatigue the cold young man felt led quickly to anger.

" _I saved your life,"_ Jatar replied.

"Why didn't you just say that most people float?"

" _Would you have held your breath and remained calm knowing that only most people float?"_ Jatar asked him in return.

"Absolutely not," G'Taklar barked.

" _You just answered your question. Look at the bright side, you got what you wanted, a drink!"_ Jatar exclaimed, trying to lighten G'Taklar's mood again.

Fuming with anger G'Taklar exclaimed, "I don't want your help anymore!"

Jatar was instantly cut off by the power of the host's mind willing it to happen.

Unaware of what his thoughts had just done and still fuming, the young man chose a direction and began swimming in the dark.

It was midnight in the capital city of Tarnelin. The Darknull was late in returning and that puzzled the necromancer. CAracusS was pacing furiously up and down the balcony just outside the Ardellen apartments.

Major Von Dracek sat at a table behind him writing a message. When the major finished, he said, "There, this should take care of the Lindankar heir if he and his mother turn up at the Kirnath School. I've given Raven instructions to kill him and, if possible, Lady Ardellen as well. Of course, that could ruin the spy's cover, but it would be worth it!"

He tied the message to the scaly blue leg of another stirglik messenger; this one's destination was the small village near the Kirnath School.

CAracusS walked past the major without commenting on the message, but he muttered foul things under his breath. Though it was not really in his way, CAracusS slapped at the stirglik on its perch as he passed. The creature's wings unfurled for balance and it squeaked in a high pitch voice. CAracusS stormed off the balcony into the room and then headed down to his new torture chamber. On arriving, he ordered two guards to bring a prisoner from the cells. Most of the captive servants and military staff had been executed earlier in the day, but he had saved a few for emergencies.

CAracusS tortured the poor servant girl quickly, for no other purpose than to soothe his nerves. Then he placed his hand on her forehead and withdrew her life force, burning her brain out in the same instant. Satiated, the necromancer left her corpse in the chamber, now a dead husk, and he retired to his rooms in the upper palace.

G'Taklar was swimming along in the dark while muttering, "You wanted a quest, you wanted excitement and thrills... well, you got them! You couldn't just enjoy reading about it, no you had to go out and find an adventure. Yuck, what was that, probably a fish... a fish underground? What if it's some strange eel that eats flesh? What if it's a guek, or... or... a pack of gueks! They could strip the flesh off a leg in a heartbeat. G'lan, get me out of here!"

He touched something with his foot again and pulled his feet up to get away from the creature he was imagining below. Holding his feet up and swimming with his arms was difficult and he soon grew tired. He thrashed around a little more while trying to stay afloat and keep his feet up, but lost the battle. When his feet finally came down, they found what he had touched, the bottom. He sighed with relief and waded up and onto a stony shore. He was bruised, scraped, cold, wet, and completely alone in the pitch dark.

He sat in total despair. Since no one was around to see, he tried crying for a short time, but his sobs echoed off the walls eerily, so he stopped. Besides, he figured that crying with no one around to give him sympathy was a waste of time.

Again, he spoke aloud just to have the company of his own voice. "What am I going to do? The souldead are going to suck my brains out." The anger he had felt had faded and his fear was growing. Finally, he gave in and spoke to his cousin's spirit, "Jatar, why aren't you speaking to me? I'm all alone here... with... with brain sucking souldead! I've read about them; they can be horrible. The history books said that Vorg made many grotesque mistakes before he created his vorghoul, so you never know what kind of twisted creature you might find! I don't like the thought of crawling around in the dark with brain-sucking monsters lurking about, please, please speak to me!"

With G'Taklar's will to let him speak Jatar was finally able to reply. His first thought to G'Taklar was, " _So, you're still alive."_

"What do you mean?" The puzzled young man inquired.

" _In your_ anger, _you cut off my connection. This isn't a game, G'Taklar. Death will come swiftly for you if you make a mistake. You have one advantage right now, two minds to handle problems, one of them more experienced. When you cut me off, you're risking your life,"_ Jatar admonished his cousin.

"I'm sorry, Jatar, I won't do it again."

" _Good, I'm trying to do everything I can to help you reach safety and get back to Tarnelin,"_ he told him reasonably.

"I know, I'm really sorry," G'Taklar said for the third time.

" _It's all right, now quit apologizing and tell me where we are,"_ Jatar instructed.

"I swam until I found this shore, that's all I have done," he explained.

" _Check around the wall; I'm hoping there's a way out of here without making you swim any further. Your body is too cold to go back into that water for_ a while _,"_ Jatar decided.

Still shivering, G'Taklar started crawling around the small shelf between the water and the cavern wall. "I found a low opening, but I don't like the thought of crawling through."

" _You might not have much choice. Check around further to see if there is another way to go,"_ Jatar told the cold young man.

"Nothing, this hole is the only way to go, that or the water," G'Taklar explained after concluding his search.

" _I don't think you're up to another dip in that cold water, not knowing how far you might have to swim or if there even is another place to get out."_

"No, I agree," he answered with a shiver at the thought.

" _All right, you'll have to crawl,"_ Jatar decided.

"Great," G'Taklar answered sarcastically. He crouched down and entered the low tunnel. As soon as he began crawling the ceiling started getting lower and lower until he had to wiggle along on his belly for about twenty feet.

"This is getting kind of tight in here," he complained to Jatar.

" _So far, your only other choice is going back to the lake,"_ was his cousin's answer.

"I know and that's what has kept me going this far, but this ceiling had better not get any lower or it's going to be a long crawl backward," G'Taklar noted.

A few feet farther, the passage began to widen out and, eventually, he could stand under a low ceiling. G'Taklar started to walk forward carefully while keeping his hands out to feel for any obstruction. Suddenly, he heard a strange low gravelly voice speaking out of the dark ahead, "Good food!"

G'Taklar froze at the sound of the base voice; it was powerful, deep, and sounded like it rolled around in a massive chest before booming out of some cavernous mouth.

Then, in contrast, a high-pitched voice answered the first one, "Possibly, Ebemoon, but would you mind giving me a chance to speak to him before you try to eat the poor boy?"

Then the high-pitched voice called to G'Taklar from out of the dark passage ahead, "What's your name, young man?"

" _You better answer him, he already knows you're here,"_ Jatar advised.

"I am G'Taklar Ardellen, a noble from fair Tarnelin in Lindankar."

He tried to say it proudly, but his youthful voice broke on the word, 'fair', so his desired effect was ruined.

"G'Taklar of Lindankar and a noble... thank G'lan, finally someone with more than a fifty-word vocabulary," the higher pitched voice exclaimed.

"Who are you?" G'Taklar asked somewhat fearfully, he could not see anything in the absolute darkness. G'Taklar remembered to 'think' his words to Jatar as he'd done during the negotiations, this way the voice in the dark wouldn't hear his conversation with his cousin, " _That voice sounds cultured; could this be another escaped prisoner?"_

Jatar's thoughts answered, _"I'm not quite sure... something is odd here."_

The deep voice of Ebemoon spoke with more animation, "Eat Food!"

"No!" the high-pitched voice hissed, "Just wait a moment, you dullard!" He spoke up again to G'Taklar. "In answer to your question, my name is Halvisun."

"What do you want with me?" G'Taklar asked.

"Brains!" Ebemoon bellowed.

From the irritation evident in his voice, Halvisun was obviously getting peeved with Ebemoon. "Would you mind? The first chance in eons that I get to speak with someone of intelligence and you want to ingest the poor boy," Halvisun squeaked in exasperation.

G'Taklar thought frantically to Jatar, _"I think Ebemoon is the brain eating souldead the guard spoke about! Should I run back down the passage?"_

" _No, this Ebemoon would catch you when the passage narrowed to a crawl. You should keep talking, it seems that this Halvisun person has some control over Ebemoon... so try to be friendly,"_ Jatar suggested to his cousin.

G'Taklar spoke aloud again, "Halvisun, who is that person with the deep voice?"

"That is Ebemoon, the most stupid creature to ever walk the face of the earth and my everlasting companion, however, I don't want to talk about him, I want you to tell me about yourself. There's not much time left and I'm so starved for any news of the world."

"Starved?" G'Taklar answered in a quavering voice.

Halvisun chuckled, "Just an expression, I'm not here to eat you, though I can't speak for Ebemoon."

"What do you mean about not much time?" G'Taklar asked.

"I'd tell you to run, but though Ebemoon is lacking in brain power his tracking instincts are spectacular. He'll just catch you anyway and I wouldn't have this chance to talk to you," Halvisun explained with a sad note.

" _Jatar, what do I do? He's as much telling me that this Ebemoon will kill me!"_

" _Stay calm, 'Tak, find out as much as you can from Halvisun,"_ Jatar suggested.

"Halvisun, can't you tell Ebemoon to leave me alone? You seem like a friendly person."

"Ebemoon has a mind of his own on this kind of thing. Believe me, I've tried to reason with him, G'lan knows I have, more times than I care to recall, but he always gets his way. You see Ebemoon and I... oh, drat... I seem to have miscalculated, sorry G'Taklar, I so wanted to help you..."

"What are you saying, Halvisun!" G'Taklar yelled in panic.

Suddenly two massive hands grabbed G'Taklar around the upper arms, startling the naked young man. He yelled in pain as sharp claws pierced his arms, but a moment later he became silent as the venom from the souldead's claws paralyzed his system.

" _G'lan, I can't move!"_ G'Taklar exclaimed within his mind.

" _I'm with you, G'Taklar,"_ Jatar answered calmly, trying to be the anchor for G'Taklar's wildly fluctuating emotions.

" _It's one of Vorg's souldead! It's going to kill me and suck the brains from my head! Help me, I..."_ G'Taklar's overtaxed mind blacked out from the strain and the venom coursing through his body.

When G'Taklar became conscious again all he could see was blackness.

" _So, this is death?"_ G'Taklar thought resignedly.

" _Not quite, you aren't dead yet,"_ Jatar's unmistakable thought responded.

" _Jatar, where are we?"_

" _Look around, so I can see."_

G'Taklar did as instructed and he could actually see a little. Around him was a circular wall, about fifteen feet in diameter. Looking upwards, he could make out a round patch of grayness above, which seemed to be coming from some far away dim light. _"We're in a_ pit _,"_ he reasoned, _"how did we get in here?"_

Jatar's calm thought replied, _"Ebemoon must have dropped you in this pit."_

"My head hurts, I must have landed on it," G'Taklar exclaimed aloud, rubbing at his sore scalp.

They heard voices above echoing in the cavern. The terrified young man caught enough words to understand that they were discussing ways to eat him.

" _It seems that a lot more than your scalp is going to hurt if we don't get moving. That sounds like numerous souldead up in that cavern above us. I gather that you're about to be consumed in some ritual. I suggest you keep your comments to me in thought, so they don't hear you."_

" _What happened to Halvisun?"_ G'Taklar thought to Jatar.

" _I don't know,"_ Jatar answered.

" _What should I do, Jatar?"_

" _Don't panic, remember what you learned in the Tchulians' cell; we got out of there, didn't we?"_

" _Yeah, just to become the main course in a souldead's dinner party."_

" _Check around and see if we have anything to work with."_

G'Taklar explored along the stone bottom of the rough pit, but it seemed to be completely empty. He was so concentrated on his search that he only caught a little of what the souldead were saying, but the word 'squash' caught his attention. _"What did that one say?"_

" _You don't want to know, believe me."_

G'Taklar shuddered, his imagination running away with the thought of what the souldead were planning.

" _There's nothing, only some loose_ gravel _and dirt!"_ G'Taklar exclaimed after finishing his search of the small floor area.

" _Then check the walls,"_ Jatar advised.

G'Taklar went to the wall and started feeling around the circumference of the pit.

" _There seems to be a section of loose rocks here,"_ he noted, finding some cracks among the stones.

" _Pull them out, if you can. Perhaps someone hid something, or maybe you can make a foothold_ to help _you climb out of here!"_ Jatar said with excitement. Truthfully, he had not held much hope that G'Taklar would find anything.

G'Taklar pulled out the small rocks first then found that one large piece was loose. When he pulled it out, he discovered that it was a thin piece of stone. He set it down on the floor of the pit. Behind it was a dark cavity.

" _Maybe it's a passage!"_ he exclaimed excitedly, hope springing forth.

" _Feel your way in, but hurry, G'Taklar,"_ Jatar urged, expecting to hear the awful voice of Ebemoon from above at any moment.

G'Taklar started to reach into the low hole as he thought to Jatar, _"This could be a passage out of the entire caverns!"_

His hand touched something leathery in the dark that was lying on the bottom of the small cavity.

" _G'lan, it's a dead body!"_ he exclaimed in disgust when he felt the shriveled hand of the corpse.

" _Old, from the feel of it,"_ Jatar noted dispassionately. _"Keep moving G'Taklar, when they discover the opening behind_ you, they _'ll soon follow."_

G'Taklar didn't need to be told twice. Steeling his nerves to touch the corpse in the dark he started to crawl over the remains quickly only to bash his head into solid stone.

" _Ouch! Vorg's breath, that hurt!"_

" _Stop wasting time and check around for other openings!"_ Jatar ordered, worry evident in the tone of his thought.

G'Taklar sensed his concern and quit rubbing his sore head and felt around the walls. _"Nothing, it's just a small cavity."_ His own words sounded like a death sentence to the frightened boy, his emotions had taken too many shocks in the past day.

" _As I told you before G'Taklar, you're not dead yet. Get yourself all the way in so that you can seal it up again from the inside!"_

" _But what good will that_ do _me? This guy probably did the same thing and he starved to death in here! There's no escape!"_

" _I'll guarantee you one thing, if you're already dead there will be no chance to escape, but as long as you're alive we might think of something."_

" _What's the use? I should just let them kill me and get it over with, starving to death is a horrible way to go,"_ G'Taklar moaned.

" _Look, G'Taklar, I heard the souldead arguing about who gets your intestines and who gets to suck your blood first. Ebemoon put in his bid for your brain, it seems he has some affinity for sucking out that portion of your anatomy."_

" _G'lan help me!"_

" _He isn't going to help anyone who gives up. Now, are you going to do what I told you or are you going to willingly let the souldead divide you up like a carcass at a meat market?"_

G'Taklar didn't answer; he just crawled back over the old cadaver and went back to the original opening. Following Jatar's suggestion, he put all the small rocks in the passage and then crawled back inside before pulling the large flat stone into place. He used the small rocks to wedge around the edges, holding the slab in place as it had been before he pulled it loose.

Jatar then said, _"Good, now I need you to search the corpse."_

" _Why do you want me to touch this rotting thing? Don't ask me to use its bones for anything!"_ G'Taklar pleaded.

" _Do you always ask so many questions?"_

" _Yes, I do,"_ the young man quipped.

" _He has clothes and there might be a sword,"_ Jatar explained.

G'Taklar reached out to the rotting body and began feeling the shriveled corpse. _"You were right, it's old, but the clothes seem all right. G'lan, what a stench, I think I'm going to be ill!"_

" _Is he wearing a sword?"_ Jatar asked, ignoring G'Taklar's discomfort.

After feeling around the putrid torso G'Taklar located a leather belt on what must have been the man's waist. _"No sword, he only had a dagger,"_ G'Taklar answered in disappointment.

" _A dagger! Thank G'lan, your odds of surviving just tripled; now we can fight if it comes to that. Get his clothes off,"_ Jatar suggested.

" _I wish you could do some of these things, it feels disgusting,"_ G'Taklar noted.

" _I am doing it, I feel whatever you do,"_ Jatar responded, feeling through G'Taklar's hands as he moved the rotting body around, pulling each piece of the silky soft clothing off the corpse.

" _Conceal the dagger by tucking it into the pants behind your back. If it comes to a fight, you might be able to surprise an opponent who thinks you are unarmed. I think_ those souldead _can see in the dark,"_ Jatar explained.

Not long after G'Taklar finished dressing he heard the deep voices of the souldead barking loudly above the pit.

" _What if they discover the hole?"_ G'Taklar thought in fear.

" _Unlikely, they don't seem to be overly intelligent and it obviously worked for that poor man back there, though his luck ran out_ afterward _."_

After a short time, the voices of the souldead went away.

" _Now what?"_ G'Taklar asked.

" _We give them a little while to make sure they don't come back and check the pit again. Eventually, you may go back out and try to find a way out of the pit."_

" _Where they can see me?"_

" _Yes, unless you're planning on starving to death in here like your buddy here."_

" _My buddy!"_ G'Taklar exclaimed in disgust.

" _Just a joke, G'Taklar."_

The voices of the souldead came back three times; several of the beasts had to see for themselves that their meal had indeed gotten out of the pit. Eventually, they stopped looking.

" _All right G'Taklar, it's been two bells since we last heard any of the souldead nearby, they're probably out searching the passages for you,"_ Jatar explained.

" _That's a wonderful thought, if we do escape from this pit all I have to do is_ avoid _a horde of searching souldead who_ have _pieces of my body already assigned as their portion of the meal."_

" _Does sarcasm run in your family?"_

" _Are you kidding, cousin?"_

As quietly as possible G'Taklar removed the small stones and then set the large one down on the floor of the pit. Once he had scrambled out of the hole, he looked up toward the dim patch of grayness twelve feet above.

" _Now what?"_ G'Taklar asked.

Jatar didn't answer; he was busy trying to think of some way out of the predicament.

#### CHAPTER EIGHT: EBEMOON/HALVISUN

"G'Taklar," a high-pitched voice said from out of the darkness above.

" _It's Halvisun!"_ Jatar noted, unnecessarily.

" _What do I do?"_ G'Taklar moaned in thought.

" _He knows you're here and he hasn't called out the alarm, so perhaps he's here to help you out of the pit."_

G'Taklar looked up and whispered, "Halvisun, will you help me escape from this pit?"

"Of course, that's why I'm here. I'm sending down a rope."

A moment later, a rope hit G'Taklar's left shoulder. He grabbed it and started climbing upwards. When he reached the rim of the pit two very powerful hands took hold of his shoulders and lifted him up and over the lip and then set him on the ground.

G'Taklar started to say, "Thanks, I couldn't have gotte..." But then he saw Halvisun in the dim light and exclaimed in shock, "Vorg's breath!" He leaped back from the horrible snarling visage of Ebemoon's fanged face and huge body, nearly pitching himself backward into the dark opening of the pit. The big souldead's long arms grabbed him by the shoulders again and steadied the terrified G'Taklar.

Halvisun's squeaking voice said, "Sorry, I was going to explain earlier, but my cycle was up sooner than I'd thought." G'Taklar could now see that Halvisun's voice came from a second small head sprouting out of the massive souldead's shoulder. G'Taklar had not noticed it until the squeaky voice spoke.

G'Taklar was horrified and exclaimed, "Vorg slay me, you have two heads!"

"Vorg indeed," Halvisun answered, "it is that evil bastard who I have to blame for this condition. I'd let Ebemoon suck out his brain if he wasn't long dead and gone."

"But you're the creature who put me in the pit!"

"No, that was Ebemoon here," the little head explained, bringing up his right hand to point at the larger centered head. The fanged maw snapped at the pointing finger, but it was out of reach.

"He's rather upset about my helping you escape, though I am in full control right now. I'm not even letting him speak. But come, we must get you out of here soon or he'll give the alarm."

"Didn't you say he couldn't speak?"

"Not as long as I'm in full control, however, that doesn't last long. Soon he'll regain control of his head, though it will take the full change of cycle before he gains control of the body. Now quickly, come this way."

The souldead creature led the way into the dark.

" _What do I do?"_ G'Taklar thought to Jatar.

" _Follow him, he's your best chance right now; just don't let him know you have the dagger and watch for any changes in control."_

G'Taklar hurried after the large beast and soon they entered a passage where it was completely dark.

Halvisun put a hand out and stopped G'Taklar's progress as he said, "We have some time now, so let me tell you what I want in exchange for helping you escape. I want you to tell me of the world, describe where you come from, the people you know, what's happening out in civilization, that kind of thing. I'm going insane trapped on this stupid beast's shoulder. It eats people's brains in an attempt to get smart enough to figure out how to get rid of me."

"Is there any chance it will take over as we talk?"

"No, I promise to leave before that happens. Once Ebemoon regains control of his mouth I'll have some idea about how long it will be before he regains control of the body. Until then, you should be safe enough. I sent the other souldead searching in the wrong direction, so you don't have to worry about them finding us."

"And you'll keep your end of the bargain?" G'Taklar asked.

Halvisun nodded his little head.

G'Taklar took a deep breath and then started telling the lonely Halvisun all about Lindankar's court, then about his recent trip to Zinterdalin for his first embassy. After they'd talked for over a full bell Ebemoon's voice suddenly bellowed out, "Brains!"

Halvison's pipsqueak voice exclaimed, "Vorg change me, just when it was getting interesting. Oh, well! I do thank you for your conversation." Then Halvisun stood up.

"Eat your brains, get smarter than Halvisun!" the big head exclaimed.

The small head sighed in the darkness and said, "I can't control his voice anymore, so I'd best get going. I'll go as far as I can get in the opposite direction so that he'll have a long way to return before he can hunt you. Follow this passage to the river and take the path along the bank..."

"Kill you!" Ebemoon bellowed.

"...it will lead to an exit from these caverns. Do hurry; eventually, he will regain control..."

"Kill, kill, kill!" Ebemoon barked.

"...and seems quite worked up."

"Good-bye, Halvisun, I wish there was something I could do for you..." G'Taklar said, his voice trailing off.

"You have. Now run, G'Taklar."

G'Taklar heard the sound of Halvisun leaving and a moment later he was alone.

" _Get moving G'Taklar, we're not out of here yet,"_ Jatar reminded his cousin.

"No problem, all I need is a map and a light," G'Taklar replied, sarcastically.

" _Don't complain, at least you have some time. He could be using your head for a breakfast bowl about now,"_ Jatar answered.

"Don't remind me," G'Taklar replied, shuddering at the thought and then asked, "Suggestions?"

" _Keep listening_ for _the sounds of flowing water and keep moving fast,"_ Jatar answered logically.

"You're the older and wiser one, I follow, master!" G'Taklar replied, dripping sarcasm.

" _Don't lay it on too thickly,"_ Jatar cautioned.

"Whatever you say, Halvisun," G'Taklar responded.

" _Oh, brother,"_ Jatar complained.

"Cousin," G'Taklar corrected.

SKartaQ was visited by a shade at his shadow fortress. The head of the necromantic council sat at his desk in the Ice Tower, writing down the results of his latest experiment. He was recording the details on a piece of tan parchment with red letters done vertically down the page. He dipped his pen in the bowl of human blood before him and then, after a thoughtful pause, he wrote his next three words. The dry parchment absorbed the blood hungrily.

A voice broke the silence and SKartaQ looked up calmly from his work.

"Greetings SKartaQ," the shade of CAracusS addressed his fellow necromancer.

"CAracusS, how go our plans in Lindankar?" he asked.

"Everything went as planned, with one exception. Elizabeth Ardellen escaped with the heir to the Lindankar throne and all our attempts to apprehend her have met with failure," he replied.

SKartaQ absorbed that news for a moment and then stated, "She must be stopped!" Then he demanded, "Why haven't you taken care of this?" A dark frown stole over his scarred face.

CAracusS gave him a quick summary of everything they had done to try and kill Lady Ardellen and capture her son. He finished with the absence of the Darknull. "I sent a Darknull Baron after the wounded sorceress and her child, but it has not returned. As impossible as this may sound, it is possible that she destroyed the Baron. The only other explanation would be that she reached the Kirnath School and the Darknull is still waiting, yet I doubt that is the case, he would have returned by now."

SKartaQ's frown twisted the scars that made up his face into a new map of pain. He spoke angrily, "I find this all very disturbing. You better have some plan to handle this, CAracusS."

The shade nodded and replied, "Our Tchulian merc has a spy within the Kirnath School. That spy is watching for the Sorceress and has orders to kill her and the heir if she shows up. However, I don't want to trust this to the Tchulian and his spy, which is why I am here now. My resources are limited while I play at being Lord Jatar, so I'll need you to convene the council and alert them to these developments. You must convince them to apply further assets to the destruction of the Sorceress and the heir."

"Anything else?" SQartaQ asked.

"Yes, I also suggest we postpone the assassination of the traitor; the Tchulian has found another use for our pet Lord. As far as the Tchulian major, once he is no longer an asset, I will remove him myself," CAracusS explained, finishing his briefing.

SKartaQ paused a moment in thought and then spoke: "For now, at least, I will do as you request. However, you know that RIveK is going to demand that we destroy your soul when she learns of this foul up."

"I know, but if she becomes too big of a problem then send her to see me, I can still handle that bitch," CAracusS claimed.

"You underestimate her, CAracusS, you have never been able to handle that woman," SKartaQ noted.

The Shade scowled, but refrained from arguing with the council leader. "I'm returning to Jatar's body now, we'll speak again at the next Council meeting." Then a sick tingling could be felt in the air as the rift opened and the projection of the CAracusS went through, vanishing.

SKartaQ took out a new piece of parchment, dipped his pen in the blood and started a summons message addressed to the other members of the Necromantic Council.

G'Taklar arrived at a place where the cavern widened out into a larger space. It was still pitch dark, so he felt around the walls until he discovered the openings of three new passages. As far as he could discern, the two left ones angled down slightly and the passage on the right was level.

"What do you think," G'Taklar asked Jatar, "the left passage is as good a choice as any."

" _Wet your finger and hold it up near each passage opening to see if you feel any wind,"_ Jatar advised.

After doing as asked G'Taklar reported, "My finger feels a little cooler in the middle passage, but I might be imagining it."

Jatar had him take that passage while feeling his way along the right side with his hand.

"Ho!" G'Taklar exclaimed aloud. He had nearly pitched forward when his left foot came down on nothing. He swayed on the brink waving his arms for balance, but managed to recover; his earlier fall had made him leery of a sudden drop off in these dark passages.

After recovering from his fright, G'Taklar said, "I guess this passage was a bad idea after all, we should go back and try another one."

" _Wait!"_ Jatar exclaimed, _"Check for_ wind _."_

G'Taklar wet his finger again and held it aloft and then said, "I definitely feel some air movement now, but it won't do us any good, I can't continue this direction."

" _Hold onto your boots! Let's check this out completely before we give up. Something tells me this wind may lead to that river. Find a small rock and toss it down the hole and then we'll listen and discover what we hear,"_ Jatar instructed.

By feeling around the edge of the tunnel G'Taklar found a hand sized rock. Sliding his feet forward carefully, he relocated the edge of the pit and dropped his rock. It only fell for an instant before clattering on the rock bottom.

G'Taklar spoke enthusiastically, "It isn't deep at all! I hardly let go before it hit the bottom."

" _Good, now lower yourself over the edge and see if you can feel the bottom,"_ Jatar encouraged G'Taklar.

With his back to the drop-off, G'Taklar lowered his body feet first over the edge until he was resting his weight on his downturned palms, yet his feet had still not reached the bottom.

"What now?" the young man asked, "I don't feel like extending any further, I'd have to hang from my hands over an endless pit in the dark."

" _It's not a bottomless pit. We already discovered that it's a short drop, we're just not sure how short,"_ Jatar reminded the teenager.

G'Taklar pulled himself back out of the unknown hole. "There is no such thing as a 'short drop' when you own the body taking the fall."

" _Fine, then let me have control of your body and I'll do it,"_ Jatar suggested seriously.

G'Taklar's mind immediately felt fear as he remembered childhood stories of Wervorgangling monsters taking over children's bodies. The thought of giving complete control of his body to Jatar was terrifying at a deep level in the young man's psyche.

"I can't, Jatar, I just can't," G'Taklar whined, "It was bad enough letting you use my arms to undo the locks, but at least I was still in control of most of my body, so I knew I could regain control at any time. Isn't it true that if I give you complete control of my body that you would then be the host and I would be the rider? You could keep the body no matter what I wanted, right?" G'Taklar demanded.

" _Technically you're correct, but I wouldn't ever do that, 'Tak. I only suggested it so that I could help you overcome your fear of falling in the dark, a fear that is very understandable,"_ Jatar answered.

"I know you think you would give it back, what if you changed your mind after you had control? Don't you agree it would be tempting to have a body again? Then you could resume your life. You could track down the men who did this to you, return to your wife and be there to play with your child as he grows," G'Taklar embellished.

" _Enough!"_ Jatar said with obvious pain from the tone of his thought.

"I'm sorry, Jatar, but I had to talk about those things to show you why I couldn't let you have control of my body," G'Taklar explained.

" _I agree, those are things my heart aches for, but I still wouldn't take your body, G'Taklar. As tempting a picture as you painted it still wouldn't happen, I am not the kind of person that could live with the thought of stealing your body. It would be like murdering someone in cold blood, I just couldn't do it. And you're forgetting Elizabeth, she wouldn't take me that way and I wouldn't want my son to grow up knowing that his father stole someone's body,"_ he said, trying to reassure his young cousin.

"I still can't let you, or anyone, take my body, Jatar, it's mine. The thought of someone else using it is the most terrifying thing I can imagine! I hope you understand," G'Taklar said to Jatar.

" _I understand your fear, G'Taklar, but you are wrong about me. I just hope that no situations come up where your choice turns out to be your_ bane _,"_ Jatar cautioned.

"Everyone goes through life making their choices; they just hope they make the right ones. I'm only taking the risks that everyone else takes," G'Taklar pointed out.

" _Yes, but most people aren't in a situation where every other decision might be a fatal one. Just remember, I have some skills that you do not yet possess, try and take advantage of them,"_ Jatar instructed his frightened host.

"I'll do the best I can, Jatar."

" _I know you will. Now are you ready to look_ for _the bottom of that crevice?"_ he asked, now that G'Taklar seemed to be calmer.

"All right, I'll extend down, but I'm not going to like it," the young man said as he moved over to lower himself down into the darkness.

G'Taklar hung his legs over the emptiness and once again rested his weight on the palms of his hands, his arms locked at the elbows. _"I just hope you're right about this,"_ he thought to Jatar as worry for his predicament started to rise and eat into his momentary calm.

" _Lower yourself down onto your elbows, you'll probably find the bottom then,"_ Jatar suggested.

"All right, I'm at my elbows and still feel nothing," G'Taklar responded.

" _Yes, I can feel it with your senses. Try hanging by your hands."_

With a large intake of breath that communicated his nervousness to Jatar, G'Taklar lowered himself further until he hung straight down; his gripping fingers gave him his only purchase on the rock above. He still could not feel the bottom with his feet.

His fingers began to slip on the loose gravel on the floor above his head.

"I've had it!" he exclaimed to Jatar, panic making his voice ragged. "The bottom's too far down! I'm getting out of this hole." He started to pull himself up and put too much stress on the traction between his fingers and the rock. With a yelp, he lost his grip and fell.

He landed at the bottom of the crevice about one foot below where his feet had dangled a moment before. His panicked scream cut off abruptly when his feet suddenly impacted the floor.

Jatar didn't say anything, but sometimes silence is the worst critic.

G'Taklar growled aloud, "I know, I know, you told me the bottom was close. I shouldn't have panicked, but I'm doing the best I can, so would you give me a little rope this time?"

" _I didn't say a word. I know you're doing your best! Let's both forget it and get going before Ebemoon and his little headed sidekick get back on your trail,"_ Jatar said to get G'Taklar's mind off his embarrassment.

G'Taklar got to his feet and carefully felt around the sandy floor and walls of the small crevice. He found two short tunnel openings about four feet high that ran perpendicular to the direction of the passage above. The walls of the new passage were made of a smoother stone, though he stood in fine sand.

" _This is probably a small underground stream; when it rains outside the run off seeps down into these passages,"_ Jatar guessed.

"But that means this isn't the river Halvisun was talking about!"

" _True, but it must lead to that river, small streams tend to run together to form rivers."_

"Possibly... perhaps I should climb up and continue down the original passage?" G'Taklar mused.

" _I think we should follow this dry stream bed and see where it goes. If it gets too narrow to navigate, we can always come back and try the other passage; what do you think?"_ Jatar asked to make G'Taklar think he was in on the decision as well.

"I agree, it could lead to the river," G'Taklar acknowledged and started down the tunnel in a crouch.

" _We would be better off if you headed_ downhill _'Tak,"_ Jatar suggested as G'Taklar headed in the wrong direction.

"I was just checking to see if anything was behind us," G'Taklar replied as he turned around, trying to cover his mistake.

Jatar let it pass.

G'Taklar kept one hand running along the wall and the other out in front of him to keep from abruptly running into something hard. After a time, he said, "Do you hear that?"

" _Yes, it sounds like flowing water, it's probably the underground river,"_ Jatar answered. _"But don't get moving so fast that you fall in, that might be bad."_

"Believe me, I've had enough of swimming in underground water," G'Taklar said in a hoarse voice. The constant fear of Ebemoon catching up in the dark was beginning to wear on his psyche. Jatar could sense his fear getting stronger.

" _You'll be fine. Just remember that this leads to the way out. Take your time and keep listening carefully. The sound of the moving water will keep getting louder so that should tell you when you're close,"_ Jatar said to reassure his inexperienced young cousin.

"And hope I don't fall in, right?" G'Taklar answered dryly, retreating from his fear by making light of the situation.

" _Hope has nothing to do with it, you must learn to rely on your senses and the information they give you. Just pay attention, you're doing fine,"_ Jatar responded, knowing that he would have to keep a close watch on G'Taklar's fears and emotions if they were to survive the rest of the journey.

As G'Taklar traveled through the dry streambed the sound of moving water slowly increased in volume. He found his fingers getting wet from moisture condensing on the walls of the tunnel as he trailed his fingers along the wall to follow the passage in the dark.

" _Look ahead carefully,"_ Jatar instructed G'Taklar suddenly.

"What do you mean look... you mean listen right?" G'Taklar corrected.

" _No, I_ mean _look."_

"You're right! I can sort of make out the tunnel walls ahead! Light must be coming in from a way out!" G'Taklar started to move forward at a faster pace.

" _Hold on, there could be a number of reasons for the light ahead. It could be fire or torch light, so don't run,"_ Jatar cautioned.

G'Taklar's initial excitement faded as he considered Jatar's logic, so he slowed to a more careful speed. The further they went the better he could see, yet the light was still extremely dim.

Jatar's cousin finally spotted a rough shaped round circle of lighter grayness up ahead at the end of this tunnel. Upon reaching the exit he stopped at the edge and looked out.

His small passage opened onto a much larger tunnel which ran perpendicular to the smaller tributary from where he had approached. The new tunnel was dominated by a river with a width of about sixty feet. The rushing water filled nearly the entire cavern. G'Taklar's dry tributary stopped twenty feet above the water level. When he looked down, he could make out a three-foot-wide path cut into the side of the cavern about fifteen feet below. It followed along the course of the river as far as the young man's eyes could see in the dim green glow. The light seemed to emanate right out of the walls, but not from any distinct point.

"What do you think is making this light?" G'Taklar asked his cousin.

" _I'm not sure; it looks like the same dim glow we saw back in the_ souldead's _cave. Take a look at the side of the cavern walls,"_ Jatar asked.

Leaning out around the edge of his tunnel exit, G'Taklar looked at the rough stone that made up the cavern wall. He touched it and found that some type of moss came off onto his fingers. When he looked closely at the moss it seemed to glow.

" _It's some type of light emitting plant, I've never seen anything like it,"_ Jatar noted. _"_ Of course, _I haven't spent much time underground either,"_ Jatar added.

"However it works, I'm just glad I can see, even if only barely. That constant darkness was starting to get to me. What do you think we should do, follow the river downstream?" G'Taklar asked. His spirits were obviously rising, Jatar could tell by the lighter tone and quicker pace of his voice.

" _That would be my suggestion,"_ Jatar responded.

G'Taklar carefully slid down the steep slope to the path below, making sure he had enough friction on the stone to keep himself from going too fast and ending up in the river. He had just started down the rough stone path when a loud and deep voice boomed out from above and behind. The voice echoed through the vast cavern, even over the sound of the rushing water.

"Ebemoon eat brains, eat you!"

G'Taklar's head snapped around in surprise and fear as he looked for the source of Ebemoon's echoing voice. Through the dim moss glow, he could barely make out the souldead's misshapen humanoid form. It had monstrous shoulders and long arms, with a smaller bump of a head to the side of the larger one in the center. G'Taklar saw the creature leap down from the mouth of the tunnel he had just exited.

"What should I do?" the scared young man gasped to Jatar in desperation.

" _Jump in the river,"_ was Jatar's immediate advice.

"I don't know where it goes, I could be jumping to my death," he retorted.

" _Then run,"_ Jatar said, not wishing to waste valuable time arguing, _"that thing will be on you in moments and it doesn't sound like Halvisun has any control of him right now."_

G'Taklar followed the path downriver as fast as he could manage in the dim light. Behind him, he heard a deep bellow and knew that Ebemoon must running along the path after his fleeing quarry.

The young man fled precariously down the thin winding path while attempting to keep his balance and footing on the rough stone that he could barely see in the dim light.

"Is he gaining on me?" the terrified young man asked in a panic. He started trying to spot a long enough level section of path to chance a glance back over his shoulder.

"Food now!" Ebemoon screamed from right behind G'Taklar, which pretty much answered G'Taklar's question.

The voice was so loud and close that G'Taklar nearly leaped out of his skin. He tried to spin around to face the creature but lost his footing on the path. He waved his arms wildly as he lost the battle for his balance and then fell backward into the flowing river. As he fell, he glimpsed two thick grasping hands tipped by long nasty looking claws just missed his falling body. A moment later, he hit the cold water with a mighty splash.

He surfaced a couple of heartbeats later and spit out a mouthful of the river water. Through the dim light and water, he made out the inhuman Ebemoon pacing him along the shore as the current swept him down river. The arms of the souldead were nearly long enough to drag on the path. G'Taklar could hear the voices of Ebemoon and Halvisun screaming from the shore, though the sounds of the water kept him from understanding what either of the heads was trying to say.

G'Taklar saw Halvisun's small head yelling into Ebemoon's ear and figured that he was attempting to distract his bizarre companion. Then a strong current pulled G'Taklar under again and he had to fight for his life, trying to get back up for air. When he finally managed surface, Ebemoon was behind him and losing ground to the swift flow of the river. G'Taklar tread water as best he could and turned to look forward. Downriver he could just make out the cavern ceiling getting lower. He took one last look back and saw the souldead creature following doggedly behind his escaping meal.

"What now" G'Taklar gasped to Jatar.

" _When the ceiling starts to get too low to keep your head above water, take three deep breaths, hold the last one, and kick underwater with the current until we get to the next air pocket."_

"What if there aren't any air pockets?" G'Taklar asked, worried.

" _Keep kicking until there is,"_ Jatar instructed.

G'Taklar would have continued to argue, but the cavern ceiling was getting too low, he took Jatar's advice and started his three breaths. He took the third as the ceiling nearly hit him and dove under the water. Kicking along with the current, he went as far as he could, until his lungs ached and hurt, calling for air. He kept feeling along the ceiling, while nearly passing out from the effort of holding his breath. Finally, he felt the ceiling rise and raised his head. He gasped in a breath, pulling in a lung's full of musty cavern air; he thought it was the sweetest tasting air he had ever breathed.

The swimming boy had barely caught his breath when the ceiling started to close in again. G'Taklar quickly gasped in three more breaths and went down again. He found three more air pockets the same way. As he dove from the third, he instantly felt a massive acceleration as some mighty current sucked him downward. He was sure this was the end as all light faded and he felt the water pulling him further and further down some vast chute.

" _Protect your head; curl into a ball!"_ Jatar yelled in his mind.

Just in time, he did as Jatar instructed. His body struck the side of the cavern once, hard, then he was back into the main flow.

His breath began to run low when he felt the water sweep upwards swiftly. Suddenly he was in the air, completely, though only briefly. He plunged back into the river, however, this time the ceiling was far above and it was brighter. G'Taklar looked back and saw a giant fountain of water erupting straight upwards towards the ceiling of the cavern.

He realized he must have been spewed up into the air by the powerful exiting flow of the river. Treading water, he gasped in sweet breaths of air, still drifting with the current. When he finally looked up again towards the cavern ceiling, he saw a strange sight; little points of light dotting the darkness.

"What do you think those are?" he asked Jatar.

" _Stars, we're out! This is the exit of the river, you're free of the caverns!"_ Jatar exclaimed, thrilled at their sudden escape.

"I can't believe it, I made it!" G'Taklar joined Jatar in jubilant excitement.

Soon, the flow of the river took him out of the canyon to where he could swim to a small sand beach. He could not see the surroundings very well in the dark of night, so Jatar suggested they climb up the side of the nearby hill where they could wait for the sun to rise and give them a view of the surroundings.

Following his suggestion, G'Taklar climbed upwards and soon passed over a dirt wagon road. He continued to climb upslope until the road was out of sight. Utterly exhausted, the young man curled up and went to sleep behind some boulders.

#### CHAPTER NINE: RACHAEL

Rachael was serving three Tchulian soldiers kier when Fats the innkeeper spotted the young girl. He had been counting the round in a box he hid behind the counter under a loose brick. There wasn't enough there to buy him the horse he had taken a liking to the day before. He was angrily looking for a reasonable justification for his poverty when his squinty eyes fell on the new girl, Rachael.

She's a good-looking wench, even if she is a bit small, the rotund man thought for the hundredth time. She must be taking in lots of metal with looks like that, he figured.

He decided it was time to collect his share, especially since he had already warned her about giving him his ninety percent of her earned coinage from the men she serviced in her room. _A room I'm giving her without charge!_ he rationalized.

He moved back and waited inside the kitchen door for the young girl to come in to fill an order.

She came through the door a moment later with her tray held in her left hand, balancing four empty mugs.

Fats grabbed her by the right arm which caused her to drop the four mugs off the jolted tray. They crashed to the floor, breaking on the bricks into shards of dark brown pottery.

"You'll be paying for those out of your tips, you clumsy idiot!" Fats yelled at the cowering girl, "You can pay with the round you've been taking in upstairs after you pay me my ninety percent, right now!" he demanded.

"Please sir, I only have the round from my tips, but I'll pay for the broken mugs from that," she promised in fear of losing her job and only place to live.

Fats glared at her with his beady eyes, "Don't feed me that crap again! I know you must be taking men up there! A cute little vixen like you can make a fortune before your looks go!" he exclaimed, pinching her rear with his fat fingers.

Rachael jumped away from his hard pinch and exclaimed, "I haven't taken any men, I swear!"

"I don't believe you! Even if it were true, I'll expect you to make some serious round tonight. I'll send you some business to get you started. Sergeant Herms and his three corporals will be in and they can have you for five silvers apiece. I'll expect twenty-seven silver crowns at the end of the evening, so you'll have to find two more men to service at five apiece on your own. I can't be doing you favors by finding your marks continually."

The young girl's eyes darted around desperately, though she didn't dare speak out.

Then the fat innkeeper leered at the young girl and added, "And you can give me a free one afterward for supplying you with the sergeant and corporals!" His eyes peeled her dress from her curvaceous young body as they followed her rounded contours. "Now go get freshened up, the sergeant is a friend of mine and since you claim he will be your first mark, I want him to have you clean. He should be here in about two bells," Fats promised.

With her eyes downcast and resignation in her voice, the young girl answered, "I'll do as you say."

She knew she had no choice. A few months back she had watched as the bandits who killed her father tried to rape her mother. Her mother fought them until one of the bandits finally got angry enough and killed her, right before her young daughter's eyes. They had turned to have their way with Rachael when a group of Tchulian soldiers had galloped over the rise nearby and the bandits scrambled to get on their horses and escape. She'd seen what fighting back had cost her mother so the young girl saw no reward for resistance.

The Innkeeper pinched her rear again as she turned to leave and it took a great effort of will to keep her revulsion hidden from the smelly, disgusting man.

The thought of Fats and the dirty sweaty old sergeant, not to mention his ugly corporals, laying their hands on her body nearly made the young girl physically ill.

She staggered up the stairs to her room and began to freshen herself up as instructed. As she used her small wash pan and a rag to bathe, Rachael searched for a way out of her dilemma, yet her other options were worse places to work or death.

Rachael had lost both of her parents to that bandit raid and though the Tchulian soldiers had saved her from being raped and possibly murdered, or even worse, sold into slavery, they had also abandoned her in this garrison town. Upon reaching the town they had told her to get a job and left her on the street with nothing except for a few pieces of clothing and other articles she had been able to carry. The bandits had taken all the money her parents had with them for the journey. Now the young girl was faced with selling her body or being thrown on the mercy of the desert.

A girl with her meager belongings and no family could not get out of this town; the desert was too far to travel without help that she could not afford. This was a garrison town; all working girls beyond a certain age had to service the Tchulian soldiers.

Rachael could think of no way to escape. She tried to look on the bright side, officers tended to come to this tavern and pay fairly well; at least that is what the other girls had said. The regular soldiers were rougher and paid less. If she went somewhere else, she would still have to sell her body, but for even less.

The poor girl was barely fifteen years old. She wept on her bed for a little while, but when that didn't help, she suddenly got angry at her predicament and a new plan came to mind. _My first time is not going to be with that foul sergeant; at least that can be my own choice. I'll pick a good-looking boy about my own age, that way I can close my eyes and remember him when I have to deal with those disgusting soldiers!_

She quickly fixed her hair and put on a dab of precious perfume that had been her mother _'_ s. She snuck down the back stairs and went looking for the young man of her dreams.

G'Taklar woke up to the sounds of horse hooves clopping, leather creaking, and wagon axles grinding. Concealed behind the rocks he could just see a flatbed wagon on its way into a small dusty town. The young man sat up and surveyed his surroundings; the wagon was well past, so the lone man driving the two horses didn't see him pop up. G'Taklar took in his surroundings for the first time in the light of day and his mind immediately noticed the color brown. Everything around this area was a different shade of that dreary color. The stones around him were light beige and the hills looming around him were the chestnut color of dull pottery. The huddled buildings of the town below were made of bricks created from dried mud. The muddy tan river flowed out of the cave below him and past one end of the town. If the sky had been brown instead of blue, G'Taklar would have been sure he had awakened in a different world, a world of boring browns.

G'Taklar was an exception to the standard color of the area. He noticed the colors of his clothing for the first time in the sunlight: pink pantaloons with a blue belt, green silk half jacket and yellow slippers. "These aren't exactly the clothes Furnian the mighty wore while saving the Lady of Zil," he complained to Jatar.

" _They are better than what you woke up wearing in the cell,"_ Jatar pointed out in return.

Looking down on the town below, G'Taklar could see an obvious main road dissecting its length, but there were many other smaller ones branching off into the buildings surrounding the center thoroughfare. The outlying buildings were small, but a few larger two-story buildings lined the main road down the center of town. Those were obviously the places of business.

His eyes followed the road about a league past the outskirts of town to where he saw a large walled-in complex of some sort. Long and low brown uniform buildings dominating the inside. Whatever that complex was, it looked like a dry and dusty place to G'Taklar. He decided to avoid it at all costs.

The sun was high enough to tell G'Taklar and Jatar that the young man had slept past sunrise. Townspeople were moving about the streets below while horses and wagons traveled the roads on their owner's business.

"I'm going into town, I'm hungry," G'Taklar said aloud to Jatar.

" _There are worse things in life than being hungry, are you sure you want to take the risk?"_ Jatar replied, just to make sure the inexperienced young man thought about what he was about to do.

"Yes, I don't know where I am and I'm starving," he replied.

" _All right, but be careful. Try to blend in, don't become a spectacle,"_ Jatar cautioned.

"Hey, this is what I'm good at, cities. I may not be experienced when dealing with underground caverns and creepy two-headed monsters, but I know cities," G'Taklar answered with self-assurance.

" _You're used to the_ court _, not cities. Remember, this is a small town and that is far different than Tarnelin and its nobility court,"_ Jatar cautioned again.

G'Taklar gave a flip of his hand to show the insignificance of the difference and said, "People are people, I'll be fine."

" _Just remember that you're a wanted man and soldiers from that keep above will be looking for you. Try and keep a low profile, all right?"_ Jatar coaxed his unseasoned host.

"Of course, Jatar, if you ask me to I will. What would be the best way to enter the town and get some food and directions?"

" _I would suggest you enter a side street just off the main road. After you get into town, work your way toward the center. You don't want to catch too many eyes by entering down the main thoroughfare and you don't want to enter the complete outskirts where you would stick out from the residents like a_ visel _in the_ klutcha _coop. Once on the main street, look for a tavern, you can probably get information and possibly some work there, cleaning up or something,"_ Jatar answered.

"Cleaning up in a common tavern? I have never done any such work!" G'Taklar exclaimed indignantly.

" _Oh good, then this will be a new experience to expand your_ horizons _unless, of course, you don't want to eat?"_ Jatar replied sarcastically.

"Of course I want to eat, that's why I'm going down there!" G'Taklar answered with exasperation.

" _They're not going to feed you because of your good looks, you know. You'll have to pay them or steal it,"_ Jatar replied.

"I'll pay them, I'm not a thief. I'll give them my word that I will send them twice their price, the word of a nobleman," the callow young noble answered.

" _Listen G'Taklar, I have some experience in this type of thing from my youth; they won't take your word in place of_ payment _. They won't even believe you're a nobleman, much less care. From the look of that keep on the_ hill, _this is probably a rough garrison town. Nobles will be far away and unknown to these people, they will only be used to soldiers and they won't trust soldiers when it comes to_ extending credit _. If you act humble instead of haughty, you might get a job washing dishes in exchange for a meal, but you'll have to swallow your pride or they'll just boot you out the door,"_ Jatar advised his young friend.

"I'll try, but I guess I don't understand this type of people. I am not a criminal, so why wouldn't they trust me?"

" _Because they're used to criminals, so they treat everyone as if they are trying to rob them. In places like_ this, _they treat you as guilty of a crime until you prove yourself innocent, they have to because most of their clients probably are guilty,"_ Jatar replied.

"Then this is a bad place and I don't want to be here," G'Taklar replied illogically.

" _If you will let me, I can take control and get you through this dilemma. As I mentioned a moment ago, I have some experience with this type of town from my adventuresome youth."_

"I appreciate the offer, but I've already explained why I can't ever let you control my body; I'm sorry," G'Taklar replied apologetically.

" _Don't apologize, I understand. Let's get on with this and see what the town is really like,"_ Jatar suggested.

G'Taklar worked his way down the hillside carefully. After a short walk, he reached the first buildings. As Jatar had suggested, he entered the town a few streets away from the main road.

Three men were working on a broken wagon axle and one of them looked up and saw G'Taklar passing by. The worker looked at him casually and then something made the man look again, intently. He nudged one of his fellows who lay on his back under the wagon. That startled the man and he smacked his head on the bottom of the wagon. He was about to admonish his companion when he spotted G'Taklar, which immediately caused him to stop shouting and stare at the passing apparition. His friend hit him lightly on the shoulder and they both laughed.

" _What are they laughing at?"_ G'Taklar asked Jatar in thought.

" _It's probably these silk clothes you are wearing, they're appropriate for a_ Karnian _Sheik, but from the looks those two men gave you, I'm sure your clothes are out of place in this region. Perhaps we should think of a new plan; remember what I told you about attracting too much attention. I think we should get out of here before trouble finds us,"_ Jatar recommended.

By this time, G'Taklar had reached the main road where it intersected with the street on which he traveled. _"But I need food and water and these are the only clothes I have."_

" _I think you should stop and go back; people are_ staring _. We can always come in at night when the darkness will hide the bright color of your clothes. Too late,"_ Jatar noted resignedly, realizing that this had probably been inevitable with the inexperienced G'Taklar at the helm.

Three Tchulian soldiers, a corporal and two privates, had come out of a building right in front of G'Taklar. One of the men spotted him immediately, nudged his compatriots and then all three of them started over with big grins pasted on their rough faces. The corporal was a huge man, towering three hand spans over G'Taklar, his face had not been shaven for at least a week and his uniform was a wrinkled, filthy mess.

His two companions weren't much better. The one on the right was fairly young; G'Taklar estimated eighteen. He had large square teeth that stuck out like a horse and he was about the same height as G'Taklar. The one on the other side was about thirty and definitely fat. His uniform buttons were stretched to their capacity holding in his bulging gut. He had a long bushy black beard which was so matted that G'Taklar expected to see nesting rats moving around.

All three of the soldiers were carrying sheathed swords and daggers. They swaggered toward G'Taklar, snickering and jesting about him as they approached.

" _What do you think I should do?"_ G'Taklar asked Jatar, keeping to thought communication.

" _It's too late to run,"_ Jatar responded quickly, _"they would catch you anyway. It doesn't look like they're coming to arrest an escaped prisoner, so they probably don't know about that. I think they just want to harass you; the leader looks like the bully type, so act humble."_ Jatar finished his advice abruptly because the soldiers had reached G'Taklar.

"What can I do for you, good sirs?" G'Taklar asked before they could say anything. At the same time, he thought to Jatar, _"How's that for humble?"_

The corporal ignored his question and spoke to his companions derisively, "My, this desert flower speaks as perty as e' looks!" Then corporal turned and spoke to G'Taklar, "You must be one o' those kissy boys I heard about down south."

G'Taklar had never had any common soldier speak so rudely to him in his life and his pride made him bristle before he could even think. His head lifted and he spoke in a haughty voice, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I prefer girls. You'll have to find a different boy to kiss."

Some of the townspeople had started gathering to watch the proceedings, though they stayed back a respectful distance from the soldiers. A quiet ripple of laughter swept the small crowd at G'Taklar's response to the soldier, though it was quickly repressed when the corporal turned to glower at the crowd. The reaction of the crowd bolstered G'Taklar's confidence even further.

Jatar hollered into G'Taklar's mind. _"WHAT HAPPENED TO_ STAYING _HUMBLE?"_

" _I will not allow this bully to insinuate that I'm a feather puff, it isn't dignified."_

Because he was busy answering Jatar, G'Taklar didn't hear the beginning of the corporal's next statement, though he caught the last part.

"...and pull yer head off if you tried to kiss me, you perfumed piece of cekklar crap," the huge corporal finished, practically leaning over G'Taklar's body in his anger.

"I'm not wearing perfume, but you sure could use some! Thank G'lan I'm not downwind. Do you know what the term 'bath' means?" the young noble asked and watched how his audience accepted his sally. He found himself enjoying outwitting the bully.

Jatar tried to get through to his cousin, _"Do you want to be locked up again, or worse? You don't seem to understand; this ogre will rip your arms off and none of these people will help you!"_

"He can't touch me with these witnesses watching! Don't you see? These people are completely on my side," G'Taklar answered cockily in his mind.

Meanwhile, the corporal was standing there speechless; his mouth opened and closed a few times as bits of spittle and something barely resembling speech tried to explode from his uncooperative mouth.

Jatar tried a new approach, speaking calmly to his cousin, _"G'Taklar, consider running at this point, though it's probably futile."_ Jatar believed a physical confrontation was now inevitable.

" _Why? The townspeople are on my side, I think they are enjoying this bully getting his due,"_ G'Taklar responded and gestured with his hand held at waist level, palm up as he swept it in a horizontal arc to point out everyone.

To the corporal, G'Taklar's gesture looked like a kind of bow. The furious man finally found his voice and he turned on the crowd and bellowed with spit flying from his lips, "WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?"

The sound of people laughing and talking shut off like a closed water sluice. As the big man spun back around his hand rose in a blurred arc as he backhanded G'Taklar across the face. The blow was so strong, and G'Taklar so surprised, that it knocked the youth off his feet and onto his back in the dusty road.

The corporal jabbed a calloused finger at the stunned and sprawled out G'Taklar as he turned to his two fellow soldiers and barked, "Grab this primping piece of bird dung and get him to his feet!" Then corporal added, "I'm going to break every bone in his body and then castrate him, so his body matches what his clothes are advertis'in." Then he turned to the crowd and said, "The rest of you, shove off, or you'll get the same."

Immediately the crowd started to disperse and people lowered their gaze or turned their heads. They knew what was about to happen to the young boy and, though many of them sympathized, they knew better than to go up against the soldiers lest they lose their own lives.

G'Taklar had managed to drag himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head to clear away the bells that were ringing. He spit out a little blood from where the inside of his cheek was bleeding. The two soldiers grabbed him under the armpits and lifted him to unsteady feet.

G'Taklar called feebly to the townspeople as they turned to go, "Aren't you going to help me? These men are committing a crime!"

Jatar spoke in his mind and, from the tone of his voice, G'Taklar pictured him shaking his head in resignation, _"I tried to warn you, these soldiers are the law in a garrison town like this; no one will help you."_

" _What should I do?"_ the suddenly aghast G'Taklar thought to his more experienced cousin.

" _You'll have to fight, your chance to talk yourself out of this is now past,"_ Jatar informed the confused youth as he worked on ways to assist G'Taklar in the coming minutes.

" _I've never fought anyone before,"_ G'Taklar nervously informed Jatar.

G'Taklar's words shocked Jatar out of his planning and he gave his cousin his full attention. _"What do you mean? Your father's swords master taught you to fight, didn't he?"_

" _Sort of, but I haven't been practicing lately. My book studies took up too much time. I've... I've never actually fought anyone for real,"_ he whimpered.

Jatar's concern for their predicament went up another notch.

" _G'Taklar, listen,"_ he said in a pleading tone, _"These men are serious, they're going to hurt you and if you don't fight your way out of here, they might even kill you. Let me take control of your body before it's too late, I can take them."_

" _I can't, Jatar, I..."_ G'Taklar's thought to Jatar was cut off by a blow to his stomach delivered by the corporal's boot, "uuooof...!" G'Taklar exclaimed and doubled over before falling to the dirt on his side.

"Now, little girl, stand up and defend yourself, if you're a man, or lie there and we'll beat you until every bone is broken," the corporal promised with a wicked grin.

G'Taklar started to get to his feet, but the fat soldier standing to his left clubbed his fist into the back of the youth's neck, knocking him sprawling back onto the ground.

The corporal chuckled and said, mockingly, "What, the poor girl-boy can't stand up like a real man? Come on, rose petal, put up a little fight or this will get bor'in!" He punctuated his statement with another kick, this one to G'Taklar's ribs. Then he continued talking, "And I hates be'in bored."

" _I can take him, G'Taklar,"_ Jatar said with intensity to the pain-soaked brain of his young cousin.

G'Taklar ignored Jatar's thought. "Wait!" he gasped aloud, "I'm a noblemen, so if I'm hurt my father will have you all beheaded."

"Oh, I see, ye're a noblemen... and from where might yer noble family be?" the corporal asked as if springing a trap, he obviously didn't believe the boy.

"I'm from..." G'Taklar began, but was interrupted by Jatar.

" _TELL HIM YOU'RE FROM LINDANKAR AND THEY'LL KILL YOU FOR SURE!"_ Jatar's thoughts thundered into G'Taklar's pain-soaked brain. Jatar believed that the Tchulians were in on the Lindankar conspiracy, so telling them that he was from Lindankar would be a death sentence.

G'Taklar continued after an obvious pause, "Olsk, I'm from Olsk."

The pause made his answer sound like an outright lie and the soldiers all laughed. "And I'm Lord Jatar of Lindankar, master swordsman!" the buck-toothed one exclaimed.

The fat one chimed in with a laugh, "And I'm the Seeghe of Ghanter, bow down lowly one!" Then he used his chubby fist to club G'Taklar in the back of the head again. All three of the Tchulians guffawed loudly at their jokes.

The men were slapping each other's hands congratulating their wit and superiority when G'Taklar managed to lurch to his feet and take a staggering step toward the buck-toothed private. G'Taklar swung his fist wildly at the man.

The private simply stepped back out of the way and then stepped forward and kicked G'Taklar in the hip, which knocked him to the dirt again. The three soldiers chortled at their victim's uncoordinated and inexperienced attack.

At this point, the mirth on the corporal's face faded and a look of pure malice appeared as he pulled out a large knife and held it up to catch the sunlight coming between two of the buildings which lined the street. He tilted the blade back and forth to make it glint and watched for the effects on his victim's face. "Hold him down boys," the corporal's soft voice promised chilling consequences for G'Taklar.

Terror spread through G'Taklar's mind like fire across spilled oil and he thought to Jatar, _"They won't really cut off my..."_

" _Yes, that's exactly what he's going to do,"_ Jatar answered grimly, to help convince G'Taklar as to the seriousness of the situation.

G'Taklar was suddenly terrified and he called aloud so that even the soldiers heard his words. "All right, take my body!"

"I mean to, little boy," the corporal responded, thinking G'Taklar was speaking to him and he snickered evilly to his cohorts.

Jatar suddenly felt his mind and control flow completely into G'Taklar's body and he was whole again. After his time locked away within G'Taklar's mind movement felt like the finest pleasure imaginable.

Unfortunately, he didn't have the time available to enjoy himself properly. Jatar got to his feet quickly to give himself mobility and then he outwardly cringed away from the approaching, knife wielding, corporal. He backed swiftly toward the buck-toothed soldier on his left, rambling away in a fear-laden voice. "Please sirs, don't hurt me, I'm just a boy. I'll do anything for you; just don't hurt me, please! Look, I'm not fighting you anymore," and Jatar put his hands behind his back, near the old dagger that was tucked in his pants, hidden beneath his jacket.

"Look, the smart-mouthed girlie has suddenly showed his real colors," the corporal said with a smirk and added, "perhaps there is someth'in you can do fer us, pretty boy," and he leered at G'Taklar's young body.

The other two soldiers had stopped advancing on Jatar because they thought he was submitting to their leader. Jatar backed another step toward the buck-toothed Tchulian and then spun to face the soldier and stuck his open left palm right in front of the man's eyes. "Here, I have gold!" he exclaimed.

The man's eyes bugged out as he tried to focus on the hand in front of his eyes, searching for the promised gold.

Jatar unceremoniously kicked him between the legs with everything he could muster out of G'Taklar's body. The soldier didn't even have time to scream; he just collapsed at Jatar's feet.

Before his body hit the ground, Jatar took two steps to the side and brought his right hand containing the hidden dagger around in an up-swinging arc that slashed the fat soldier's face through his cheek and up through the wide-open eye and into the skin of his forehead.

With a horrifying cry, the shocked man grabbed his destroyed face and crashed sideways into the building wall, wailing from the pain while blood dripped through his fingers. His fat body crashed to the ground where he lay moaning.

Jatar turned back to face the corporal. Only three heartbeats had passed since he had last spoken. The Tchulian was stupefied, his two soldiers were out of action and the boy was standing there holding a knife and grinning!

"Now it's just you and me, care for a kiss?" Jatar asked insolently in order to anger the man into doing something foolish and rash.

"I'll carve you up for that!" The corporal roared and charged, brandishing his large knife over his head and bellowing his challenge.

Jatar waited until it was too late for the moving hulk's mass to change direction and then he darted down and to the left, leaving his knife out in his trailing right hand. Jatar used the momentum of the man's own body against him and let his motion take him onto the knife.

The blade left a ragged cut along the corporal's stomach and ribs, but did not incapacitate the soldier; the old dagger wasn't as sharp as it should have been kept. The enraged soldier managed to halt his progress and turn to face the elusive Jatar.

Instead of the inexperienced youth he expected, he found an expert knife fighter crouched and ready. Jatar held the knife with a supple wrist. The blade maintained the perfect angle as it moved continuously in flawless defense of the body it protected. His feet were placed far enough apart to give him good balance, but not far enough to restrict movement. His weight was poised on the balls of his feet and his eyes never left his opponent.

Astonishment shattered the Tchulian's insane anger and he paused in his attack. "What are you that changes from a boy to a man in the blink of an eye? I have fought many men and no one could fool me this completely as to their skill, yet where a boy was now a warrior stands. Is this some bizarre enchantment I battle?"

"Come and find out, mutilator of innocent boys!" Jatar retorted in a calm and confident voice.

The Tchulian felt his wounded side with his free hand and found that the damage wasn't severe. Then he growled, "Hide the answer, if you will, but you will tell me when you are dying in the dirt."

"I'll promise you this, you'll know before you die," Jatar swore to the corporal.

The soldier was a seasoned knife fighter, he realized that his anger and lack of respect for his opponent had cost him a shallow wound to his side, so this time he moved forward toward Jatar in a crouch. He held his knife with the hilt grasped in his fist and the blade projecting horizontally from the little finger side of his hand. In this position, he was ready to punch and slash or stab his opponent backhanded.

G'Taklar thought to Jatar, _"Why did you ..."_

" _Not now, G'Taklar!"_ Jatar cut him off intensely; he needed his full attention on his adversary. From his body language, this Tchulian was a trained knife fighter.

Both men moved forward slowly until they reached the sphere of attack, that area in which a quick move could bring them into conflict. The two combatants carefully circled each other, knives in constant motion to keep their opponent from planning a move. Both watched the other planning and discarding plans in rapid succession.

Jatar feinted a low attack and saw his opponent move his free arm to block and at the same time bring his knife around in a blinding slash at Jatar's eyes. Being only a feint, Jatar was not far enough forward for the riposte to reach him, but he learned something in the exchange, the corporal was good.

It would require a very complex maneuver to bring him out of position far enough to allow Jatar to get inside his longer reach. Jatar felt a little frustrated, he was used to his own body's arm length and G'Taklar had not yet reached his full height. This handicapped Jatar somewhat and he didn't need any disadvantage against such a huge opponent.

Time was also a factor; it had been less than sixty heartbeats since he had kicked the buck-toothed soldier in the treasury. At this point, the man was still lying on his side moaning, but it would not be long before he was up and ready for revenge. Jatar had to attack, he could not afford the time it would take to wait for his opponent to make a mistake, so he would have to trick the corporal into making one.

Jatar faked a high slash, which his opponent merely leaned back to avoid. Then he followed with an aborted kick like the one he had delivered to the corporal's toothy partner, but this was only a feint. That brought the soldier's blocking hand down and caused him to turn a little right to protect his crotch. This moved the large soldier's knife hand a little out of line behind his body.

Jatar stepped right quickly which caused even more of the corporal's body to get in the way of his knife. Now Jatar launched a slashing attack at the momentarily unprotected side of his opponent.

It was a brilliant move and if Jatar had been facing an average fighter, it would have succeeded. However, the corporal anticipated the progression of the sequence in time to counter with his free hand, bringing it across in a protecting block to intercept Jatar's attacking arm. The corporal's block took Jatar's hand out of defensive line and left an opening toward his upper right chest, near his heart.

The corporal was too good not to come through the opening at the unprotected vital target. He twisted his blade around into a forward grip and rotated his hip and shoulders to give him the speed and power to drive the blade into Jatar's chest to its hilt.

Unfortunately for the corporal, Jatar's chest was no longer where it was supposed to be. Jatar's plan of attack had anticipated his opponent being good enough to make the block and to go for the open target of Jatar's chest. There had been a small risk that he could not move in time, but by knowing his opponent would extend forward to complete the thrust, Jatar was poised to step his left leg around and present his body sideways at the last moment to let the corporal's blade pass by.

This left the corporal's back to Jatar, who didn't waste a thought on using the opening. He plunged his dagger into the unprotected right kidney of his opponent, then yanked it out and jumped back, ready for a possible riposte.

It wasn't necessary; the Tchulian merc slumped to his knees and dropped his dagger to clutch at his wounded side ineffectively. The blood poured through his fingers like branches in the way of a floodwater. "You have dispatched me," the corporal gasped, "I only wait for the Desecrator to claim my spirit. Who...what are...you? By the Desecrator's twisted soul, tell me!"

" _G'lan, another Vorg cultist, you find them in the strangest places,"_ Jatar thought to G'Taklar. Then he stepped forward carefully and kicked the man's blade out of reach before leaning down to place the sharp edge of his blade at the corporal's throat.

He spoke quietly when he was close enough for only the corporal to hear his words. "I am a man of my word and I promised you the truth before you died. I am Lord Jatar Ardellen, of Lindankar. My spirit resides in the body of my young cousin, Sir G'Taklar Ardellen. This is made possible by my family's cathexis ring, which he now wears."

Even through the pain of his mortal wound, a light lit within the soldier's eyes at Jatar's last disclosure. He started to repeat the name of the metal aloud, "CA..."

And Jatar cut his throat with a quick yank of the dagger.

" _Why did you do that?"_ G'Taklar thoughts exclaimed in horror as blood gushed momentarily from the slashed carotid artery.

Jatar responded in thought, _"He was dead already; I just sped up the progress and ended his suffering. If he had blurted out the word, 'cathexis', I would have had to kill these other two soldiers as well. If word got out that a cathexis artifact was here, every person in this town would gladly murder you to possess it."_

" _Is it worth that much?"_ G'Taklar asked in awe.

" _More than your wildest fantasy,"_ Jatar replied seriously and then added, _"That's why you swore that oath to me about never mentioning the ring to anyone."_

" _I remember and I never broke that oath,"_ G'Taklar replied proudly.

" _I know,_ otherwise, _you would be dead,"_ Jatar answered simply.

With the immediate danger past, G'Taklar's fear of his body being used returned _. "May I please have my body back now?"_ he asked in a worried tone.

" _Of course, one moment,"_ Jatar answered. He stepped over to the bucktoothed soldier who was still rolled up in a ball around his wounded genitals and struck him behind the ear with the pommel of the dagger. Then with a mental sigh of regret, he returned control of his cousin's body to G'Taklar.

Jatar had two reasons for giving it up immediately, he wanted G'Taklar's trust and he had given his word.

G'Taklar flowed back into control. He looked at the fat soldier where he lay in the dirt caterwauling about his sliced face and G'Taklar decided it was time to make his exit. He ran down the street while looking back over his shoulder to see if either soldier was pursuing.

Not watching where he was headed, he ran into someone. The impact knocked both of them to the ground. As they fell G'Taklar held onto the person who ended up landing on top of his body.

That was a particularly soft impact, G'Taklar thought.

The landing knocked the wind out of him and the girl ended up a little high up his body which afforded an interesting view down the top of her low-cut dress.

G'Taklar's nose was pressed between her breasts and he finally found his voice, "I'm sorry miss; I wasn't watching where I was running!"

The simply dressed, small, yet buxom girl lay completely on top of the young man, effectively pinning him to the ground. It took her a moment to remove the twin obstructions that commanded his complete attention, but she finally unhooked the upper portion of her dress from his chin and sat up, still sitting on top of the embarrassed boy.

She blew her brown unruly bangs out of her eyes and then said, "Well, you were in a big hurry, but I don't see any of those bullies chasing you now," she finished looking down the street to where a small crowd was gathering around the sprawled bodies. "I thought you were pretty stupid standing up to those soldiers, I was sure they were going to rip you apart. Now I see you survived. Perhaps you're only a little stupid," she decided as she took his face by the cheeks with one of her hands and turned his face back and forth, looking for damage.

She inspected a couple of the bruises starting to show on his face while continuing to talk. "Well, I'd better take you back to the tavern and fix you up, you're a little worse for the wear from your ill-advised battle! Come on," she said getting off of him. "Unless you want to stick around until more soldiers arrive?" she asked coyly.

So far, G'Taklar had not managed to get in a word, partly because she had not left any chance for it among her quick flurries and partly because he was red from ear-to-ear in embarrassment at having planted his nose in uncharted territory.

He finally managed to look at her and noticed that she was young, perhaps his age and had a rather cute face, with a slightly upturned nose and pouting lips. Her hair was brown, wavy, and hung all the way down her back. The dress she wore was patched and well worn, but her nice figure rounded out the dress in all the right places.

Short, curvy, and cute as a button was G'Taklar's instant impression.

She took his hand and led him down the main road toward the tavern where she worked. "My name is Rachael and I work at the Butchered Lamb. Fats, he's the innkeeper, is temporarily letting me use a tavern room and if things go well from here, he may let me keep it permanently. In return, I've been waiting tables for him, but he's been pushing me to branch out lately. I get to keep a portion of any tips I make. What's your name?" She asked suddenly.

"G'T..." he started to answer, but Jatar interrupted.

" _Don't tell her your real name!"_ he admonished, _"Remember, the soldiers from the keep will be looking for you."_

"G'T?" she said with a puzzled look.

"G'Tar, he repeated, as if stuttering.

"Guitar? Oh, a minstrel! Do you play the guitar?" she asked with real interest, most of the dimwitted soldiers bored the young girl and here was the boy her own age she had gone out looking to find.

"Yes, but..." G'Taklar started, trying to correct the girl, when Jatar cut him off again.

" _Let it go, Guitar is a good name to hide behind, it brings a picture to mind instead of a face,"_ Jatar counseled the young man.

" _She's going to start thinking I'm a blathering idiot if you keep interrupting me like this,"_ he complained in thought.

" _Oh, we wouldn't want that,"_ Jatar replied facetiously.

G'Taklar finished his sentence to Rachael in a different fashion than he had first intended, "...but I don't have my guitar with me right now."

"Oh, that's all right, you can play for me some other time; I have something else in mind right now. Turn here, we'll go in the back way, I don't want Fats to see me taking a man up to my room," she said with a perky wink, "And I think it best if those soldiers don't know where to find you as well."

"Good idea," G'Taklar exclaimed.

" _Be careful with this little charmer, cousin, she may be after more than you want to deliver."_

" _She's only a young common girl, she won't be any problem. Besides, isn't it a good idea to hide at this tavern? We can find out where we are and she might help me get that job you spoke about,"_ G'Taklar replied, rationalizing his sudden interest in going with Rachael.

" _It's funny how you have suddenly changed your mind about working at the tavern, I'm sure it has nothing at all to do with a cute girl holding your hand and dragging you up to her room,"_ Jatar noted sarcastically. He was not fooled by G'Taklar's reasons for his change of heart.

_I just hope he doesn't get himself in too deep with this_ streetwise _muffin; I may have to jog his noble conscience,_ Jatar decided, but kept this thought to himself.

The tavern was a two-story building along the main road out near the edge of town. It was located close to the complex of buildings lying outside the town that G'Taklar had seen from the hill earlier that morning.

A well-worn brick stairway led up the back of the tavern to a doorway on the second floor. Rachael didn't pause a moment, she dragged G'Taklar up the stairs and through the door. He found himself in a dim hallway with doors on either side. Halfway down, another hall opened to the left and ended in a stairway going down. From the noise below, G'Taklar figured it must lead to the common room the young girl had mentioned earlier.

At the end of the hall, Rachael led him through a door and into her tiny room. Immediately across from the door, at eye level, he noticed a fine etching of a woman and a man's face and both were smiling benevolently. Then his eyes found a small chest against the right wall and a line strung across the corner to the left of the door. A second dress lay draped over the line. Taking up over half the available space was a well-worn straw stuffed mattress on a simple metal bed frame; a rough blanket stretched over the top. A candle stood in a saucer on a small box she used for a nightstand. Wax stains in the saucer attested to the constant use of candles. A simple pottery vase next to the candle held two blue desert wildflowers.

Compared to what G'Taklar was used to this was poverty beyond his imagination, but the room was clean and tidy. He got the feeling she cleaned it faithfully.

G'Taklar stood in the room and turned around slowly as he took in the simple details.

Rachael pushed him toward the bed as she said, "Sit down, so I can clean up your face!"

When the back of his legs reached the edge of the bed G'Taklar stopped, but Rachael walked right up to his chest. With both of them standing, the top of her head only reached his shoulder height. She looked up at him with her small upturned nose and placed her hands on his chest and pushed, which made him sit abruptly onto the bed.

She then went to the chest and removed a cloth and a pitcher of water. After wetting the cloth, she stood in front of the seated G'Taklar and cleaned his face. This left his eyes at an embarrassing height when he looked straight ahead, particularly when she leaned forward to wash the back of his neck. He got a quick refresher on what his nose had explored earlier.

"Hold still!" she exclaimed when he started to lean back away from her bodice. "How am I supposed to reach back here if you keep squirming?"

So, he stopped and Rachael leaned straight over his head to get a better look at the dirt on his neck. His nose was once again planted between the two main attractions in her bodice.

When finished, she stepped back and uncoupled the embarrassed boy's nose. "Oh, I may have scrubbed too hard, your face is all red now."

G'Taklar responded to that by turning an even brighter shade of red.

" _Ask her where we are,"_ Jatar suggested to the flustered fifteen-year-old.

"Where are we?" G'Taklar asked dreamily.

"We're in my room in the Butchered Lamb. Did they addle your wits with a blow to the head?" Rachael asked combing through his hair with her fingers in search of a lump.

" _Ask her the name of the town, numskull,"_ Jatar prompted.

"What's the name of this town? Nnn..." G'Taklar asked, parroting his cousin's internal voice, but managed to cut off the end before he added 'numskull'.

"Headwater, silly, don't you even remember what town you're in? I can't find your wound, but I'm sure they must have struck you on your head somewhere!" she exclaimed in humor.

" _Headwater!"_ Jatar exclaimed, _"Of course, I should have guessed by the river. This is a Tchulian military training base, about a hundred leagues from where you say you were attacked. It's the closest Tchulian command post to that trail. They must have received orders to apprehend you and obtain the signet ring, though it wouldn't be worth the risk of attacking a Lindankar embassy, unless..."_

" _Unless?"_ G'Taklar repeated; though his mind was far from political plots, so he wasn't really listening.

" _Unless they knew it was cathexis! That must be it, somehow, our family secret was discovered by someone,"_ Jatar guessed, essentially talking to himself.

"Here, let me help you get those dirty clothes off, we need to clean you up!" Rachael was saying to G'Taklar as she pulled the thin silk jacket off his shoulders, he wore nothing underneath.

"Wait!" G'Taklar cried out to Rachael who paused in her tugging for a moment.

"What's the matter, we're all alone up here."

"Yes, well, sort of, but..." he trailed off looking for the right words.

"But what, don't you find me attractive? You're not really one of those boy lovers from down south, are you?" the young girl asked while her head tilted down and her eyes opened slightly as if daring him to tell her the truth.

"Yes, I think you're pretty and, no, I'm not one of those..." G'Taklar began.

"Good!" she exclaimed, cutting him off as she resumed tugging on his jacket.

As it came off, baring his upper body, G'Taklar finally realized this girl meant to strip him completely naked. She reached for his pants, but his hands got there first to hold them up at the waist.

She mistook his gesture and said, "Fine, you can take them off! I need to clean my dress after that fall in the street, so I'll just take that off as well!" And with those words Rachael started undoing the buttons down the back of her dress with both hands, therefore, thrusting her bosom forward toward G'Taklar.

G'Taklar sent a thought to his listening cousin. _"Jatar, I'm going to..."_

" _If you're about to shut me out remember this,"_ Jatar said, interrupting. _"A common tavern girl who offers what she is obviously offering, without asking for_ round _, often has a large bruiser posing as her father or brother waiting to pop in at the correct moment to scare away the man she's with, who then flees without their pants or coin purse. Think about it, would a good-looking girl just grab a strange boy off the street and take him to her room?"_

" _She might,"_ G'Taklar tried.

" _Come on, have I steered you wrong yet?"_

G'Taklar thought about it for a moment and then answered, _"You're right and I wasn't going to shut you out. I just don't know what to do,"_ he thought back, stretching the truth.

Rachael's dress dropped to the floor leaving her in a cream colored and patched slip. She began working on her drawstrings in front.

G'Taklar suddenly got nervous looking at the disrobing girl and thought to his cousin, _"Jatar, you better take over, I don't know how to get out of this!"_ he thought apprehensively.

" _Wait, wait, wait, who was the person who didn't want to give up their body? Remember, Jatar, the_ wervorgangling _monster ready to take your body over? No, I think you're on your own cousin, besides, I'm married,"_ Jatar said, amused at the boy's predicament. _"Besides, didn't you shut me out to dally with those servant girls back at the negotiations?"_

"That was different, it only involved stealing a harmless kiss. I have never, you know..."

"Guitar, why aren't you taking off the rest of your clothes? Don't you find me desirable?" she asked and her head dropped down to her chest, below which her slip was parted and hanging slightly apart showing the sides of her rounded and ample breasts.

" _Jatar, help me, please!"_ G'Taklar called in total desperation.

His older cousin took pity and replied, _"All right, cousin, I'll take over, but you owe me."_

" _Thanks,"_ he thought to Jatar with relief, _"I won't forget it!"_

Jatar's consciousness flowed into control. He stood and turned his back on Rachael and then said, "Please Miss, put on your clothes. I cannot comply with your wishes at this time, I am not free to indulge myself in any liaisons... it's a matter of honor which I cannot break."

Rachael immediately noticed something different about the young man she had hoped to spend her first time with, he was... commanding. She suddenly felt embarrassed and out of control for the first time with Guitar. She quickly turned her back and cinched the top drawstrings of her slip, before donning her dress. Somewhere during the process, she began to cry.

" _Why is she crying?"_ G'Taklar asked Jatar.

" _This girl is either a spectacular actress and is pulling out all the stops to try and yank your strings, or I may have misjudged her somewhat; I'm not sure."_

" _I think the tears are for real,"_ G'Taklar put in for what it was worth.

Rachael suddenly switched to a different emotion, anger. "Get out, lover of boys! Out, out of my room, I never want to see you again, get out!" She ranted and stepped over to beat on his chest with her tiny fists until Jatar backed out of the room. She threw his jacket out on the floor and slammed the door in his face.

From the hallway, they could hear her crying against the other side of the door.

" _There is something odd about this, 'Tak, she's not reacting like a typical tavern girl should,"_ Jatar thought and then spoke aloud, "Miss, I'm sorry I offended you. Would you tell me what is the matter? I'd like to help."

Behind the door, the crying stopped for a moment and her muffled voice called out, "Go away," and then she yelled in a shrill voice, "I never want to see you again!" The emotionally crushed Rachael was at her wits end. She had been putting up a brave front for the boy she had brought in from the street, but now she had nothing left. She decided that death in the desert was better than the sergeant, his corporals, Fats, and the constant men ahead in this bleak existence.

Shaking G'Taklar's head, Jatar turned and went down the hall toward the stairway to the common room. The smells of smoke beset G'Taklar's nose before they reached the bottom of the stairs. Jatar paused on the stairs to allow G'Taklar to resume control of his body before entering the loud common room ahead.

Rounding the corner, G'Taklar found his senses assaulted by an abrupt increase in the level of sound and smell. Around twenty men and women were sitting at booths and tables under the low whitewashed ceiling having lunch. Their conversations in the small space created the level of noise. A translucent gray layer of smoke drifted along the ceiling from the many forms of tobacco being smoked. Some patrons near G'Taklar stopped speaking when they glanced over and spotted him in his bright clothing, but after a few smirks, most of the people went back to their conversations.

G'Taklar sat at an empty table and one of the waitresses came over to take his drink order. With a slight sneer, she said, "What's it going to be, kier or do you have the round metal for a little romp?"

"Do you know Rachael?" he asked in response.

The barmaid was older than G'Taklar by quite a few years, somewhere in her mid-twenties, he guessed. She sized him up quickly and then said, "Rachael? Forget that little minx, I'm what you're looking for and I'm available in a half-bell, if you have the round." As she spoke, she picked up his hand and ran it up the back of her leg, behind her skirt.

G'Taklar snatched his hand away when it got into dangerous territory.

"I'm sorry Miss, that's not what I meant. We'll maybe it is, but, uh, I don't want you, I mean if I were interested in that I might want you, but I'm not, so I don't, I mean I don't want anyone, but I was interested in Rachael, but not to pay her, just to see if she got paid. Do you understand?" he asked though even he was confused.

"No, and I don't want you to explain it. Just tell me if you want me or not! I'm three shine a bell, two for a half. Well?" she demanded, left hand on hip and slouched in a bored attitude.

"No, I'm sorry," G'Taklar responded, not meeting her eyes.

"Fine!" she exclaimed and whirled around to depart, piqued at the indignity of being spurned by the oddly dressed boy.

" _Don't you think it would be wiser to ask about a job before you antagonize all the help around here?"_ Jatar asked as G'Taklar watched the woman depart.

Before he could answer, G'Taklar heard a high-pitched scream from up the nearby stairs, followed by the bellow of a ranting male voice. He sprang to his feet, though the rest of the tavern was ignoring the whole thing.

G'Taklar raced back up the stairs and around the hall corner.

The first thing he saw was a large pot-bellied man wearing a leather apron. He was holding onto Rachael's thin arm and thrashing her with a stick across her back and she was screaming while desperately attempting to wiggle free from her captor to escape the pain.

The Innkeeper bellowed at her, "What's this about not seeing the sergeant? And where is the round you just took in?" As he spoke, he kept beating her with his stick. "I know you're keeping it hidden, tell me where it is! I saw you sneak that boy up here, don't deny it!"

"I didn't do anything, please let me go! I don't have any round," the girl sobbed out to her assailant.

"Again, you claim this, well it's time to call your bluff," and his fat hand grabbed the top of her gown. With a convulsive yank, he ripped her dress open down the front.

"G'lan, no, please no," Rachael pleaded.

" _Well... what are you waiting for?"_ Jatar admonished, _"If you're going to make a fool out of yourself don't waste time as well."_

G'Taklar shook himself out of his stunned pause and rushed down the hall with heroic rescue on his young mind. When he reached the scene of the struggle he arrived behind the portly man, so G'Taklar wrapped his hands up under the Innkeeper's arms and brought his hands back around to lock together against the man's bull-like neck.

With a surprised bellow, the overweight man released Rachael who then fell to the floor. The Innkeeper tried to grab the clinging attacker at his back, but G'Taklar was attached like a shell on a turtle. The man bellowed again and crashed backward into the wall thereby slamming G'Taklar's back hard against the dried mud wall.

G'Taklar started to lose his grip.

" _Hold on and push with your hands! Whatever you do, don't let loose of this berserk hoofhorn!"_ Jatar advised.

Rachael looked up from the floor and saw the two men banging and crashing back and forth down the hall until they reached the stairway. The innkeeper could not see because his head was forced down nearly to his chest, so when he backed up in another attempt to pound G'Taklar against the wall he didn't know he was headed for the open stairway to the common room.

"Look out Guitar," Rachael screamed, "the stairs!"

Jatar was also watching the proceeding through G'Taklar's eyes and where the boy's attention was concentrated on holding on while being bashed against walls, Jatar's was on their next move.

He saw the stairway coming just before they spun to face away from it and thought to G'Taklar, _"Get ready to let loose and drop to the floor when I tell you, get as low as possible... NOW!"_ he commanded.

G'Taklar let loose and, truth be told, he could not have held on much longer anyway. He fell to the floor and rolled into a ball. The fat man was headed backward to smash him against the next wall, but tripped over his young assailant instead and went head over heels down the stairway.

When G'Taklar crawled over to look down after him he saw the man stretched out on the landing where the stairs turned. Fat's was moaning feebly, though not rising.

G'Taklar got up and staggered over to where Rachael was sobbing on the floor while holding the torn front of her dress closed with her left hand. He helped her stand up and was rewarded for his gallantry by a sharp slap to his face by her small free hand.

"You imbecile!" she cried out, "I could have handled my boss, he's gotten rough before. Now where am I supposed to live? Where can I find a job?"

"What are you talking about?" the confused and hurt young man asked.

"That was Fats, the innkeeper, my boss, ex-boss now," she informed G'Taklar

"But he was going to rape you!" he exclaimed, in a hurt voice.

"He would have stopped, or even if he had not, it probably would have been for the best," she sobbed, thinking of her bleak future.

"What do you mean?" G'Taklar asked, still confused.

"It's none of your business! Get out of my way, I've got to go and see if I can salvage my job." She turned her back and attempted to tie her torn dress, but then abruptly she said, "Did he see your face?"

"I don't think so," G'Taklar responded.

"Good, then get out of here, otherwise, he'll call for the soldiers and they'll probably hang you. Oh, and I'm sorry I hit you and thank you for my rescue. I only wish you could have been my first..." But then she trailed off and just leaned up and kissed him on the lips before adding, "Now get out of here while you still can."

The spirited girl hurried down the common room stairs to help her groaning employer while G'Taklar made good on his escape out the back stairway, his head in a daze from the kiss.

#### CHAPTER TEN: POISON

The name of the town was Roper. It was rough like its name implied, the streets twisting and knotting like some lunatic's idea of a puzzle. Many horse trails and a single wagon road led into the town, like ropes to a tangled knot, giving testament to the constant traffic this border town attracted. The town was secluded at the edge of some low hills that sloped down gradually into dry yellow and lime colored grasslands. Roper was far from any of Operhelm's major cities and only a few hours' ride from the northern border.

Elizabeth's chestnut mount snorted heavily when she reined him in at the top of the hill overlooking the town. Hetark brought his piebald stallion to a stop on her left side and his gaze fell warily on the town as well.

"Roper looks as bad as its reputation forewarns, it should provide you with what you're looking for," Hetark noted.

"Good, it's about time I started taking the offensive against my enemies. I will prepare the way for my son," she answered with a thin smile of anticipation.

Hetark watched that small smile and it warmed his heart; during the last few days of travel he had seen her look back over her shoulder toward the Kirnath School, lines of sorrow etched in her face warring with worry for her son.

Repeatedly he had watched her fight an internal battle between her need as a mother and Michael's ultimate safety. Hetark knew her absence from Michael's early years of development would scar Elizabeth for life, yet she went on to do what had to be done. He vowed silently to make their enemies pay, in total, for every instant of loss and sorrow that this fair Lady endured.

As he contemplated Elizabeth's sorrow, he became so angry with the perpetrators who had caused her anguish that his whole body shook in fury. He glanced over at Elizabeth, but she was so absorbed in studying the town below that she had not noticed his reaction.

"When would you suggest we enter town?" Elizabeth asked.

Hetark regained his composure and replied, "The type of person you're looking for won't be available this early in the day." He glanced up at the sun's level and then added, "I think we should take a room at a nice hotel and then wait until dark before we search some lower-class taverns for a likely candidate. If you prefer, I'll do the hiring and you can sit back and look like the boss. I know how to speak the lingo with these roughblades."

Elizabeth gave him a penetrating look with her intense eyes, which made him shift uncomfortably in his saddle. After subjecting him to her glare for a few moments, she raised one eyebrow. "Implying that I don't know how to blend in and would get us into trouble?"

Hetark cleared his throat in consternation before responding, "Well, I... well, yes."

"Don't you think I know that?" she said, suddenly relaxing her stern expression and grinning at his reaction. She reached over and placed her hand over the top of his to reassure the worried man. "That's one of the reasons I want you with me and it's also the reason we're going to hire one of these people as a bodyguard. I also plan to learn a few importing things from the woman I choose. Remember, I'm looking for a female, around my height, tough, and good with a blade."

"I still think I could teach you," Hetark replied.

"Hetark, you're too good a knight to teach me the kind of thing I want to learn. Besides, you have a male's outlook on things and I need to learn the opposite. So, stop worrying so much, it crinkles up the skin on your forehead and that makes you look like one of those desert carrion birds," she admonished him in good humor. However, Elizabeth hadn't told him all the reasons she wanted to find a tough woman to study.

"I'm just concerned for your safety; you don't know these people, they're... rough. If they spot someone with a crack in their shield or someone that's not part of their 'group', they'll be after you like a religious fanatic on an unbeliever."

"What do you mean by 'after you'?" she wanted to know.

"You become a 'mark', a person to hoodwink, or con, or even kill and rob. Their kind feeds on the helpless, the more helpless you look, the more they will attempt to victimize you," the knight explained.

"I understand, Hetark, but that is exactly the type of person I need. I promise to let you take the lead; I'll be the tough and quiet type, making them guess at my experience instead of displaying my naiveté," she promised, letting loose of his hand. Then she added, "Besides, I have some advantages with handling people, as you know. Since we have a few bells to work with and I don't feel like sitting in a hotel waiting for it to get dark, let's stop here for a while before going into town. We can practice those hand-switching knife moves that you showed me yesterday. You also promised to begin teaching me to throw," Elizabeth reminded the knight.

Back in Headwater, G'Taklar found a kier house some distance away from Fat's tavern and decided to try his luck at finding a job. As he approached the old crooked door, he glanced up at the sign hanging above, it was so faded that he could not make out anything except the picture of a kier mug.

He opened the door and found himself in a small entryway with a thick curtain that blocked further progress. G'Taklar pushed it aside and found that he was looking into a dark room that had small alcoves hiding rough wooden tables. A tired-looking middle-aged woman wearing thin robes approached and looked him over slowly. Her lip curled slightly in an amused sneer as she took in his colorful clothes. Then she said, "Do you want a boy, girl or Kier?" she drawled.

"I'd like to talk to the owner about a job."

"A job, doing what?" she asked immediately in a disgusted tone.

"Whatever I can, I need to make some round," G'Taklar replied truthfully.

"No, you don't say, round?" she repeated sarcastically as she made fun of the boy. "Well, I can see that you're pretty, but there isn't too much call for boys, I doubt you'll talk Benny into giving you a job."

Having just come in out of the harsh sunlight, G'Taklar's eyes were just starting to adjust to the dim light. He could see three single male customers sitting at tables; all three seemed uninterested in his conversation with the woman.

Unexpectedly the curtain was whipped back behind him and sunlight bore into the room silhouetting three soldiers coming in the door. The three patrons within immediately scrambled out of their tables and headed for the back door like rats fleeing a burning nest, but they ran right into the arms of the four soldiers entering from that direction.

G'Taklar stood in mute surprise at the interruption.

One of the soldiers stepped forward and barked out in a loud voice, "All those wish'in te join the Tchulian infantry, please stand up! Right, we seem te have four volunteers out o' four, again! What patriotism, what courage, what good fortune..."

"What yulkcrap!" a patron who had been grabbed at the back door added.

"Exactly, my friend, that's what you'll be eat'in fer dinner if I'm interrupted again!" the soldier at the door replied as he walked over to the man and backhanded him across the face with casual brutality. The man's smashed nose bled profusely.

"As I was say'in, I'm Sergeant Herms and it is yer honor to voluntarily join the finest military in the world, the Tchulian infantry. From this day forth and fer the next six glorious years, assuming you survive that long, ye'll be proud fighters fer the Tchulian goals. Bring the new recruits outside fer inspection, corporal!"

"Yes, sergeant," a soldier who had entered through the back door replied. Then he called out, "O'll right, ye scum, you heard him, outside an form a line. Move yer fat farters, now!"

" _What should I do?"_ G'Taklar asked his internal advisor quickly.

" _Move your tail outside like the man said, you're in the Tchulian army,"_ Jatar responded.

" _I'm what?"_ G'Taklar replied in disbelief.

" _You're in the army, at least, for the time being. We can't do much against five armed men, so we'll have to go with the program for now,"_ he explained and added, _"At least they don't seem to be looking for you, specifically."_

G'Taklar moved toward the door at the caustic corporal's verbal prodding. Once out in the sunlight, he lined up with the other sorry Tchulian recruits.

The corporal walked up and down their ragged line, sneering at the blinking, swaying, and generally sorry looking men they had caught in their recruitment net.

He turned to report to the sergeant. "This here group looks so bad it could be a waste o our time, maybe we should let 'em go and try fer some real men in the next dump?"

Hope sprang up in the faces of the new recruits, even G'Taklar's face brightened, until the sergeant answered the corporal. "Naw, I like the one in the fancy colors; I can't wait te see him sweat."

The other new recruits looked disgustedly at G'Taklar.

"Besides," the sergeant continued, "it's too much trouble in this heat to find any more volunteers, so let's take these eager puppies."

" _I'm definitely going to have to do something about these clothes and soon, they keep getting me into trouble,"_ G'Taklar thought to Jatar.

" _I think they may take care of that for you,_ in fact, _I'm sure,"_ Jatar finished saying as the corporal came abreast of G'Taklar. He reached up to the colorful silk shirt on G'Taklar's chest and casually ripped if off like so much paper. This left G'Taklar's upper body bare.

" _Does everyone in this town want to take off my clothes?"_ he asked Jatar rhetorically.

The corporal continued down the line and then walked back along behind the sorry lineup until he got to G'Taklar again. The corporal spotted the old dagger stuck in the back of G'Taklar's pantaloons and yanked it out by the hilt. After inspecting the blade, he walked around in front, slapping the flat of the blade against his palm. Then he demanded, "What is this ye're carry'in?"

" _What do I tell him?"_ G'Taklar quickly asked Jatar.

" _I think it is safe to assume he already knows what it is, so just tell him the truth, he's going to burn you no matter what you say,"_ Jatar informed G'Taklar sadly, knowing what was coming.

G'Taklar's pause, while he consulted with Jatar, was too long and the corporal hit him in the stomach with the butt of the dagger. "I said, 'what is this?'" he repeated, even louder, his nose nearly touching G'Taklar's.

"A dagger," G'Taklar finally answered.

" _Sir,"_ Jatar instructed him to add.

"... Sir," he added late.

"No, it isn't," the corporal replied immediately.

"Yes, it... uhhh," G'Taklar had started to reply when the corporal hit him in the stomach with the dagger's hilt.

"Were you go'in te argue with me?" the corporal asked in a quiet and deadly tone.

"No, sir," G'Taklar immediately replied without prompting from Jatar.

"Good, now as I was sayin', this isn't a dagger, it's a butter knife. You see a dagger would cut someone's throat if you did this," and he lightly pulled the blade across G'Taklar's throat, barely breaking the skin. A few drops of blood welled up from the scratch across his neck. "You do see the difference without me demonstrat'in further, don't you?" He asked as he began to pull his dagger from his belt sheath.

"I see what you mean, yes, definitely, I do, sir," G'Taklar answered quickly, trying to avoid another blow to his stomach... or worse.

"That's good, I hate having te clean me blade three times a day and I've already done it twice t'day already. Now soldiers are allowed to carry weapons, but ye're not a soldier, ye're a recruit, so I won't be giv'in this back just yet. Besides, unless I sharpen it up, it isn't a weapon, it's a butter knife!" He tucked the dagger into the back of his belt and then continued back down the line of men.

" _This guy's a real turd! I'd like to see someone reach down his throat and turn him inside out,"_ G'Taklar told Jatar.

" _Typical infantry corporal, I think they come out of a misshapen mold from the Dark Plane,"_ Jatar answered dryly.

The corporal moved in front of the line of men while the sergeant looked on and said, "Raise yer sword hand then repeat after me, or you'll regret it for the rest of yer three heartbeats o' life. I, whatever yer name is... swear to obey the officers of the Tchulian military... unto death if they so command. I swear to complete my voluntary enlistment of six years in the glorious traditions of the honorable Tchulian army. I swear to accept all orders and punishments given out by any of my superior officers, without question or argument... on pain of torture and death. With free choice and aforethought, I accept the terms of this enlistment. Now put yer arms down, ye're caus'in a stink." He said when the line of men had muttered at least some of what he had told them to repeat.

"All right recruits, let's go see yer new home. Don't look so glum! You're in the army now, so they'll take care of you. Regular slop and water fer meals, new uniforms, at least new to you, and four coppers a month, tax-free!" he promised.

This little sally didn't bring any cheer to the new recruits who were raggedly marching down the dusty street to the training barracks outside town.

" _Didn't I say something about avoiding going here at all costs?"_ G'Taklar noted as they headed in the direction of the walled-in complex.

" _Yes, I do seem to recall you mentioning a desire to avoid this portion of the Headwater city tour,"_ Jatar replied lightly, trying to keep up G'Taklar's drooping spirits.

" _How do I get out of this?"_ the reluctant recruit moaned mentally.

" _I'm not so sure this is a bad thing right now; people don't tend to look under their noses if they are searching for something. They're going to be looking for an escaped noble, but I doubt they'll look in their ranks of recruits to find a noble. Besides, there is good news, you're getting paid and fed. Once the search has cooled down, we can think about deserting this fine organization. After all, an oath under duress is not a real oath so I don't think you should be worried about breaking this one."_

"Believe _me, I'm not,"_ G'Taklar responded.

" _Good, then just sit tight and endure. They will be tough on you, but it's nothing you can't handle if you try. Besides, I'll be here to coach you through the rough stuff,"_ Jatar promised.

" _Oh boy, I'm happy now!"_ G'Taklar answered sarcastically. To save another bruise, he tried to keep in step as the corporal marched them through Headwater's dusty main street.

Rachael was in the kitchen where Fats sat with his huge bulk plopped in a rickety chair. That poor piece of furniture groaned under the immense weight of its occupant. She had helped two of the other waitresses and the cook as they supported and guided the complaining Fats into the kitchen from where he had fallen on the landing of the stairs in his recent tumble.

Unfortunately, Rachael thought, Fats wasn't seriously damaged.

A waitress dabbed a wet cloth on the forehead of the innkeeper who kept his eyes closed as he moaned about his near brush with death from the four assailants. Suddenly, he turned and fixed his beady glare on Rachael. "Don't think that you're off the hook, vixen. The sergeant and his men should be here any time now. Go up to your room and wait for the soldiers. I'll send all four up at once, that way the others can watch and cheer each other on to greater efforts. And you better perform well for them and for me, later, or I'll beat you and then throw you out."

Rachael fled the kitchen without a word. She knew that whatever happened she was not going through with this atrocity. She had been wrong earlier; death was preferable to some things. Guitar had stood up to three soldiers in his fight and managed to escape. Besides, someone still cared about her; Guitar had come to her defense at the risk of his life.

Though he is still a snot nosed, wet behind the ears, country boy, she thought incorrectly, remembering his rejection. Then thought, At least he treated a girl he didn't even know with some respect and defended her when she was in danger. He wasn't all bad.

She reached her room and quickly changed into her spare dress. Then she tied up her other meager garments and belongings in the blanket off the bed and retrieved the single silver and six coppers from the hole in the bottom of a wooden bed leg. She had managed to save this amount of round from her tips at the tables.

Without a backward glance of regret, Rachael left the little room that had been her home for the last two months and crept down the back stairs into the alley.

She was just about to head down the street when she saw the sergeant and his corporals coming toward the inn.

They were marching four civilians towards the barracks. Rachael had seen them recruiting before, so she knew what they were doing. She started to slink away when she noticed that one unhappy looking civilian was the boy she knew as Guitar.

Rachael stayed where she was and watched them march by; she was hidden by the side of the building. As they reached the Inn the stopped. The corporal went inside. After a couple of minutes, he returned to the waiting group. Rachael was close enough to hear their conversation.

"I told Fats we were go'in te be late fer dinner tonight, tak'in these new recruits te the barracks. He told me te hurry back; he has a treat fer us. Remember that new young waitress you've been ask'in him fer, the one called Rachael? He's got her wait'in in her room fer us! Do you want te let these wimps go and test that beauty out right now, or come back later?"

"Hmmm, well, it'll only take a quarter bell to drop these eager recruits at the barracks, besides a littl'o wait will make the reward even sweeter! Move them out, double time!" the sergeant commanded.

Rachael shook her head in sadness for Guitar's plight, she had seen other young men grabbed and forced into the Tchulian army in the last two months.

Then she had an idea. _Once he's had a taste of boot camp, perhaps he'll want to leave Headwater, permanently? He and I could escape this rotten town together! I've got a little round for provisions and he might know where to go. We could help each other escape. The only trick will be getting in to see him and plant the idea._ The young girl continued down the street headed for a stable where she had decided to hide from Fats. As she walked, she made her plans for getting into the barracks to talk to Guitar.

Much further west, in the town called Roper, Elizabeth and Hetark entered a rundown tavern through a side door. They didn't want to attract too much attention. Elizabeth had on a long gray cloak with its hood pulled up over her head to hide her features. Hetark's worn leather armor helped him blend in with many of the other patrons. Quite a few were dressed in leather armor or wore a variety of concealed or blatantly visible weaponry.

This was a border town, where many bandits out of the surrounding area came to spend their ill-gained round metal. Other patrons made their living protecting merchants from these same bandits. Here, in these rough taverns, they mixed without rancor.

As Hetark looked around, he recognized the subtle signs that were only obvious to another fighter; almost everyone in the room had some expertise in the martial skills. There was a weary look in their hard eyes, a fluid movement to their bodies, and a way of keeping their hands near their weapons as their eyes scanned the room.

Elizabeth and Hetark took a table in a dark corner and started to watch the other patrons as unobtrusively as possible. Hetark leaned in close to Elizabeth's ear and spoke quietly. "The woman I was told about is right over there; she's here to meet us."

He gestured casually with his hand without actually pointing.

Elizabeth only nodded in reply, but her eyes and aura powers were active, watching carefully in this dangerous place.

Hetark stood up and said, "I'll ask her to join us."

He returned with the woman and Elizabeth took in her details. Her brown hair had specks of gray streaking here and there. From the hard lines around her eyes and the almost worried expression on her face, Elizabeth felt that this woman was hard used by time and circumstances. The sorceress used her aura sight to watch the woman's patterns when she spoke.

The woman took hold of the back of a chair with both hands, but she didn't sit down. "I hear you're looking to hire some protection."

Hetark took his seat and answered, "Perhaps we are; your name was given to us, they said you were good."

"I'm good enough, if you can afford me," she replied. Her eyes were shifting around the room nervously as she spoke. "How much are you willing to pay?"

Elizabeth sat forward and the deep hood she wore concealed most of her face. At her movement, the woman stepped back a pace. Elizabeth spoke only loudly enough for the woman to hear, "I'm concerned about being attacked by bandits. With the cargo we're moving, it is very likely that they will attempt to rob us. Are you up to a battle?"

The woman released the chair and held up both hands, palms facing Elizabeth. "Keep your round, I don't need that kind of trouble. I thought you were just moving some standard goods."

Elizabeth sat back into her chair and answered, "Then I'm glad we straightened this out before we both made a mistake."

The woman nodded and then slipped off into the crowd.

Hetark leaned over and spoke to Elizabeth. "I take it she wasn't what you are seeking?"

"Not even close; I'm looking for a strong, confident woman, not one already defeated by life. I need to find a warrior in her prime."

Hetark shook his head. "Well, I doubt you are going to find a woman like that easily. Fighting is mostly a man's profession."

Elizabeth nodded, but suggested, "Let's just watch for a while."

Hetark shrugged.

It was a half-bell later when the front door opened boldly and a magnificently proportioned woman stepped into the room.

She had raven black hair tied back from a face with high cheeks; her features were set in a serious expression. This warrior's left eye socket was covered by a black patch. Her one good eye held a keen glare and was so light blue as to almost look like gray steel. A rough scar cut down through her eyebrow and cheek on the left side and went beneath the patch, like an artist's signature on his greatest work.

She held her chin up and looked around the room as if she owned the place.

The woman was dressed in black leather armor which fairly bristled with knife hilts poking out of every conceivable and inconceivable place. Her black boots came up to her knees where they met the tight black leather pants. The black long-sleeved leather jerkin above it was laced up the center with black leather thongs that slowly widened to about a hand's span toward the top. Through the laced leather, you could see a wedge of tanned skin, the top of the wedge displayed the sides of her bosom. Black leather thongs cross laced their way up the side of the pants and sleeves of her armor, with soft black leather beneath.

An untamed jungle purclaw was Elizabeth's first impression of the woman. Then Elizabeth's eyes narrowed as she noticed something oddly familiar about the woman's features that Hetark missed. It was hard to see beyond the eye patch, yet the sorceress recognized something in her features and it surprised her greatly. Elizabeth's plans changed as she contemplated a new possibility and the ghost of a smile crossed her face.

The black-clad woman had a sensuous look and movement that caught everyone's eye, but it was overlaid by a lethality that brought any ideas of casual approach to an instant halt.

The conversation faltered for a moment, but many patrons already knew her and they continued talking as soon as she moved toward the bar.

The woman stalked forward in a casual sway that looked more natural than contrived, a symphony of graceful muscle movement giving a hint to her capabilities.

A man who didn't know her and was too drunk to see past the femininity to the danger beneath, stepped up to her side and reached for the smooth curve of her tight leather pants with one hand. "Hey honey, how about a kiss?"

She turned to face him immediately with an inviting smile while bringing her hand up in a slow fluid motion, the fingers relaxed in an almost careless attitude. The hand reached his face and the back of her fingers caressed the side of his cheek, moving toward the side of his head. He started to lean forward toward her softly pouting lips when her hand completed its trip and reached his ear. She took hold with her nails and yanked, hard.

He yelled and leaned toward the painful yanking as he tried to keep his ear from being pulled off his head. His other arm came up for balance. The smiling woman took hold of his arm and spun underneath while releasing his ear with her other hand. She was now behind him with his arm twisted up behind his back. She pushed hard upwards and he bent at the waist. She kept lifting the arm until he started to move forward to keep the bone from breaking. The graceful woman followed and accelerated his awkward run straight into a wooden beam that supported the ceiling.

When she released him, he fell to the floor and moaned in pain.

"Next time, ask before you touch," she noted to the moaning man on the floor. She turned her back and resumed her walk to the bar. The crowd recovered from their astonishment at the sudden maneuver by howling with laughter. The woman acknowledged their approval with a sly grin. A few of her acquaintances greeted her when she reached the bar and conversation resumed as if nothing had happened. The drunken man sat on the floor rubbing his head and grinning stupidly.

Elizabeth leaned toward Hetark and spoke quietly into his ear.

"Find out that girl's name and what she does. She is just what I'm looking for, she is definitely the one!"

"Her?" Hetark asked incredulously.

Elizabeth just waited silently while staring into Hetark's eyes by way of response, knowing he had heard her request.

The Knight Protector shook his head slightly, yet rose to do his Lady's bidding. He went to the bar and ordered a drink. While waiting, he turned to a bearded man next to him and spoke with a commoner's accent, "Nice bit o' work there, hey?"

"Choke up," the bearded man barked, then stood and left the bar.

Nonplussed at the man's response, Hetark moved down the bar to a skinny older man who was looking into the bottom of his mug and dreaming. Hetark tried it again, "Nice bit o' work there, hey?" He nodded toward the still sprawled out drunk sitting on the floor rubbing his head.

The skinny man next to him came out of his far away thoughts and looked up from his empty mug with a puzzled expression. He wasn't sure it was to him that Hetark had been speaking.

"Her, over there, the one who just put down Sir Romance... nice bit o' work, hey?" Hetark repeated for the third time, wondering if the old man's brains were addled.

"Yeah, tough one, she is," the man finally wheezed.

"Who is she anyway?" Hetark asked him, now that he had the man talking.

The skinny man gave Hetark a suspicious look as if realizing for the first time that Hetark was a stranger, but he replied, "Poison's her name and her game. I'd stay away from that one if you know what's good fer ya. She don't put up with no man's crap and she would cut them off as soon as look at them, if you knows what I mean."

"Good advice, but I'm look'in te hire a shield fer my boss, does this Poison play both sides?"

"You'll have te ask her, mind you, but I hear she mostly wants to keep her parts," he replied and held up his right arm, which ended in a stump. Then he added, "She ain't cheap, but if yer boss is will'in te pay, she's good," then he turned back to his drink, his body language showing that the conversation was over.

Thanks, fer the tip," Hetark said as he stood up to go and he tossed the bartender two coppers, calling out, "A drink for my friend," before he went back to Elizabeth's table.

"So, what did you find out?" she asked when he got back.

"That old thief over there told me her name is Poison. She probably isn't a local bandit, though that would be hard to confirm. According to him, she makes her living legitimately as a bodyguard. She has a tough reputation; I was warned not to mess with her," Hetark added as if amused by the concept of this woman being dangerous.

"How did you know he was a thief?" Elizabeth asked.

"He's missing a hand; it's common practice around here to cut off parts of the body as punishment if you catch a thief. Hands are best, it's hard to steal without hands," he replied.

"Or do anything for that matter," Elizabeth added sourly. Then she perked up as she said, "Poison is even better than what I hoped for, tough, stylish and streetwise, someone that other people would naturally follow. Even more importantly, she is even closer to what I was looking for than I could possibly have hoped. G'lan was smiling on us this day, Hetark. There is something special about her..." At his curious look she said, "no, I'll tell you later, just go hire her and don't take 'no' for an answer!"

"If you say so. What story do you want me to give her?" Hetark asked.

"Hire her to guard a wealthy merchant's wife traveling on her way to Myrnvale. That's close enough to where we're actually going, eventually," Elizabeth answered.

"How much are we willing to pay?" he inquired.

"Whatever it takes, I need this girl, badly, but don't let her know that or she might not believe we're just normal clients."

He stood to go and said, "Don't worry, milady, I can handle a street thug." He then headed for the tough leather clad woman named 'Poison'.

He approached her at the bar from behind, yet before he reached her, Poison's instincts sensed someone approaching and she turned to face Hetark. In one glance of her eye, she appraised Hetark from feet to head, but her conclusions weren't given away by her expression.

Since it was obvious that he was approaching her directly she just waited until he arrived and raised her right eyebrow in a questioning expression which said: 'All right, I see you and I'll listen to your pitch, but don't waste my time.'

"The name is Hetark and my employer likes your style. She wants to know if you're available for hire?" Hetark said as an opening line.

"What's the line o' work, baby-sitt'in?" Poison asked in return.

"In a way, yes. You keep her safe until we reach Myrnvale and she'll pay you in shine, five and sixteen," Hetark said, offering her five silver pieces at the start and sixteen when they reached the town of Myrnvale safely.

"Five and sixteen, shine! I'll taste my blade before I stoop that low, one and four, dull," she countered, asking for gold.

"Ten in shine now and two dull in Myrnvale, it's my final offer," Hetark stated for the record.

"With provisions and horses provided and I start when we leave," Poison offered up.

"With provisions, you supply the horse, and you start now," Hetark counter offered.

"With the horse and I'll start now," Poison finished with an expectant look in her eye.

"Done," Hetark agreed.

"Give me the shine now; I'll pay my tab and join you at the table," Poison told the Knight Protector.

Hetark gave her the silver to seal the agreement and then started to turn and point out Elizabeth, "She's right, over..."

"I know where she is," Poison interrupted and turned to pay her overdue tab.

Hetark didn't like being interrupted, or being spotted when he thought he was blending in, so he angrily turned her back around by the shoulder. "Another thing, don't risk losing a hand, I'll be watching you the whole trip."

She stared down at his hand until he released her shoulder and then her steel colored eye rose slowly to lock onto his gaze, her scarred face deadly serious as she spoke, "Two things: First, you can admire me all you want, but I'll cut off any part of you that touches me again. Second, what makes you even dream you could catch me if I did want to lift someth'in?"

Hetark started to reply, but bit off his angry response. He knew that this was not the place to argue, so he turned his back and headed for Elizabeth's table. As far as Hetark was concerned, they could not reach Myrnvale soon enough and get rid of this pesky woman.

"What was that all about?" Elizabeth asked him once he was back at the table.

"I don't like this woman, she's arrogant, obstinate, and willful," Hetark answered petulantly.

"You mean, she acts like she's a man?" Elizabeth asked, prodding Hetark.

"Exactly, she shows no respect, as if she doesn't understand her position in life," Hetark complained.

"And what position is that?" Elizabeth asked in a dangerous tone.

"Women are supposed to be quiet and polite, supportive and respectful to men..." Hetark trailed off, finally noticing the angry expression starting to shine within Elizabeth's eyes. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, I mean normal women are supposed to..."

"Normal women?" Elizabeth asked in a quiet, cold voice, ice starting to form in her expression.

"Not to say you aren't a normal woman, but I... uh..."

"I suggest you let it go before you jump off the cliff you have so blindly approached. You may know a lot about combat, Hetark, but you have a lot to learn about women. I suggest you start unlearning what you think you know and start learning the truth."

"Yes, milady," Hetark replied with his face flushing red behind his tight cropped blonde beard.

"Did you hire her, as I requested, or did you just enrage the woman?" the irked Elizabeth demanded.

"I hired her and then we sort of had a few words... but here she comes now," Hetark pointed out, trying to escape from Elizabeth's piercing gaze.

Poison walked up, but was looking past Hetark's shoulder at the table behind him as she ordered, "Give it back."

She spoke to the two men seated behind Hetark. One of them immediately bolted for the front door; the other just waited at the table.

Poison flicked her arm up to her collar and her body rolled forward in a fluid throw as she launched a dagger through the air. It 'thunked' loudly into a thick wooden beam three feet in front of the fleeing man.

Silence fell as the patrons of the bar once again became spectators to Poison's antics.

"I didn't miss," she noted conversationally in the now quiet room.

The short darkly cloaked man froze at the sight of the quivering dagger. It was stuck at eye level in front of him; he waited without moving.

Poison walked over slowly. Another dagger had appeared in her hand from somewhere on her body. The cloaked man's eyes tracked the pointy blade as she approached; he could see it was covered along the edge with a dark stain. "Fingers," Poison began, "I asked you nicely te give it back, now I'm ask'in one more time before I become peeved."

A squeaky voice with a heavy accent replied from within his hood. "He ain't local, he's feer game. Why's you stick'in your nose in?"

"They're my new employers," Poison responded simply.

"Start'in temorrow, check?" he asked

"Start'in before you lifted that purse," she replied.

From behind her Poison heard Hetark cry out, "G'lan, he stole my coin purse!"

Elizabeth grabbed Hetark's arm to quiet him, she wanted to observe Poison.

"I need this'in, Poison, besides you wouldn't kill a friend," Fingers reasoned and started to move slowly toward the door.

"Ever heard of tarslin sap, Fingers? It has no effects on women at all, but certain things on men don't work anymore once the sap gets them, if you catch my mean'in," Poison said raising the stained blade for Fingers to see. "If I have te use this the ladies work'in Holly street will be disappointed with you, forever. Give the purse back, Fingers."

With a convulsive yank, Fingers tossed Hetark's coin purse in an arc across the room. The small leather bag hit with a dull 'clink' as it landed on the table in front of Elizabeth and her knight. Then the thief ran out of the bar.

Poison retrieved her dagger from the post and then walked back over to their table with a knife held casually in each of her hands. She faced the other man sitting behind Elizabeth and Hetark and said, "You too Broker."

The man named Broker looked chagrined, "Aw, Poison, I didn't think you saw me." Onto the table, he tossed a dagger with an intricately carved hilt, one which Hetark usually kept hidden in his boot. It landed in front of the incredulous knight. Broker then left the room after his partner.

"G'lan, we're surrounded by thieves!" Hetark snarled.

"You shouldn't come to a place like this if you don't know how to watch for thieves," Poison admonished the livid Hetark.

Hetark's mouth worked up and down, but no words were coming out.

Amused at Hetark's expression and inability to speak, Elizabeth filled in the words. "I think my companion is at a loss for words to show his appreciation for your assistance, but I will thank you for him; it was a nice show and I appreciate your style and expertise."

Poison gave her a return nod.

Noise picked up now that the show was over and people returned to their conversations.

Elizabeth smiled and spoke softly, "Answer me a question, if you will; is there such a thing as tarslin sap?"

After sitting down, Poison leaned forward and spoke quietly for Elizabeth's ears only. "Yes, I believe the Siorlians use it te chew on fer pleasure."

"And the effects on their men?" Elizabeth prompted.

"Worse tast'in mouths? But I'd be guess'in," Poison responded with a wink.

"That's what I thought. May I ask, what is that stain on your blade?" Elizabeth inquired with a small smile.

"Just blood; I fergot te clean that one today," Poison said nonchalantly.

"I don't want to know," Elizabeth responded.

"If yer serving man has recovered from his fright, I think we should be go'in," Poison said wickedly, nodding toward Hetark.

"I agree," Elizabeth replied while trying not to laugh at the new dumbfounded expression Poison's latest barb had brought to Hetark's face.

The two ladies stood up together and walked out the side door with the speechless Hetark following behind, one hand on his belt purse and his dagger clutched tightly in his other hand.

#### CHAPTER ELEVEN: HETARK

Elizabeth, Poison, and Hetark rode out of Roper the next day and took the wagon path toward Myrnvale. It was a hot sunny day without clouds, so they rode at a slow pace to keep from overtaxing their horses.

They started out with Poison leading the way and Hetark following behind Elizabeth. He kept back as far from Poison as possible. After a short time, Elizabeth moved her horse up next to Poison's. Hetark sullenly stayed behind.

"It's going to be a hot one today," Elizabeth said in way of greeting.

"Yes," was Poison's short response.

Watching her carefully to make sure she didn't alienate the tough girl, Elizabeth continued trying to start a conversation. "Do you do this sort of bodyguard job often?"

"Often enough," was Poison's next brief statement.

"If it bothers you to talk, I will leave you alone, but I admire the way you handle yourself and I would like to learn more about you," she tried, hoping to draw Poison out of her shell with a compliment.

"It's all right, I don't mind talk'in... with you," she said pointedly, glancing back toward Hetark. He was close enough away to hear the murmur of their conversation, but not make out the words.

"Hetark's not that bad, he's just proud, like you. Two proud people often have trouble when first put close together," Elizabeth said.

"E's an arrogant buffoon," Poison replied.

"Interestingly enough, that's what he called you, well, at least the arrogant part," Elizabeth answered with a small smile.

"He's right, I am arrogant, but I have a reason to be. As a woman in the business of fighting, I have to show more confidence, skill, and toughness than the men I'm competing with for the jobs. Otherwise, who's going to choose me over a man they can hire for the same metal? It's even more important when they hire me to lead a squad of bodyguards. It's hard to get a group of tough men to follow the orders of a woman during a battle. If they don't think you're twice as confident, twice as skilled, and twice as tough as they are, they'll ignore you and do what they think is right," Poison explained to Elizabeth.

"Then why choose to do this line of work?" Elizabeth asked.

"Because it's what I know. Besides, I am twice as good as any man I've met, including Sir Tough Guy, behind us," Poison finished.

"Why did you call him 'Sir'?"

"I'm not sure, 'is speech is ol' right, but he acts too haughty, like e's above the rest of us scum, if ye catch my mean'in. I'd bet ye ten shine he's been a knight fer some petty noble somewhere," Poison guessed, "Where did you pick him up anyway?"

"Well, actually, my husband hired Hetark," Elizabeth answered truthfully, though incompletely.

"Oh, so you don't know much about him. He probably did someth'in dishonorable and got booted out so he stooped down te take the job work'in fer a merchant," Poison surmised.

"I really doubt he did anything dishonorable, but you would have to know Hetark to understand. He may be the most honorable man you'll ever meet," Elizabeth answered.

"Figures, he'd probably get me killed to save his honor," she ridiculed. "And regardless of his postur'in, I know what he's after; I've never met a truly honorable man. Pardon my sayin', but you know what they all want, no matter what they say. You always have te watch them, carefully," and with a flick of her wrist, a dagger appeared, then she flicked it again and it was gone.

"There are men in the world who are honorable, Poison, and Hetark's one of that breed," Elizabeth assured the tough girl.

"He just has you fooled, or he's a fool idealist. Me, I believe in myself, if the rest of the world wants te kill each other, let them. I'm not join'in their crusades," she declared vehemently.

"There may come a time in your life when you have to take a stand for what is right, otherwise you automatically side with evil by default," Elizabeth explained.

"I'll not side with either; I make my own way. If someone tries to take what's mine," she flicked her wrist again calling forth the dagger, "I handle them," and 'flick' it was gone.

"That's a neat trick, would you mind teaching me? I'd like to learn how to protect myself better," Elizabeth asked.

"Well, I'm not sure," Poison started.

"Hetark's been teaching me already," Elizabeth added quickly, knowing that Poison would want to take his place, just because she knew he would be bothered.

"Him, what a waste o' time, he'll teach you all wrong. What's right fer a man, assuming he even knows that, is wrong fer a woman. You have te use yer strengths te make up fer what nature gave te men. They often waste their strength 'cause they have all that muscle. It allows them te be sloppy. Now a woman hasn't got all that power, but if she uses finesse, guile, quickness, and grace, she can take away those advantages that men have in brute force," Poison explained.

"So, you'll teach me?" Elizabeth asked.

"If that's what you want. I'll begin show'in you what you need te know, but remember it will only be a start. It takes years of practice te achieve the tim'in and skill necessary te become truly dangerous."

"I understand, but do I have your permission to observe you completely and learn as fast as I can?" Elizabeth asked, looking to get permission for more than what Poison guessed.

"Sure, no problem; every teacher likes an attentive student. For a good start, tell me what he's been teach'in you."

"Well, mostly about dagger fighting, we were going to get to swords next," she replied.

"Daggers are the perfect weapon fer a woman, but he probably taught you te fight man style, I'll have te unteach you a little. Pull out yer dagger and hold it in a fight'in grip," Poison instructed Elizabeth as they rode.

Elizabeth pulled her dagger out in her fist, the blade pointing out the bottom, the hilt near her thumb.

"Typical male grip," Poison muttered.

"Hetark said it's harder to get it knocked out of your hand this way and you can punch, slash, and stab," she told Poison. Elizabeth began to read into Poison's surface thoughts and memories, absorbing her experience quickly.

"Punch'in is a man's blow; here's what you should be ready te do with that knife, slash, stab, and, most importantly, throw. Assume you're fight'in a male opponent; there aren't that many female ones. If you grapple with him, he'll tear you apart, so you need te keep him at a distance. The best way te take him out is by throw'in the knife if you can. That way he won't ever touch you,"

"What happens if you miss?" Elizabeth asked.

"Then you pull out another dagger while he is dodg'in the one you threw," Poison responded. "The same thing goes fer los'in yer knife te a kick or blow. It's true that ye're less likely te lose yer knife in that grip he taught you," she explained, nodding her head toward Hetark, "but it's harder te throw it from that position. Yer best bet, as a woman, is te keep many knives handy and learn te throw them well."

"What happens if you get into a duel with only one knife allowed?" Elizabeth asked, still reading information directly from Poison's mind.

Elizabeth's odd question puzzled Poison and she thought, _Why would a merchant's wife ever get in a knife duel?_ But she answered, "Yer best bet is te try not te get in any duels, they're low percentage. However, if it happens, keep your opponent at a distance and slice him up. Get him bleed'in and soon he'll lose much o' that strength 'e's count'in on te beat you. Then it will come down te speed and skill versus his wain'in brute strength. Always shift the rules o' the game te yer advantage. If the odds are against you, change the rules."

Elizabeth listened and learned from the words and experiences that had forged the lethal weapon named Poison.

The tough girl's past battles flowed through her consciousness as she talked to Elizabeth and the Kirnath sorceress experienced them within her mind, learning.

When late afternoon arrived, they came upon a small group of trees in the rolling hills. Elizabeth decided they had traveled far enough for that day and said, "This looks like a good place to camp. I'd like to get a chance to practice some of what you've been teaching me before the sun sets completely."

Poison nodded and replied, "It's all right with me. Besides he probably needs the rest." She shrugged in Hetark's direction, giving him a smirk.

Hetark just looked away and pretended he had not heard the remark.

After dismounting and readying their gear for the night, Elizabeth and Poison left Hetark to picket the horses while they chose a gnarled tree trunk to begin Elizabeth's knife throwing practice.

Poison stopped twenty paces from the trunk and removed six knives from about her leather outfit. She handed five to Elizabeth. "I've already showed you the proper way te hold a knife you wish te throw, now watch the way I throw it. I'll throw it as slow as I can."

The female warrior didn't know that Elizabeth had already observed her throws within Poison's memories often throughout the day.

The professional bodyguard pulled her knife hand back over her shoulder while holding her left hand palm down and forward for balance. Then she rolled her shoulders while bringing her knife arm forward. At the last moment, she cracked her wrist and released the knife, pointing her arm and hand at the tree. The hurling blade rotated once, completely, then thwacked into the center of the hard wood. The tip of the blade went into the hard wood about a finger's width.

Poison walked to the tree and rocked the knife back and forth to draw it out of the wood. Then she returned to Elizabeth's side and said, "All right, move up ten paces and try it. Don't be concerned about stick'in the knife in yet; we'll just work on proper form and aim, right?"

"Right, but can I try the first one from the same place you did?" Elizabeth inquired.

"It'll make it harder to hit the trunk, but you can try it if you want."

Elizabeth tucked four of the knives into her belt and then she carefully gripped the last one in the position Poison had shown. Closing her eyes, she pictured the look and feel of the memories she had read from Poison. Then she opened her eyes, took a breath, relaxed control, and allowed her body to flow in the memories of Poison's body motions.

The knife went back over her shoulder and her left hand balanced her in front, the arm snapped forward and she let it fly.

The balanced knife tumbled once through the air, imitating Poison's recent toss, and hit the tree two hand's spans high and one hand's span to the right of the mark Poison's dagger had left in the trunk.

Poison stared at the knife sticking in the tree and then at Elizabeth. "You've thrown knives before, haven't you?" she asked, suspiciously.

"That was the first, do I have any potential?" Elizabeth asked, knowing quite well her throw was good.

"Potential!" Again, she looked at Elizabeth strangely, "Why don't you try it again."

"All right," she answered and let fly with another throw, again letting the memory of Poison's throw flow through her mind and reflexes. The knife flew true and struck the tree a foot from its predecessor.

Poison walked to the tree and pulled the two knives free, deep in thought.

"Any suggestions on how to improve my throw?" Elizabeth asked.

"You're not fool'in with me, are you? You've really never thrown knives before?"

"This is the first time," Elizabeth replied truthfully.

"Hetark hasn't taught you te throw?" she asked, still attempting to make sense of the puzzle.

"He was just about to begin teaching me when we hired you," Elizabeth answered.

"I see," Poison replied, though she didn't. Her thoughts were troubled. Something is strange here; I'm not getting the whole story. One thing for sure, this woman is not just a simple merchant's wife looking for a little excitement in her life. She's highborn and looking to learn to fight for a reason. Duels? A woman fighting duels? Not even noble women fight duels, do they? None of this makes sense!

Elizabeth listened in on Poison's troubled surface thoughts, which reconfirmed her belief that uneducated doesn't always mean stupid. She decided Poison was one smart girl.

"Turn around," Poison instructed Elizabeth, "all the way until yer back is te the tree. Good, now when I say 'go' turn and throw the knife at the tree and don't pause, make it all in one motion."

Elizabeth readied herself, but she didn't have a clear memory of Poison doing this exact maneuver, yet she tried it anyway.

"Go!" Poison yelled suddenly.

Elizabeth spun and let the knife fly; it missed the tree trunk completely, landing a few yards away.

"That's better!" Poison exclaimed happily.

"What do you mean, I missed the tree completely," Elizabeth complained.

"Yes, but I was beginn'in te think I was los'in my mind. Yer first two throws were just lucky; this one was much more realistic. It should take lots o' practice te achieve a high level of accuracy," Poison explained.

"Let me see you do it," Elizabeth asked.

Before she had quite finished asking, Poison had spun, pulled a knife and thrown it into the tree, the point nearly touching her first mark."

"Very impressive, let me try again," Elizabeth placed herself in approximately the same position Poison had started from and then duplicated the maneuver, her blade landing a little over a hand's span from Poison's.

"Yulkcrap!" Poison cussed and stomped away to look out over the line of grass covered hills. "No one can learn te do that with two practice throws, not even me!" After a few moments, Poison asked, "You claim that this is yer first time throw'in knives? If that's true, do you know why ye're learn'in so fast?"

"Yes, I do, but I'm not going to tell you, yet. I'll make you a deal, teach me as fast as I can learn and if you haven't figured out how I'm doing it before we reach Myrnvale I'll explain it to you then, deal?" Elizabeth asked, sticking out her hand.

Poison frowned for a moment, but the honest smile on Elizabeth's face and her outstretched hand won her over. She reached out and clasped Elizabeth at the wrist in a warrior's clasp and they shook weapon arms.

For the next hour, Poison demonstrated throws from every position and Elizabeth duplicated them almost perfectly.

After an hour, they took a short rest while sitting on the dry grass.

"Yer ability te learn my throws is noth'in short of amaz'in, yet I've noticed you do them too slow and yer accuracy is good, but not great. Is this someth'in te do with how ye're learn'in so fast?" Poison asked, hoping to pump Elizabeth for some answers to the mystery.

Elizabeth knew what she was doing, but understood her curiosity. "Yes, I can instruct my body to imitate what I've seen you do, but it's new, so I have to walk through it slowly. I know how to do it, but I can't perform at the snap of fingers like you can."

"What do you mean?"

"There are different types of memory and we're dealing with two here. A simple way to look at the two is this, one type is when only your brain knows and gives detailed instructions to your muscles. In the other case, your muscles know and perform without more than a 'go' command from your brain."

"Come on, everyone knows yer head is what remembers things, not yer muscles. All memory is the same," Poison answered.

"You're right about your muscles not having a memory, but it's easier to explain it that way than saying your brain has more than one type of thinking in it, but it does. Let me give you an example, sometime in the next few moments I'm going to say 'go', when I do, I want you to lean your right knee inward, turn your head left, pull both your hands left, and lean back slightly. And make sure you do them all at once," Elizabeth instructed.

"That's a lot te remember," Poison complained.

"Not only that, but you have to remember it while we talk because you're not going to know when I want you to do the movements. Are you staying ready?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes," Poison replied simply, a look of concentration on her face.

"You're concentrating on the list of things you have to do, correct?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, I'll be ready fer you," Poison answered.

"What if I told you not to keep repeating the list of... GO!" Elizabeth suddenly exclaimed.

Poison's right knee went left, her head looked left, her hands went left and then she leaned back. When finished, she looked at Elizabeth, smiling broadly because she had managed to do everything Elizabeth had wanted.

"Notice, you didn't do everything at once, they were close, but you did them in order of the list I gave you. The first thing that you did was move your knee and the last thing was lean back."

"They were close!" Poison exclaimed.

"But not simultaneous," Elizabeth pointed out.

"I can't do that many things at once," Poison complained.

"Of course you can, but you have to teach your muscles the actions until the other part of your brain can just trigger the entire sequence from that other type of memory. Come over here," Elizabeth said gesturing toward a fallen log where Hetark had placed the saddles.

He looked over at them from where he was grooming the horses and gave Elizabeth a strange look when she had Poison sit on a saddle, straddling the log.

Elizabeth said, "All right, Poison, close your eye and take these reins in your hand," and she placed the thin leather straps into Poison's hands. "Picture yourself riding down the trail, on your left is an open grass field, can you picture it?"

"Yes," Poison answered with her one eye shut.

"Good, you're riding your horse at a trot; suddenly you see a slither in the path, turn left, now!"

Poison hauled her hands left to pull the reins and turn the horse. She moved her right knee left and leaned back in the saddle to keep her balance and turned her head left to watch where she was going. Everything happened simultaneously.

"You see, it is possible," Elizabeth said quietly.

"What do you mean... oh, now I see, all those movements were things you do te turn a horse abruptly," Poison reasoned.

"Yes, but here's the point of this discussion, I am learning fast, but it's not in the reflex part of my memory yet. Only repetitive practice will make it useful in most real situations. My advantage lies in this, I can start the repetitive practice immediately and I know what I'm practicing is correct."

"That's the part I'm curious about, how are you gett'in my moves down so perfectly? It's as if ye're me at a moment when you throw," she said, frowning in thought.

Elizabeth gave her a small tilted smile. "Exactly, I'm copying you, efficiently. Let's practice some more," she said standing up and throwing a dagger from her crouched position as she stood, it hit the tree and stuck.

Hetark walked up and observed the practice briefly.

Elizabeth practiced each throw ten to twenty times before moving to the next.

"Come te learn someth'in, country boy?" Poison asked with a grin.

"Hello to you, too, Slither," Hetark replied.

"The name is Poison, don't ferget it, boy," she replied.

"I'm older than you are, girl, besides, some slithers are poisonous," Hetark replied.

Poison turned on the knight with an appraising look and said, "Older, by a couple years, possibly, but that doesn't matter, even if you had ten more years te practice there are some things women are better at than men, like knife throw'in. It takes a grace and speed you clumsy men can't duplicate."

Hetark stepped near Poison and picked up a dagger as he got ready to take a throw at the implied challenge.

"Don't get so close te me, remember what I warned you about in the tavern," she warned, misinterpreting his intentions.

Hetark replied, "I remember the two things you said; now I'll ask two in return. First, what makes you think I would ever be interested in touching you? Second, what makes you think you could stop me if I tried?" Hetark walked toward the tree as he asked the questions and once there he turned and faced Poison, the tree trunk to his left.

Elizabeth stopped and watched. She knew these two had to learn to respect one another or there would be no peace the whole way to Myrnvale. She just hoped they didn't kill each other while learning.

"Take out one of your knives and we will make a wager. If that knife is stuck in this tree before I reach you, I will cook and care for the horses, by myself, for the rest of the trip to Myrnvale. However, if you lose, then you owe me an apology and a kiss," the knight stated.

With a smile of triumph, firstly because he admitted he wanted to kiss her, which confirmed her belief in all men's motives, and secondly because he could not possibly win, Poison barked, "Yer on!" Then she flicked her wrist and a knife sprouted in her hand. She launched it instantly at the tree next to Hetark.

As she moved the knight quickly stepped into the path of the oncoming knife. With lightning reflexes, he used a move that Poison had never seen duplicated... and snatched the streaking blade from the air.

Poison gasped and stared incredulously at her knife held casually in his rough hand.

He walked forward calmly until he stood before her and reached up as if to touch her face, but he stopped just before his fingers reached her skin and he looked deeply into her one good eye. She readied herself to give up the kiss she had promised if she lost, but then Hetark said, "And what makes you think I want to kiss you?"

He spun and threw her knife overhand at the tree as hard as he could. The knife flashed across the clear space and with an echoing 'thwack' it landed next to her original dagger mark. The blade sunk into the hardwood trunk halfway up the blade. "You win," he said, his voice dripping sweetness as he walked away.

Poison stood silently looking at the embedded knife. Then suddenly, she started pulling knives and launching them at the tree, faster and faster, anger fueling her speed. She drew a nearly perfect circle of twenty knives around the one Hetark had thrown. Eventually, she stopped.

Elizabeth wasn't sure if she stopped because she ran out of knives or volcanic anger, but she bet it was the knives.

Poison stomped away toward a nearby hilltop. Elizabeth waited a few minutes to let her calm down and then approached.

When she reached Poison, Elizabeth asked, "Are you angry because he beat you?"

"Yes, no... I'm not sure."

"Would you have let him claim his kiss?"

"Yes, he won," she exclaimed.

Elizabeth smiled, "But, in some ways, you would have won because you would have the knowledge that you were right about his motives."

Poison was silent.

"So, what makes you angry now?" Elizabeth prompted.

"He didn't want me, he scorned me! He could have taken his kiss and he didn't want it," she ranted, her voice quivering with rage. Her hand went unconsciously to her scar, patch, and missing eye.

"So, you're mad because he is honorable and wouldn't want to kiss you against your will," Elizabeth said as if trying to understand the logic of Poison's reaction.

"I said I wouldn't have stopped him," she stated defiantly and then added, "I guess I'm too ugly."

"It isn't because of your missing eye, Poison. If he had kissed you, wouldn't you have felt superior? He would have fit your version of a male animal and he knew it. Now you're angry because you were wrong and nobody likes to be proven wrong, do they?" Elizabeth posed.

"No," Poison replied, her anger cooling as Elizabeth's thoughts began to roll around in her mind.

"You underestimated Hetark, it's easy to do. Come on, I think it's time we ate," and Elizabeth turned back toward the camp and after a moment, Poison followed.

The next morning, Poison watched Hetark from the fallen log as he packed up the camp equipment. She watched the way he cared for Elizabeth's things, how he made sure she was always comfortable, and the way his eyes followed her wherever she went. A small smile of triumph marked the one-eyed girl's face.

When they were on their way again, Hetark took the lead while Elizabeth and Poison rode along behind. Poison slowed the pace until they were out of the knight's earshot. "Did you know Hetark is in love with you?" She said abruptly to Elizabeth. "That's why he didn't kiss me."

Elizabeth considered her response for a moment before answering. "I'm married and Hetark is an honorable man, he just cares for me as a good friend."

"If you could see the way he looks at you when yer not watch'in, you would believe me," Poison replied.

"When two people go through as many hardships as we've experienced together recently, a bond is forged; that is the love you see. Hetark and I will never be more than best friends," Elizabeth answered.

"Then you are happy with yer husband and will stay with him?" Poison asked.

"I love my husband dearly, but he and I can no longer be together. He died a short time ago and in respect for his memory I will take no other mate," Elizabeth said softly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean te open healing wounds, forgive me," Poison apologized. They rode in silence for a short time, both deep within their thoughts and then Poison asked, "Ye're not a simple merchant's wife, are you?"

"No," Elizabeth replied and watched Poison from the corner of her eyes.

"I feel like I've stepped into events beyond my understand'in," Poison stated, she looked at Hetark's back ahead of them, "and he's a great knight, not a serving man."

Elizabeth didn't answer, she just watched Poison's sharp mind as her logical thoughts dropped into place.

"Ye're learn'in from me fer more than simple protection, ye're go'in te fight."

Still Elizabeth did not answer; she just let Poison's thoughts continue.

Finally, Poison reached the logical conclusion to the path her thoughts followed, she looked closely at Elizabeth and said, "You're that Lady Ardellen, aren't you, the sorceress."

"Just Elizabeth, for now" she answered.

"So, ye're not dead. Scuttle has it you are fleeing from your husband, why?"

"My husband is dead, his body possessed through necromancy, but I will avenge him," Elizabeth stated with certainty.

That gave Poison a moment of pause, eventually, she asked, "Where do you travel to now?"

"For a time, some things will have to remain hidden, like the real story of Fingers the thief," Elizabeth answered.

Poison looked ahead at Hetark again and then asked, "So, when did you figure out that I put Fingers up te that show?"

"From the start, I was watching you as Hetark walked back to our table. I saw you speak to a man who then sat down behind us. The rest was easy; you wanted to knock Hetark down a peg after your argument and I thought he acted poorly toward you, so I let you have your fun. As I said at the time, it was a nice show," Elizabeth explained and gave Poison a quick smile.

Poison smiled back ruefully. "I thought I had you fooled."

"It's hard to fool a watching Kirnath sorceress," she replied.

"Then you are..." Poison said with her good eye widening.

"Yes, a sorceress, but don't let superstitions fool you, most of what you've heard is exaggeration and myth, I'm just as human now as I was before you knew of my skills. I'm still just your eager student. Don't put me up above you, Poison, I'd rather stay where I can be your friend," Elizabeth said, giving Poison a smile from her heart.

"All right, I'll try, but I want you te teach me in return," Poison answered.

Elizabeth gave her a small smile of encouragement.

"Could you teach me te speak better, te act more lady like?"

"If that is what you wish. Moreover, I am a healer, Poison. How long ago did you lose your eye?"

Poison's hand went unconsciously to her black eye patch.

"Two years, but I killed the thiv'en bastard who did this te me."

"I can heal you if you wish," Elizabeth said simply.

Poison swallowed in a dry throat before she said, "Truly?" A faint ray of hope that she almost didn't dare hold sprang up in her mind.

"It will be my gift for your teaching," Elizabeth promised, "and we'll start working on your speech as well."

"But... but how?"

"I am a Kirnath; you know we heal the sick. It is well within my powers to heal your eye."

Poison swallowed hard and her one eye rimmed with a half tear as she said, "Te... te see with both my eyes... for that, I would do almost anything."

"Well, be that as it may, I have many things I wish to ask of you, Poison, but I will only ask, not demand. You may not have seen it yet, but have you not noticed how much we look alike? I noticed it immediately."

"Yes, I noticed, our hair color is different, I'm a little taller and my eye color is completely different, but our faces, yes, they are very similar," Poison agreed.

"I have things, important things, which you could help me with, but I will not ask them in payment, I will ask them in friendship only and, if you are not willing, I will understand."

Poison swallowed and then said, "Well, I suppose that since we look alike you might want me to act as a stand in for you, like if someone was trying to assassinate you."

"No, that isn't what I meant," Elizabeth answered.

Poison thought about it anyway and then said, "If you heal my eye, I would take that risk and more for you. Whatever you ask of me."

"Again, I will not accept your service in payment. I will heal your eye just because I have the ability to do so. May I ask you a question, why do you want me to teach you to speak and act like a lady?"

"I want te be courtlier, like you, refined. I know I'm just a rough alleysark. The only men comfortable around me are murderers, thieves, and scum. I want te be proud o' myself," she looked at Elizabeth's eyes, as if trying to see if she could trust her with her darkest secret and then she said, "I'm terrified o' fine restaurants and hotels, I shake at the thought o' go'in in and embarrass'in myself. I don't know how te dress, act, or speak; will you teach me?"

Elizabeth reached over and took her hand, "Of course, Poison, I'd love to teach you. I also have two things I wish to ask of you and I didn't know how, exactly... they are very personal."

"It's all right, Elizabeth, I've already told you my worst fear," Poison replied.

"The first thing is simple, I need you to deliver an important message when we get to Myrnvale," began Elizabeth.

When Elizabeth finished explaining the second thing she wanted, Poison nodded. "And you'll teach me what I need te know before then, right?"

"Don't worry, we'll learn from each other," Elizabeth said excitedly, things were starting to fall into place.

G'Taklar landed in the dirt for the sixth time that day. The drill sergeant's boot came down on the back of his neck pinning his face to the ground and mashing gritty dust into his mouth.

Sergeant Herms began an impressive verbal assault of G'Taklar's parentage.

" _I'm getting tired of this maggot!"_ G'Taklar silently exclaimed to Jatar.

" _He's not so bad, as far as sergeant maggots go,"_ Jatar's thought answered.

" _You're sickeningly cheerful about my discomfort,"_ G'Taklar grumbled.

The sergeant's tirade paused for a moment while he inhaled, then he continued his barrage of foul insults, "Now get up and try it again, you, butt nosed sniffer of fermented farts!"

G'Taklar climbed to his tired feet and picked up the dull practice sword that lay on the ground. As he raised his head, G'Taklar's gaze fell with loathing on his 'favorite' human - fat Sergeant Herms, who was doing his best to imitate the visage of a Darknull.

They stood in the center training yard of the barracks with twenty other trainee 'volunteers' watching.

"Hurry it up, pig puss," the sergeant prodded and then rapped G'Taklar in the shin with the flat of his blade.

" _How much longer can this eternity of grueling hell go on?"_ G'Taklar wailed silently to Jatar.

" _Eternity of grueling hell? It's only been four days since you got here,"_ Jatar reminded the boy.

Sergeant Herms goaded him on, "Try it again, shaardess. I know you love me, but at least make it look like ye're try'in te hit me,"

" _I'd sure like to put him down!"_ G'Taklar exclaimed to Jatar.

Jatar considered his request for a moment; G'Taklar did need his confidence built up. He made a decision and said, _"This guy's getting you with the same trick every time. Sweep your sword clockwise to parry the next time he goes low left, then counter as soon as you make the block by bringing your locked swords up into guard. Then cut over the top of his sword. Immediately plunge your tip downward and lunge forward at his groin. That will give him a taste of his own cooking."_

The sergeant looked over the rest of the watching trainees with a stern eye. "All right, the rest of you pay attention te graceless here, he's about te give another demonstration on how te land in the dirt. If you watch carefully and learn from his next bruis'in performance, you might not land on yer ass when it's yer turn."

Swinging his practice sword negligently into a guard position, the sergeant looked at G'Taklar. "Come on pretty boy, let's dance."

G'Taklar lifted his dull blade and readied himself for another bout with his personal nightmare. Jatar's advice echoed through his brain.

The sergeant made a strike for his head, which turned out to be a feint and then he thrust downward at G'Taklar's lower left hip. The dull tip would not pierce G'Taklar's leg, but it would bruise him and the pain would make his leg give out which would send him to the unforgiving ground.

G'Taklar rotated his blade clockwise, intercepting the sergeant's thrust, then he took the trapped blade upwards continuing on over, he snapped the tip down and lunged forward as Jatar had suggested. The sword tip went between the sergeant's legs and the angled blade began rising toward the groin, surprising the Tchulian sergeant. G'Taklar was worried that he would actually hurt Herms, so he held back on the speed of the lunge.

Herms had to leap backward to avoid a serious male injury.

He was off balance and lost his footing. The rotund soldier staggered back four steps while swinging his hands wildly for balance. He lost the battle and landed on his wide and well-padded seat with a 'whump' sound, causing a cloud of dust to puff out around his posterior.

G'Taklar watched the sergeant's face scrunch up and become even uglier than normal _. "He's definitely going to kill me,"_ G'Taklar decided.

Silence struck the rest of the recruits for a moment, then someone in the back row snickered and grins briefly appeared on a few of the demoralized trainees.

Their dusty sergeant got to his feet and glared them into silence before he walked back in front of G'Taklar. That young man was standing at attention.

Sergeant Herms looked at him silently for a moment; to G'Taklar it seemed at least a full bell. Finally, the sergeant said, "Well done recruit, I didn't think you had it in you."

G'Taklar visibly sighed with relief.

"Corporal Yerl!" the sergeant barked out.

"Yes, sergeant," the corporal answered while marching over and standing at attention.

"Do you have that butter knife you confiscated from pretty boy?"

Reaching to his belt, the corporal pulled the old dagger out and presented it to the sergeant. He had cleaned the knife and sharpened the blade to a razor's edge.

The sergeant took it from the corporal, pulled the blade out halfway to look at the edge and then said, "It looks like a real weapon now, I guess we'll have te stop calling it a butter knife."

The corporal didn't look too happy, he had become attached to the ancient dagger, but he left when the sergeant said, "That's all, corporal."

Turning to G'Taklar, the sergeant presented the dagger to him hilt first. "You showed some spunk that I didn't think you had, so here's your reward fer be'in a man."

The sergeant faced the rest of the assembled recruits and barked, "As fer the rest of you, I'm not going to be as nice as I was to pretty boy here," and as he finished his sentence he brought his dull bladed sword up between G'Taklar's legs and rapped him with medium strength.

It was enough to put G'Taklar on the ground for an extended stay.

"That's fer missing me when you had yer chance," he said to G'Taklar.

"Life _in the army has its ups and downs,"_ Jatar noted philosophically.

"..." G'Taklar responded.

Rachael was ready to make her escape from Headwater. She had collected some supplies and purchased what she could not find. She figured that she had enough food and water for two people to last three weeks in the desert, now all she had to do was inform Guitar he was going. She had not managed to see him in the four days since he had been conscripted into the Tchulian mercenary ranks.

Rachael had a plan she intended to put into play that night.

Two bells after dark, she approached the back stairs of the Butchered Lamb, her place of ex-employment. She crept up the back stairs, stopping every few steps to listen for anyone approaching. She reached the top of the stairs without mishap and opened the door a crack only to find the hallway empty.

The young girl quickly tip-toed down to the second door and listened. She could hear Marthla entertaining her regular, corporal Ginto. She knew that he always stayed past midnight.

Rachael inserted her key and turned it as quietly as she could. The key could unlock all the doors on the upper floor. The lock squeaked, so she stopped and listened for signs of discovery, but the low mumble of voices kept on at the same level. She completed turning the key and slowly opened the door.

As Rachael had hoped, Marthla and the corporal were in the separate bedroom that Marthla earned for being the top girl at the Butchered Lamb. The corporal's clothes were draped around the sitting room in disarray. Terrified of discovery, Rachael quickly collected up the corporal's uniform and prepared to leave.

Then she heard the hated voice of Fats talking to another girl in the hall outside the room. Rachael looked over her shoulder toward the door to the bedroom, expecting it to open at any moment. That would reveal her to Marthla and the corporal. She pictured herself being caught. Fats would cut off her hands for stealing and then force her to work as Fats' slave for the rest of her life.

Fortunately, she heard the sounds of Fats going down the stairs. Rachael peeked out the door and saw that the hall was empty again. She exited out the back of the Inn as swiftly as she could and then ran down the street to the hayloft where she now slept.

Once in the barn, Rachael dressed herself in some rags and old clothing she had collected over the past two nights. Once attired in the rags, she rolled in the dust and straw to make the old clothing look 'lived in'. When she was done, she looked much larger than her real age. If someone didn't look too closely within the tattered hood, she could pass for an old drudge.

She tied the corporal's clothes up underneath her raggedy clothing. Now dressed in her disguise, Rachael went to join the group of old women who cleaned the kitchen and chamber pots of the Tchulian military barracks. They were so resigned to their dismal lot in life that they didn't even notice when another crusty old woman shuffled up to join their ranks.

The line of twelve old drudges walked in through the side gate of the barracks under the bored eye of the night guard. The drudges cleaned the kitchen garbage out first and then went to clean the chamber pots of the barracks.

Rachael slipped away and entered the sleeping cot area. She hurried down the line of sleeping men looking for the face of Guitar. Like all the rest, she found him passed out to the world from their grueling workouts at the hands of the Sergeant and his Corporals.

Having found G'Taklar, the young girl left him for a moment and slipped into the barrack's water closet where the chamber pots were kept. The drudges had not yet reached this building. She peeled off the layers of rags she wore and put on the corporal's uniform she had stolen from Marthla's room in the Butchered Lamb. She had to strap down her bosom tightly with a soft cloth to try and hide that she was a woman. The uniform was too big, so she tucked up the ankles and rolled up the ends of the sleeves. She hoped the dim starlight would aid her in covering up the obvious inconsistencies in the uniform. She put her long wavy brown hair up into the corporal's hat to complete her disguise.

She went back to G'Taklar's cot and shook him gently. "Guitar, it's me, Rachael. Wake up," she whispered.

He came out of his deep exhausted sleep with a dreamy sigh. "Rachael, I'm here, I..." Then his eyes focused on the silhouette of the corporal's hat above him and he remembered where he was billeted.

Hoping to avoid another beating for being late, he tried to leap out of bed while attempting to say, "Ready for duty, sir," but it came out, "Murdi fwwwr oooty errr!"

That's because Rachael had one hand over his mouth and the other on his chest, holding him down with all her weight. She leaned down to his ear to whisper. "It's me, Rachael! Now calm down and keep quiet!"

"Maital?" he said, his voice still muffled by her hand.

"Yes," she replied continuing to whisper into his ear. "Nod your head up and down if you're ready to whisper."

He nodded.

She removed her small hand from his mouth, but continued to drape her body on his chest. This kept her head next to his, so they could whisper into each other's ear.

G'Taklar whispered his first coherent words, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm helping you escape! I've collected enough supplies to last us three weeks and I know where to get horses!" She said in an excited whisper, trying to sell him on the feasibility of her getaway plan.

"Let me think for a moment," he whispered back.

" _This isn't a good idea,"_ Jatar told him, _"you're safer here. Remember what this girl doesn't know, the Tchulians are probably looking for their escaped prisoner! Which is you, in case you forgot."_

" _But Jatar they're killing me here. Didn't I escape that dungeon to avoid being tortured? It couldn't be worse than this,"_ G'Taklar thought, woefully.

" _You know that's not true; this is tough and they're giving you a particularly hard time because of the clothing they found you in, but it's not more than you can handle," Jatar reasoned. "Besides, if this girl helps you escape, she will get in trouble. Eventually, they'll figure out who helped you."_

" _You're right; I'll talk to her,"_ then he whispered to Rachael, "Look, I appreciate your efforts to help me, but I can't leave."

"Why?" she whispered back, her excitement dying.

"For one reason, because you would be caught and punished for helping me and I can't accept that," he explained.

"You're worried about me," she whispered back in a please, yet quiet voice, "but you don't understand, I'm going with you. I lost my job at the Butchered Lamb after you left. They're searching for me. Fat's is trying to give me to that Sergeant Herms and his corporals. I have to leave this town."

"Let me think again," G'Taklar replied and then thought to Jatar, _"Well, that changes things, doesn't it? This is my fault. Any words of wisdom?"_

" _A wise man once told me, 'Wisdom comes with age, but the young won't listen', but I was too young to listen to him then,"_ Jatar replied.

" _Meaning I won't listen to you now?"_ G'Taklar asked.

" _The quotation proves itself worthless,"_ Jatar replied, _"besides, what is wise is not always right. Let's help this girl."_

" _Now you're talking,"_ then he whispered decisively, "All right, Rachael, I'm coming with you."

He felt her body relax in relief; she had been holding herself stiff with tension.

G'Taklar glanced at her clothing and said, "From the uniform you're wearing, I think I know how you got in here, but what's your plan for getting out of the compound? They don't let recruits outside the walls."

"I didn't come in this way; I pretended to be an old drudge and came in with the poor wretches they hire to clean up. To get out, I'm going to pretend to be a corporal and take you out with me," she replied in a breathy whisper.

The young girl's warm breath on young G'Taklar's ear was starting to affect him, his pulse quickened and he gulped, words were having difficulty getting together in his mouth.

Jatar spoke during G'Taklar's tongue tied pause, _"I have a suggestion, why don't you put on the corporal's uniform; it'll fit you better. She can put on her drudge clothes and go back out with them. I doubt this short young lady will pass as a Tchulian soldier, uniform and dark notwithstanding."_

"I have a suggestion," G'Taklar whispered to Rachael, repeating what Jatar had recommended.

"You're so smart, Guitar, I didn't think of that and I was worried about the uniform being too big," she replied.

"Well, ahem, thanks," he said, embarrassed at the praise she gave him for Jatar's advice. "Where did you leave your drudge outfit?"

Rachael got up and led him to the lavatory.

G'Taklar followed her as quietly as he could. When they reached the water closet Rachael began to take off the uniform.

She pulled the hat off and tossed it to G'Taklar and then she began to unbutton the shirt. She quickly pulled it off and then threw it to him as well. She reached to untie the cloth that bound her bosom, but noticed that G'Taklar was completely engrossed in watching her disrobe.

"Turn your back," she instructed, "this isn't a show."

G'Taklar's face flushed and he turned his back quickly. "I wasn't looking; I was just waiting for the clothes."

"I'm sure," Rachael replied, in a tone that showed she did not believe a word of what he had said. "Why don't you start putting that shirt on?"

"Oh, yes," G'Taklar said, coming back to the present. He had been trying to understand her past behavior in her room compared to the present. _She makes no sense at all,_ he concluded.

A moment later, the pants hit him in the back of the head. When he turned to pick them up, he caught the white outline of the naked Rachael who had her back to him while she picked up the rags from the floor. He tried not to look, but his eyes traveled down the outline of the small curvy girl. Her long wavy hair entangled his eyes which followed the cascading curls to the small of her back and inevitably toward her perfectly rounded... G'Taklar yanked his head around, practically tearing his eyes as they tried to stay on the beautiful sight of his first naked woman.

Flustered and red as the evening sunset, G'Taklar took off his pants and began to change into the corporal's.

He was busy, so he didn't see Rachael sneak a peek at the back of his naked body. She sighed and went back to putting on her rags.

#### CHAPTER TWELVE: BECARIS

A man walked out of the desert and into the common room at the Butchered Lamb. He had piercing gray eyes, shoulder length black hair and wore a long dusty gray cloak.

He walked directly to the bar and, though it was crowded, he caught Fats' eye. Then, in a low voice, he said, "Ale."

Fats was busy and started to ignore the stranger, but something in the depths of the man's gray eyes made him pause. He made his regular customers wait and filled a large brown mug with ale for the stranger.

As Fats set the drink down the man took hold of his wrist in a firm grip.

Fats pulled back trying to free his hand. Normally his bulk won most battles, but this time, the man's hand just tightened and Fats was held in place.

The man spoke quietly and his voice showed no hint of effort in holding Fats. "I'm thinking of joining the local garrison, are there any officers around with whom I could speak?"

"Sergeant Herms is upstairs, he'll be down soon if you wait," Fats found he was scared of this man; there was something different in the gray eyes of the stranger.

Fats was used to dealing with tough men, but this stranger was a cut above, his soul shone from his eyes, fearless, confident, and ready for anything.

The stranger turned Fats' hand over. The innkeeper watched in fear of what he might do. The gray-cloaked stranger brought his other hand from under his cloak and placed two coppers in the innkeeper's open palm. "For the ale," he said and released Fats' hand.

Fats almost collapsed behind the counter in relief.

The cloaked man took his mug of ale and sat at a booth against the back wall, waiting.

After a quarter bell, Sergeant Herms lumbered down the stairs and joined his two corporals; they were waiting for him at a booth.

Fats immediately hurried over to the Tchulians and exclaimed, "There's a man here who says he wants to join the military. He's been waiting for you."

"He wants te join, you say? Well can you beat that!" the Sergeant said and his two corporals laughed.

"He's not the normal scum that wanders in here, Sergeant, this is a tough one," Fats warned.

"Oh, tough, is he? Let's see this tough old bird!" He stood up on his thick legs, gesturing for his two men to come along. He felt better when he had armed men to support his authority.

"Which is the bloke?"

"He's the one in the gray cloak, over there," Fats said, gesturing with his shoulder, he was afraid of pointing directly at the stranger.

The Sergeant hitched up his sagging pants and swaggered over to the booth where the stranger sat. His two corporals flanked him on either side.

"I hear you want te join up, in which case, I'm the man te see," Sergeant Herms said, pointing at his chest with his right thumb.

The cloaked man's steely eyes slowly tracked up the girth of the Sergeant, then flicked to either side, taking in the two accompanying corporals, before returning to look into Herm's face.

The Sergeant sucked in some of his gut as he was measured and found wanting by the cloaked man.

"Yes," the stranger replied conversationally, "I'm interested in joining the Tchulian military, but not as an infantry foot soldier; I'm thinking of becoming an officer."

"An officer?" Herms repeated. Then he smiled and looked at the corporal on his left, nudging him with his elbow. "He wants te be an 'Officer'" he said, chuckling. "What makes you think you can afford Tchulian officer's schooling, Kesera." the Sergeant finished, calling him a small desert rodent.

In reply, the stranger asked, "Why should I prove anything to you? Have you even been to the Keep?" He nodded his head in the direction of the fortress on top of the nearby hill.

"Of course, I have. I know the right people to talk to, if you had the round, which you don't," he responded, puffing his chest out even further.

"You're right, I don't have the round," the stranger began.

"You see boys, a Kesera, like I said," the Sergeant interjected.

"But I have this," the stranger continued, spinning a red stone out onto the tabletop. It spun so fast at first that the sergeant could only see it was red and then it slowed and stopped showing its faceted sides. It was a ruby, half the size of a small flutter's egg.

The sergeant and both corporals' eyes bulged at the sight of the stone. It was worth more than their combined pay for three years.

The sergeant recovered first and elbowed his men back into reality. "So, that's all? Hardly enough to get you in the door. I hope you have more," and the corporals behind the sergeant looked at him as if he were crazy.

"You and I both know this is more than enough to get me in, but yes, I do have more."

The corporals transferred their incredulous looks from their sergeant to the stranger.

Sergeant Herms sat down at the booth opposite the gray-eyed man. The two corporals boxed the stranger in, one sitting next to the sergeant and the other next to the gray-cloaked man.

He didn't look perturbed.

The sergeant snapped his fingers above his head and one of the waitresses came over immediately. Herms kept looking at the stranger, but spoke to the waitress, "Bring ale."

When the waitress went off to fetch the drinks, the sergeant addressed the stranger. "So, you fancy yerself a tough un? Well, I don't think ye're tough enough for the Tchulians. Think you can prove me wrong?"

"I'm still here," the stranger replied.

The mugs of ale arrived and the stranger picked one up and drained it to the last drop in one pull, slamming it to the top of the table. Then he looked at the sergeant expectantly.

Herms picked his up and emptied it as well. "Six more," he barked to the waitress who was still standing at the end of the table. While she was gone, Herms picked up the other two mugs that had been for his corporals and set one in front of the stranger, "To the Tchulian army!" he toasted and drank the remaining mug of ale in one pull.

The stranger picked up his new mug, never taking his eyes off the Sergeant. "To the keseras," he answered and downed his as well.

"So, you didn't like my toast, hey?" the sergeant inquired.

"I'm not a Tchulian, yet," the man responded.

The waitress came back with the additional mugs of ale.

"Then let's find something we can toast together!" He picked up another mug, "To women, long may they satisfy!" After his toast, he waited for the stranger, mug raised.

The cloaked man raised a full mug as well and added, "To women," and then he downed the entire mug of dark potent ale.

The sergeant followed suit, gulping heavily. Then he picked up another mug of the oily, alcoholic beverage.

However, before the sergeant could propose another toast, the stranger said, "I'll continue to drink with you in a moment, but first, I'm going to have to go drain my Kesera."

"Fine, fine, I'm sure the corporal here has to go too, don't you?" the sergeant suggested heavily to the corporal seated on his side.

"Uh yes, I do have to go," the corporal finally said, after catching the sergeant's elbow in his side.

The stranger and the corporal got up and went out the front door together. As they walked away from the table, sergeant Herms spotted the stranger bumping into a table slightly, losing his balance. The sergeant smiled when he saw it happen.

"What are you doing, Sarge?" the remaining corporal asked as soon as the stranger was out of hearing.

"I'm drinking the bastard onto the floor and then we'll relieve him o' that bauble and anything else he has on him. Once that's done, we'll enroll him in the ranks o' new recruits. Don't worry, you'll get yer cut, ten percent," the sergeant promised.

"What happens if he isn't getting drunker than you?" the corporal asked.

"What, that wimp out sauce me? He's too skinny. Besides, you two can handle him once I get him drunk enough. Then he can wake from his blissful slumber with his dream come true, a recruit 'o the Tchulian army," the sergeant finished, chuckling.

Outside, the stranger and the corporal found some bushes to the side of the building. The stranger went behind them, but the corporal wasn't worried, he knew there was no other exit from the corner of the building. The man would have to come past him on the way back out.

He could hear the man peeing and, once done, the gray cloaked stranger returned. Together they went back into the Tavern.

"All right sergeant, where were we?" the gray-eyed man said when he was seated again.

"We just toasted the women, now we are toast'in the maker 'o this ale, may he learn te do better soon!" the sergeant said with a grin, they drank the mugs down together.

When the sergeant set his mug down the room swayed just a little. He knew the ale was starting to have an effect. Sergeant Herms looked at the smaller man across from him and thought, _By now he must be getting seriously skewered._

When they picked up the last of the eight mugs of ale, the sergeant noticed that the stranger had a little trouble finding the handle on his mug.

"To round mmmmmmetal, may oooou alwaysh find sumb," the stranger said in toast, his words slurring in the unwritten drunk's language.

They drank the large mugs of thick liquid together, then the stranger bent at the waist and collapsed on the table while saying, "Wheresh alllll the weeeemon?" His head landed with a 'thunk' on the rough wood table.

Not feeling all that steady himself, the sergeant prodded the stranger with his finger. Then he noted, "Out, like an old whore. Well, pick him up, you fools; it's time for our newest recruit to go to his new home."

"Should we search him for the jewels?" the corporal next to the sergeant asked greedily.

Herms considered and then said, "Naw, we'll wait until we get him to the barracks. That way none of this riff raff spot any of our new wealth!"

The sergeant and corporals got to their feet. The sergeant swayed back and forth a little, but managed to steady himself on the side of the table until the world settled down. The two corporals supported the semi-unconscious stranger by putting one of his arms over each of their shoulders before walking him out the door.

When they reached the street, they turned toward the edge of town. As they neared the last building on the main street of Headwater, a man stepped out in front of them. He wore finely made light armor and sported a polished and lethal looking sword in his hand.

"Excuse me," he said in a cultured accent, "will you please explain where you're going with my friend?"

"Yer friend?" the sergeant demanded.

"Yes, and your explanation better be good," he cautioned.

"I'm not sure what ye're talk'in about," the sergeant replied as he gestured with his hand for the corporals to come closer.

They let their unconscious burden slump to the ground and stepped up beside their sergeant while drawing their swords.

Sergeant Herms felt better once his armed men were ready to defend him and he said, "You see, he volunteered te join the Tchulian infantry. He is now a recruit and recruits are not allowed te wander the town. Now, move aside, or are you think'in of volunteer'in as well?" the sergeant asked.

"Since when did I volunteer?" said a voice out of the dark and the gray-eyed stranger from the tavern stepped from behind the building, holding two drawn swords. They three soldiers stared as if a ghost had joined the party before turning to look where they'd just left the same man lying in the dirt only a moment ago.

When they turned, they saw that man standing behind them just as he caught the sword his identical twin brother tossed to him over the soldier's heads.

"There are two of them!" a corporal yelled.

"Get them!" the drunken sergeant commanded.

Each corporal took on a twin and the sergeant pulled out his sword to attack Becaris.

Becaris did not even use his blade; he just let the sergeant blunder in and then hit him over the head with the hilt of his sword. The drunken sergeant dropped to the ground like a stone, unconscious.

When Becaris looked up to see how Lasar and Rasal were doing, he saw that both Tchulian corporals were dead. The brothers stood over them and were not even breathing hard.

"Quickly, before anyone sees, arrange them so that it looks like they killed each other. Then help me carry this hulking sergeant to the horses. Is the ale affecting either of you two?" Becaris asked.

"You must be joking, a few mugs of ale each? We were born and raised in a tavern, either of us could have drunk him under the table but, with two of us, it was simple," Lasar answered with a smirk.

Sergeant Herms awoke the next morning tied to a gnarled old tree trunk out in the desert. For the life of him, he could not remember how he got in this predicament. The last thing he remembered was drinking with the stranger at the Butchered Lamb.

He heard the crunch of sand on boots as someone approached from behind. His first thought was that his corporals had betrayed him for the ruby, which was feasible; he would have killed them for it without regret.

Herms called out, "All right, I get the picture. I'll give you each one-third o' the sell'in price. Now let me loose."

"I'm afraid we're not interested in round, Sergeant Herms," a voice with a noble's accent answered from behind.

Becaris stepped around in front of his captive.

"Who are you?" the frightened Tchulian gasped.

"That is of no consequence to you. What you should be concerned about is helping me out, that way both of us will get what we want. I need information about the Tchulian keep above Headwater and you need to survive; it's funny how the two are tied together. It seems we can be mutually beneficial to one another," Becaris explained and then took a drink from a waterskin.

The hot sun was already heating up the sand of the desert and the sergeant's mouth was dry. Watching Becaris drink focused the sergeant's thoughts on the dryness of his mouth. He licked his lips and tried to get some moisture working.

"What do you want te know?" he asked, not thinking of resisting for a moment.

"Tell me the layout; I need to find a prisoner named G'Taklar who's locked up, possibly being tortured. I'll also need to know how many soldiers there are, the names of the officers, passwords, entry routines, you know, everything," Becaris finished, cleaning the dirt from under his nails with a sharp dagger.

The sergeant began telling him everything he wanted to know about the keep, though he never mentioned G'Taklar since he knew him only as the new recruit named Guitar.

G'Taklar found the stable where Rachael had told him they would meet. His escape from the compound had been easy, just a wave of his hand at the bored guard. The corporal's hat had been as far as the tired guard's eyes bothered to look and the dark shadows of night had kept his face from being seen.

He opened the large swinging door of the wooden barn and stepped inside. Beams of light from the morning sun sliced through the misaligned vertical boards of the walls to cut knife edged slices of golden sunlight across the straw covered floor.

Stalls holding horses lined the walls to the left and right with saddles and other trappings hanging on wood pegs. G'Taklar looked up toward the loft in time to see Rachael's head pop up out of the straw.

The young girl lowered a wrapped-up bundle down to him and then descended the wooden ladder.

"I'm so happy to see you!" she exclaimed. "The longer I waited the more I imagined things that could've gone wrong. I was so afraid. Fats has had the soldiers looking for me, they've searched this stable twice now. I've only managed to avoid them by slipping out a loose board in the back and hiding across the street until they were gone."

"It's all right; we're going to escape together. The soldiers are looking for me as well. I escaped from their dungeon the day you first met me," G'Taklar explained, "My real name is G'Taklar.

"G'Taklar? G'Taklar," she said, sounding out his voice, "I like it, it's exotic. You're not from around here either, are you?" she asked.

"No, I was far from my home when they abducted me," he explained.

" _This isn't necessary right now. You ought to start saddling up the horses, quickly,"_ Jatar advised G'Taklar.

"Come on, Rachael, we'll have time to talk later. Let's saddle up the horses and get out of here before they miss me. The recruits will be woken up any time now," G'Taklar said, accepting Jatar's advice without argument.

"How many horses should we take?" Rachael asked.

" _Take two apiece and two pack horses. Load as many water skins as you can find on the pack horses,"_ Jatar immediately advised.

G'Taklar repeated his instructions.

"I knew I could trust you to know what to do, G'Taklar. That's why I couldn't have made it without you," she said, then placed her hand on his shoulder as she leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. "I'm glad you're here, G'Taklar."

He was too flustered to answer.

The third chamber of the Ice Tower of Shadow Keep was dimly lit by purple light from glowing crystals mounted in eight places along the curving wall of the round room. The lights supplied an even, low level of light and illuminated an oval shaped shining black onyx table. Red stone was inlaid at the center forming the image of an open hand; a solid black circle lay in the center of the palm. Two small red points stared from the center of the blackness like the twin eyes of an evil snake.

Beings who had once been fully human, sat in eight of the nine chairs that surrounded the black table. None of them wondered why the ninth member was missing; they knew the reason for his absence.

The head of the Necromantic council spoke, "CAracusS has succeeded in destroying Jatar and taking his body, as many of you already know," SKartaQ began, his raspy voice sounded like rough wood drug slowly across coarse sandpaper.

SKartaQ wore a red hooded cloak and, as he spoke, he pulled the hood down to his shoulders. His bald head was a motley mix of red, pink and white lines crisscrossing the bumpy surface. Scars overlaid scars as if someone had whipped his head unmercifully with a barbed, metal stranded, multi-whip.

"Then why have you disturbed me with this unscheduled meeting?" a stunning woman exclaimed. She was seated across the black table, two seats to the left of SKartaQ.

At first glance, her face was beautiful, with brilliant red hair curling down the firm line of her high cheek. However, her beauty ended when you noticed that the left side of her head had been sheared off by a blade, taking her ear, skin and a large piece of her skull. Through the hole in her skull, you could see the contours of her brain covered by a thin translucent layer of scar tissue. Each time she breathed you could see blood pulsing through the dark network of veins that branched like a spider web over the nearly exposed brain. Her name was RIveK and she too was a necromancer, like all of those seated around the black table.

RIveK waited impatiently for SKartaQ to answer her question.

"As I was trying to say, CAracusS has taken the body of their ruler, but all has not gone according to plan. Jatar's wife, the Kirnath Sorceress, has escaped with the heir to the throne. Her child is rumored to possess at least his mother's potential of aura power; therefore, he represents a danger to our plans," SKartaQ finished.

The redhead spoke angrily, "CAracusS has failed, so he should pay the price of failure! I say we strip his powers and let the Darknulls claim him!" RIveK punctuated her statement by slamming her hand on the onyx table. Her blood red painted nails shown bright against the perfect black of the table.

"I agree," SKartaQ replied, "his failure has complicated our plans. However, he has accomplished the takeover of Lindankar and the Sorceress is on the run. If we strip his powers, we may control of Lindankar. Remember, the Tchulians are involved; their man would step in and take control if CAracusS was removed."

Seated to SKartaQ's left was a necromancer with little left of a burnt face. It looked as though a concentrated blast of intense heat had struck him low in the face, destroying the flesh. His lips were melted off and a gaping hole was the only evidence of a missing nose. Blackened exposed teeth looked like a permanent death's head grin.

His speech was slurred from his lipless mouth, yet the other necromancers had no trouble understanding SCorcH's words; they were used to his impaired speech.

"I say we let him live, for now. If his continued actions outweigh his errors, he may redeem himself. If not, he dies," the hideously burned man counseled.

SKartaQ stood and held his hand up, palm out, fingers spread.

"Those in favor of SCorcH's proposal, please stand with me."

All except RIveK stood and held up their spread hand; she placed her hand down on the table to indicate disagreement.

"Then let it be understood that this is the council's choice," and he looked at RIveK as he added, "any actions opposing this will be met with by the destruction of the guilty party." He re-seated himself and the others followed.

RIveK's hands clenched, the tips of her nails cut into the palms of her hands until blood dripped onto the table. She said nothing, but she thought, _One day, CAracusS, I shall see you defenseless, then I shall feed you to the Darknulls and reap your power; until then, rest uneasy, my husband._

SKartaQ addressed them again, "Our next piece of business is the destruction of the Sorceress, Lady Ardellen and her child, Michael Ardellen, the heir to the Lindankar throne. Who will accept this task?"

RIveK stood quickly and spoke, "Since CAracusS cannot clean up his mess I will do it. What man could know a woman's mind as well as a woman? I will find this sorceress and I will destroy her, it's that simple," the red-headed necromancer stated, her long white robe hanging in straight folds from her shoulders to the floor, red hair and nails standing out in bold relief like blood splashed on a clean sheet.

"What of your troubles with the bandit gangs in Autrany?" SCorcH asked, his black teeth clicking, his words slurring and hissing from his lack of lips as he spoke.

"Autrany is subdued; it is under my complete control. The bandits you speak of are negligible, I can destroy them whenever I choose," RIveK replied scornfully to SCorcH.

"How, may we ask?" the hideous voice of SCorcH inquired.

"That is my affair," RIveK responded haughtily.

"It is a legitimate question, RIveK, it concerns the council's plans," SKartaQ interjected.

"Very well. I have an underling who leads the largest band of the worthless refugee scum. He is destroying the smaller groups or absorbing them. Very soon, his work will be done. At that time, he will gather the largest of the remaining bands together for an attack. They will think they are uniting to attack their mutual enemy, Paridine, the man they call the Usurper. As you all well know, he is my puppet. In truth, they will be entering a trap where they will all be massacred. Does this meet with your approval?" she asked SCorcH sarcastically.

"A good plan, but with this in the works it seems a delicate time for you to be away hunting a sorceress," SCorcH stated.

"Nonsense, I only need to send a few messages. My involvement is finished as an active participant. Remember, no one outside this room knows that a necromancer was involved in the takeover of Autrany. Letting my puppets do the actual deeds helps keep me and, therefore, the council, out of the public eye," RIveK finished and looked at SCorcH, daring him to refute her logic.

"Accepted," SCorcH replied, "but I offer my aid in the destruction of the Kirnath woman, just in case things do not go as planned with your bandit scheme."

"I don't need your meddling presence to jog my aim," RIveK replied, glaring shards of ice from her green eyes.

"I think it's a wise idea," SKartaQ interposed.

RIveK started to say something, but paused and considered for a moment. Then she said, "Fine, if that is your wish. SCorcH and I will handle the sorceress together."

SCorcH didn't look pleased when RIveK suddenly gave in to his suggestion, it usually meant she had thought of some other way to get what she wanted, though he said nothing.

"Then it is decided, RIveK and SCorcH will hunt and destroy Lady Ardellen and her brat," SKartaQ stated, ending the council meeting.

Rachael and G'Taklar slipped their small train of horses out the door of the stable and headed down the alleys toward the edge of Headwater. It was still early, but G'Taklar figured that the Tchulians would soon wake the recruits and then his absence would be discovered. He was not sure how long it would take them to respond when they found out that he had deserted. He and Rachael moved through the silent streets quickly and soon found themselves on the road west, paralleling the muddy river.

Throughout the rest of the day, G'Taklar kept looking back over his shoulder, expecting to see a dust cloud that signaled pursuit, but nothing disturbed the hot rising air of the desert.

Jatar gave G'Taklar more advice, _"Keep to the road for as long as possible, that way you can water and feed the horses along the river without wasting your supplies. I'm not sure why, but that fat Sergeant Herms hasn't taken out after you yet. It puzzles me, I was sure he would hunt you to the Dark Plane; they can't afford to allow deserters to escape. If coerced recruits were allowed to desert easily, the whole barracks would bust out."_

" _Perhaps he's just glad to get rid of me. From the way he treated me, I'm sure I didn't fit his idea of the perfect soldier,"_ G'Taklar thought back.

" _Nonsense, you were one of the best men he had. You don't get good recruits from pickings in tap rooms. This particular Tchulian outpost's location, in a hot desert dust pit, doesn't leave the recruiters with a high caliber of men from which to choose. He can't let you go this easily. There has to be some reason he hasn't pursued, though he will,"_ Jatar predicted.

" _I'll keep an eye out for pursuit. We should see a cloud of dust;_ otherwise, _they wouldn't be traveling fast enough to catch us anyway, right?"_ G'Taklar asked, looking for confirmation.

" _Unless they are just keeping pace, then they could speed up under the cover of dark and take you,"_ Jatar reasoned.

" _All right, we'll speed up after dark as well and then rest through the day tomorrow. I'll look for high ground where we can watch our back trail. What do you think?"_ G'Taklar asked and it was obvious that he was proud of his plan.

" _Good thinking, 'Tak. It's best to rest in the day and ride at night in the desert anyway,"_ Jatar commended the teenager.

" _I read about a similar chase in 'Furnian the desert Rin',"_ G'Taklar explained.

" _He escaped by moving at night?"_ Jatar surmised.

" _No, he rode by night to get ahead of his pursuers and then buried himself in the road. When the souldead reached him the next day he sprang out of the ground at their feet. Surprise and the_ Gingga _Moon sword gave him the advantage; he single-handedly annihilated all of them,"_ G'Taklar explained.

" _I see. Well I don't suggest we try the same thing,"_ Jatar noted.

" _Definitely not,"_ G'Taklar agreed.

" _What was so special about the Gimppa Mood sword?"_ Jatar asked with amusement.

" _Gingga Moon sword,"_ G'Taklar corrected and pulled out the old dagger he had found in the caverns _. "Well, when either moon was in the sky, Furnian could twist the pommel, like this,"_ he said, using the round pommel knob on the dagger to demonstrate, _"causing the sword to... hey, this pommel comes off!"_ The young man exclaimed, interrupting his story when his dagger's pommel actually moved.

" _It shouldn't move,"_ Jatar said, puzzled.

" _Maybe this is like the Gingga Moon sword!"_ G'Taklar exclaimed, excitedly.

" _More likely it's a broken dagger,"_ Jatar noted dryly.

G'Taklar continued unscrewing the knob _. "No, look, it's meant to come off! There's something inside!"_ Tilting the dagger to point up, G'Taklar poured a handful of gold round out of the hollow hilt of the ancient dagger. _"Oh, it's just gold,"_ G'Taklar thought, in disappointment.

Rachael glanced over and spotted the handful of gold. "By G'lan, you're rich!"

"I just found the coins; they were in the handle of this dagger. At least we won't have to worry about round metal when we reach Myrnvale," he answered, consoling himself.

" _That's quite a bit of gold,"_ Jatar noted, _"you won't have to work in any taverns now. Whoever the dead man was in the cavern, he must have used that dagger to hide his personal treasure from thieves."_

" _He won't need it anymore, so I guess it's ours."_ G'Taklar decided, putting the gold back into the dagger before he screwed the pommel back on.

"What should we do with our fat sergeant friend?" Rasal asked Becaris as they waited for the sun to set.

"We'll just tie him up and leave him in that small cave behind us. He'll have to pray nothing happens to us while we're gone. Perhaps that will make him search his memory for anything that will help us in the keep while we look for G'Taklar," Becaris decided.

"Good idea. What shall we do with him when we leave town?" Lasar asked.

"We can let him go a day's walk from the edge of town. By the time he walks in, we'll be a long ride away. Besides, he'll be loath to tell his superiors that he spewed forth information like a geyser," Becaris reasoned.

"That sounds good to me. Do you really think G'Taklar is still alive?" Lasar asked, looking out across the desert hills toward the keep.

"We can only hope, yet whatever his condition may be, we must recover the ring; we can't fail Elizabeth or Michael," Becaris concluded.

"We won't fail and something tells me that G'Taklar is still alive; we'll find him," Rasal stated firmly.

When darkness hid them from casual sight, they rode their horses up the road toward the large stone keep which sat in vigil over the valley and town of Headwater.

The keep was dominated by a square tower sticking up into the star filled sky; lights glowed from openings, giving the tower eyes with which to stare back at the night. The whole keep was perched at the summit of a steep hill; the high ramparts and sheer walls would keep any attacking force at bay. Behind the large rectangular wall were four interconnecting stone buildings. Smoke pouring from the chimney of one structure spoke of dinner being prepared.

The three Knight Protectors stopped their horses part way up the hill, far enough from the summit so that their approach would not be heard. Lasar and Becaris continued stealthily on foot off the road, while Rasal approached the gate boldly on horseback a short time later.

His approach was heard by the two gate guards, who picked up their pikes and barred his way.

"Hail rider, stand fer search and inspection," one gate guard called out.

Rasal stopped his horse twenty paces short of the gate and dismounted. He left his horse standing on the road and walked immediately up to the guards.

The two soldiers pointed their pikes at the stranger who walked up to them so boldly.

Rasal stopped two steps from the end of the pikes and spoke in a commoner's accent, "I have a message te deliver te Capt'in Kains."

The guard to his left had a thick black beard sprouting from below the standard Tchulian helmet which resembled one end of a giant metal egg. "Who sent the message?" The bearded guard demanded.

"Sergeant Herms," he replied.

"Let's see it," the short guard on his right asked.

"It's fer the capt'in," Rasal argued.

"We have te inspect it anyway, besides you can't come in the keep, so we'll have te do the deliver'in," the bearded one explained.

"All right, here," Rasal said, handing over the message.

Bored with the whole thing, the short guard took the message from Rasal and scanned it quickly. He noticed nothing out of the ordinary since the note had actually been written by the sergeant for the Knight Protectors earlier in the day.

His boredom quickly vanished and he nudged his companion with his elbow. "Listen te this," and then he read the note aloud, 'Marthla's been ask'in when she can see you again. She asked me te send you these..."

"What's it say?" Rasal inquired, as if he didn't already know, and tried to lean over the top of the paper as if to read it upside down.

"Hey, stand back, you fool, this isn't fer you!" the bearded guard barked and then added, "Wait here!" He grabbed his fellow guard and they moved back five paces and turned their backs, so Rasal could not hear as they read the rest of the note and chuckled about their captain seeing a tavern tramp.

Rasal quickly stepped into the shadows of the wall at the side of the stone entry. At the same time, Lasar stepped out of the bushes near the horse and started to mount up.

The guards turned and saw what they thought was the same man getting on his horse. "Hey, where do you think you're going?" the short guard grunted, he was annoyed that he had not heard the messenger heading toward his horse.

"You said you'd deliver it fer me," Lasar replied.

"It's not all here, this says there was someth'in else ye're supposed te deliver with the message."

"Oh, yulkcrap, I left the package in my room!" Lasar exclaimed.

"Well, you better fetch it before we deliver this message," the bearded one advised as the two Tchulian guards walked out toward Lasar.

Behind them, where no one could have approached without their knowledge, Rasal slipped inside the gate.

"I'll be back in a bell or so," Lasar said and turned the horse to go back down the hill. He trotted the horse back down the road and put Rasal's horse with the other two.

The guards went back to their post snickering about the contents of the message. "I can't believe she sent him her bloomers! I didn't think the capt'in had it in him!"

Inside the keep, Rasal flitted from shadow to shadow like a fish leaping between dark pools of water. He found the worn stone steps that lead to the top of the rampart walls. Before ascending, he carefully checked to make sure no one was watching and then he scampered up the steps quickly. Luck and the fact that they planned their assault during the Keep's dinnertime made it unlikely he would be seen.

There was one sentry strolling along the front wall above the gate, but he was deep in his thoughts on this quiet night, protected by the height of the walls and the knowledge that two other guards watched the only entrance. He paced on, oblivious to the silent Rasal passing through the shadows.

Rasal moved to the back wall of the keep. He crouched in the shadows while he unwound the rope concealed around his waist and under his jerkin. He quickly made it fast and cast it over the wall.

Moments later, he saw the rope quiver with the tension of a man climbing. Becaris came over the wall quietly. After another few moments, Lasar came over as well. The three knights pulled the rope back up and Rasal coiled it around his waist.

Becaris signaled for them to begin the second part of their plan by holding up two fingers.

They stayed in the shadows and waited for the front wall sentry to turn his back, then in single file, they crept down the stairs and entered the nearest of the four structures by a side door.

Becaris whispered to the twins, "This is going too easy, we're almost to the passage leading to the dungeon. _"_

Just as he finished whispering, they heard voices ahead coming their way.

Becaris made a small hiss to get the brother's attention and then pointed up a stairway on their right.

They quickly raced up the stairs going three steps at a time. They made the turn above just before the approaching soldiers came into sight.

Luck was with them, the Knight Protectors found themselves in a wide and empty hallway. Oil paintings of past Tchulian commanders were interspersed between the numerous doors, most of which were closed.

The knights heard the soldiers behind them coming up the stairs, so they quickly moved down the hall to the nearest door. Becaris listened carefully, but heard nothing, so he took a chance and opened the door.

He found an empty bedroom and, from the size and various objects of worth, decided that this probably belonged to an officer.

Quickly, the three Knight Protectors stepped inside and closed the door.

Becaris stayed at the door where they entered and motioned for Lasar to check out the other door on the right wall.

Lasar nodded and moved over quietly to the wooden door so that he could listen. Rasal stayed with Becaris, ready to draw his sword if the soldiers in the hall tried to enter.

Becaris heard the soldiers walk by and then the sound of a distant door opening. When he turned to check on Lasar, his brother knight gestured for him to come quickly.

Rasal stayed to guard the door to the main hall while Becaris went and listened to Lasar's door.

The conversation Lasar had discovered going on in the next room was very interesting, Becaris heard them say, "...but Captain, we've lost fifteen men since the search began."

"I don't care, First Lieutenant, I want that prisoner found. If he's dead, then I want that ring and you're going to find it for me or I'll feed you to that souldead creature myself. Is that clear?"

"Yes, captain. I'm sorry I trusted Sergeant Augher with the prisoner. However, I won't have to punish him, the good sergeant has already paid the price of failure. The souldead creature who haunts the caverns got him and sucked out his brain," the first lieutenant explained, a little fear creeping into his voice.

"It serves him right! You're lucky I don't have you executed for such bad judgment in trusting the soldiers under you with a prisoner who should have had your personal care. I'll give you some words of advice, First Lieutenant, never trust anyone. Have you met Major Von Dracek?"

From the sound of his voice, Becaris thought that this change in the conversation must have puzzled the first lieutenant. "Yes, Sir," the first lieutenant answered with a questioning tone.

"Then you know that you don't want to anger the man. I have just received another message from the major out of Lindankar, it arrived earlier, by stirglik. He wants that ring."

The first lieutenant gulped. "I'll find it, Sir."

"Yes, you will or both our heads could roll. If that ring is not in my hands soon it will upset me. Then I'll have to find something to cheer me up, like sending you into the caverns below, alone," the captain finished.

"Yes, Captain, I'll go and push the men harder, right away," and Becaris heard the sounds of the first lieutenant leaving out a door.

As soon as the first lieutenant's footsteps faded away, Becaris motioned for Lasar to stand back.

Becaris pulled out his belt dagger and opened the door with his free hand.

The Tchulian captain glanced up at the intrusion with a frown of annoyance that quickly turned to surprise at seeing Becaris instead of a Tchulian soldier.

The merc officer grabbed at a dagger that lay on the desk before him, but Becaris threw his own readied blade first.

The dagger pierced the Tchulian in the chest, a little more centered than Becaris had intended.

Becaris and Lasar rushed into the room as the Tchulian officer fell from his chair.

"Find that message he mentioned!" Becaris exclaimed.

They searched the papers on the desk and found the one they were seeking; they knew it was a message from the crinkles and folds from its recent trip. Unfortunately, it was written in the Tchulian's code.

"Vorg's breath!" Lasar cursed.

Becaris did not waste time; he dropped to a knee beside the dying officer on the floor and held the message in front of the man's eyes. "What does this message say?' he demanded of the wounded Merc.

"Eat crap," the officer advised and blood spewed from his mouth.

Lasar reached forward and grasped the hilt of the dagger that protruded from the officer's chest as he asked, "Who was behind the plot against Lord Ardellen?"

The Captain looked into the steel gray eyes of the knight and then to his hand clasping the dagger; even the light touch when Lasar had taken hold was excruciatingly painful.

"You'll never believe..." the merc gasped, "it was lord Jatar's foster brother."

"Which one?" Becaris demanded.

But the officer started choking and his body arched up in one last spasm. "Darkness take you!" he cursed and his body suddenly went limp as he died.

Becaris sighed heavily.

Lasar pulled out the dagger and returned it to Becaris.

"Bring the note Lasar; perhaps we can decipher it later."

Lasar stuffed it within his leather armor and followed Becaris back into the room where Rasal guarded the door.

A moment later, the three knights slipped into the main hall and crept back down the stairs to the first level.

Elizabeth and Poison sat around their new camp. They were in a small valley between two gently rolling hills of tall yellow grass. A rock outcropping circled the top of each hill like a jeweled crown on a monarch's head.

Hetark was busy grooming the horses, he had not allowed the women to help, particularly Poison. "No, thank you, Ma'am, I lost the bet, so it's my job," he had told her when she started to help with the horse picket.

Poison sat down angrily at the fire. Elizabeth was actually amused by their friction because she could see something that Hetark missed. She decided to take Poison's mind off her anger.

"Now is a good time for me to take a look at that eye," Elizabeth said cheerily.

Poison's good eye stared at Elizabeth; now that it came down to it, she was a little concerned about the prospect of magic being used on her body. Poison had no experience with aura powers.

"What are ye gonna do?" she asked Elizabeth.

"It won't hurt, I assure you. First, just let me take a look at it. Now stop worrying, this won't be difficult at all."

"I ain't scared," Poison told her defiantly and pulled off the patch.

There was a short scar from a deep cut in her brow that went through the socket where her eye had been, it had not healed well.

Elizabeth placed her hand on the side of Poison's face near the old wound. "Close your other eye for a moment while I check this out," she advised.

Poison was scared, Elizabeth could see that in her aura, but the tough girl wasn't about to admit it to anyone, so she closed her good eye and waited for the worst.

Elizabeth smiled to herself and extended her aura power into the wounded area and started healing the destroyed tissues by restoring the aura to the original shapes and hues.

"Did you get this scar along your jaw at the same time?" Elizabeth asked Poison, whose eyes were still tightly held shut.

"Yes, I had a bad day," she said lightly.

Elizabeth shifted her power to the scar and removed that mark as well.

"How bad is it? Is there any chance you can fix the eye?" Poison finally asked, ready for the bad news.

"No, Poison, I can't fix it..."

"It's all right," Poison said with an attempt to hide her utter disappointment.

"...because there's nothing wrong with it anymore," Elizabeth finished. "Open your eyes, Poison."

Poison's identical steel gray eyes snapped open and she reached up as if to touch her new eye to see if it was real.

Elizabeth took out a small mirror and let Poison look at her face. There was no sign of the old wounds and her face was back to its original beauty.

"You healed my scar too! How can I ever repay you?" the girl asked, her voice choking up from contained emotion.

"You don't have to pay me anything; it is reward enough just to witness your happiness. However, as we discussed earlier, if you feel an obligation let this healing be in exchange for the instruction you have given me; we're even," Elizabeth explained.

Tears welled up in Poison's eyes and she quickly wiped them away with the backs of her hands. "I never thought..." she muttered, trailing off.

"When you're ready, I'd like to get working on another lesson," Elizabeth mentioned.

"Of course, we kin start right now!" Poison exclaimed.

Hetark looked over and did a double take when he saw Poison's unmarred and beautiful face. With the patch gone, Hetark finally saw what Elizabeth had noticed from the beginning; Poison's face had an amazing resemblance to Elizabeth's.

"What do you think, Hetark?" Elizabeth asked with a smile.

"You never cease to amaze me, milady," he answered with a shake of his head.

Hetark went back to work and the two women started the lesson. Elizabeth continued to learn from Poison by watching her mind, even when it was Poison being taught.

"What would you do if a man asked to see you?" Elizabeth asked Poison.

"I'd smile and poke out his eyes! I don't strip fer pay," she responded, indignantly.

"No, Poison, he wouldn't be asking you to take off your clothes, he would be asking permission to take you out on a regular basis," Elizabeth corrected.

"Then why wouldn't he say that? If he's ask'in me then he can already see me, right?" the confused girl responded.

"It's just a term used for courting. If the man asking is someone you like then you could say, "I would enjoy that very much. What would you say if he was a man you were not interested in seeing?"

Poison thought hard about the kind of answer Elizabeth had been teaching her to say and answered, "I'd say, `It's kind 'o you te ask, but I'm busy right now.'..."

"Good!" Elizabeth exclaimed before Poison was quite finished.

"...and I'd throw a dagger in the wall next te his ear te make sure he got the point," the bodyguard finished haughtily.

"No dagger, Poison, he would understand that you didn't want to go out with him," Elizabeth corrected.

"Then why don't I just say, 'I don't want te go out with the likes of you!'?" Poison asked.

"It isn't polite. By not actually saying that you don't want to go out with him you save his ego and he saves face. Now if he doesn't take the hint and becomes impolite, then you can be blunter and impolite yourself," she explained.

"Then I can throw him out?" Poison asked.

"No, you don't throw a gentleman out the door! If he didn't take your hint, you just tell him to leave and that you are not interested in ever going somewhere with him in the future."

"What if he grabs me?" Poison asked.

"A gentleman won't," Elizabeth responded.

"What if he doesn't act like a gentleman and grabs me? Do I have te let him?" Poison asked, ready to give up the whole idea of learning the ways of a lady if she had to accede to a man's demands.

"Then you have my permission to rip his nose off and toss him out the door on his head," Elizabeth answered.

"Good, I was get'in worried there fer a moment," Poison answered with relief.

"Poison, men of the upper classes don't normally try to force women to do anything. Some expect their wealth and manners to impress a lady into doing what they want, while others are true gentlemen who only want a woman to give what she wishes. I'm not saying that they are all as honorable as Hetark, but give them the benefit of the doubt. If they prove themselves a bore, then take appropriate action. And I do mean appropriate action, which means you don't kill them if they get a little friendly, just push them away. If they bother you, respond according to the severity of the infraction. If he kisses you and you don't want to be kissed, slap him, don't stab him with a poison dagger. Unless he had bad breath, then it's all right to stab... I'm just kidding Poison," Elizabeth said suddenly, seeing the intent look on Poison's face and the slight nod of agreement.

Poison grinned at Elizabeth's reaction. "Had you go'in there, I knew you were just jok'in."

Elizabeth smiled back, she had been watching in Poison's mind, learning things from her the whole time they talked, so she had known Poison was trying to fool her, but Elizabeth pretended to believe Poison's act, allowing her to play the joke was important in developing Poison's confidence in her social skills.

"What am I te do about my talk'in? I want te speak handsomely like you," Poison asked, becoming serious again.

Elizabeth considered the options silently for a moment. I could teach her, but it might take months for us to completely get rid of that accent. If I could place some blocks and bridges in her mind, she'd have it immediately. I wonder if she trusts me enough to let me use my powers?

Elizabeth gauged Poison a moment before asking her a question and then said, "Do you know how I quickly learned to throw knives?"

"I know you learned, but I don't know 'ow, exactly," Poison answered.

"You know it has something to do with my Kirnath abilities, right?"

"Yes, I suppose I do," Poison answered, a little puzzled by the turn in the conversation.

"Well, what would you say if I told you I could help you learn to change your speech very quickly using my abilities?" Elizabeth asked, watching Poison carefully for signs of fear.

"That would be great!" Poison responded. The healing of her eye had brought a level of trust that the street girl had seldom given to anyone.

"You would have to lie down, relax, and let me put my hands on your forehead. You would go to sleep for a short time. When you wake up, you'll find you can speak without your accent. Though remember about the types of memory, you'll have to practice and concentrate for a few days or you'll revert to the old accent," Elizabeth told her, looking into her eyes to show she was being honest.

Poison looked a little apprehensive, trust only went so far.

"Ye're go'in te go in my head?"

"I wouldn't do anything else besides help you lose your accent, I promise," Elizabeth reassured the concerned woman.

Hetark walked by the two of them carrying a water skin toward the horses. He stopped by Elizabeth's blankets, set down the buckets, and fixed the lower corner of her bedroll. It was folded under, so he pulled it out straight and smoothed out the wrinkles. When he finished, he picked up the water skin and continued on his way. He had not noticed them watching.

"All right," Poison answered Elizabeth, "if ye promise I'll be the same as I twer before. Ye won't make me have too many manners, will ye?"

"No, you'll have to decide that type of thing for yourself. Using manners or not will still be up to you. I wouldn't ever take a person's choice away. Being able to choose is your greatest gift in life; like choosing to fight for a just cause versus personal gain. What you choose to believe in, or ignore, are fences each person must cross on their own. Right now, you sit on such a fence; you are not a bandit or a thief, but you associate with those types. One day soon, you'll be forced to make up your mind; are you going to stand against the wrongs of this world or join them? If you don't choose, then one day, you'll be knocked off that fence anyway. I've chosen to fight an evil that must be stopped and the only way that will happen is for people, like you and me, to stand up for what is right, no matter what the personal consequences."

Poison looked troubled by Elizabeth's sudden sermon.

"I'm sorry, I got sidetracked," Elizabeth explained with a smile, "we were discussing your choice on manners. As far as this simple accent meld, don't worry. I'll just be giving you something, you won't be losing anything. In fact, you'll be able to switch back and forth between the accents once you have practiced the new one," she explained.

"What happens if we're attacked when I'm sleep'in?" Poison asked, concerned that she would be in a helpless state.

"Then I will wake you, instantly. I promise that I won't leave your side until you wake," Elizabeth promised.

"I wouldn't normally trust anyone this far yet, somehow, I trust you. Is right here good enough?" Poison asked, lying down on her bedroll.

"Yes, that's perfect. Now relax. I'm going to rub my fingers on your forehead. Eventually, you're going to drift off to sleep. Don't try to help, just relax and trust me," Elizabeth finished quietly.

The sorceress reached into Poison's mind and pushed gently and the young rogue went to sleep after a few moments.

Once she was into a deep slumber, Elizabeth flowed completely into the girl's thoughts and located the areas of speech. Then she spent some time overlaying her own speech patterns of a high-class accent. She also blocked off Poison's old accent, yet created a trigger to allow Poison to switch back later on. As she worked, Elizabeth considered the only drawback to this procedure. _She's going to sound a lot like me when she speaks with this accent, but there's no help for it, I'm putting my memories of speech directly into her memory. Such is the price of quick learning._

Within the Tchulian keep at Headwater, Becaris led the other two Knight Protectors down the torch lit hall. From the directions they had pried out of Sergeant Herms, they knew they needed to reach the second building; that's where the stairs went down into the dungeon.

Speed was their ally; the less time they spent in the hall the less likely they would be caught. Becaris set a swift pace with Rasal and Lasar following about twenty paces behind.

As Becaris passed an open doorway, a Tchulian soldier stepped out. Becaris ignored him and kept on walking. The soldier turned to look at Becaris so he did not see the two brothers coming from behind.

Before he could call out, Rasal struck him on the head with the pommel of his dagger and Lasar caught the soldier as he fell. They quickly grabbed his feet and arms so they could take him back into the room. Just as they picked him up, three other soldiers stepped out of another door thirty paces away. The soldiers were laughing and joking, but stopped when they saw the unconscious form of the soldier being carried by the two brothers, neither of whom wore a Tchulian uniform.

"Hey, what's going on here?" the soldier in the lead asked and the three soldiers started over toward the brothers.

Becaris came walking back down the hall. "He fell down, drunk. I told my men to put him in this room until I could find someone in authority."

"And, who are you?" the lieutenant who led the three soldiers demanded.

"First Lieutenant Becker, in from a special assignment. My two corporals and I are joining this post. We were on our way to change into uniform before reporting to the Captain. Why don't you take over here, lieutenant, the Captain is waiting for us," Becaris answered.

"I don't know any First Lieutenant Becker," the Lieutenant replied, looking suspiciously at the fine-looking light armor Becaris wore.

"I'm new here and I..." Becaris didn't finish his line, he had gotten close enough to yank his sword out and engage the lieutenant.

Rasal and Lasar pulled their swords out as well and fell upon the other two soldiers.

The Tchulians were caught off guard by the sudden attack.

Lasar's man went down instantly, run through by the attacking knight. Lasar turned to help his brother. They all knew that they must finish these men swiftly, before the sounds of battle brought more soldiers.

The Tchulian lieutenant was no simpleton, he had suspected something was wrong and leaped back when Becaris pulled his sword.

Becaris lunged forward in a graceful extension, but the Tchulian danced back out of harm while fending off the blade with his gauntlet.

The lieutenant raised his voice and called out. "Help, spies in the keep, help me Tchulians, help!"

The second soldier went down on Rasal's sword, but when they turned to help Becaris, four more soldiers came around the far end of the corridor with weapons drawn. Even more footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs behind those soldiers.

"Another time," Becaris said to the lieutenant and stepped back out of range. He gave the Tchulian a quick salute with his sword and then spoke to the twins, "Run for the door."

The three Knight Protectors raced toward the door at the end of the hall, going away from the lieutenant and the pursuing soldiers. The large ironbound door separated the two buildings and could be barred from either side in case enemies forced the defenders to abandon their building.

Upon passing through, the three knights quickly turned and slammed the heavy door closed and then dropped the bar across the slots on their side to stop the pursuit. As the bar dropped into place they felt and heard the impact of several bodies on the other side of the door.

"Quickly, while confusion still hampers them," Becaris said to the brothers.

They ran down the new hall and burst through the third door on the left. They found themselves in another hall that led to a guardroom above the dungeons. As swiftly as they could, they raced for the end with weapons still out and ready for the upcoming battle.

When they were only twenty feet from the guardroom door at the end of the hall, a bell in the tower began to ring the call to arms.

The Knight Protectors kicked open the door into the dungeon guardroom and found four guards who were all in the midst of getting to their weapons.

The violent entry sent the door banging into the wall and startled the guards; they froze for a critical moment as they gasped at the apparition of the three warriors rushing in upon them. Then they madly grabbed for their weapons.

They never made it. The Knight Protectors swept through them like a scythe through wheat.

The chairs and card table in the middle of the room went flying as the three knights smashed into the Tchulian guards.

Rasal struck the first guard who flew back from the impact and smashed into the table. Cards flew into the air and seemed to fall in slow motion as they tumbled down all over the room.

The Tchulian guards tried to snatch up weapons, but they fell to the onslaught of the Knight Protectors. The guard's bodies landed amongst the fallen cards.

The Lindankar knights did not have time to pause; the sound of boots coming down the hall propelled them into action. They grabbed three torches off the wall mounts and picked up a few of the dead soldiers' swords. Becaris spotted the cell key ring and snatched it off a peg on the wall next to the door while Rasal flung open the door that led into the dungeon.

They quickly stepped onto the landing above the stairs and closed the door to the room of dead men behind them. There was no bar to lock the door from this side, so they wedged the Tchulians' swords under the door to slow pursuit.

With the door somewhat secured, they hurried down the stairs and began a swift check of each cell, looking for G'Taklar. Soon, they heard the sounds of pounding from the wedged door as the pursuers in the room above tried to force their way into the dungeon. As the knights checked the last two cells, they heard the guard room door start to grind open. Then it gave in to the massive onslaught of weight from the other side.

Seeing that G'Taklar was not among the prisoners, the knights retreated down the hall and turned left, heading down the passage that led to the caverns of the souldead.

In the cave in the desert, Sergeant Herms was sweating furiously. He managed to roll and wiggle his rotund body across the dusty ground to a large rough rock. For the next three hours, he rubbed the rope that bound his hands on the stone, hoping to wear through the tough fibers.

Exhausted from his efforts, he took several rest periods; he'd think about revenge until he had enough energy to resume work on the rope.

"I'll roast the maggots over a slow fire and piss on their blistered bodies for bast'in," the fat sergeant muttered. He wanted to get free in time to catch the knights while they were still in the keep. He'd been thinking about their description of G'Taklar and now strongly suspected that the new recruit in his training compound was the man for whom they were searching. It all made sense now; he had heard of the patrols searching the desert and town for an escaped prisoner. Most of the Tchulian soldiers were not taking the search too seriously, they were sure their escaped prisoner had died in the souldead infested caverns. Sergeant Herms figured that the recruit in his barracks was their escaped prisoner. He had him right under his thumb. The similarity of the new recruit's name, the timing, and his foreign accent brought it all together.

The sergeant knew that if he could just get loose, he could stop the spies and deliver the escaped prisoner. He figured that he was bound to get rewarded. Perhaps he would even be transferred out of this hell hole and into one of the elite merc platoons. They were the soldiers who got the high paid pay.

By his estimate, the Lindankar knights would just be entering the keep; he figured they would have wanted it to be completely dark before attempting to infiltrate the fortress.

He went back to sawing his bindings against the rock, visions of torture fueling his rage. Finally, the frayed rope gave and his hands were free. The tired sergeant laughed madly as he pulled off the last of the ropes from around his feet.

Getting up, he staggered toward the town lights a few leagues distant.

Poison woke the next morning with the wisps of a disturbing dream fading from her consciousness. She had been in a huge palace where all the people deferred to her like she was royalty. She had been wearing a sweeping gown of lace, silk, and velvet. It was all the more terrifying since she had never worn a dress within her adult memories.

"Good morning, Poison. How did you sleep?" Elizabeth asked, from where she lay curled up sideways on her blanket.

Poison got the feeling that she had been watching her for some time.

"I had some odd dreams but they are fading in the light of this beautiful morning..." she trailed off and a puzzled expression appeared on her face. Then the memory of the night's proceedings returned and with excitement she exclaimed, "Glory! It worked; I spoke like a highborn lady, but how come it only lasted a moment?" she asked, back in her street accent.

"Control your emotions; speak calmly, thoughtfully, and slowly. Go ahead and try it," Elizabeth encouraged.

Poison took in a deep breath to calm herself and then spoke slower, trying out her new ability. "How are you today?" Her voice came out in the cultured accent of the nobility. Pleased at her success she tried another sentence without waiting for a response to her question, "Last night I dreamt of a palace and I was dressed in a beautiful gown." Her voice continued in the lyrical accent of the upper class.

Elizabeth smiled her encouragement without speaking.

Thrilled with the sound of her voice, Poison tried another sentence. "Do you have anything I could drink this morning? My throat is dry."

"Well that seems to have worked," Elizabeth said with pleasure. The sorceress noted that Poison did sound a lot like her, something that Poison did not notice because voices always sound different to the person speaking. Poison's voice was slightly lower, but her pronunciation and cadence were identical to Elizabeth. The sorceress didn't bring it to Poison's attention.

Hetark returned from the nearby hilltop where he had been scouting the terrain from that vantage point.

Poison watched him as he crouched down on the balls of his feet to roll up a blanket. He had his back to the women. Poison spoke in her new accent, "Good morning, Hetark, did you have a pleasant rest last night?"

"Yes, milady. I think we may reach Myrnvale late this afternoon. I spotted a haze of smoke ahead, probably from the citizen's morning meal cooking," he answered, thinking Elizabeth had spoken.

"Yes, you are correct. I've camped here before and, barring any unforeseen delays, we should reach the city before dark," Poison responded and winked at Elizabeth.

"You've traveled here before?" Hetark asked in a puzzled voice. He turned to look at Elizabeth for her response.

"Yes, I have been through here often," Poison answered with a twinkle in her eyes.

Hetark's gaze snapped over to her and then back to Elizabeth, who only smiled at him in answer.

"I beg your pardon. I had thought I was speaking with Lady Ardellen," replied the slightly embarrassed knight.

"It's quite all right. What do you think of my new accent?" Poison inquired.

"Very becoming," he answered, though he was bothered by the fact that she sounded so much like Elizabeth. He found it disconcerting, like a wild purclaw with the melody of a songflutter.

Poison mistook his puzzled response for sarcasm. "Well, I've noticed you don't think there's anything wrong with switching to a gutter accent when you feel the need," she retorted.

He was angered by her attack. "Perhaps I think that people shouldn't try to climb above their station in life."

"That was uncalled for, Hetark, and unworthy of you," Elizabeth interjected.

"You're right," he said, recognizing his rude response for what it was; he straightened his back and apologized to Poison. "Poison, I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor to improve yourself. I despise people who think themselves perfect and lord it over people of a lower station in life. Such people are like a pool of water, if you look through, you'll see the rotting mud underneath. I have just been guilty of a similar thing and it shames me."

"It's all right, I don't think you're quite as bad as rotting mud, maybe just normal mud," Poison replied in a joking manner, making light of the serious apology Hetark had offered to show him he was forgiven.

But Hetark was actually waiting for Elizabeth's forgiveness, he watched her to see how she felt.

Elizabeth spoke, "Hetark, your apology was given like a true knight. However, I think you owe the lady a little more. Perhaps you should take Poison for a nice meal in Myrnvale to demonstrate your sincerity."

"As you wish, milady. Would you care to join me for an evening meal tomorrow, Poison?" he asked the black-clad warrior.

Suddenly Poison was terrified. It was one thing to talk about correct manners, yet another to do it under the eyes of upper-class people in a real restaurant. "It's not necess..." she started to answer.

Elizabeth interrupted her with a whisper, "Go on; I have a dress you can wear. Besides, there is that matter you agreed to handle."

Poison remembered her promise, as Elizabeth knew she would.

"Yes, I'll go to dinner with you, Hetark," Poison replied.

Hetark nodded to her acceptance, he figured anything was worth regaining Elizabeth's approval.

And Elizabeth was pleased, she wanted Poison and Hetark to like each other and this might lead to the beginning of friendship. If Poison made the right choices the three of them were going to be together for many years while she gathered the forces necessary to displace the necromancer who sat on her son's throne. Elizabeth had grown to appreciate the untapped intellect that Poison possessed. Her original plans for the lethal woman were nearing completion, but now she had further ideas for Poison in the upcoming conflict. She just hoped that when the time came for Poison to make a stand, she chose the right path.

Elizabeth considered the future; once Hetark and Poison had their dinner in Myrnvale, Poison would deliver the message given to her by Elizabeth. Matters were about to get very interesting.

#### CHAPTER THIRTEEN: MARINDA

The necromancer named RIveK was brushing her long red hair. She parted it in the middle and let it hang down on either side of her face. The straight hanging hair covered up the grotesque piece of missing skull on the left side of her head.

A servant knocked gently at RIveK's temporary chambers in SKartaQ's Shadow Fortress.

RIveK gestured casually at the door and it swung open at the command of her necromantic power.

"You may speak," RIveK said, not bothering to look at the lowly servant.

The young girl was terrified; she had only been taken from her family two weeks before, so she wasn't used to seeing the dark powers of magic. Her eyes watched the door fearfully, she thought it was possessed by some dark spirit.

"M-M-M-Master SCorcH inv-v-v-vites you to m-m-m-meet him in the t-t-third t-t-tower ch-ch-ch-chamber, M-M-Mistress," the petite blond servant stammered with her eyes downcast. She held the front of her smock with both hands and was wringing the material nervously.

"You may inform Master Mouthless that I will be with him in a few moments; feel free to paraphrase my response," RIveK responded.

"P-P-Pairafiz?" the confused and timid servant girl asked.

"Paraphrase, just don't call him Master Mouthless, I don't wish to antagonize him, just yet," RIveK explained.

The young girl didn't understand, but one thing she knew for sure, she wanted away from the possessed door and the red headed necromancer. "Y-Yes M-M-M-Mistress, I will t-t-tell him."

"Then you may go," RIveK ordered and forgot the girl instantly; she had more important things to think about. She gestured again and the door slammed shut.

The servant girl picked up her skirts and fled.

Three-fourths of a bell later, RIveK swept into the third level of the ice tower. Her long green gown of translucent silk billowed out behind her as she strode swiftly across the floor, giving glimpses of her taut body wherever the material pressed against her skin. SKartaQ and SCorcH both pretended not to notice, which informed the shrewd-eyed RIveK that her ploy was working, she had gained the advantage before she even spoke.

SKartaQ sat at the head of the black onyx table and SCorcH paced around the curved wall like a caged animal. He stopped when RIveK entered and looked up at her with a narrow disapproving glare above his burnt and ruined lower face.

He would be frowning at me, but he doesn't have the lips, RIveK thought with amusement.

"Nice of you to show up," SCorcH greeted her sarcastically.

"Were you waiting long? I'm so sorry," she replied and they both knew she didn't mean it.

"It's time we finalized our plans and departed on our quest to locate and finish Lady Ardellen and her son," SCorcH lisped, deciding to let her get away with her petty game of 'make them wait'.

"I agree, but I have some new ideas about how we should proceed," RIveK stated.

"And what are these new ideas?" SCorcH asked suspiciously.

"Since we don't precisely know where she is, I think one of us should leave immediately for her last known position while the other searches by mind projection. This way, we can achieve maximum speed in intercepting the Kirnath woman. I volunteer to be in the field while you make the search for the Kirnath bitch," RIveK finished, but thought _, Come on, pretty boy, I know you won't let me have my way._

"It is a good plan, but I think I should go after the sorceress. As you pointed out in the council meeting, use a woman to catch a woman. You have a better chance of tracking her than a man, you can better relate to how she thinks," SCorcH responded.

_Thank you, SCorcH,_ RIveK thought in amused glee, _for being so predictably contrary_ , but she answered SCorcH's proposal as if angry with the idea. "No, I should go after the sorceress; the same logic applies to the battle when we find the Kirnath witch."

"I disagree; there will be no battle, just an execution. She is only a sorceress, a healer, no match for a full necromancer wielding the power of the Dark Plane," SCorcH replied with certainty.

RIveK paced along the table looking as if she was in deep thought. She paused thoughtfully to stare into one of the purple crystals lighting the room. _I wonder if I have pondered my alleged second defeat long enough to convince him that I wanted to go? Probably, but it's best to make sure._ After her brief pause, she spoke, "Fine, but I accept under protest; I think I should have confronted her, not SCorcH," and she looked at SKartaQ who had remained silent through the earlier exchange.

"So, noted," SKartaQ answered quietly.

RIveK hid her triumph behind a mask of anger. "Fine, we'll arrange nightly places where I can contact you by projection, that way I can find you easily when I locate the sorceress."

SCorcH nodded his grotesque head once in agreement.

The silk clad redhead turned and stormed from the room, her thoughts triumphant, I achieved everything I wanted. When we find her, I will get credit for it. The Kirnath witch should have no problem eradicating SCorcH once I warn her that he is coming. This fool thinks the Kirnath are only healers, though I know better. Once that deed is done, I will destroy Elizabeth Ardellen and take the credit for avenging SCorcH. There is something refreshing about killing a rival and then getting the credit for avenging his untimely death. I just wish it was CAracusS I was about to kill, then life would be perfect.

Back in Lindankar's capitol, Major Von Dracek was preparing the schedule for the Lindankar troop movements during the upcoming campaign against Olsk. He heard a squawk from the windowsill and turned to see a stirglik furling its leathery wings. He went over and took the rolled-up message off of its leg. The coded message was his reply from Raven, his spy at the Kirnath School and it read:

' _Major:_

_Only one strange event has transpired since I received your last instructions. On the_ night _I received the message, a baby was found at the gate of the school. Such things happen here from time to time. Normally, I would think nothing of it, but I was suspicious since you warned me to watch for the arrival of a mother and her high aura child._

Any child brought to the school is always tested for aura potential. I heard that this child tested abnormally low, a total washout as a student. They considered sending the child to foster parents in town, but decided at the last to give him to a serving drudge here that had recently lost her child and was still with milk.

_I decided to check into it further. So, the very night the child was found, I went to see his new stepmother and the child in question. I did my own test and confirmed that this child had a very weak aura. It is definitely not the boy about whom you had written. This has been the only odd occurrence since you have instructed me to be on guard. Since that_ night, _I have watched diligently for the woman and boy in question; to my knowledge neither have arrived._

Since I lack a target, I will revert to my old orders. I'll keep sending information about Kirnath movements. I will also continue to watch for the woman and boy in case they arrive later than you anticipated.

Sincerely,

Raven'

The major destroyed the message and went back to work on his battle plan, though the Kirnath school was seldom far from the Tchulian commander's thoughts.

Deep under the Tchulian stronghold, far from Lindankar, three of the Knight Protectors were cautiously moving through the dark passages.

"What was that?" Lasar asked suddenly, holding up his hand to halt the progress of Becaris and Rasal.

He was five paces in front of them, holding up a torch to light their way through the natural caverns under the Tchulian fortress. They had wandered around for three bells. When possible, they hid from search parties, yet twice they had gotten into battles with small contingents of Tchulian soldiers. Both battles had ended inconclusively. They had killed a few Tchulians and then fled in the confusion. Rasal had taken a small wound in his upper right shoulder but, other than that, they were untouched.

"I'm not sure, did you hear anything, Rasal?" Becaris replied.

The other twin answered, "No, I think Lasar is just hearing things again."

"There, did you hear that scraping sound?" Lasar hissed back to them.

"Yes, I think there is something there! Draw your weapons," Becaris decided.

"And I was just hearing things," Lasar muttered.

The three knights took up a defensive stance and heard a strange deep voice out of the dark from just beyond where their torchlight illuminated the passage.

"You not uniforms, you integlebat?"

"What, in G'lan's name?" Lasar whispered.

"Who calls out in the dark?" Becaris called out boldly.

A high-pitched voice now answered his question. "He meant `intelligent', he's just too stupid to say it correctly."

"What do you want?" Becaris called out into the dark.

"I'm Halvisun and the other disgusting voice you hear is Ebemoon," the high-pitched voice called back.

"Come into the light," Becaris replied while trying to get a look at the creatures.

"No! Fire little sticks at us," the deep voice bellowed.

"My brainless companion is correct, we dare not risk bow fire, so we must remain in the dark for now. What are you doing in these caverns?" Halvisun's voice called out.

"We're looking for a man named G'Taklar," Becaris called back.

"Eat G'tabler brain!" the deep voice of Ebemoon boomed.

"He did what?" Lasar called.

"That's what he wants to do, not what he has accomplished. I stopped him," Halvisun explained.

"Since you saw our friend, perhaps you can help us find him," Becaris suggested.

"This Ebemoon sounds huge," Lasar whispered to Becaris.

Becaris gestured for him to remain silent. Halvisun spoke in his high-pitched voice, "I can take you to the last place we saw him, but you'll have to discern his fate for yourselves."

Rasal stepped nearer his brother and Becaris and spoke softly, "I hear soldiers approaching from behind us."

Halvisun spoke, "Soldiers come. If I protect you from the Tchulians and take you to where I last saw your friend, will you answer some questions?"

"I give you my word as a Knight Protector of Michael Ardellen," Becaris swore.

"Accepted. Now please stand aside," Halvisun commanded.

A Tchulian corporal appeared from around the corner leading a squad of ten soldiers.

"There are the spies! Put 'em te the sword, men!" the corporal called out when he saw the three knights.

Lasar and Becaris turned to look when they heard the corporal yell, so they both failed to see Ebemoon and Halvisun coming. The giant souldead creature passed them in three bounds. He attacked the soldiers with his huge muscular arms and clawed hands outstretched and ready to rend.

Since killing was his specialty, Halvisun let Ebemoon have some control although it was not his cycle. The souldead's massive body moved so fast that the Tchulians didn't see him coming until he had grabbed the first two men and dashed their heads together so hard that their skulls burst open.

The Souldead creature bit into the exposed brain of the dead soldier he held with his right hand. At this horrible sight, the soldiers in the back turned and fled.

The two soldiers unlucky enough to be next in line tried to swing their swords at the bloody behemoth.

Ebemoon threw the dead body in his right hand at the two swordsmen and knocked them to the ground. Then he pounced on them before they could scramble to their feet. He grabbed the first soldier by the head and bit off his screaming face, using his huge fangs which projected down below his bottom lip.

Becaris got a good look at the monster for the first time. It was similar in build to the vorghoul that roamed the northern mountains of Lindankar, though there were exceptions: this creature was bigger and he had an extra head growing out of the right side of his shoulder. That diminutive head was much smaller than the one in the center.

The terrifying creature picked up the second swordsman and used one sharp claw to poke a hole into the top of the skull and then Ebemoon's head attached its lips and sucked the brain out.

Becaris averted his eyes.

Rasal held his brothers shaking shoulders as Lasar threw up in the passage.

The screams of terror from the surviving Tchulians could still be heard as they ran into the distant passages.

Ebemoon cast the lifeless shell of the Tchulian soldier to the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of its huge hand.

"Good food," the big head stated as he turned his red eyes on the three knights. Then a struggle ensued, but Halvisun was at the top of the cycle and he quickly overcame his alter ego's control.

The head that was Halvisun grinned at the knights. "That was Ebemoon's doing, he's quite impressive when he fights, no?"

An hour later, the three knights stood at the edge of the underground river. Ebemoon/Halvisun stood ten yards away pointing at the swiftly flowing water.

"This is where he fell in," Halvisun explained.

"Why did G'Taklar fall in here?" Becaris asked.

"Ebemoon was in control and chasing him," Halvisun answered casually.

"And G'Taklar was still alive?" Lasar asked.

"His head was above the water until the water went below," Halvisun squeaked in explanation.

"Where does this river go?" Becaris asked.

"It exits the mountain, nearby," Halvisun answered.

"I see. Do you know how long it would take to reach the outside if you were in the water?" Rasal asked Halvisun.

"Maybe one forth the time it took to walk here," Halvisun answered after a moment of thought.

"We'll just have to hope he found some air pockets along the way," Becaris told the twins. He turned back to Halvisun. "Is there another way to get outside, somewhere near where the water comes out?"

"Yes, I'll take you there," Halvisun explained and he lumbered down the path along the river heading for one of the caves that connected to the river cavern.

When they came to the place where the cave exited the mountain, they could see the false dawn beginning to light the sky.

Halvisun stopped and faced the knights. "It's time for you to keep your promise," Halvisun squeaked.

"What are your questions?" Becaris asked.

As he had with G'Taklar, Halvisun asked simple questions about news of the world. He obviously savored the simple conversation with the knights. After a time, Ebemoon voice started to gain control and interrupt.

"You'd best go now," Halvisun managed and Ebemoon growled and spat at the knights, slavering and drooling while he talked of killing.

The three knights did not waste any time leaving the hulking creature to its underground caverns.

By the time the knights reached the place where the river shot out of the earth, the sky had lightened to pale blue and the sun was about to peek over the top of the distant hills.

The three knights split up and started searching the edge of the river, hoping to find signs that G'Taklar had survived his impossible journey.

"Over here!" Lasar called out to the other two knights.

Becaris and Rasal quickly came over to where Lasar was looking at the ground. Three prints from bare feet showed where someone had recently exited the muddy edge of the river.

"By the drying, I estimate them to be a few days old," Lasar guessed.

"They could be from our boy," his brother agreed.

"Assuming they are, where do you think he would have gone from here?" Lasar asked.

"Barefoot and with no provisions?" He did not need to say anything further; they all looked back toward Headwater, the only town for many miles of vicious desert.

"But where do we start looking in town?" Lasar asked.

"It's safe to assume he didn't have any round metal or goods to trade so that only leaves two possibilities, he found employment or stole provisions and a horse," Becaris guessed.

"Then we can start by checking the various stables to see if any horses have been stolen in the past few days. That would be pretty big news in a small town like this," Rasal suggested.

"We're going to have a hard time keeping a low profile for the same reason. Once we start asking questions, it will only be a short time before soldiers get the word. They'll make the connection with us and the three men who broke into their Keep," Lasar added.

"Then we'll have to be circumspect. First, only one of us will ask questions, meaning you two will hide out in the first stable we come to while I ask around. While you wait, you can make yourselves useful, we need new mounts, so purchase them from the stable keeper while I'm out asking questions," Becaris instructed.

"Won't he spread the news about strangers buying horses?" Lasar asked.

"I didn't say you had to let him go. Tie him up and pay him for the horses, not necessarily in that order," Becaris suggested with a slight smile.

"We could do that," Rasal replied, returning the smile.

"Then let's get on our way; things may be looking up," Becaris hoped.

They headed on foot for the edge of town.

One league from the outskirts of Headwater, a very tired Sergeant Herms toiled along the dusty path on his way to raise the alarm. He had traveled the difficult desert terrain for the latter portion of the night, taking frequent rests as his fat body gave out on strength. He cursed as he stopped once more to rest; the walk back to town had taken far longer than he had anticipated.

At least they haven't found their friend, G'Taklar. He's safely tucked away in my barracks, the sergeant thought and chuckled maliciously.

Little did he know he had passed within one league of G'Taklar back near the beginning of his trek across the rocky desert.

The twins finished tying up the stable hand and deposited him in the loft. They had just saddled three mounts when Becaris came back through the barn door.

"Let's go. Four horses have been stolen recently and a new recruit has deserted from the compound. It's the big news around town," Becaris told the knights.

"You're kidding! That sly young man has been hiding out underneath their noses?" Rasal asked.

"So it would appear. They haven't sent a search party yet because his sergeant turned up missing about the same time. Guess who that must be?" Becaris asked in return.

"None other than our recent guest, Sergeant Herms?" Lasar replied, stating the obvious.

"Right, so let's quickly pack up and then go question the good sergeant again. He wasn't as up front as we thought," Becaris added, picking up a saddle and heading for his mount.

"Why the hurry?" Lasar asked.

"They have a search party ready to ride out within the bell, so I want to be on G'Taklar's trail ahead of them," Becaris stated. In minutes, they were ready and mounted up. Becaris spurred his horse out the open stable door and the two brothers followed close behind.

A sixth bell later, a tired Sergeant Herms staggered onto the main street of town and raised the alarm. He was soon taken to the troop that had already been assembled to follow the deserter. Sergeant Herms took charge and, within a fourth bell, he led the tracking party into the desert in pursuit of G'Taklar.

It was evening and the Bottoms Up tavern in Myrnvale was in full swing. Two gritty looking men dressed in tattered leather armor sat at a table in the back, drinking mugs of ale.

The first man's face had a diagonal scar that went across his forehead, touched the bridge of his nose and ended in his cheek while his companion was missing his two front teeth. The bartender stopped briefly at their table and quietly spoke into the ear of the man with the scar. He told him that someone wished to send a message to Wernok.

The two well-worn men were both members of the largest bandit group in the area and the man named Wernok was their leader.

The scarred man told the bartender to send the messenger to their table. He figured that if the message was for real, they could deliver it, but if something was wrong, they could just kill the bearer.

Both men were surprised when a good-looking woman stalked up to their table, jungle purclaw grace in her fluid motions. She wore black leather armor and the trained eyes of the bandits picked out hidden knives all over her body.

"The name's Poison," she said in greeting, "I'm here te deliver a message." Then she took a seat without waiting for an invitation.

"So, we hear. What makes ya think we're interested?" Toothless replied.

"Maybe I have the wrong toughs, I was look'in fer fight'in men," she said and stood to go.

"And maybe ya found them, why don't we talk a little longer and find out?" Scar answered, speaking up for the first time in his low gravelly voice.

"I'm look'in fer a certain man," she stated, retaking her seat.

"Aren't all you women do'in that?" Toothless noted with a leer.

"Wernok," she said simply.

"Word said ya had a message ya wanted delivered, you just tell us and we'll make sure he gets it," Scar said suspiciously, fingering a knife under the table.

"Word's wrong, I want te see him. I'll deliver my message," she answered and added, "And if ya touch that knife again I'll stick this one up yer ugly nose." She flicked her wrist and a thin stiletto appeared briefly, then she flicked it again making it disappear.

"Tough wench, huh," Toothless said, "I like them that way. One left me with this sweet reminder." He smiled showing his missing front teeth.

Scar spoke up, "Wernok don't like to have his time wasted, what is it ya have te say?" His dislike for the woman was obvious in his tone.

"Whether his time is wasted is fer him te decide, don't ya think?" she replied.

"If ya waste his time, he'll just kill and rape ya, in that order," Scar explained with a grin to show he liked the thought.

"Let's find out what he decides. Take me te see him tomorrow," she prompted.

"All right, we'll take you to see him. However, we're leaving right now, while it's still dark. We don't like te have people watch'in which direction we head out. Then we'll see what there is te see," Toothless decided.

They made camp six leagues ride out of Myrnvale so that they could wait for dawn to light the way up the difficult canyon ahead.

Scar and Toothless eyed the sleek female body as she lay down, but neither of them tried anything after they watched her lay three wicked looking daggers within easy reach while holding a fourth in her hand as she went to sleep.

During the night, Toothless stirred and crept quietly toward the sleeping woman. Part way there, he froze in his tracks when he heard her quiet voice say, "I wouldn't try it, the poison on this blade freezes yer muscles, but you can still feel pain. That way you'll feel each cut as I slowly peel off every scrap of skin from yer entire body."

"Just stretch'in out," he muttered and then went back to his blanket.

At dawn the next day, they continued on their way and began to ascend the switch back canyon trail that began the climb into the mountains.

Twice along the way, Scar stopped his horse and stood on a large rock swinging his left arm in a wide circle.

"Sentries," he explained simply.

Eventually, the canyon widened out revealing a valley floor where a small stream wandered through an area of thick oak trees. Down below, log cabins and semi-permanent structures littered the flat region around and through the trees.

About the time the valley floor came into view, the three travelers came upon a lounging group of bandit warriors sitting just off the trail. They were a rag-tag group, their weapons and armor of every conceivable type and shape. Nothing but the diversity itself identified them as a unified force.

The way they were lounging in the shade of trees and boulders it was obvious the bandits knew the three riders were coming and that they were well acquainted with the two escorts.

"What's this, ye bring'in in a new woman? Ya know the rules, you have te share her or defend her. I likes the look 'o this one! I think I'll have her right now, unless ya think you can take me, Toothless," a large man stated while slowly drawing a dagger and stepping into the sunlight. "Or, does she belong to you Scar?"

"This one isn't here fer yer pleasure yet, Nostrils. She has a message te deliver to Wernok. 'O course ya could take her and then answer te Wernok himself, if ya had a mind to," Toothless answered the man who was appropriately named Nostrils. He had a large nose that someone had smashed flat; it was spread so wide it nearly covered half his face.

"Yer just afraid, Toothless," Nostrils replied.

"Her name's Poison. If'n she comes available, I'll be in the bidd'in," Toothless said, eyeing her with a leer.

Scar looked bored as he sat slouched over the pommel of his saddle. He shook his head sadly at this banter and said, "This is futile; we need te take her te Wernok. He'll do the dicid'in on what is to be done. Now stand aside, Nostrils," he finished in his low gravelly voice.

With a glance that took in all the new woman's virtues and promised she would get a chance to sample his, Nostrils bowed ungracefully out of the way. As the black leather clad woman went by on her horse, Nostrils leered at her suggestively.

"If you even try to touch me, I'll kill you," she said in simple warning.

"Sounds like a challenge te me," Nostrils replied with a grin.

She didn't respond.

Nostrils and two of the other guards mounted up and followed them into the valley.

A quarter bell later, they reached the bottom and walked their horses toward a structure near the river. People began to gather as they sensed something interesting about to happen.

Most of the people in the crowd were distinctly different from the bandits, they were still tough looking, but they had that refugee look of hopelessness in their eyes. There were some women in the group, but most were men. They were dressed in various types of clothing and there were even some tattered uniforms from Autrany's defeated army. Almost all of those who were armed were men.

"Welcome to our camp, Poison," the bandit known as Scar said with a grin.

She ignored him and concentrated on the people she could see around them. There were two groups of people living in this valley, the true bandits and the refugees who had turned to living the life of bandits as their only means of survival in their devastated, war-torn country. By joining the bandit group, they turned their loyalty over to the current leader, the man named Wernok. He was the one she needed to meet.

A fairly fit man stepped out of a small log building. He was six foot two and weighing a lean 195 pounds. This man wore reddish-brown leather pants coupled with a light tan colored soft leather jerkin that left his muscular arms bare. He sported a wide grin as his eyes took in the lithe form of their new arrival.

The man looked to be about thirty years old. The way he swaggered showed that he was sure of his authority. When he spoke, she realized that he had a highborn accent.

"What do we have here, boys?" Wernok asked, stepping forward and placing his hands on his hips. He eyed her curved form boldly.

Scar answered him from two paces back. "Her name's Poison, an' she claims te have a message te deliver te ye."

"A message?" he asked, lifting his gaze from the curve of her hips and up to her striking face and steel gray eyes.

Raising her chin proudly, she asked, "Be you the man known as Wernok, leader of the Riond Mountain Bandits?"

"I am Wernok," he replied simply and gave her a half bow.

"Then this is my say, I wish te join yer group as one of yer lieutenants," she declared boldly.

A moment of silence greeted her bold statement.

Wernok smiled, though his eyes remained hard, "Assuming you check out and aren't one of the Usurper's spies, then you may live under our protection as a camp woman. However, you will have to follow the rules of the band, which means you belong to any man who is willing to defend you against up to one challenger a week. If there isn't a man willing to defend you, then you must submit to anyone who wants you, understood?"

"I didn't ask fer protection, I asked te become one 'o yer lieutenants. I will not submit te any man," she responded, her gaze steely cold.

"One of my bandits and a lieutenant no less!" Wernok chuckled, rubbing his chin in thought.

"This is ridiculous," Nostrils called out from the group of people watching, "she's a woman, so she can't be a warrior!" The wide nosed man had followed them down to see what happened when this feisty woman met Wernok.

An extremely ugly woman stepped forward. She was wearing leather armor and had a short sword strapped to her back. She was short and very wide, her bare arms were well-muscled, and the women's face was scarred from battle wounds.

"I'm a woman," she stated simply.

"No, yer not, Gertha, yer a souldead," a man out of the gathering mob called out.

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

"Gertha brings up a good point," Wernok agreed, taking control of the conversation again, "if she passes the test, she can be a warrior, with warrior privileges."

The crowd murmured at this statement.

The leader turned back to the black-clad woman and said, "So, are you willing to fight for your privileges?"

"What are the rules 'o this fight?" she asked in a bored tone, placing a hand on her hip near one of her daggers.

"You must fight every warrior in the band who offers a challenge. You get one hour of rest between each bout," Wernok explained, "If after one hour no one wishes to test you further, you're in."

"What am I allowed te use in the bouts?" she asked.

"One dagger and a breechcloth," he answered and smirked.

"First blood?" she asked to get clarification.

"To death or surrender, but if you choose to surrender you become the victor's slave for life. I suggest you reconsider, a woman with looks like yours needn't worry about attracting a defender, a very high placed defender," he answered, checking out her body.

"I accept the challenge!" she replied in a loud voice. "So, who's first?" she demanded, turning to face the crowd. She had already decided that she better take on one of the tougher men so that others would not decide to challenge her after the first bout. She purposely caught the eye of the big man named Nostrils who had leered at her earlier.

"I challenge," Nostrils called out, stepping forward and sporting a huge grin. He began to strip off his clothes.

"Fine, I was tired of your face anyway," she responded and started to remove her leather armor.

Gertha, the stocky female warrior who had spoken out, came over to her and spoke in a low voice. "Listen to me, Poison, he's a wrestler, so don't let him grapple with ya. With a body like yer about te display te these scum, every man here will want te win ya, so if'n ya don't want te fight them all, beat this'in real nasty. If'n ya show him mercy, the rest will line up te try ye."

"Thanks, Gertha, I'll mind yer words," she whispered back.

Then she stripped down to her skin, standing proudly naked in front of the crowd.

The crowd hooted and hollered at the sight of the perfect body standing unfettered before them. Her tight muscles, flat stomach and medium breasts made many of the men's mouths water.

A refugee handed her a breechcloth to put on and she unhurriedly strapped it around her waist.

Wernok walked over to her and his eyes took in her naked chest. With a smirk appearing on his face, he handed her a dagger. "This is the only weapon you are allowed." Then in a lower voice, he said, "And, Poison, if you're not scarred too badly, I may choose to win you from Nostrils, though only after he has had a chance to, ah, savor his victory."

Wernok stepped back and looked at Nostrils, who was grinning so broadly that he threatened to display every rotten tooth in his mouth. He stood in his breechcloth and was fingering the sharp edge of his dagger with a thumb.

"Let the challenge begin!" Wernok commanded without preamble.

Nostrils walked forward carelessly until he was five feet from the crouched form of his beautiful opponent and then said, in a mocking tone, "So, Poison, ya said you would kill me if I touch ya, here's yer chance." Then he stuck his dagger into the top of his breechcloth and faced her with bare hands. "I don't want te scar up my slave's body, she's go'in te need it tonight," he explained to the crowd.

Many men in the crowd cheered.

He spoke again, "I don't think I'll wait fer tonight, how about we have our first session right here in the dirt? We'll do it in front of all yer admirers. Then I'll make them pay while I rent ya out! What do ya think, honey?" he asked. Before she could retort, he sprang forward grabbing at her knife hand wrist with his left hand while reaching for her waist with his opposite hand.

She slashed his grasping left hand and danced lightly away from his groping right.

It was only a shallow cut on his hand, so he stuck it in his mouth and sucked. "Oh, ye'll pay fer that, my lovely. I'll give ya te every man in the camp once fer free."

There was an even louder cheer from some of the men in the crowd.

"First, ye have te live through this, scum," she replied and gave him a ghost of a smile, before starting to circle her opponent.

"Ya know what I did te my last slave girl? I killed her one night when I had her a little too rough. I didn't even know she was dead until after I was done. I'm gonna enjoy you even more, Poison," he promised.

She didn't respond because she knew he spoke the truth about his capacity for brutality, which helped her make a decision.

Nostrils approached her carefully and pulled out the dagger from his waist; this time, he was serious. He stalked her in a closing circle as he carefully approached in a fighting stance. When he leaped forward, he used his favorite move, one that always worked for him against an opponent who had not seen him fight. He lunged forward slashing wildly to force her to step back in defense. During that confusion, he switched knife hands and faked a thrust with his empty right hand, then slashed at her with the knife in his left. He aimed where she would have to move when she dodged his right-handed feint.

For the first and last time in his life, his opponent wasn't where she was supposed to be. When he finished the swipe through the empty air he was puzzled, it was impossible for her to have escaped, he had performed the move perfectly. Suddenly he felt something wet on his legs and looked down. There was a slice through his breechcloth and blood was pouring down from underneath. He felt weak and staggered slightly.

"That's for your slave girl and this is for me," his opponent stated and then her body blurred into motion as she threw her dagger in a fluid underhanded toss that angled up to strike him under the jaw. The knife pierced deeply into his throat.

He gagged horribly on blood gushing out from his slit gullet and then collapsed on the dirt, where he bled out and soon died.

The half-naked woman walked over and placed her foot on his still chest before tugging out the bloody dagger from his throat and casually wiping it clean on his breechcloth.

No one was making purclaw calls anymore.

She straightened up with the dagger held in her fist and turned to the crowd. She stood proudly with her shoulders straight, arms at her side, unashamed of her half naked body and called out loudly, "I waive the rest period! Who's the next fool who wants to die?"

She watched, but no one seemed to want to take up the challenge, there was utter silence. Some eyes turned to Wernok, but he wore a simple look of appraisal. So, she turned and went back to her clothes. When she had her black leather armor in place again, Lady Elizabeth Ember Ardellen walked up to Wernok and said, "I take it that means I'm in?"

RIveK started her search by listing the closest destinations from the Kirnath School and then ignoring the most obvious havens. The necromancer knew that Ardellen sorceress was on the run and would be smart enough to avoid any normal traps. That left a few cities and towns that could be reached within the correct time span.

She concentrated on the ones nearest to SCorcH's path of travel, hoping for a bit of luck. The first town she tried held no traces, but on the second night of her search, she tried a different town. It was a good prospect for someone on the run, a bandit haven, fairly lawless, and off the main trade routes. The town lay near the Operhelm border and was named Roper.

Lying in her chamber at Shadow Fortress, RIveK separated her spirit from her sleeping body by applying some of the dark powers she commanded. She opened a bridge from this world into the Dark Plane and slipped her spirit into the alien darkness.

The necromancer traveled through the nether world swiftly. She didn't bother to look at the strange colors and shapes of the alien landscape, or more accurately, the lack of it, much of the strange place was a void. She moved swiftly toward the point where she could exit back into her world. The less time she spent in the nether world the less chance she had of confronting a Darknull in its own dimension.

RIveK hoped that her skill as a traveler of the nether paths would keep any Darknull from noting her passage. Avoiding detection would keep her from wasting one of the three chances she had to call on her patron Darknull to save her from consumption. Once the three times were used up, she would have to re-challenge a ranked Darknull and the challenge always carried a heavy toll. She knew from her first experience that she could win such a battle, but the missing piece of skull that marked her from that initiation convinced her to postpone another such maiming. As a necromancer, she knew she must continue to travel the nether paths and, inevitably, the day would come when she had to fight that battle. She shuddered as she pondered what form her new maiming would take on her body and soul.

But luck was with her this time; she felt her desired exit point nearby and RIveK opened the rift so that her spirit form could emerge out onto a dark street near the center of the town called Roper.

She proceeded down the street with purpose. To an observer, she looked real enough if they didn't look too closely. An almost imperceptible thread of purple energy connected back to her real body in SKartaQ's Shadow Fortress. Her image mirrored the body she had left, but if her image was inspected under a strong light it would look slightly translucent.

She entered the seedy part of town and waited outside a likely tavern for a victim. In this part of town, it didn't take long. The fourth man to approach the tavern fit her criteria perfectly.

He walked in the shadows and kept an eye on his back trail with the furtive look of a rodent.

RIveK hid her projected body in the shadow of a door until he was nearby and then suddenly stepped out into the man's path. She said, "Hello, could you please tell me the way to a good hotel? I've just arrived in town and I need a room."

From behind her, the dimly glowing light leaked from the edges of the closed tavern door and illuminated the rounded contours of her female form.

The man in the dark cloak nearly jumped out of his skin and bolted but then he saw the fine clothes and the jewelry on her fingers. With keen eyes, he quickly looked up and down the street to see if she had any companions. Convinced that the woman was indeed alone, a smile worked its way onto his lips as he said, "Sure, milady, I can help you; just follow me and I'll show you the way to just the kind 'o place yer look'in fer."

He moved off in a direction RIveK knew wasn't toward the better part of town. That made her smile; she wasn't from the best part of town either. She followed the man quietly, like a good mark.

The greedy thief took her to a dark slimy alley and turned up inside. "This here's a shortcut; the good hotels are just at the other end," he explained over his shoulder.

RIveK followed him in without pause and watched him glance back over his shoulder as he checked to see if she was really going to follow him into this filthy alley.

He could not believe his good luck.

When they were centered in the alley, he suddenly spun and hissed his words in a low voice, "I have a knife, if ya scream I'll cut ya. Give me all yer jewelry and round and I'll let ya go," the little thief promised.

RIveK looked into his eyes and smiled as she replied, "Is that what you'd really do?" He started to say 'yes' when he found his mouth had turned traitor. Against his desires he said what was going through his mind. "No, after I get yer jewelry and round, I'm gonna rape ya in this alley." His mouth had suddenly acquired a mind of its own; he was so shocked he nearly choked.

"So, you want to rape me in this foul slime," RIveK inquired pleasantly, keeping her eyes pinned to thief's while smiling wickedly.

He stepped back a pace as fear suddenly replaced lust and he choked out his words, "How... how did you make me say that?"

"I can make you do many things, for example, you can't move," the necromancer explained while still looking deeply into his eyes.

Looking back into her unblinking gaze he could see purple energy flickering within her pupils. The thief tried to leap back and run, but he found that his body really was frozen, he could not even scream.

Looking into his eyes, the necromancer moved closer. She brushed flame red hair to the side and turned slightly to give him a view of her exposed brain. "Do you still want me?" she asked, amused at the thought of the thief wishing to rape her body. She made a mental adjustment and dropped her insubstantial clothing to the ground. She stood naked before him with her lush body displayed.

"I'm yours; just tell me about any strangers. Were there any new marks you spotted this week? I'm particularly interested in a woman, a beautiful lady, as a matter of fact. She may have had a child with her at the time. You like the pretty ladies, don't you? So, did you see any new women in town? Perhaps she was hiding in a cloak and staying in the shadows? Did any of your friends tell you of such a mark?"

She took his hand and placed it over her left breast, the hand stayed where she put it, but he felt nothing. He could see his hand on her white skinned bosom, but felt only air beneath his frozen fingers.

"Yes, I saw a woman," his mouth said, repeating his thoughts aloud.

"Where did you see her?" RIveK asked.

"She sat with a man, in a tavern. I stole his large purse," he said repeating the thoughts her questions brought up. "They hired my friend te guard them on their trip."

"Where were they going? When did they leave?" she prompted.

"Myrnvale, they left six days ago," he answered. _"Why am I telling you this?"_ he wanted to scream, but only the answers to her questions would come out.

RIveK suddenly stepped forward and the thief's rigid hand stayed where she had placed it, passing right through the projected image of her body. His elbow now seemed to end as part of her chest. She reached forward with her right hand and her insubstantial fingers went into his head. There was a blinding moment of pain and then the man known as Fingers collapsed. His body lay dead in the slimy gutter that had been his life.

"Thank you, Fingers, you were a great help," the words faded out toward the end.

Then the alley was empty of human life.

SCorcH was still three days' ride from the Kirnath School. The burn-faced necromancer sat before his campfire deep in thought when RIveK's spirit arrived at the prearranged time. The small campfire burst into a shower of sparks and flames as RIveK purposely emerged from the Dark Plane with explosive energy. Her image stood clothed in flames up to her waist.

"I fail to see the need for your theatrics," SCorcH noted, his body remaining still.

"That's one of your problems, SCorcH, other than your toasted face, you're very boring. You don't do anything with flair," she replied.

"I get things done," he lisped through his blackened teeth, uninterested in her opinion.

"So do I! In fact, I have some information that you need. All you have to do is make use of it," RIveK explained.

"What is it you found?"

"Turn toward Myrnvale; it's only two days' ride. I'm fairly sure the sorceress went there recently and I'll know for sure by tomorrow night."

SCorcH was mildly surprised. "You have done well; I didn't think you would find traces of her so quickly. How did you do it?"

"Some things are only for me to know, but I can tell you that I did it with flair!" RIveK ended her speech with that word. She stepped back and into the Dark Plane through the bridge she had left open, effectively disappearing from his sight and snuffing out his campfire completely.

Back at Ice Tower, RIveK's body stirred as her spirit returned to its vessel. She got up, unlocked the chamber, and went to announce her departure for her demesne. She professed her intention to orchestrate the end of the Autrany resistance movement. However, when she left SKartaQ's Fortress she headed for Myrnvale, killing horses with her swift speed.

"Sit back down, Hetark, you don't even know where to find Elizabeth," Poison said to the knight seated across from her in the Myrnvale restaurant. Morning light spilled through a nearby window lighting the room where they were eating breakfast. "You know she never actually told you that she would be here, just that she would have instructions. If you finish reading the message, she asked me to deliver, you'll see what she wants you to do. In fact, why don't you start over and read the whole thing this time?" Poison suggested.

Hetark was furious, but it was true that he didn't know where to go to find Elizabeth, so he sat back in his chair and read the entire message; it said:

" _Dear Hetark,_

_I'm sorry that I had to leave without telling you, but you would have tried to stop me. I'm going to join the Riond Mountain Bandits while masquerading as Poison. You knew I was studying her fighting techniques, but at the same_ time, _I was studying her accent,_ manners, _and style. In short, everything that would let me pass as Poison. Look at her, Hetark, with her eye healed she and I could nearly pass for twins. I even changed my hair and eyes to match her colors. Finding her was a gift from G'lan. She knows that I am using her identity and armor and she thinks I can pull it off, so try not to worry._

I need to join the bandits on their terms so that I can gain their trust. They won't trust Lady Ardellen without proof that she is not like the usurping nobles who took control of their country by force and ravaged it unmercifully.

_I need to join them before they can join me and I need to weed out the evil men among them. It's the patriots, the homeless, the refugees of destruction which I_ must _rebuild into an army. This can only happen from the inside. When I first sought a tough woman to emulate, I had intended to study them so that I could pass as a bandit, but with Poison's uncanny similarity to my_ face, _I decided it was even better to become Poison. She has a reputation that I can make use of to gain their trust._

Please stay with the real Poison in Myrnvale; I will be sending word to you as soon as I am in a position of authority. It could take a little while, so be patient. If I haven't contacted you within two months, then you must decide how to best serve Michael. Please try and understand that I had to do it this way. Poison swore an oath of secrecy when she promised to deliver this message, so she couldn't have told you even if she wanted to, so don't blame my messenger.

This is important enough to warrant the risk! My son will need an army when he comes of age and I intend to have one ready.

With apologies and affection,

Elizabeth."

When he lowered the note, Poison spoke, "She warned me that you wouldn't be happy about her leaving you behind, but remember, she's a big girl. Other than myself, I don't know anyone who can handle herself better with a knife. I taught her everything I know, literally. And you know what she is," Poison added in a quieter tone.

"Don't say it like it's an affliction, Poison," Hetark muttered, deep in thought.

"I didn't mean it that way. Anyway, let's just sit tight as she instructed. And one more thing, stop calling me Poison until she resumes her identity. The bandits may check on her and two Poisons within one town would be one too many," Poison explained.

"Then what should I call you?" he asked.

"Marinda," she replied quietly.

"Marinda?" he said with a single raised eyebrow. Hetark didn't think the pretty name fit Poison very well.

"Be careful, Marinda Poister happens to be my real name," she said, danger glaring from her squinting eyes.

"Of course, Marinda. I can't imagine where you picked up that other name when you have such a sweet personality," Hetark replied, tongue in cheek.

Poison bristled, but then suddenly smiled as she said, "Perhaps I deserved that. I haven't been exactly cordial to you since we met, have I?"

"I think I'll leave that one alone, any answer could get me in trouble," Hetark answered with a slight smile.

"Come on, I want to do some shopping, like I've never done before! I want to buy a dress," she stated and got to her feet.

Hetark was speechless.

#### CHAPTER FOURTEEN: NOSTRILS

Elizabeth's question of whether she was now a member of the bandit group hung in the air as she waited with raised eyebrows for Wernok to answer. Instead, he just smiled. Then he invited her into his cabin with a tilt of his head and a jaunty sweep of his arm.

Lady Ardellen, still playing the role of Poison, went in and took in the room with a glance. The cabin was small and cluttered with clothes and equipment. An unmade bed sat in the corner. Two weapon racks held several spears, swords, and other instruments of war, all in disarray. A pile of rusty metal armor occupied the corner opposite the bed. Across the room was a desk with two chairs on either side. A dagger held down a stack of unrolled parchment that appeared to be old messages.

Wernok took the seat behind the desk and motioned her into the other in front.

"In answer to your question, a moment ago, assuming your story holds up, yes, you're in," Wernok told Elizabeth. "But command positions are not so easily obtained as simple membership."

"Then how do I become one o' yer officers?" Elizabeth asked, taking care to keep using a commoner accent.

"Nostrils was a good fighter, but not great, so don't let your victory go to your head. Around here you ascend rank by challenge and Nostrils has been defeated by corporals on two different attempts. He had not made his third challenge yet; you see he was concerned that he would be defeated again. The third challenge is always the last. If he'd lost, he would be killed by the corporal. We can't be wasting our time on inept warriors who aren't willing to stay in their rightful place. If a warrior isn't good enough to win, he shouldn't challenge," Wernok explained.

"Then all I need do is challenge one o' yer lieutenants and beat him, correct?" Elizabeth asked. Then she tried to watch his thoughts while he responded and found a disconcerting fact, Wernok had a mind shield which closed his thoughts to her probing.

Now where did he get a shield? she pondered, These things are popping up a little too often for simple coincidence!

"That's not how it works. You have to challenge a corporal and defeat him before you can challenge a sergeant. If you defeat a sergeant, then you can attempt to best a lieutenant. Also, you're only allowed one challenge a week," Wernok explained.

"How soon can I challenge my first level?" she asked.

"Even if you could defeat all three men, one each week, which I seriously doubt, I wouldn't recommend you try it. The others don't know or respect you yet. These men aren't like a regular militia, they're bandits. If they don't like a command their officer gives them or they don't respect him they'll just kill the offending leader. If you defeat a corporal and then try and give a command it's likely they would just ignore you. Firstly, because they don't know you and secondly because you're a woman. A very fine-looking woman, I might add," the commander said, smiling as he recalled her nude form.

"I see your point, I'll just have to earn their respect the hard way and then challenge," she said while purposely ignoring his come-hither smile.

When she didn't seem to rise to his veiled offer, Wernok tried a more direct tack, "There is a faster method for getting what you want. If you become my woman you would be respected immediately because you would be backed by my authority. You could wield that authority in my name and they would obey," as he spoke, he stood and walked around the desk until he stood behind Elizabeth's chair.

His right hand stroked her hair and then traveled down to her shoulder. From there it slowly moved down the soft black leather jerkin toward the swelling of her bosom.

Before the rough fingers reached their destination, Elizabeth took his hand from her chest and stood to face the bandit leader.

"I think not, Wernok. I'm not a woman who stands by a man's support. Find a camp follower fer yer bed sport. I'll ascend by my merits or die try'in," she stated proudly.

Anger smoldered in his eyes; he was not used to being thwarted in his desires by a woman. He now realized that he had made a mistake by allowing her to fight Nostrils, under his own rules he had publicly granted her the rights of a full warrior. Now he was bound by those rules. He had not anticipated this stunningly good-looking woman besting a tough warrior like Nostrils. The now dead bandit had been a fairly tough fighter, as good as any man in the camp other than one of Wernok's commanders. For the time being, Wernok decided to let this arrogant woman have her way, but only until he could figure out how to get what he wanted.

His voice became stern as he said, "First, you are under my command, so you will call me 'Sir'. Second, get out of my cabin, you are obviously a man in more than just fighting skill and I wish to entertain a real woman."

But Elizabeth stood her ground as she replied, "I have another question, Sir." She said the title with a little too much emphasis to be respectful, "How did ye become the leader?" Since her aura sight was blocked by his shield the sorceress watched his eyes for signs of falsehood.

"I was a lieutenant of the former leader. I challenged him and, over his dead body, I took his place. If you make lieutenant, some day, and if you think you can take me, by all means challenge. I will enjoy you thoroughly as my slave. Remember that I've seen you fight, I know I can take you," he answered, showing no fear in his expression. "Now get out of my sight and remember what you passed up when you are bruised, cut, and bleeding from your first defeat."

"At yer command, Sir," she replied and walked from the cabin.

When Elizabeth came out of the cabin, she noticed that the crowd had dispersed, most of them figured the bandit leader was having his way with the new woman. She thought about what she had learned of the bandit's ways. They had a barbaric method of leader selection, but it probably worked fairly well. Only the smarter warriors would win the challenges and the price of failure probably kept the challenges to a minimum.

Elizabeth knew that Wernok was probably correct when he told her she needed the respect of the warriors before she could challenge for leadership. She decided to get started on gaining their respect immediately, so she walked toward a large tree which stood in the center of the camp. The sorceress stopped twenty feet from the tree and pulled out three daggers.

Four of the bandit men were sitting on the grass nearby eating a loaf of bread, using their daggers to spread on butter from a crock. They watched her suspiciously.

Elizabeth ignored them and started throwing her knives. Each landed within a finger's width of the others and stuck in the tree. She threw them overhand, underhand, spinning, tumbling, two at once and even with her eyes closed. All of them struck the tree in a tight grouping.

The fourth time she retrieved the knives, one man watching got up and walked over. He looked to be in his early forties and was thin, yet in fair shape. His face was lined from his time spent on patrol duty in the sun. He still wore the tattered green uniform of Autrany. When he was near Elizabeth, he said, "You're pretty good with those, how did you learn to throw so well?"

"Practice and I had a good teacher. Would ya like te try? I'll watch ya and try te pass on the tricks my teacher taught me," she said in a friendly tone.

"No, I couldn't do that, I..."

Gertha's voice called out, interrupting, "Go on Quarrel, afraid she'll bite you?" The short woman had walked up and started to watch.

"I'm not afraid of the lass," the older man replied.

"After what she did te Nostrils, I don't think ya should be call'in her a lass," another of the men interjected.

"She did right, he was a worthless biej. I used to hang the likes of him before the Usurper came," Quarrel replied. He opened his hand and Elizabeth set the hilt of a dagger within the tough callused palm. Quarrel took a throwing stance and launched the dagger at the tree. It stuck about two feet lower than Elizabeth's.

"Yer pretty good already, aren't ye?" she replied.

"I've thrown a dagger or two in my time, but bows are my specialty," he replied with a grin. "Do you have any suggestions for improving my throw?" he asked.

"Watch where yer hand goes afterward, it trailed down and te the right. Yer follow through is as important as yer release when throw'in a dagger. Here, try it again," she said, handing him another dagger.

He threw this one and it struck closer to the mark.

"Try it one more time, concentrate on that follow through, point yer hand where you meant the dagger te land."

He threw again and it struck within a hand's span of her other daggers.

"Now yer gett'in it!" she said, her voice showing enthusiasm for his improvement.

Soon she had the other three men up and throwing. She kept giving pointers and positive encouragement.

Soon a few others gathered to watch the instruction; nothing grabbed a warrior's attention like a pretty woman combined with weapons.

Elizabeth was soon being accepted in a friendly manner by the mountain bandits. Elizabeth turned to Quarrel and said, "Ya say yer good with a bow, how about giv'in me some pointers?"

"Sure! Have you shot much before?" he asked.

"I've shot the bow some, but let me see ya shoot a few before I stick my neck out and say I'm good," she replied.

Elizabeth followed Quarrel to the stocks. Aa sizable group of spectators followed to see how the newest addition to the bandits fared against their best shot with the bow.

The stocks were set up in an open glade with a steep hillside behind to stop stray arrows. Quarrel picked up his bow and quiver from a small cabin along the way.

"Would the lady like to shoot first?" he asked politely.

"Show me how it's done, then perhaps I will take a shot," she replied honestly.

"As you wish," he turned and drew in one motion; his release came immediately upon reaching full extension of the bow.

The arrow struck the target one ring from the center.

Elizabeth watched with her Kirnath sight following his entire shot. Keeping her concentration on the target she stepped forward. "May I borrow yer bow?"

"By all means," he replied handing her the weapon and an arrow.

When he stepped back Elizabeth placed her feet in the exact position of his previous shot, though she was careful not to bring attention to what she was doing.

With her eyes still on the target, the sorceress pictured his shot, the feel of the pull, the aim on the target and the texture of the string. She quickly pulled and released her shot in the exact motion he had used.

Elizabeth's shot was a virtual duplication of Quarrel's, but due to the variance in the wind and her height, her shot landed slightly more centered, but low in the second circle. In points, they were equal, though Quarrel's was nearer the center.

"Excellent shot, I see that knives are not your only talent," Quarrel said in compliment.

"A competition!" a voice called out from the watching bandits.

Other cheers of encouragement rang out following the idea.

Quarrel smiled. "They wish us to compete, but I don't think it's fair, I have the advantage. This is my field and bow while you have shot just one arrow here," Quarrel said graciously to Elizabeth.

"Then you must shoot first," she replied.

"What are the rules and stakes?" he asked with the hint of a smile on his face.

"Three shots each, you shoot first, and total points wins," Elizabeth suggested.

"If we tie then you win, I have the advantage of familiar surroundings and friends," he countered.

"I think it unfair to ye, but I accept the rules," Elizabeth answered.

"And what of the stakes?" he replied.

"If I win, ye owe me a favor," Elizabeth suggested.

"Accepted and if I win you owe me the answers to three questions," and lowering his voice, so only she heard, he added, "truthfully answered."

Elizabeth nodded her agreement and immediately began reading Quarrel's surface thoughts to see what he suspected. She caught portions of a thought; something about her was familiar to the ex-palace guard. He lacked conclusions, but something about her had him puzzled.

He had decided she would bear watching.

And she knew he was a wiser man than he was letting on.

Quarrel stepped up to the line and drew his bow carefully this time. He took the wind into consideration, measured his breathing and the rocking motion of the tip as it passed back and forth through his aim point. At the proper moment, he began an exhale and then released the arrow.

It flew true and struck the center ring, two finger widths from the exact middle.

The watching crowd cheered and clapped for their champion; Elizabeth applauded with them. "An excellent first shot, I hope I can duplicate it."

She stepped to the line and repeated the sequence she had followed in his mind. In a way, she allowed him to fire the weapon with her body.

She aimed slightly higher than he had, to compensate for their height this time. She over corrected and her arrow struck the target a little high, but still within the center ring.

They were tied.

There was a smattering of clapping from the crowd. One of the men who had been part of the ones she had given knife throwing pointers to, bellowed out loudly, "Way te go, Poison!"

There was a ripple of laughter.

Quarrel faced the crowd and clapped until they all joined in loudly.

When he turned back, Elizabeth acknowledged his gesture with a nod and handed him the bow. "Yer shot, Quarrel."

Quarrel stepped up to the line with confidence and launched his next arrow. It flew true and struck the target one finger width from the center.

The crowd cheered wildly.

As the cheering died down Elizabeth jumped up onto a rock and faced the crowd. "Excuse me, but do any of ya know if he ever misses?"

The crowd laughed and she stepped back down, giving Quarrel a rueful look as she took his bow.

She stepped up to the line considering her next shot. Now is the time to miss, just a little. I don't dare win this match; they would resent me beating their local hero.

She took her stance and began to repeat his last shot from her memory, yet before she fired, she repositioned her aim a hand's span to the right. Her arrow flew true to her aim and hit the second ring one finger's width from the edge of the center ring.

Cries of "Aw," came from the crowd, some of them were starting to cheer for the newcomer.

As she had aimed to miss her shot, she hadn't reading Quarrel, so she didn't pick up his thought nor did she see the squint of his eye as he picked up the readjustment that caused her to miss.

He clapped politely as he said, "Nice try, but your aim was a little off at the line."

"Yes, I guess a lined up a little crookedly."

He stepped up to the line and released quickly.

There was another and even more shocked, "Oooo," from the crowd when his arrow missed the inner circle and struck the second ring on the left.

"It looks like you have the chance to tie and, therefore, win," he said, handing her the bow.

Elizabeth started to read the thought behind that comment when Gertha called out from behind her breaking her concentration. "You can do it, Poison. Nobody's beat 'im fer quite some time!"

Gertha's untimely interruption caused Elizabeth to miss the thought that went with Quarrel's statement.

Elizabeth took her stance and thought, _I must not win,_ and then readjusted one hand's span to the right and let fly.

Just as she released, she picked up Quarrel's thought, _So... I was right._

Elizabeth wondered what she had just confirmed, but his thoughts weren't on that right now, so she lacked an immediate answer.

When her arrow struck the second ring giving the win to Quarrel the crowd cheered wildly. A couple of his friends picked him up to carry him on their shoulders once around the clearing.

But Quarrel caught Elizabeth's eye and gave her a look, letting Elizabeth know that he knew she had thrown the match. He nodded to her acknowledging that she understood he was not fooled.

Many people clapped Elizabeth on the back in consolation. This pleased her greatly, she was well on her way to being accepted and she had only been there three bells. Next, she needed to bring the women in on her side.

One man was not happy with how things were proceeding.

Wernok watched the end of the archery competition from fifty yards away. His thoughts were troubled, _There's something dangerous about this woman and it isn't her fighting skills. She's getting exactly what she wants, too quickly. She knows how to make people think the way she wants them to, how to manage them, how to lead. A skill like that isn't born, it's taught, either by others with the skill or by long trial. Where did she come from? Where did she learn these skills? I'll have to find these answers and soon. From the looks of_ things, _she'll have these people eating out of her hands by nightfall._

He sent a passing warrior to find Razor, his best lieutenant and the only man who knew most of his plans and secrets.

Back at the archery range, Quarrel approached Elizabeth and said, "Well, it seems you owe me three questions answered."

"True," Elizabeth acknowledged.

Quarrel gestured for her to walk down the path and the two of them were soon out of casual earshot of the others.

"There is more to you than what you are showing, isn't there?" he asked.

"Yes, quite a bit more," she replied and then added, "That's question number one."

He smiled and then asked, "And I trust I don't need to remind you that you promised the truth?"

Elizabeth's eyes just smiled at him.

"Are you really just here to become one of Wernok's lieutenants?" he asked.

"Well, I am here to do that..., but no, not 'just' that," she replied. "That's two questions."

He considered that for a moment and then thought hard about his last question. So far, he hadn't really learned much, he had just confirmed his suspicions. He thought about asking her what she was hiding, but then he decided to ask, "What are you here to accomplish?"

Elizabeth considered how to tell the truth without telling him too much. She noted his Autrany uniform and made a decision, Quarrel wasn't really one of the bandits. "I'm here to bring down the Usurper and I intend to start things rolling by gaining control of this bandit group." As she said this, she dropped the street accent and spoke as in her native Autrian upper class accent.

Quarrel's eyes widened at this bold statement from the newly arrived woman, but then he saw the hard resolve in those Steely gray eyes and he suddenly smiled. Somehow, someway, he suddenly had the feeling that this young warrior could do the impossible and he knew he was her man from this moment on. In reply, he said, "I'm with you, Poison. When the time comes, you have my bow."

Razor slipped into Wernok's cabin like a shadow through a window. The bandit leader looked up into the hypnotic eyes of his chief lieutenant and personal killer. He had never met a man more lethal. The man was virtually reptilian; he would sit, completely stationary, to the point where you did not even think he blinked, yet when he finally moved, it was like the strike of a slither. He was of average height and build until you looked closely at the corded muscle. There was no fat on his body, just muscles, bones, and sinew. He had a curved hawk nose and thin down-turned lips. His eyes were his most striking features; the irises were a motley brown, almost yellow, making the pupils stand out in bold relief.

This was the only man the bandit leader feared, though he knew Razor was no threat. His lieutenant had one flaw; he needed someone else to be the leader. He could function as a sub-commander as long as it didn't interfere with his opportunity to kill.

Wernok and Razor had a good working relationship, both knew Razor could take Wernok and both knew he never would. They had been together for eight years.

"So, what do you think of her?" Wernok asked.

Razor's reply was in his normal breathy whisper, "She's dangerous."

"I agree, but in what ways do you see her that way?"

"She adapts, she learns, she studies. She does not want to be a lieutenant, she wants to command," he whispered, staring into Wernok's eyes.

The leader averted his eyes from the glaring black pupils.

"Can you take her?"

"Yes," the killer answered without pause, the simplicity of his answer giving testament to his confidence. "Do you wish me to kill her now?"

"Not yet, I want to find out more about her motives. Is she after personal power or is she working for someone else?" he pondered.

Razor remained silent, he did not care about her motives; killing was his business and his only pleasure. He brought up a new subject when he said, "Has 'she' contacted you recently?"

"No, so I assume we're to continue according to plan. You leave for Treaborr in seven days. If my sources are correct, two of the smaller bandit leaders are meeting there to discuss an alliance. Find them and turn them in to the local militia and then make sure they die in the ensuing battle. We can absorb both of their groups before the final stage is set. RIveK will like that, I'll explain what we have done when she next appears," he finished.

"Their names?" he asked, referring to the bandit leaders.

"Uriene and Tiwel, they were both lieutenants in the old regime. Be careful, they aren't just farmers turned bandit," he cautioned, unnecessarily.

Razor ignored the warning; it didn't deserve a response.

"Should I leave immediately?"

"Not yet, I have another job for you; let's put together a little test for our newest bandit. I'll put you in command of the squad I'm sending to attack a Belorn merchant. Put her in some danger and see how she handles it. Then kill the captive merchants, better yet, assign her to kill them; we'll see how she reacts to an order to murder someone. If she refuses any order, kill her," Wernok commanded.

Razor stood and gave a simple nod to show he understood and then left to ready his men.

Wernok stayed in his chair, his thoughts going over the necromancer RIveK's plans and his rewards for carrying out those plans. His sick smile of anticipation was merely a glimpse into his true hidden insanity.

Elizabeth walked further into the valley community to where the log cabins stopped and lean-tos and tents crowded together. This was the refugee camp. Here she found most of the women and children. Some of the women were the wives of the men who were exiled from their homes by the Usurper, men who had loyally served the rightful rulers of Autrany.

Here and there Elizabeth saw a child. Their somber faces looking out from the edge of curtains and from behind trees or bushes. Elizabeth was dressed in a warrior's garb and these people had learned to avoid the bandits whenever they could. To them, the bandits were a necessary evil, protection of sorts from the Usurper's death squads who hunted those still loyal to Autrany's royal line of succession.

One woman looked disdainfully at Elizabeth's leather armor and weapons; the woman was wearing rags for clothing.

"Why do ya look at me in disgust?" Elizabeth asked, but used a pleasant tone.

"Excuse me, I weren't look'in at you," she replied.

"No, it's all right; I promise that I won't get angry. I'm just not used te people looking at me with hate; I would like to know why?" Elizabeth prompted.

"I'm sorry, yer mistaken, I don't hate ya," the older woman replied.

"It's because you don't respect anyone who kills for a living, right?" Elizabeth asked, having read that answer from the woman's mind.

"Yer a woman, ya should be help'in the needy, not pranc'in around in yer fine armor," the woman scolded, then looked up and down the path in fear, hoping no one else had heard her outburst.

"Do ye know why I've come over here?" Elizabeth asked.

"No. Ya should go back to yer kill'in kind, over there," she replied, gesturing toward the cabin area.

"I'm a healer and I've come te help. If there are any children or adults who need attention, please take me to 'em. I have skills that may be o' use," she explained.

"You, with the knives to murder stick'in out all over," the woman ridiculed.

"Ye be here because you need protection from the Usurper's soldiers. Ye need the food that the bandits bring from their attacks. My daggers are very similar; they are the protection that I hide behind from evil men. They are the weapons that allow me te survive in a world o' evil so that I can help the side o' right te triumph. Remember, weapons are not evil, only the people who misuse them."

"You've come te help?" the woman asked, skepticism still in her voice.

"Yes, I've come te help you all," she replied.

"That's a large order te fill fer one slight lass, but if ya really have some heal'in skills then follow me. Young Jerf is down with the 'burn', I don't think he'll be mak'in it passed temorrow," the woman explained, leading Elizabeth through the maze of tents and lean-tos.

When they reached Jerf's tent, Elizabeth found the young six-year-old boy lying on a cover. He was sweating profusely. His mother sat next to him swabbing his brow with a damp cloth. Tracks from tears stained her face.

The mother glanced up wearily and saw the old woman. She spoke in a tired voice without hope, "He's nearly gone, Santhra." Then she saw Elizabeth and was startled by the stranger wearing armor. Santhra quickly reassured her that Elizabeth was a healer.

Her fear immediately turned to hope and Elizabeth smiled back to her reassuringly.

The sorceress placed her hand on the young boy's brow. To the watching women, it looked as if she was checking his temperature, but she was actually touching his aura. She could see the flickers of black throughout his body's aura; a sickness ran through his blood unchecked.

She spoke to the mother quietly, "He is very sick, though not beyond my skill."

"You can save him? Please, save my son and I'll do anyth'in fer ya. Just save my son, please," the distraught woman begged.

"Do not fear, he will recover," she promised. Placing her hand over his heart she began to heal the aura. As the heart pumped the blood through the area of healing it returned to the body untainted by the blackness. After a brief time, he was healed.

_Now, something to cloak the magic,_ Elizabeth thought and took out some simple cooking spice from her belt pouch and placed it under the boy's tongue. "That will take care o' him. When he wakes tonight, let him eat and drink as much as he wishes. After he rests a few days, he should be back te normal," she told the woman.

The worried mother nodded, not quite believing her son was cured.

Elizabeth stood and began to leave the tent. The mother placed her hand on her son's brow and then cried out in some strange dialect, "Misur Ceranka!" Then she exclaimed, "His 'burn' has yielded!"

Santhra stepped quickly to the boy's side and placed her hand on his forehead. After a moment, she released it and spoke to his mother, "G'lan has smiled on ya this day; the 'burn' is indeed gone."

"How may I repay you?" the woman exclaimed to Elizabeth.

The sorceress smiled as she looked at the joyous face of the young mother and said, "I have already been repaid by your joy."

The mother looked puzzled, but she nodded and returned to her recovering son's side, weeping this time with relief and happiness.

Elizabeth and Santhra stepped outside and the older woman stopped her for a moment, "There is more here than meets the eyes! That was fast heal'in."

_And you're smarter than I believed, I'll have to be more careful,_ Elizabeth thought and answered, "Yes, I'm a healer, though my bark proclaims me another tree," purposely misunderstanding the woman's reference to what was hidden.

"How are you at broken bones?" Santhra asked.

"Let's find out," was Elizabeth's response.

Through the rest of the day, Elizabeth was careful to use mundane means of cure on some of the injuries she tended: splints, poultices, thorough cleanings, and mixtures of herbs for medicines, but underlying each of these methods, she applied her aura healing powers to accelerate the process.

As she readied herself to leave the refugee camp, Santhra took her aside again and said, "I'm sorry I was hard on you earlier; you are indeed a healer. Why don't you stay here with us?"

"Santhra, not all who fight are bandits. We need leaders who will work fer more than the gain o' round or the privileges o' the powerful. I want te see these people," she gestured across Santhra's tent community, "get the chance te return te their rightful land and lives. Te do that I'll have te play by the rules o' those in charge, until I'm in charge. I need the support o' yer people; you outnumber the bandits thirty te one. With yer support, we can take our destiny into our own hands. So, I go te play their games and fight under their rules te gain the foothold I need t' make changes. Try not te judge me harshly and try te explain te more o' yer people; I need their support."

"I will, Poison, and good luck," Santhra replied. She turned to walk back into her community, thinking, _Poison, what an odd name for a healer._

Elizabeth returned to the bandit's portion of the camp.

A group of men told her that Wernok was looking for her, so Elizabeth headed for the bandit leader's cabin. The door was open, so she strolled in and took a seat. Wernok was reading a document, pretending to ignore her presence. Elizabeth waited quietly, not bothered by his silly game of silence.

He finally realized that she was not going to ask him about the summons so, after setting down a message he had been pretending to read, he laced his fingers together and leaned forward onto his desk. "How are you acclimating with the men?"

_So,_ Elizabeth thought, _now he wants to sneak up on whatever it is he plans on telling me._ She answered aloud, "Fine, at least some of them have started to accept me."

"No trouble because you're a woman?" he inquired.

_Is this another bid to get me to be his woman?_ she thought, but answered, "No, the example I made o' Nostrils has kept any o' the men with amorous thoughts admir'in from a distance. That's the way I want te keep it," she added, before he could make any overtures.

"This I've gathered," he replied, "So, you think they've accepted you well enough to trust you in a fight?"

_Now we're getting to the main point,_ she thought and she answered, "No problem; o' course they won't trust me completely until we've been blooded together."

"That's right. That is why I've decided to send you out on your first mission. You're leaving tomorrow morning. You'll be part of a fifteen-man squad on their way to take a merchant train heading for Belorn. I've received word from our scouts that they left Myrnvale yesterday," he explained.

"Oo's in command?" Elizabeth asked.

"Razor," he answered simply.

She'd already heard talk of this lieutenant from some of the men, so she replied, "Yer favorite. Does that mean anyth'in?"

"So, you heard of him already, that's good. As you will soon learn, everything I do means something. He's my best lieutenant and he'll be there to smooth out any difficulties with the men. Some of them may not be overly excited by having to break in a green recruit on a first mission and a woman at that," the bandit commander explained.

"This isn't my first action, so I'm not exactly green. I've been on the other side o' these attacks quite a few times. I used te make my liv'in' guard'in merchants from bandit groups, just like this one," Elizabeth lied to him bluntly.

"I know, some of my men have heard of your exploits. As far as I know, we haven't tangled with you in the past. That's a good thing, my men would resent letting a past enemy into their ranks, particularly if that enemy had killed his friends," Wernok explained to Elizabeth. "But... just curiously, reports said that you had lost an eye," and he looked up at her as he spoke.

"That's true, but I saved all the round I earned for two years and spent it on a Kirnath healer. She fixed my eye."

"A Kirnath! What was her name?"

Elizabeth wondered if Wernok had heard rumors of her escape from Lindankar, so she answered, "He was a Male, went by Lucent."

He looked slightly disappointed, but swiftly hid that reaction.

Elizabeth decided to get the conversation off of the Kirnath, so she said, "As for running into you or your men, I mostly worked down south and seldom got further north than Myrnvale. From what I've seen and heard, you work north o' Myrnvale. It's the reason I chose te join yer band, I didn't want te be fighting old friends," Elizabeth explained.

"You know, there is always the chance that one of your old friends will take a job in the north," Wernok commented, watching Elizabeth carefully for her reaction. "You might be required to kill one someday."

"They know the risks when they take the round. Ya look out fer yerself in life, no one else is go'in te do it fer ya," Elizabeth said, purposely giving him the response he wanted to hear.

"Good, then since there's no conflict of interest I don't see any problems. Check in with Razor after you leave here and then prepare your weapons. You can get your horse ready in the morning. This is your chance to prove yourself on a raid; don't disappoint me," Wernok said, finishing the conversation.

The mind projection of the necromancer RIveK slipped out of the Dark Plane into an alley near the central square of Myrnvale just as the clock above the square struck ten bells.

She was out of the alley and walking across the square before the tenth dull reverberation had stopped echoing. She decided that it was time to make use of a situation common to large cities such as Myrnvale.

She entered the low light district, though this time, she was looking for a different kind of help. She waited in the shadows of an alley and watched an intersection of two major streets. After a half-bell, her vigilance was rewarded. A small shape dressed in rags scurried across the intersection and into an alley. RIveK crossed the street and followed.

The necromancer attached a string of power to the scampering shape so that she would not lose the boy and then allowed him to get far in the lead.

She followed her thin purple string of energy until she reached an old three-story building in a narrow alley. Rats crawled along the lower edges of the buildings, scurrying through the filth and muck that littered and stained the cobblestone streets.

RIveK's insubstantial projection passed silently up the rickety old stairs that should have creaked and groaned in warning to those who lived above.

Tonight, RIveK was dressed in dark green leathers with a black cloak draped over her shoulders, her blood red hair was tied back in a ponytail and the hood of the cloak was over her head covering the damaged portion of her skull. Black gloves finished off the outfit covering her long fingers and painted nails.

At first, the rag-a-muffin children didn't spot her when she stepped onto the top floor of the building. She placed her gloved hands on her hips and waited patiently.

One of twenty-odd children looked up from where she was counting out copper coins to the eldest and leader of the children. The little girl immediately screamed out warning.

Children fairly exploded outward in all directions, heading for the doors and windows of the building in an all-out rout of flying limbs.

Even at the extraordinary rate that the children fled, they were not fast enough to escape the smiling RIveK. She raised her gloved hands and every door slammed shut, every shutter banged closed. All openings that lacked a method of closure suddenly crackled with a thin sheet of purple energy stretched across them.

With too much momentum to stop, one child hit a sheet of the necromancer's power. Light flared and all the hair on his body burned off instantly. He screamed and collapsed into a ball, shaking and crying.

A few others tried to force open a door and also got singed by the purple energy, though not as severely.

Eventually, they all stopped trying to flee and cowered into the back corners. A few pulled out knives and pointed them at the strange woman in their midst; a couple even loaded slings. They launched their stone missiles, but they passed through RIveK's smiling image.

The necromancer stepped away from the closed door behind her and sat delicately on an old wooden crate near the center of the room.

She spoke calmly, "Now that you understand who is in charge here, let us begin our talk."

At first, none of them answered, the terrified street urchins just watched her carefully.

RIveK continued, "A man named Hetark and a woman named Elizabeth entered this city, probably within the last two days. I want you to find them for me. They may or may not be using their real names. This is what they look like," she said, describing the two people.

RIveK would have shown them a projection of their faces, but she had never met Elizabeth or her knight.

"Why should we?" a small voice called out, RIveK thought he was probably the leader.

"Because I'll pay you this," she answered, setting a large stack of gold coins on the crate next to her leg.

The urchin gang gasped; they had never seen that much wealth in one place.

Their leader stepped forward; he was a bone rack of a boy about fourteen years old.

"How do we know ye won't cheat us?" he asked.

"I am extremely wealthy, so this amount doesn't even mean anything to me. Besides, I may need to use your services again someday, all right?" she asked.

"Fine, let us get on with it," he responded bravely.

"Yes, by all means, but five of you will stay here with me, including you, as insurance that my wishes are met. If any of you decide to try and run and just leave these fine friends to their fate, then remember that I've marked you all. I can find you anytime I wish, watch," she said and tweaked the thin purple string that was still attached to the boy she had followed; it was invisible to the children.

He yelped and screamed with pain for a moment, then she stopped and he recovered.

"You have until morning and then I want to see every one of you back here whether you know something or not. GO!" she suddenly snapped and the windows and doors opened.

They all ran, except the leader, he was frozen in his tracks with his eyes locked on RIveK's. When the last four children were about to leave, the doors all closed again trapping them and their leader in the sealed room with RIveK.

"You're the lucky five who get to stay with me until morning. To pass the time, each of you will tell me an interesting story. If you don't amuse or entertain me, you will be punished," she promised and gave the youngest girl child a small jolt of pain as an example.

Razor chose the bandit squad's campsite near enough to the road to reach it easily, but far enough behind a gently rolling hill to keep them from being spotted. After the bandits pitched their camp, the lieutenant called all fifteen of them together.

Razor's face was devoid of expression as he laid out the details of their raid in his whispery voice. "According to Wernok's information, the merchant train should be passing here sometime tomorrow morning. I need two volunteers to scout the merchant and two to scout the site of the ambush."

Two men volunteered to scout the ambush site, so Razor sent them off to begin immediately.

"I'll scout the merchant's camp, I know their guard setups fairly well," Elizabeth volunteered.

A man with a square shaped face, thick brows, a shock of black hair and a wide grin, stepped forward. "I'll go with her te make sure she stays out 'o trouble," said the fairly large bandit named Bushwhacker.

"Be careful, Poison, he don't get his name from strik'in plants," another bandit said jokingly.

A few of the other men laughed heartily at the comment.

They laughed even louder at Elizabeth's replied, "He'll have te change his name te Bustedbranch if'n he gets fresh with me."

Razor did not join in the laughter. The other bandits would have been surprised if he had; no one there had ever seen him smile.

"Fine, I'll expect your report on their guard strength, estimated arrival time, and number of wagons before morning," he whispered and then added, "Don't disappoint me." He stared directly into Elizabeth's eyes, holding her gaze for a moment to emphasize his implied threat and then he turned and left them to prepare their horses.

Elizabeth's eyes never wavered from the Lieutenant's deadly gaze. What bothered her the most was that he had a mind shield, just like his boss, Wernok. She stared after him as he walked away. _Who gave them these shields? It has the same feel and strength of Wernok's. Someone with power planted them and it's vital that I find out whom._

She walked to the horses and Bushwhacker gave her a jaunty grin from where he was cinching his saddle down tighter. She checked his thoughts, yet picked up no signs of antagonism. He seemed to have taken her good-natured threat as she had intended. Elizabeth had wanted them to start laughing with her instead of at her.

"Need a boost," she asked with a grin.

He swung lazily into his saddle and returned her smile before replying, "Not today, but if I'm ridd'in too fast yer ya, let me know," and he galloped off toward the road.

Good, this one seems a decent fellow, he's already treating me as part of the gang, Elizabeth thought as she mounted and hurried to catch up to Bushwhacker.

A bell and a half later, the two of them were on foot and sneaking toward the merchant camp. There were four wagons and a string of ten pack mules for carrying the merchant's wares. The wagons were arranged in a square and a large fire burned in the middle of the camp.

Bushwhacker spotted two sentries, one on each side of the camp perpendicular to the road. He suggested that they both move in closer from either side of the road, so they could get a look at how many other men sat around the fire.

Elizabeth agreed for a different reason, she wanted to get close enough to pick up a few thoughts and find out more about these men.

As she moved closer, the sorceress spread her aura perception out looking for sentries that her partner had not spotted. She only found the two known guards. She could already have told Bushwhacker that there were exactly twelve men seated around the fire, but she still wanted to get closer.

When she reached about equal distance between one sentry and the main camp group, she was close enough to read their surface thoughts clearly. She sampled each man's thoughts looking for one who was thinking about something of interest.

She learned that they were working for a merchant out of Belorn, which meant they were not working for the Usurper. This was an honest group of merchants, not an enemy of Autrany.

Then Elizabeth checked the thoughts of the sentry, he was looking back down the trail and wondering what the lights were that he caught occasionally reflecting in the sky. He figured it was another camp about two leagues down the road. He was wondering if it was anything he should worry about since they didn't know of any other merchants traveling this way right now. Usually, merchants banded together when traveling the same direction to strengthen themselves against bandit attacks.

Elizabeth backed quietly out of her hidden position and went back to meet with Bushwhacker at the horses. She had an idea and she needed to convince her partner to go along with her new plan.

"What'd ya find?" he asked when they reunited.

"I counted twelve at the fire, two watch'in, as you figured," she replied and then asked, "And you?"

"The same, ready te head back?" he asked, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder.

"There are some lights flicker'in from a league or so down the road. Let's go check them out, we don't need any surprise company show'in up when we didn't invite them," Elizabeth noted, to convince Bushwhacker to exceed their orders.

"Yer right and it'll only delay us a little, I'm fer it," he agreed, climbing into his saddle. Once mounted, he looked down at Elizabeth with a smirk and added, "What yer wait'in fer, a boost?" Once she was in her saddle, they walked their horses in the direction of the flickering light.

They discovered another camp, though this one did not have the wagons and mules of a merchant train. There were ten guards and they looked like they were the escorts for one man. The man they guarded was dressed in the fine clothes of the aristocracy.

"What is this then?" Bushwhacker whispered from his prone position next to Elizabeth. They had left their horses behind a hill and both of them were looking down on the camp from the hilltop. They had approached the top of the hill in a crouch to keep from being silhouetted by the moon's light.

"He must be someone of importance, he rates ten guards. I've seen rich merchants with fewer than that," Elizabeth replied thoughtfully.

Bushwhacker sighed and said, "We'll have te tell Razor about them. They're too close te the merchant, they might ride te his aid."

"I'm curious about this man; why don't ya wait here while I take a closer look?" Elizabeth suggested.

"Don't stir them up," Bushwhacker cautioned.

"I'll be as silent as a summer breeze," she replied, then slipped back off the crest of the hill.

When Elizabeth drew close to one of their sentries she concentrated and listened in on his surface thoughts. When she learned enough, she sneaked back to the horses and told Bushwhacker what she had learned. "I heard two of the sentries discussing their employer. He's one of the Usurper's kesera Marshals! He has been retrieving taxes from the local collectors. Now he's on his way to Chasser to deliver all the round he has collected during the past month."

"This pompous looking animal is a tax collector for the Usurper?" Bushwhacker asked incredulously.

"Yes, even worse, he's the overseer of the local tax collectors," Elizabeth explained.

"Wait," Bushwhacker stated, "Ten guards are a fair number, yet not enough te protect someone transport'in that much round! They'd have brought an army. After all, they know they are travelling through bandit territory," Bushwhacker reasoned.

Elizabeth knew Bushwhacker's argument was correct, but she also knew that the tax collector was down there with ten guards and the round metal. Elizabeth considered the facts; they had brought enough guards to fight off a solo highway robber, though not a large group of bandits. It was as if they knew they would not be attacked by the Riond bandits. Then something clicked in Elizabeth's mind, it was the only thing that made sense of the facts. She spoke immediately and angrily, "Wernok is in with the Usurper!" She was looking right into Bushwhacker's eyes, reading his thoughts. "That's why they know a bandit group won't attack and that's why they don't need an army of protection." She was pleased to read in his thoughts that Bushwhacker was not part of this deception.

Bushwhacker pondered her claim for a moment "He can't be, at any time he could have betrayed us and brought the Usurper down on us all."

"Right, whenever, it's just that the time hasn't been right. He's been expand'in the band by absorb'in smaller bandit groups. When he has collected most o' them, he'll turn us all in for his pay," Elizabeth exclaimed with fire in her voice.

Doubt was creeping into Bushwhacker's voice. "What makes ya think this is true?"

"All the scouts report te Wernok, right?" she asked.

The big man nodded.

"Would they have missed a group this close to the merchant?" she inquired.

"Unlikely," Bushwhacker admitted.

"Then Wernok knew, yet he didn't warn us because he didn't want us attacking them. Razor may be in on it too, Wernok had te put someone in charge who knew not to bother the tax collector, otherwise, we might stumble onto them by accident and attack his master's round collector," Elizabeth explained. She failed to mention that she also knew both Wernok and Razor had identical mind shields, proving that both worked for the same person.

"Ya may be jump'in te conclusions," Bushwhacker warned.

"We can test my theory. Let's tell Razor about the Tax Marshal and then see if he decides to attack or if he still wants te go after the Belorn merchants," she advocated.

"All right we'll try it yer way, but if he goes fer the tax collector we pretend we never had this little conversation. Let's get back and see what unfolds," he said, finishing the conversation.

They rode into the bandit camp and found Razor waiting impatiently before the low coals of the fire. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, the red glow of the coals reflecting off his eyes gave him an inhuman look.

"Why are you late?" were his words of greeting.

Bushwhacker answered before Elizabeth could reply, "We spotted another party and went to check them out. They have ten fighters and they're too close te the merchant fer my comfort."

"They are no problem, we go as planned," Razor commanded.

"You didn't even ask how close they were," Elizabeth said, stepping forward into the light of the coals.

Razor turned slowly to face Elizabeth as he answered, "We will take the merchant so quickly that they will not even know anything is amiss."

"We scouted the second party," Elizabeth started to say.

Razor interrupted, "On who's orders?"

"On our own initiative," she responded.

"That was foolish, you could have alerted them to our presence," Razor rebuked.

"Regardless, we scouted them and found a Tax Marshal traveling with the round squeezed from the populace of this entire area. Better yet, he's only guarded by ten men," Elizabeth explained.

"How could you learn all that from a quick scout of their camp?" Razor scoffed.

"I overheard two of the sentries discussing their employer," Elizabeth exaggerated.

"Can you confirm?" Razor demanded of Bushwhacker.

"No, I waited while Poison did the close scout," he explained.

"As I thought, our newest member comes back with an unsubstantiated and ridiculous claim. We take the merchant as planned," he decided, ending the discussion.

Bushwhacker shrugged when Elizabeth looked to check his reaction.

Razor stepped forward and placed himself next to Elizabeth. Once there, leaned down to adjust a branch in the fire. As he stood back up, he twisted his hidden right hand, dropping a dagger out of his wrist sheath into his waiting palm.

Because of his mind shield, Elizabeth could not read his intention to commit murder. Fortunately, at that same moment, she happened to be reading Bushwhacker in an attempt to see his opinion of Razor.

Bushwhacker spotted the move as Razer dropped the dagger into his hand, but was too far away to do anything and too late to call out warning.

But Elizabeth saw the picture of the knife in his mind and tried to twist her body away from the speeding point of death.

Razor was mildly surprised when his target tried to move, but he was too practiced a killer to miss so easy a target once his hand was in motion. His blade took her in the side, just missing the kidney at which he had been aiming.

Elizabeth spun to the ground; her twisting attempt to avoid the blade saved her from an even worse wound. She landed on the ground and then rolled to get further away from the murdering lieutenant.

Razor knew he had struck a mortal wound from the feel of the knife entering her body. He felt no need to hurry the final blow, so he walked forward slowly, savoring his kill. This was what he lived for, the terror of his victim, the feel of the knife sliding into the soft flesh, the light of understanding when the victim realized their inevitable demise, and his ultimate power when he watched the fading light in their eyes as life seeped from their body and was extinguished.

Razor lived for death.

Elizabeth was in great pain and furious with herself for letting her guard down, but her Kirnath training came to her aid. She calmed her racing emotions. Bushwhacker still stood in mute surprise at the sudden attack. By watching through his eyes, the sorceress saw Razor approaching slowly. Quickly, she concentrated her powers and began to heal the vicious knife wound in her side. She only needed a few moments of complete concentration to finish her labor.

Razor stopped to look down at her still body, preparing for the bliss of her death. This, unknowingly, gave her the time she needed.

Now completely healed, Elizabeth suddenly rolled away and up to her feet. A knife flashed out of a sheath and into her hand. She wanted to blast the sick killer who stood before her, but she could not afford to reveal her powers to the rest of these men. She calmed herself and replayed Hetark's instructions about a knife fight. Then memories of Poison's battles flowed through her mind, brought up at her command.

Razor did not attack when he saw her get up and take a defensive stance; he was waiting for the wound to do its work. He could see a wet stain on her side, blood from the wound.

Soon she will be too weak to stand, she will stagger and her vision will cloud. Then I will take her, he thought.

But Elizabeth stood strong, waiting.

The other men had begun to stir, getting up and seeing the two combatants facing each other from six feet apart.

"What's go'in on?" one bandit demanded.

"Tell them what's happen'in Razor," Elizabeth said in a confident tone.

"She endangered you all by exceeding her commands and scouting another camp. She went near enough to our target to alert them. Now she's paying the price of disobedience," Razor explained, then moved forward, his knife ready.

Elizabeth could not read his moves, so she relied on her instruction and memories learned from Hetark and Poison.

Razor lunged and Elizabeth cut at his arm, dancing away from the thrust.

Then she called out, "What would you all say if I told you where you could find a lot o' the round taken from yer countrymen around these parts? Taken by the Usurper's tax collectors and given te the Tax Marshal," Elizabeth asked the watching men.

"She lies, there is no Marshal here, he wouldn't travel without protection," Razor countered and then suddenly threw his dagger at Elizabeth while pulling another from his thigh sheath. He knew he had to silence her quickly.

The sorceress dodged and launched three daggers in return in rapid succession. Razor somersaulted, spun and twisted to avoid the projectiles. Bandits dodged and ducked, scrambling for cover.

Elizabeth took that brief moment to get in another comment, "I scouted their camp, but Razor didn't want to tell any of you what I discovered. I wonder why? He didn't want me to tell you either, so he is trying to silence me. Could it be because he knew about the Tax Marshal even before I told him? Perhaps he is in allegiance with the Usurper," she accused.

"She lies. You all know me, she is the stranger here," Razor countered and then launched an attack, slashing and stabbing, driving Elizabeth back toward a group of bushes.

"Yes, you all know this man... and is Razor a man you trust? Is he a patriot of Autrany? Or is he a cold-blooded killer who cares for nothing except himself?" Elizabeth asked.

When she heard some men beginning to grumble, she knew she had hit the right nerve, they were coming over to her side.

Razor heard it also and said, "Any man who sides with this traitor will die on my blade, tonight!" he threatened.

It was the wrong thing to say, Bushwhacker called out, "I'll not put up with yer threats, ya boot lick'in scum! I was out there with Poison; the Marshal is there, just like she says!"

Razor felt control of the men slipping away, so he prepared to finish Poison in his next attack.

But Elizabeth was also making a plan. She could read the men's emotions through their auras and she knew they were coming over to her side. But that would all be for naught if she died on Razor's blade. She put her plan into action.

Razor saw his opponent clutch her side and stagger slightly.

At last, he thought, the wound is taking effect.

He watched and saw the opening he needed, the way in was on her wounded side where she could not parry his blow. Feinting right, he shifted his feet and came in at the unprotected wounded flank of his opponent.

As Razor anticipated, she did not make the parry. But to his shock, the wounded woman made a limber step to the side. His thrust only grazed her lightly, the blade barely sliced through her leather and into the skin. At the same time, he felt a thump on his chest as his momentum made him continue past her position.

He staggered and then turned to face his elusive opponent knowing he needed to finish her soon. His vision began to cloud and he staggered a step, he figured he was more tired than he anticipated. He felt pain and looked down to see a dagger hilt projecting out of his chest.

His foggy mind noted that it wasn't supposed to be there, but as he tried to reach for the hilt his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees. Looking up into the intense eyes of his opponent, he had a last instance of clarity; he realized that she had beaten him and then the light of life faded from the killer's eyes.

Elizabeth turned her back on the dead lieutenant as his body toppled over. She faced the shocked bandits. "This filth was a traitor to Autrany! The merchant that he wanted to attack is from Belorn, a country that has always been an ally of Autrany. I say we leave them be and take the Tax Marshal and all the round metal he has squeezed from our friends. He only has ten guards; we can easily defeat them and capture the Marshal. We will return to our camp tomorrow, as heroes, and parade the Tax Marshall and all his stole round in front of everyone! Are you with me?" she called out.

"I'm with you," Bushwhacker yelled.

"And I," another called out.

"I always hated that murderous, slither eyed, scum," another of the bandits said, spitting on the body of Razor, "I'm with you."

The rest of the bandit squad all threw in under the leadership of Elizabeth. She gathered them together and went over her plan to take the Marshall.

"G'Taklar, I'm thirsty, can I have another drink?" Rachael asked the young man as they fled through the night's cloaking darkness.

"A small one, we have to conserve most of the water for the horses. From what I know, we have at least another night's ride ahead of us and the horses have already used a lot of our water in the two days since we left the river," he answered.

"Are the soldiers getting any closer?" she asked, looking fearfully behind them, but the sky was still too dark to see anything.

"I wish I knew, but when we left the river and hills, they were perhaps a half-day behind. Since this G'lan forsaken dessert is flat, I can't tell if they've closed the distance. We need some high ground to look at our back trail," he explained.

"There's something off to the left, up ahead. Do you see it?" she asked pointing with her right hand.

Something even darker than the night sky blocked the stars behind it.

"Yes, I believe you're right," he answered after squinting his eyes while looking that direction. _"What do you think that is?"_ he thought to Jatar.

" _I don't know. From the maps I remember of this region, there shouldn't be any towns until you pass the border into Autrany. Besides, there would be lights,"_ he thought back to G'Taklar.

" _Do you think it wise to head in that direction? If we can climb up on something, we could check on our pursuit,"_ G'Taklar thought to Jatar, looking for advice.

" _It's your call. But remember, if might just be an outcropping of rocks,"_ Jatar guessed.

" _I think we'll take a closer look. We need somewhere to hole up and rest anyway. If those are rocks, it will do my nerves good to know if the pursuit is still with us and if they are getting any closer,"_ G'Taklar decided.

"Are you busy thinking again?" Rachael asked. "I know you've told me not to bother you when you get quiet to think, but you're the longest thinker I've ever met. Are we going to see what's over there or not?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered.

"Yes? After all that thinking, the total sum of what you came up with was 'yes'?" she asked him sarcastically.

"Yes," he replied again, irritated at her sarcasm.

"I should have left you in that stockade, my horse is a better companion," she said, now angry as well.

"And I should have a Kirnath examine my head for coming with you," he answered.

"They won't find anything except air," was her immediate retort.

They rode in silence, heading for the tall objects, each of them stewing in angry thoughts.

" _So, did she make you angry?"_ Jatar asked.

" _This girl is a real pain in the saddle, if you get my meaning,"_ G'Taklar responded.

" _Then you think this is her fault?"_ he prompted back.

" _She's the one who got sarcastic,"_ G'Taklar defended.

" _Then you believe you're right?"_ Jatar continued.

" _Yes, I am,"_ G'Taklar assured Jatar and himself.

" _Then apologize."_

" _What?"_

" _Apologize. You know you're right, so why make her eat a sour dish? It takes a mature person, the kind of man who can become a knight, to apologize when they're in the right. Making someone grovel is for the weak and cruel,"_ Jatar explained to his young cousin.

" _You would have apologized to Elizabeth if you'd been right?"_ G'Taklar posed to Jatar.

" _On a good day, when I was thinking correctly, yes; it's the smartest thing you can do if you want to keep peace and the respect of your woman,"_ he answered.

" _Rachael's not my girl,"_ was G'Taklar's embarrassed response.

" _Of course not!"_ Jatar thought strongly.

G'Taklar wasn't sure if Jatar was being facetious or not, so he chose to assume he wasn't. _"Right, but I'll do what you suggest to calm her down."_ To Rachael, he said, "I'm sorry I was short with you, I was wrong. I could've explained my reasons to you. I'll try to do better next time."

She gave him a sidelong glance and then replied, "And I'm sorry I snapped at you when you have so much to think about."

" _There, was that so bad?"_ Jatar asked.

" _No... and she apologized as well. Does it always work that way with girls?"_ he asked.

" _More often than not, unless you really rubbed their fur the wrong way, then it may take a little longer,"_ Jatar answered.

" _I'll try and remember that,"_ G'Taklar promised.

Jatar's next thought was only to himself. _Too bad memories like that seem to take a vacation when you're angry._

As they got closer to the rock outcropping, they could make out more details. They were approaching some large rounded off stones. One, in particular, towered high into the air and was surrounded by some smaller stones. Even the smallest boulder would be as large as a big house. The central stone stood about as tall as a four-story building.

"Perfect. Come daylight, we can rest in the shade and climb up to check on pursuit," G'Taklar explained to Rachael.

"Thank G'lan we'll have shade when the sun comes up," Rachael replied, the daytime desert had been blistering hot.

They arrived at the pile of stones a sixth-bell later.

G'Taklar picketed the horses and then they looked for a place to ascend the boulders.

He climbed a low rock and then extended a hand down to help Rachael up the incline. They kept climbing until they reached one of the highest points, only the top of the central stone stood above their position on top one of the large boulders. Looking back toward the bare beginnings of the false dawn, G'Taklar thought he could see a dust cloud along their back trail.

"Yulkcrap! They're still following! At least it doesn't look like they've closed much of the distance yet," G'Taklar told Rachael. Then he thought to Jatar, _"How far away do you think they are?"_

" _About four bells. They have closed the gap more than you think I bet they are riding part of the day as well. You need rest, so stay here a couple bells, but keep an eye on your pursuers and see when they stop. That will show you how early to start this afternoon,"_ Jatar suggested.

" _What if they keep coming?"_ G'Taklar asked.

" _They might, they know that they have to catch you before you reach Myrnvale or they might lose you in the city," Jatar explained. "If they're still riding after two bells, I think you should make a run for it. However, those two bells of rest for your mounts may be the difference. You can use most of your remaining water for the horses and then they should get you into Myrnvale ahead of your pursuer's tired mounts,"_ Jatar explained.

G'Taklar turned to Rachael and explained, "We're staying here to rest the horses for a few bells. However, if the Tchulians keep coming, we're going to make a break for Myrnvale. If they stop, we'll rest until they move and then go when they start after us again."

"Through the heat?" she asked.

"If we have to, but I'd rather be hot and thirsty than in the hands of Sergeant Herms," G'Taklar responded.

Rachael gave an involuntary shrug of disgust at the sergeant's name and added, "You're right there, I'd rather be almost anywhere than with that filthy, sweaty, smelly, disgusting excuse for a human."

"He's not my favorite, either," G'Taklar agreed with a grin.

Rachael smiled back.

Rachael pointed behind G'Taklar, toward one side of the largest rock. "What are those lines, they almost look like words."

G'Taklar turned to look at what she had seen, really looking at the side of the stone for the first time.

"You're right; I can make out a few words. It's written in Serinna. That is an old language that I learned to read from my studies of ancient history," G'Taklar explained.

"Well?" she prompted.

"Well, what? Oh, you want me to translate. Let me see, some of it is so worn from sandstorms that I can hardly make out the letters. Well, this part says, 'Beware, herein lies,' I can't make the next word out, 'remains of,' I'm not sure of the next four words, but then it says, 'his terrible creatures. Do not open this tomb lest you infect', something blurred, 'again. Beware,' and the next word is unreadable, 'those who do not believe... ...this is the evil that never dies,'" G'Taklar finished reading.

"What does all that mean?" Rachael asked.

"It seems pretty clear; this is the tomb of some evil creature or creatures. The Serinna must have built this to hold the remains of their enemy. They seem to have believed that the creature was immortal or something because they're warning unbelievers that the evil will return if it is disturbed," G'Taklar explained.

" _There is definitely something I don't like about this place,"_ Jatar said to G'Taklar.

" _I'm with you cousin, perhaps we should consider making that run for Myrnvale in two bells, no matter when our pursuers decide to rest,"_ G'Taklar thought back to Jatar.

"How long ago did the Serinna live?" Rachael asked.

"A little over a thousand years ago, then they disappeared. Most scholars believe they were wiped out in a massive war. There weren't enough of them left to keep their civilization going," G'Taklar explained in his scholar's voice.

"Then whatever they put in here is over a thousand years dead?" she asked.

"That should be correct," he answered.

"Then we don't have anything to worry about, they are all dust by now," she said, deciding for herself that they were safe.

" _She's probably right and we're probably just jumping at shadows, so don't scare the girl. She has been under enough stress with these Tchulians after you two; she needs to rest and ghost stories won't help,"_ Jatar suggested.

" _All right, but I've read that the souldead creatures have survived over thousands of years, this could be something along those lines,"_ G'Taklar replied in thought.

" _I agree, but we aren't going to mess with the place. If it has kept them contained for this long, then it will survive another two bells,"_ Jatar opinioned.

" _You're right, but it's an interesting piece of history. Perhaps I'll come back some day and do some real research. There are quite a few mysteries surrounding the Serinna and their eventual disappearance."_ Then to Rachael, he said, "Come on, Rachael, let's get down from here and get some rest while we can, we have a hard ride ahead of us." They began their climb down.

G'Taklar hopped down a four-foot drop; landing on the flat top of what he thought was a house sized boulder below. When he landed, there was a cracking sound and the surface broke below his feet. Scrambling for purchase, he slipped down and through the hole, disappearing from Rachael's sight.

#### CHAPTER FIFTEEN: HERMS

Deep in the slums of Myrnvale, the necromancer RIveK clapped her hands in feigned delight when the little girl finished her story. It was the last of the five stories told by the children that RIveK had kept prisoner while she waited for the return of the other urchins with their scouting report on Elizabeth.

"That was a very good story! For a reward, you may go," RIveK told the frightened girl.

A little while after the little girl fled the building, the other members of the urchin gang began to return, sliding into the room from the various holes and openings to their lair.

When the majority of the urchins were back, RIveK addressed them all. "So, what have you found in exchange for my gold?"

"Bumpy thinks he found yer marks... tell her," the leader prompted to a small boy with dark wavy hair.

"I found them stay'in at the Rose and Thorn. They were up early, gett'in ready te eat their breakfast. Both had highborn accents. I heard the one call the other, Hetark," he explained.

"And they fit the description I gave you?" she asked.

"I think so," he responded.

"Now do we get our gold?" The leader asked, looking greedily at the stack of coins beside the necromancer.

"You get all the gold in this room, but I doubt you can spend it," she said, standing and gesturing with her hand.

The door and windows all slammed shut again and the purple sheets of energy covered the exit holes.

"What is this?" the leader exclaimed, "We did as you requested."

"Yes, you did. However, I've had to use too much of my power waiting for you and it must be replaced," she explained. As she spoke, she walked toward the leader of the urchins.

The boy started to back away, but froze when the necromancer's gaze locked on his eyes.

With a smile on her beautiful face, she walked up and reached forward until her insubstantial hand entered his head. His body shook for a moment as she absorbed his dying spirit and then he collapsed to the wood floor, dead at her feet.

A few minutes later, RIveK walked out of the building with her power recharged; in her wake, she left a room littered with tiny dead bodies.

A short time after the sated necromancer departed, the one small frightened little girl who RIveK had let go, went back into the urchin's building. A moment later, she stumbled out the door and fell to her hands and knees in the slimy alley. The shock might have been too much for an adult to recover from quickly, but the young street urchin got back to her feet. She wiped the slime on her hands down the sides of her worn dress as she tried to wipe the image of her dead friends from her mind.

She did not know what she was going to do in the future, nor did she even think about her own future. Right now, she had one thought in her mind; stop the Woman who had done this evil. Up until now, this young child's world had not included true evil. There were faceless enemies, like the hunger that often clawed at her stomach, or the cold that bit at exposed skin in winter, but these were not things of evil. Here, in this one moment, darkness had come to her in the form of false beauty. For the first time in her young life, though not the last, the little girl had witnessed true evil incarnate.

With that thought, the little girl knew that she had to warn the two people that 'The Woman' had sent her friends to find. She had to find them and warn them of the evil monster who stalked them. She would tell them that The Woman was coming, that evil thing that knew their names. But where were they?

Shaking with the thought of what she had to do, the little girl ran down the alley, searching for the cloaked form of the evil woman on the streets ahead. If she was going to thwart this monster, the little girl would have risk here soul to follow The Woman and see where she was going.

RIveK walked her projected body toward the better part of town and, eventually, stopped a man on the street to ask the way to the Rose and Thorn.

After receiving her instructions, she continued. The little urchin ran up to the man RIveK had spoken with and found out where she was headed. Then she dashed off to try and beat the necromancer to her destination. Unfortunately, she did not realize how fast RIveK could travel in her spirit form once she knew where she was headed, so RIveK arrived at the restaurant before the young girl.

The necromancer went into the waiting room and looked in through the thick curtain at the dining area. Scanning the room quickly, she located the man and woman who fit the description of Elizabeth and her Knight Protector. However, before she could continue her plan, she had to make sure that these were her targets. Leaving the restaurant, she nearly ran into the little girl emerging from the alley, but the urchin saw her and jumped back into hiding. RIveK took no notice of such a small thing as a street urchin.

The necromancer went to the side of the building and leaned her ghostly shape in through the wall so that she could listen to her suspected knight and lady.

They were discussing the quality of the food, a totally uninteresting conversation to RIveK, with one exception. Both spoke in Lindankar accents of the highborn. That alone nearly confirmed their identities, yet RIveK had to be sure that this was Elizabeth and Hetark, so she continued to listen.

Then the woman clinched it in her next statement. "You're having a hard time calling me Marinda, aren't you, Hetark?"

RIveK moved away, afraid that the Kirnath sorceress would sense her if she stayed too long.

She went back into the hotel lobby and wrote a message and had it sent to the restaurant to be delivered to 'Marinda'.

Once RIveK left the building and was out of sight, she stepped into a rift she opened to the Dark Plane. A moment later she stepped out into the prearranged spot to meet SCorcH. He sat on a crate a few feet away, waiting.

"Is the Ardellen woman here?" he asked immediately.

"Yes, and you can find her at the restaurant called the Rose and Thorn, it's on Gibbel street. A Lindankar knight accompanies her at the restaurant," she explained, then described what Poison was wearing.

"The knight is inconsequential, though if he interferes in the destruction of the Kirnath witch I will kill the idiot. Is her child with her as well?" he asked.

"No, I haven't located the heir yet. They were at breakfast when I found Lady Ardellen. Perhaps she left the infant in their hotel room. I'll try and locate him next, though he is nothing compared to her, a powerless child, a mere detail," she finished, writing off the importance of her small error in not knowing Michael's location.

"A very important detail. Find him," SCorcH commanded.

"Don't take that tone with me or I may forget the council's law and release you from your pitiful existence," she threatened.

"Try it, I welcome you," he replied through his exposed blackened teeth.

"Kill her, iffff you can," she replied, mocking his speech impairment as she disappeared back into the Dark Plane.

But RIveK didn't go to find the Lindankar heir, instead, her spirit returned to her body only two-day ride away.

G'Taklar fell through the suddenly exposed hole and dropped twenty feet before landing amidst the rubble of the broken ceiling. Fortunately, he landed on a pile of what felt like dry sticks. They cushioned his fall somewhat, snapping and breaking as he landed hard on his back.

Jatar spoke up immediately within his mind, _"'Tak, quickly, tell Rachael to stay back or she might fall..."_

But Rachael spoke first, "G'Taklar! Are you all..." a high-pitched scream followed the start of her question and more rubble came raining down followed by the screaming body of Rachael. She landed almost entirely on G'Taklar. His body inadvertently cushioned her fall, but the impact did nothing for G'Taklar's health.

"G'Taklar, are you all right?" she asked as she rolled off of his body.

"..." he replied because the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

"I've killed him, G'lan help me!" she wailed, clawing over the stick like objects to his body. Her elbow landed right in the middle of his stomach as she tried to see his face through the dust caused by their fall.

"Ow!" he finally exclaimed.

"You're alive!"

"No thanks to you. Why didn't you stay away from that hole? You could've thrown down a rope," he complained.

"I was worried about your health! Obviously, you'd have been happier if I just left you down here for dead!"

"At least we both wouldn't be trapped in a tomb of souldead, or worse," he snapped back without thinking, Jatar had warned him about scaring the girl.

"Souldead!" she exclaimed. Then she clawed her way onto his lap for protection and locked her arms around his torso as she gazed fearfully around the room. Now that the dust was settling, she got a clear look at their surroundings. The young girl let loose with another high-pitched scream, deafening G'Taklar's right ear.

"Ow!" he stated again.

He also looked around and made out the walls of the chamber from the dim illumination shining down through the hole in the ceiling high above. They had landed in a room filled with bones from wall to wall. The brownish white bones were stacked about four-foot deep.

Rachael kept screaming and scrambling, trying to get completely off the bones and onto G'Taklar.

"Stop panicking!" he finally yelled, though he was also close to panicking. He slapped her across the cheek lightly.

She stopped struggling immediately and spoke in a hurt voice, "You hit me."

"Yes, I did. I had to get your attention since you were in a full panic," he explained.

"You didn't have to hit me; I thought you were different from those soldiers," she pouted.

"I had to because I'll need your help if we're going to get out of here. Believe me, I understand how you feel. It wasn't very long ago that I was the one panicking and someone had to get my attention, the hard way," he explained, thinking about his travels in the caverns a few days ago and Jatar's calming measures.

"You need my help?" she asked.

"Definitely, we need to work together on this," he reassured the frightened girl.

"All right, I'm sorry I panicked. I'll try to do better," she promised, still holding on to him tightly.

"Let's see if we can get to that opening over there," he stated, disengaging her clutching hand from his arm.

They clawed and scrambled over the dry and dusty white and brown bones. As he crawled over them, G'Taklar looked at the bones. At first, he thought them to be human, then he reconsidered, many of them were too large.

" _They must be a mixture of human bones and some other type of creature,"_ Jatar thought to G'Taklar.

"Can we pile up the bones high enough to climb to the ceiling hole?" Rachael asked.

G'Taklar looked around the room in the dim light, estimating how high they could pile the bones. Unfortunately, it looked to him like such a pile would not come close.

" _What do you think, Jatar?"_ he thought to his cousin.

" _I seriously doubt it. There just aren't enough bones to make a pile that will get you the twenty feet to the ceiling,"_ he replied, _"You may have to try it anyway, but first look around and see if you have any other options."_

" _We need light,"_ G'Taklar replied, _"I have the tinder box in my pocket, but I don't see any wood"_

" _Make a torch from your shirt and one of the bones. Unfortunately, it won't last long, unless you can find some type of oil,"_ was Jatar's answering thought.

G'Taklar began pulling off his shirt.

"What are you doing?" Rachael inquired.

"Making a torch, do you have any oil with you?" he asked in return.

"No, I only have a comb and my perfume."

"Great, we can look and smell good when we starve down here," G'Taklar replied sarcastically.

"Don't ask if you're going to complain about my answers."

" _Wait, that perfume could be more useful than you think. See if it has an oil base, many of them do,"_ Jatar submitted.

"Let me see your perfume," G'Taklar requested.

"Why?"

"We could use it if it's flammable," he replied.

"You're going to waste my perfume?" she asked.

"I'll buy you some more if we survive."

"I'll hold you to that," Rachael answered as she pulled the bottle out of her waist purse.

For a perfume bottle, it was surprisingly large.

"This must be the expensive stuff," G'Taklar noted, facetiously.

"It belonged to my mother, so be civil. Besides, you seem happy I have it," she replied.

"You're right, I'm sorry," G'Taklar apologized. He opened the container and put a drop on his forefinger, then rubbed it between the finger and thumb.

" _It feels oily, doesn't it?"_ Jatar asked.

" _Yes, I think you're right,"_ G'Taklar replied.

Following Jatar's instructions, he wrapped his shirt tightly around the end of a long bone and then carefully poured the perfume over the material. He applied it slowly to let it soak into the cloth so that he didn't lose a drop. Eventually, he used the tinderbox to light the makeshift torch and they were ready to proceed.

G'Taklar used the light of the torch to study the room; he spotted the opening of a corridor to their left. That seemed to be the only exit, so he led the frightened girl that direction.

She followed close behind him and they eventually dropped down off the piled bones to a stone floor and entered the corridor. It was eight feet wide and turned out to be only fifteen feet long. It led to another chamber the same size as the one they had just left. This one was full of bones as well. With no other choice, they climbed back up onto these bones. From that vantage point they spotted the top of another corridor on the far side of this room. They climbed over the bones toward the new opening.

They soon found themselves in yet a third room and, just like the first and second, it was filled with bones.

"Is there no end to these bones? I never want to touch another one for my whole lifetime," Rachael complained, trying to wipe the bone dust off her hands by rubbing them on her dress. She wasn't getting anywhere because the dress was covered as well.

G'Taklar didn't think it wise to point that out.

"Look!" he exclaimed pointing across the room and holding up the torch.

On the other side of the room, they could see a large stone door, but when they climbed over the bones to the other side of the room, they found the door barred shut from the other side. G'Taklar tried pounding on it, but it didn't budge. It felt solid enough to withstand an army.

Looking back at the piles of bones, G'Taklar wondered if an army of creatures really had tried to escape this tomb.

Holding his torch up to better light the room, G'Taklar spotted a dark hole against the wall to the right of the door. Climbing over the bones they went and looked at the spot, it turned out to be a hole in the stone wall. They could see chip marks all around the edges.

" _It looks like something chipped and clawed its way out of here over many years' time,"_ Jatar thought to G'Taklar.

" _How could anything claw its way through solid stone?"_ G'Taklar inquired.

" _It would take a long time, but other than eat his fellows, I don't think it had anything else to do,"_ Jatar guessed.

" _Is that what you think happened?"_ G'Taklar asked in awe.

" _Do you have a better theory?"_ Jatar responded.

" _No,"_ then he turned to Rachael he said, "Well, we have our way out of this chamber, we can crawl out through this hole. I'll go first, you stay behind me," he added unnecessarily.

He crawled into the opening and Rachael followed, close on his heels. Once out of the hole, they found themselves in a passage with a high ceiling supported by tall square pillars. Looking left, they could see the other side of the locked door into the room of bones.

G'Taklar decided to turn right to see what they could find in that direction.

As they moved, their torch light interacted with the pillars and cast weird shadows that twisted and moved along the walls. G'Taklar could feel Rachael shaking through her hands attached to his hips.

"You don't have to hold on to my hips and walk behind me."

Her reply was emphatic, "Yes, I do."

In the wall to their right, they came upon another of the huge doors, just like the one outside the bone chambers. G'Taklar lifted their torch to illuminate the door. More of the Serinna writing was inscribed, but unlike the inscription outside, these words were not worn by the weather.

"It says, 'Entombed within dwell the evil one's creatures of darkness. Heed these words, his creatures live unholy lives; let these doors remain forever closed, lest the evil consume your blood.'"

" _Souldead,"_ Jatar noted.

"Are they talking about souldead?" Rachael asked.

"That's what we think," G'Taklar replied.

"We?" she asked.

"I mean, that's what I think," he quickly corrected.

"Could they really be alive after this many years?" she asked, shivering.

"If they had enough food and if there were a lot of them, possibly. Maybe they ate each other? They don't require much in the way of sustenance to live. I've read stories where they have survived for years with very little food. Remember, they aren't even remotely human anymore. Vorg created them from humans, but he redesigned them to survive almost anything," G'Taklar explained.

"It seems so long ago; how can things from three thousand years ago come out of their crypts to haunt us now?" she pondered.

"Actually, I think this tomb is only around a thousand years old." G'Taklar corrected.

Rachael exclaimed, "Let's get moving, I want to get out of here as soon as possible!" Then she gave his hips a push to get him going.

They continued down the passage and passed another of the sealed doors, this time on the opposite side of the hall. It had the same inscription as the last door, so they moved on.

They came to a wider area, which turned out to be the center of a T intersection of three halls. A passage continued straight, which looked like it mirrored the one behind them. Another pillar lined hallway went off to their left. On their right, was a monstrous double door under a curving arch set into the wall. The right-side door was slightly ajar. At one time, a large iron bar had barred the door, but the bar had been removed and now lay on the floor a few feet away from the doors.

G'Taklar held the torch aloft again to light the inscription over the doors. The carved letters were three times the size of the prior words they had seen.

He read the inscription aloud. "Here lies the hidden killer, the scourge of the earth, the destroyer of the holy, the Desecrator of souls." G'Taklar paused and Rachael noticed he was shaking for the first time.

"What's wrong, G'Taklar, what's scaring you?" she asked, terrified at his fear.

"I only know one being referred to as 'The Desecrator' in all literature. The evilest creature to ever walk on this world. You know his name, all people do, from every land. Children are warned to be good or 'He' will take them. He is the creature of evil in every recorded civilization, without exception. He is holy G'lan's nemesis, the creature known as 'Vorg, The Desecrator'," G'Taklar intoned solemnly.

Rachael answered incredulously, "You're not trying to tell me that this is Vorg's tomb? He died over three thousand years ago! G'lan himself came back to defeat him! And... and he didn't die in the desert, it was on some mountain," Rachael replied. Everyone knew at least some version of the historical battle between G'lan and Vorg.

G'Taklar answered solemnly, "This is what the rest of the inscription says, 'Vorg, The Desecrator, returned from the dead and destroyed our people by the thousands, but with the help of G'lan's immortal spirit, he was defeated once again. Let no man open this door lest the world be destroyed by the evil one's hand. May his soul never return from the Dark Plane to wreak havoc among the innocent people of this world. Leave this tomb sealed or die the death of the souldead,' and it's signed, 'Chamberlain of the Star'. See? There is his star symbol placed at the center of the door," G'Taklar pointed out.

"Who is the Chamberlain of the Star?" she asked.

"The ruler of the Serinna," G'Taklar answered.

"But the door is open," she noted quietly.

"Yes, I have seen that. Perhaps we had best see what is inside," G'Taklar stated resignedly.

"Are you insane? I'm not going in Vorg's tomb!" Rachael exclaimed.

Jatar's calm thoughts spoke in G'Taklar's head, " _You're right, 'Tak, we need to know what has happened in that tomb."_

G'Taklar answered Rachael, "Then you'll have to wait here while I go in; we need to find out what is or is not in there."

"I'm not staying out here in the dark!" she declared.

"Then you'll have to come in because that's where the light is going," he explained and headed for the door. Her hands finally released his hips.

"G'lan, what have I gotten into?" she asked the air, though nothing answered except the echo of her own words around the vast hall.

G'Taklar approached the huge door cautiously and noted that it stood over twenty feet high. The right side was open far enough to leave a gap and show that the stone door was two feet thick. _"It must have taken a train of horses to pull this behemoth open,"_ he thought to his cousin.

Jatar didn't comment.

G'Taklar stuck his torch in through the opening and looked around without entering. He saw a large room with a domed ceiling rising high above the floor. The center of the room had a raised oval dais, with three steps leading up. On the dais was an immense sarcophagus made of black stone. The remains of a temporary log framework were still suspended over the top of the sarcophagus, though the ropes, block, and tackle had been removed. It was obvious that the framework had been built here much later to move the heavy lid of the gigantic sarcophagus. The lid still lay on top, but was skewed to the side to allow access to the interior of the stone coffin.

Boxes, chests, and tables lay strewn and broken over the floor; this tomb had been plundered.

" _Look in the coffin,"_ Jatar advised.

" _Is that necessary? We know it was opened, whatever was inside was released,"_ G'Taklar debated.

" _Perhaps, but we need to know,"_ Jatar reasoned.

G'Taklar took a deep breath and then answered, _"All right, I'll look."_ He entered the tomb.

Rachael was suddenly behind him, following close. G'Taklar went toward the sarcophagus. He picked up an empty chest and took it up onto the dais. He needed it to stand on so that he could get up high enough to look inside.

He didn't find what he had expected.

"It isn't empty!" he exclaimed.

"Oh G'lan, are you telling me there's a grisly rotting body in there?" Rachael asked, shivering uncontrollably from where she was standing next to the chest that G'Taklar stood upon.

"No, there's a most of a skeleton and some clothes, but everything else has rotted away!" he exclaimed excitedly.

"Why do you sound so happy about it?" she demanded, angry at his lack of fear when she was terrified.

"From the state these bones are in, this has to be the body that was put into this tomb by the Serinna, long ago. That means that even if this was Vorg, which I now doubt, he is a pile of dead bones, not alive and escaped from his tomb!" G'Taklar reasoned.

"You're sure he didn't kill a grave robber and leave him in the tomb?" Rachael suggested, not yet ready to let her childhood monster die so easily.

"Of course, these logs are fairly recent, look at the footprints in the dust," he said pointing to the marks that were obviously different from their fresh ones.

" _How long do you think it's been since they broke in here to steal what treasure they could find?"_ G'Taklar asked Jatar.

" _From the thin layer of dust that has settled in their prints, I'd guess within the last ten years,"_ he answered.

G'Taklar explained that to Rachael, then added "A body would still be decomposing if it were that fresh. No, whoever's bones are in here is still very dead. I feel better already," G'Taklar stated in relief.

"I've never seen anyone so happy about finding a skeleton," Rachael said, shaking her head, but G'Taklar's enthusiasm was helping to banish her fears.

"What about that creature from the bones room, wasn't he still alive?" she suddenly remembered.

"At the time that he clawed his way out, yes, but who knows how long ago that was now? He is either dead or escaped and gone. It's still pretty serious if he escaped into the outside world. Any creature nasty enough to survive hundreds of years in a tomb with only his fellow monsters to feed upon has got to be nasty." G'Taklar reasoned.

Rachael raised a hand and G'Taklar took it and pulled her up onto the top of the chest next to him. She glanced over the lip of the sarcophagus and then said in a whisper, "So, this was once Vorg."

"I don't think this really was Vorg; it doesn't make sense. According to history, Vorg lived around three thousand years ago. This guy," and he gestured toward the skeleton with his thumb, "is a baby in comparison. He was probably an evil man who led the enemies who attacked the Serinna. He might even have been a necromancer! Remember, they are still around trying to duplicate Vorg's powers and have existed ever since the master of evil was destroyed. The Serinna probably caught and killed this necromancer and then, because he was so evil, they assumed he was Vorg returned from the dead," G'Taklar theorized.

"You're just making this up," Rachael replied.

"Yes, but it's a good theory. Perhaps I can find some facts to validate it!" he exclaimed excitedly.

" _Some other time,"_ Jatar thought to him, _"'Tak, you have been in here longer than you think; the Tchulians may be getting close. You have to find a way out of here soon or they could corner you,"_ Jatar reminded his host.

" _How long has it been?"_ G'Taklar suddenly wondered. He tried to estimate; making the torch had taken a few minutes. Then they had crawled over all the bones and crawled through the hole in the wall. After that, they had moved pretty slowly. Along the way, he had stopped to translate the inscriptions. Now they had wasted time inspecting this tomb.

"Come on, Rachael, let's get out of here," he said.

"I'd drink to that if I had anything to toast with," she replied, climbing down from the chest and heading for the large door.

Once outside the door, they stood in the chamber with the three passages leading away. G'Taklar decided to try the one perpendicular to the one they had first come down. They traveled swiftly through the pillar lined halls, eager to escape this tomb. G'Taklar was getting worried, they had been in here too long and if the soldiers had kept riding during the day, they might be very close.

Light suddenly streamed into the hall from up ahead. The sounds of boards being pull loose from something echoed down the hall.

G'Taklar and Rachael froze and then they heard the unmistakable voice of Sergeant Herms cajoling his men to greater efforts.

"G'lan, we're trapped," G'Taklar cursed in a whisper. He grabbed Rachael's hand and turned to run back down the hall, towing Rachael behind.

A moment later, they reached the 'T' intersection of the corridors _._

" _Try the left, we know the right leads to a dead end,"_ Jatar advised.

" _Don't use those words,"_ G'Taklar pleaded, turning left as Jatar had suggested.

They ran down the hall, looking for any place to hide or escape. On their way, they passed three of the large doors that were just like the one that led into the chamber of bones. Eventually, they came to the end of the hall, but there was no way out.

" _I hope you have one of those fabulous plans that get people like Furnian the Invincible out of bad situations like this,_ otherwise, _we may be in for some serious trouble,"_ G'Taklar thought desperately to Jatar.

" _If there's no way out and nowhere to hide, do the next best thing, make them think you got out,"_ Jatar answered.

" _I'll bite, how?"_ G'Taklar asked.

" _Try unbarring that door,"_ was Jatar's suggestion, "and hurry," he added.

"Come on Rachael help me get the bars off this door," G'Taklar said quietly, so as not to be heard.

"What if some souldead thing is still alive in there!" she hissed back.

"We'll gamble; besides, I bet it died long ago. Grab the bar, OK, on three, heave. One, two, three!" he counted out quietly and then strained upward on the first of the three iron bars that kept the door from being opened by anything within the chamber. After a moment of strained effort, they both stopped, the bar hadn't budged.

"Let's try the second one, maybe we'll have more luck," G'Taklar suggested.

They strained and this bar slowly gave, rust grinding out between the slots and the bar. They kept staining on lifting the bar it suddenly came completely loose.

" _Use it to pry out the other two, but hurry!"_ Jatar encouraged.

G'Taklar relayed the idea to Rachael and she helped him pry the other two bars out of their slots. Both bars fell to the ground, clanging loudly. They could not stop them as the bars were heavy and their hands were busy holding the pry bar.

When the second bar hit the ground, something on the other side of the door struck it resoundingly. Dust and corrosion trickled down around the edges of the door.

Both Rachael and G'Taklar backed fearfully away from the unbarred door and what wanted to get out from the other side.

" _Drop that bar, put out your torch and get behind a pillar, now!"_ Jatar insisted.

" _There's something alive in there,"_ G'Taklar unnecessarily stated.

" _Get behind a pillar!"_ Jatar mentally yelled.

That woke G'Taklar up. He quickly dropped the torch on the ground and smothered the flames with his foot. Then he grabbed Rachael's hand and pulled her behind the closest pillar.

They were just in time. They heard the sound of multiple boots echoing on the hard-stone floor. Soon they saw the flickering light of torches coming down the hall.

A soldier's voice called out, "Look, there's what made the sounds we heard! They must have gone through this door; see the dust?" the soldier exclaimed, pointing to the rust that had fallen from the cracks and the recent footprints of G'Taklar and Rachael at the door.

"Get that door open and remember, I want them taken alive," the gruff voice of Sergeant Herms commanded.

Two soldiers tried to pull the large door open, but it was hard to move. Two more soldiers grabbed the metal bars on the floor and pried at the door jam. Due to their efforts, the door began to grind open. The rusty hinges screamed their displeasure at being disturbed. Just as the door started to open, Sergeant Herms said, "Wait a minute, if that door is so hard to open, then our prey couldn't have gone this way..."

But the door finally swung free at that moment, opening wide. Dust came down from the top frame. Two soldiers up front extended torches inside to reveal the interior.

Sergeant Herms finished his thought, "I think that we've been duped; there is no way that they could have opened that door."

The two men with the torches stepped forward to search the open chamber anyway. That's when a horrible roar of insane hunger cleaved the musty air of the tomb. It was immediately followed by the screams of the two Tchulian soldiers within the chamber. Their screams were mixed with the sounds of snapping bones, rending tissues, and splattering blood.

The soldiers who were still outside the tomb froze in horror at the sound of slaughter coming from within the chamber.

Sergeant Herms glimpsed something huge and horrible beyond that open doorway.

"Close that door, now!" he bellowed to his remaining men.

His order galvanized three of the men into action, the rest stood in shock for a moment more before throwing their weight against the large stone door as well.

" _This is your chance!"_ Jatar exclaimed to G'Taklar, _"Keep the pillars between you and the soldiers and make a break for the entrance. If that thing gets out, you do not want to be trapped in here with a monster."_

G'Taklar didn't need any further incentive and he began pulling Rachael along by her hand. Behind them, the drama at the chamber door continued.

Just before the soldiers got the door completely closed, one of the men trapped on the other side tried to escape, sticking his hand in the crack of the slamming door. It was pinned in the jamb, stopping the door. The man screamed in pain, then something grabbed him and his hand was yanked back into the chamber, shearing off his thumb and part of the hand. The door slammed shut under the combined weight of the remaining soldiers, even Sergeant Herms was pushing at the back of his men.

Two men grabbed a bar and tried to drop it into its slot, but something with significant weight and speed hit the door from the other side, driving the mob of nine soldiers back a foot before their combined weight slammed it shut again.

The soldiers with the bar dropped it into place, just as the creature's weight hit the door again, the bar bent slightly.

Quickly, they dropped the other two bars into position and the door was safely locked.

"In Vorg's name, what was behind that door?" a terrified soldier exclaimed.

Herms answered, out of breath, "It must have been another of those souldead, like the one in the caverns under the keep. Thank yer mothers that we got that door closed before it got out o' that room or we'd all be dead! If our prisoners went in there, then they're dead, but I don't think they did. If that creature knew the door was unbarred it would have come out," the sergeant reasoned.

"G'lan help the men in there," another of the soldiers prayed.

"They're already dead, ferget them. Now let's get on with it, those two escaped prisoners have a lot to answer fer," the sergeant ordered.

Down the other hallway, G'Taklar and Rachael had to stop their stealthy retreat when they ran into the five soldiers who had been left at the entrance to the tomb to make sure they did not get out.

G'Taklar leaned close to Rachael's ear and whispered. "Come on, let's go back. We don't want to get trapped between whatever comes out of that room and these soldiers. If that creature gets loose, I hope it will kill the soldiers on its way out of the tomb. On the other hand, if Sergeant Herms and his squad managed to get the door closed, then they might trap us between their forces. Our only chance is to hide down the hall where we first fell in and hope that they leave, believing we were killed by the monster."

Rachael nodded and the two fugitives crept back toward the 'T' intersection, keeping to the shadows. As they passed between two of the pillars, torchlight flickered across them and a soldier's voice called out, "There they are!"

" _Run for it!"_ Jatar advised, unnecessarily. G'Taklar did not need any encouragement and together he and Rachael leaped away like a pair of frightened deer. They raced down the hall until they reached the hole which led into the rooms of bones and quickly crawled through. The soldiers arrived just behind them.

" _Give me control, G'Taklar, I can hold them off,"_ Jatar pleaded.

The first soldier started to crawl through.

"Take it," G'Taklar gasped.

Jatar flowed into G'Taklar's body again. He immediately pulled the old dagger from G'Taklar's belt and sprang to the hole. With a quick jab, he stabbed the soldier entering while he was too cramped to defend himself with his sword.

Jatar grabbed the man's sword and stepped to the side of the hole, ready for the next attack.

The attackers cursed and pulled the body of their dead companion back.

The Sergeant's voice echoed in through the hole. "You'll regret that as well, boy, I'm going te make ya pay fer each man ya cost me."

"First, you'll have to take me, you stinking kesera," Jatar replied.

"I'm just go'in te beat ya, not kill ya, so why don't ya give up now? Otherwise, I might let that thing in the other room loose and lock ya in here with it," the sergeant threatened.

"Go ahead, I prefer its company to a lying piece of slime like you," Jatar replied and thought to G'Taklar, _"He won't let it out, he's too terrified of that monster."_

"We can starve ya out, we found yer horses outside. It seems that in yer haste te hide from us ya fergot te take yer food and water with ya," was Herms' next sally.

Jatar did not answer Herms, they both knew that the soldiers had the upper hand. Then Jatar heard the sound he feared, the soldiers were prying the bars off the door into this chamber. Soon they could rush in that wider opening and overwhelm his defense. Even if he managed to hold them at the door, more could then come through the hole and attack him from the rear.

" _If they get that door open, I fear we may have to surrender. Once that happens, they're going to take us anyway,"_ Jatar informed his cousin.

" _We could move into the next chamber," G'Taklar suggested._

" _And we will, but that also has a wide entry, two of the soldiers can attack at once. I might be able to hold them, but only for a short time. If I do fight, eventually, they will kill you. Counting the five at the entrance, there are still about fourteen of them. I might get a few but,_ eventually, _I'll tire and one of their thrusts will get through,"_ he explained.

" _I'd rather go down fighting than give up to these torturing monsters,"_ G'Taklar decided.

" _I understand, but I better explain the situation to Rachael,"_ Jatar said.

Then he spoke aloud to the frightened girl, "Rachael, we're going to retreat into the short hall between the chambers. That is where I am going to make a stand. Most likely I will die, though I promise I will take some of them with me. If you give up without a fight, they may treat you roughly, but they probably won't kill you," Jatar explained.

"Give me your dagger; if I see you go down, I'll use it. I'm not going to be captured," she said looking into G'Taklar's eyes. She stepped forward, lifting her hand to the back of his neck and pulled his face down toward her parting lips.

"Take over _, 'Tak, I think this is for you,"_ Jatar thought hastily.

G'Taklar flowed back into control just as Rachael's soft lips met his; she lingered for a moment, giving him a kiss that held the promise of what might have been. Then she pulled back and looked into his eyes as she said, "Send them to the Dark Plane, G'Taklar."

They climbed over the bones until they reached the short corridor between the rooms. G'Taklar gave control back to Jatar when they heard the door in the other chamber groan, the old hinges taking the weight of the heavy door for the first time in a thousand years.

Then they watched as the Tchulian soldiers cautiously crept into the room. The last door they had opened in this place had them pretty scared.

Jatar readied his sword and Rachael watched from behind him, fingering the sharp edge of the dagger she held in her hand. Neither of them spotted the movement as something slipping into the dark corridor from the chamber at their backs.

"G'Taklar?" a voice whispered.

Jatar spun around and Rachael nearly jumped out of her clothes in fright.

Three dark shapes could be seen in the corridor silhouetted by the dim light filtering through from two rooms away where the hole was broken through the ceiling.

"Who's there?" Jatar answered back.

"We are knights of Lindankar come to rescue you," was the welcome reply.

"Becaris?" Jatar exclaimed in relief as he recognized the voice of the nobleman he had recently knighted.

"Indeed, and Lasar and Rasal with me," Becaris responded.

"Quickly, Tchulian mercs are nearly upon us!" Jatar said, stepping from between the knights and the approaching Tchulians.

The 'shing' of three swords being drawn rang in the corridor.

Becaris, Lasar, and Rasal leaped forward and met the charge of the Tchulians.

"Retreat back down the hall; we need the space of the chamber to better withstand them," Becaris called to G'Taklar.

"Come on, Rachael, these are my friends," Jatar briefly explained to the stunned girl who had been ready to die on the point of the dagger.

" _May I have control back?"_ G'Taklar asked.

" _Of course, 'Tak,"_ Jatar responded and the young man slipped back into his physical body.

A moment later, three knights traded blows with the surprised soldiers. The Tchulians had only expected to find one opponent, not three armored knights.

The knights slowly backed into the second chamber and then stopped to bottle up the soldiers within the confined area of the corridor. Two of the soldiers were killed before the rest backed off to regroup.

Becaris asked G'Taklar a question. "Quickly, before they charge us, how many do we face?"

"I think I counted fourteen if the five guards at the entrance join them, nine if they don't," G'Taklar responded.

"Too many, if they charge us, they will overwhelm our position. If that happens, we will retreat to the next chamber and make them try it again. Perhaps we can whittle them down that way. We can't take any chances with you G'Taklar. Lady Ardellen sent us to retrieve the ring that you carry, it is of vast importance. You still have it, don't you?" he asked suddenly.

G'Taklar held up his fist, displaying the ring on his finger.

"Good lad, guard it carefully. Take the girl and get to the chamber behind us. There is a rope hanging down from the hole in the ceiling. Get her out of here and we'll follow as soon as possible. You'll find your horses with the soldier's mounts. We took out the two guards they left there already. Scatter their mounts and ride toward Myrnvale, that's where you will find Lady Ardellen. Go quickly, before they attack. May G'lan be with you," Becaris said, clasping G'Taklar's hand.

" _Ask him what's happened to my son and kingdom,"_ Jatar prompted quickly.

"What of the heir and Lindankar?" G'Taklar asked before turning to go.

"Michael is safe, Lindankar is held by an evil necromancer in Jatar's body. Do not go there with the signet ring. One more thing, we've come upon some information that Elizabeth will need to know. One of the conspirators that plotted against the royal family is one of Lord Jatar's three foster brothers," Becaris told him quickly.

" _It can't be!"_ Jatar exclaimed in G'Taklar's head in disbelief.

"Are you sure?" G'Taklar asked Becaris.

"Yes, but we don't know which one. Now get going, quickly! Get that ring to Lady Ardellen!" Becaris commanded and gave him a slight push in the direction of safety. He then turned to face the inevitable attack from the Tchulian soldiers.

G'Taklar and Rachael began working their way toward the next chamber.

As they neared the opening, they heard the sounds of fighting behind them, the next attack had commenced.

Jatar was silent as he contemplated the news that one of his beloved foster brothers had betrayed their bond. It left Jatar deep in thought.

From the sounds of the Tchulian soldiers yelling and the harsh clangs of clashing swords, G'Taklar feared that the three knights were being overcome. If the knights did not hold the Tchulians long enough for the two of them to climb up the rope, they would be captured. G'Taklar made a quick decision; he had to keep this ring from the Tchulians, no matter what. If the soldiers captured them before they escaped, they would find the Signet Ring on his hand.

Without consulting Jatar, G'Taklar got the ancient dagger back from Rachael and unscrewed the trick pommel. To make room in the hollow interior of the hilt, he quickly poured the gold out and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he pulled the Ardellen cathexis signet ring from his finger and dropped it inside the hilt. He tore off a piece of his shirt and stuffed it in after the ring to keep it from rattling inside the hilt and then he sealed the signet ring within the dagger. He figured that even if he was captured, they would not know of the precious ring in the secret hilt.

Since he was no longer in contact with the cathexis metal of the ring G'Taklar was now out of communication with Jatar.

_As soon as we're safely out of here, I'll put it back on,_ G'Taklar thought. He tucked the dagger into his belt and helped Rachael begin the climb up the knotted rope.

When she reached the top, G'Taklar looked over his shoulder toward the clashing sounds of weapons in the other chamber, though he still could not tell how well things were going for the knights. He quickly ascended the rope which swung wildly with his motion. As he climbed the ancient dagger began to creep up from where it was tucked under his belt.

When he reached the top, Rachael helped him over the lip of the hole. They climbed down from the rocks and found the Tchulian horse picket. Their mounts were with the soldiers' horses, as Becaris had explained.

Two soldiers lay dead a short way from the picket.

G'Taklar helped Rachael mount and then swung up onto his saddle.

As he made the quick swing of his leg over the horse's back, he dislodged the loose dagger and it fell silently below his horse on the soft sand of the Erclesian desert.

G'Taklar's mount danced around, which moved him away from the fallen dagger containing the cathexis ring.

He untied the soldier's mounts and then yelled to spook the horses. The Tchulian's mounts galloped away, scattering across the desert.

G'Taklar and Rachael headed in the direction of Myrnvale, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the soldiers within the horrible tomb of Vorg.

#### CHAPTER SIXTEEN: WERNOK

In Vorg's tomb, the battle was still going on, but it had been a quarter bell since the Tchulians had last tried to force their way past the three knight protectors.

Becaris and Rasal stood guard while Lasar rested a few feet away. Two of them could stop the rush long enough for the third to enter the skirmish.

They had managed to kill or seriously wound five Tchulian soldiers in the past two bells since G'Taklar and Rachael had escaped. The Tchulians had pulled back after each short battle. Then they would hit them again at varying intervals.

Becaris figured they were trying to wear them down by rotating men in against them, without leaving time for the knights to get serious rest. He had to admit that the strategy was working, he was getting tired. They could not make a break for the rope because the Tchulians would hear them climbing over the bones.

If Becaris had been leading the Tchulians, he would have done it similarly, except for attacking more often to wear them out faster. Regardless, the knights had to persevere, they had to buy enough time for G'Taklar to escape with the signet ring. He considered sacrifice; one man could not hold them while the other two escaped, but two men could for a brief time. If he decided to go with that decision, he would have to do it soon or the two men would be too tired to hold them long enough.

_These damn bones,_ he thought _, maybe one of us could begin piling them up to make an aisle down the middle._ He discarded the idea instantly, it would take too long, but the thought of piling bones brought on another idea.

"Start making a large pile of bones to the side of the corridor opening," he whispered quietly to Rasal, "When it's large enough we'll knock it over, blocking the passage for a short time. Then we'll make a break for the rope, escaping before they can clear the way and follow us across the bones to the other chamber."

Rasal repeated the plan to his brother and Lasar got up to stand guard with Becaris while his brother began to make the tower of bones.

At the sound of the bones being moved the Tchulians attacked again. Becaris dueled with his first opponent while Lasar fought shield and sword with another soldier.

The passage was wide enough for a third soldier to get close to his companions and thrust between them when the opportunity presented itself.

The third Knight Protector had kept the third soldier at bay, but now Lasar and Becaris had to take up the slack.

Rasal piled up bones as fast as he could, while his companion's swords blurred in silvery arcs, clashing to a halt as an opponent parried, then blurring back into motion. Each time they had to start their sword back into motion it took more strength from their tiring muscles.

The Tchulians had a new strategy, every so often they rotated in a different soldier causing Becaris and Lasar to fight continuously while facing fresh fighters.

Lasar lunged suddenly, taking his current opponent in the throat. The man fell to the ground, ineffectually grabbing at the blood gushing wound.

Immediately the soldier to his right stepped over him and continued the fight. From behind, hands pulled the body out of the way.

A fresh soldier stepped into the gap between his battling companions.

Becaris' arms felt like stones were tied to them, his sword felt like it weighed four times more than when he had started this bout. He saw an opening in his opponent's defense and parrying the man's sword out of line to the right. Becaris stepped in and used the dagger in his left hand to impale the man in the gut.

In that moment, where he stepped forward, his tired arm carried the man's sword too high and the soldier next to him came in underneath piercing Becaris between the ribs with his sword thrust.

Becaris cried out in pain as he pulled back and parried the soldier's follow up thrust. That soldier stepped into his dead partner's position and continued to fight the now wounded knight.

Becaris knew he could not last much longer, the sword had penetrated his right lung; he could feel the wetness in his mouth, blood from the sucking wound in his side. Becaris doggedly continued to battle.

"Ready!" the voice of Rasal called out from the right side of the hall opening.

Neither Becaris nor Lasar could afford a moment to glance over, but they readied themselves.

"Now!" Rasal yelled.

The two battling knights leaped back as a large pile of bones collapsed in a heap, blocking the hall opening three-quarters of the way to the top.

Becaris staggered and collapsed to one knee, Rasal stepped forward and grasped his hands pulling them over his strong shoulders. Then, with the wounded Becaris laying chest down on Rasal's back, the knight crawled over the shifting bones and called to his brother, "Get up the rope ahead of me!"

"Leave me," Becaris commanded.

"Shut up," was Rasal's immediate response.

When they reached the next chamber, Rasal tied a loop in the rope and placed it under Becaris' arms, around his chest. Then the twin swarmed up the rope, toward the hole in the ceiling.

He came over the lip and yelled, "Pull him up!" Together the twin brothers hauled their fellow knight up from the chamber below. Their nearly identical upper body muscles strained with the effort.

Becaris watched from his height of ten feet and saw the Tchulians pouring into the chamber. They screamed in rage when they saw the hole in the ceiling and the dangling knight, spinning on the rope as the other two hauled him up toward safety.

Three of the soldiers frantically scrambled over the bones, trying to get to where they could strike the escaping Becaris with the reach of their swords.

With a last and mighty heave, the twin brothers pulled their friend out of harm's way, frustrating the infuriated soldiers crawling over the old bones.

From below them, they heard the Sergeant voice commanding his men. "Quickly, back outside. We'll stop them before they can flee!"

Hoisting Becaris over his shoulder again, Rasal followed his brother down to where they had hidden their mounts. They got the wounded Becaris in his saddle and then quickly mounted and rode along either side of him to keep Becaris from falling.

The soldiers howled in fury when they saw their horses gone, their guards slain, and the escaping knights riding fifty yards away into the desert.

"That's just great!" Herms exclaimed, kicking a small rock in his anger. His downcast eye spotted an old dagger lying in the dirt and he recognized it as the one he had given back to G'Taklar at the compound.

He reached down and picked it up, muttering angrily, "I swear I'll give this back to the runt when I finally catch him, point first!"

He tucked the dagger containing the hidden Ardellen cathexis Signet ring into his wide belt.

When the knights were far enough away so that they weren't worried about pursuit, they stopped to see to Becaris. Lasar bound the wound as best he could.

"It doesn't look good; the wound could prove fatal if we move you any further."

"How long do you think I could last if we ride?" Becaris asked.

"Two or three days, no longer, then your strength will likely give out."

"We can ride to Myrnvale in three days, then Elizabeth can heal me," he whispered.

"If she's there, but if not, you'll never make it. We should hole up here," Lasar stated, "Rasal can ride for supplies and return in two days while you rest."

"No, the Tchulians may collect some of their mounts and pursue; we can't take that chance. Let's ride," Becaris said, getting slowly to his feet.

"He's right, we'll just have to pray Elizabeth is there," Rasal said to his brother.

"Then she will be," Lasar stated, refusing to give up hope.

"Hang in there, Becaris," Rasal said, staring across the desert in the direction of Myrnvale where he thought Elizabeth could be found.

G'Taklar and Rachael returned early the next morning. They wanted to make sure that the Tchulians had departed, but found no sign of the soldiers. Having searched the ground where they had mounted their horses during the escape, G'Taklar spoke resignedly to Rachael, "I'll have to go back inside the tomb and search for the ring."

"G'lan, you're going back into that crypt with that foul, gut ripping, Soul Dead 'thing' still lurking in the shadows?" she asked and her body shook all over in dread.

"You're not making this any easier!"

"Sorry, but I don't want you to get hurt... or worse!"

"I don't exactly want to die yet either," he noted.

Rachael suddenly pointed and exclaimed, "Look, isn't that a group of riders approaching?"

He turned and shaded his eyes with his open hand and spotted a large dust cloud out in the desert. "You're right; we better get out of here before we're trapped again."

"How do you know they're not friendly?"

"I don't, but we're not going to stick around and ask! We'll have to come back to search the tomb later. Let's mount up."

They rode out while keeping the rocks between them and the approaching men to keep their smaller dust cloud from being spotted. After riding for two bells, G'Taklar could see that the riders were not in pursuit; there was no sign of a dust cloud on their back trail.

"Let's stop here. I want to go back under the cover of darkness and see who that was," G'Taklar decided.

"What about me? Shouldn't I go with you?"

"No; this is going to be a scouting mission and one person is less likely to be spotted than two. I'll come back before morning, unless I've been captured. If that happens, then you can follow them the next night and try to set me free."

"What if they kill you?" she asked fearfully.

"Then I'll be dead. However, I promise that I will try to not let that happen. If I'm discovered, I'll run instead of fight; all right?"

"Promise?"

"You have my word," he replied solemnly.

When dark came, G'Taklar waited a bell before setting out. He followed his own tracks back across the desert and, before long, he could see the flickering glow of a campfire against the tall rocks.

He tied his horse to a rock and approached the last portion on foot. Eventually, he began crawling, stopping every so often to listen and look for any posted guards.

He was just getting set to crawl forward again when a lighter piece of darkness just ahead of him moved. The movement drew his eye and he spotted the outline of a man sitting on a rock silhouetted against the night's plethora of stars. The sentry was only fifteen feet in front of G'Taklar's position. The young man waited. He was scared, but he knew he had to wait for the sentry's head to turn. Otherwise, man's eyes might be attracted to G'Taklar's movements.

His heart was beating so hard he was sure the sentry would hear it pounding. The more he tried to keep his breathing quiet, the louder it seemed to get. Somehow, the sentry did not see or hear him. Eventually, the man stood up, got down off the rock, and paced off to G'Taklar's left. When he was some distance away, G'Taklar crept forward to get inside the sentry's perimeter.

The young man moved forward into the shadow of a three-foot high boulder near the edge of the campfire's glow of light. He poked his head around the edge slowly, trying to keep as much of his face in the shadow of the rock as possible.

He could see a seated group of about ten soldiers and he recognized the uniforms, they were of the Tchulian infantry. He was just wondering if these were the same soldiers who had previously followed them to the rocks when a round looking form stepped into the campfire glow. G'Taklar recognized him immediately, Sergeant Herms, his least favorite man on the planet. Then G'Taklar nearly gave himself away when he gasped audibly; he had spotted the ancient dagger tucked through the wide leather belt of the hated sergeant.

He pulled his head back in slowly while silently cursing his foul luck. Why me, did I step on a Jursian sacred burial ground some time ago? Did I forget to give an offering to G'lan last time I was at church? One thing is for sure, I must have pissed off some deity, because no normal human has this much bad luck!

One of the soldiers spoke to the sergeant and G'Taklar strained to hear. "What's the plan for tomorrow, Sarge?"

"The same as today, Stupid; we're going to try and pick up the trail of that escaped recruit! From the tracks we spotted late this afternoon, it looks like he doubled back and went past this cursed tomb again."

As quietly as possible, G'Taklar crept back out of the camp and out to his horse. It was a very dejected man who lay down on his saddle blanket that night.

His mood changed for the better when the soft form of Rachael rolled over onto his blanket and snuggled into the crook of his arm. He explained their dilemma to her as they lay under the star filled sky.

"Don't worry, G'Taklar; I have faith in you; whenever we're in trouble you always come up with a good plan!"

He did not respond to her words of encouragement because he did not want to tell her that most of the ideas had come from Jatar. This time, he would not have his cousin's help; he had lost the cathexis ring with the dagger.

After only a few bells rest, they got up in the dark and took off across the Erclesian desert. Not that they knew it, but they were headed in the direction of a city called Roper. It was not far ahead, just a few bells ride over Zinterdalin's border into Operhelm. G'Taklar was hoping the dirt road they had come across and were now following lead to a city where the Tchulian soldiers weren't welcome. That way, Herms might split up his force and only follow G'Taklar with a few men when he entered the city.

They crossed into Operhelm about mid-day and finally reached Roper a couple of bells later. On the way in, G'Taklar spotted a smithy. He stopped and purchased two daggers as well as the only sword the blacksmith had, since plow blades and horseshoes were more typical of the craftsman's normal products.

G'Taklar gave Rachael one of the daggers and told her to hide it under her clothing for emergencies.

During the morning ride, they had managed to stay ahead of the pursuing soldiers, but were only a couple of bells ahead of the Tchulians at this point.

G'Taklar had watched from a high hill just outside of Roper where he had spotted their pursuers coming along their back trail.

They rented a room in one of the taverns. G'Taklar gave Rachael some silver coins so she could go shopping for anything she needed while he was busy preparing for the Tchulian's arrival. He asked at the desk where he could find some bodyguards to hire, and was directed toward the rough side of town.

In his dusty old travel-worn clothing, he did not cause much stir walking through the narrow streets of Roper. Even so, he kept his eyes open for trouble. He soon spotted an armed man entering a dingy looking tavern. The faded picture of a ten-pointed leaping swhuft was painted on the wooden sign that swung gently on rusty hinges above the door leading into the common room.

G'Taklar took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, put on his best tough face, and walked into the seedy tavern.

The smoke-filled room was dim, lit only by the four low burning torches in holders mounted on the walls. They were inadequate to light the windowless common room. G'Taklar thought he could make out fifteen to twenty people, though more might be hidden in the high-backed booths which lined two sides of the room. He stood near the door for a moment to try and let his eyes adjust to the dim light.

In the space of a few heartbeats, everyone in the room checked him out. The only exception was a passed out drunk. Each of the patrons knew he was a stranger, young, and probably a good mark. He did not have the look of the hardened bandits or mercenaries who frequented this establishment.

G'Taklar started to step forward when a voice spoke out of the gloom from his right. "Afternoon, stranger, have a seat and ahh - rest yer legs."

The young man squinted his eyes as he tried to see who had spoken. All he could see was a darkly dressed man seated at a booth. The man's hand was held out before him, gesturing toward the hardwood seat across the rectangular table of his booth. G'Taklar hesitated; something in the man's voice was wrong, like he wasn't used to speaking courteous words and was forcing himself to do so for G'Taklar's benefit. _Yet,_ G'Taklar thought, _I'm not looking for an honest man._ After this moment of hesitation, he turned and walked over to the seated man.

As he approached, he could see that the man before him had a pointy face with nearly no chin. The man's forehead sloped backward toward his receded hairline, his face was narrow, and his nose finished the picture by extending out long and narrowly. It had a crooked bend from a past break, marring its downward slope. A scraggly mustache hung under the pointing nostrils like a mounted ornament. Together his features gave him the look of a starving rat.

"Hello, my name is... well, it doesn't matter what my name is," G'Taklar said when he reached the edge of the table.

"Glad te meet you, Mr. Nameless," the man answered with a grin which he thought was a welcoming smile, but it showed his widely spaced and somewhat rotted teeth.

_Does this guy have a rat in his ancestry?_ G'Taklar thought, seeing the small pointy brown teeth.

The rat-faced man gestured to the seat across from him, again as he said, "My name's... Bernie," he finished, after a pause.

"Do you live around here?" the inexperienced G'Taklar asked lamely.

"All my life. I know this city like the end o' my nose," he answered. "What are you look'in fer? I bet I can help you find it."

G'Taklar lowered his voice to answer, "Well, I'm not looking for a thing; what I need is to hire some fighters."

Bernie, though that wasn't his real name, leaned forward onto his elbows and spoke quietly to the young mark.

G'Taklar leaned back to avoid the cloud of bad breath.

"Fighters!" Bernie exclaimed, then added, "They don't come cheap. Do you have enough round te interest them?" His eyes seemed to almost glow in the gloom as he waited for the young man's response.

The barkeep chose that moment to step up to the table and say, "Need anyth'in te drink, Spike?"

"Ahaa Hmmmm," 'Bernie' said, trying to cut off the name the Barkeep had spoken by clearing his throat into his closed hand. "No, thanks, Greb."

"How about you, stranger?" he asked turning to G'Taklar.

"A glass of wine?"

"We ain't got wine, just ale," the barkeep responded with a scowl.

"Ale then, yes. Ale would be fine," G'Taklar said, stumbling over his words.

The barkeep left and G'Taklar looked back at 'Bernie'. "What was that he called you?"

"Ahhh, that was my last name, Sqeek. Bernie Sqeek," he answered.

"I thought he said, 'Spike'?"

"Don't worry about him; his brain is a little addled. He's had too much o' that bad ale he serves."

The barkeep returned and set the mug full of oily drink before G'Taklar and then held out his palm.

"How much is it?" G'Taklar asked.

"Two-bit," the fat bellied man answered.

"Here," G'Taklar said, taking out a full copper, "keep the change."

When he looked down into the stained pottery mug, he could see the thick black looking liquid within; his nose wrinkled in distaste.

Seeing the boy's expression, Spike tried reassuring him, "Don't worry none; it'd take mor'n one mug te addle your brain,"

G'Taklar carefully pushed the offending mug away with a shudder.

"Now, as I was say'in, do you have enough round te interest some good fighters?" Spike asked, again.

"I don't have it on me, but I do have access to some round," G'Taklar answered, rightfully distrusting his new acquaintance. "Do you know anyone who'd be interested in a little street fight, for pay? They would have to be ready for it by this evening."

"I think I have access te the kind 'o person yer talk'in about. How much are ye will'in te pay?" Then Spike thought, _I'll bet the young fool has his round right on his body, regardless 'o what he says!_

"Would a silver piece per man be enough?" G'Taklar asked.

_A silver coin per man! He's rich!_ Spike thought excitedly, but answered, "I don't know; the good one's might want a little more," he replied and expertly hid his excitement. "How many men do ye think you'll need?"

"Twenty will probably do the job. I need good, tough men, who know how to use weapons and take on armed soldiers. How about if I pay them two silvers a man?" G'Taklar decided, knowing they would have to take on Tchulian mercs.

_Two silvers per man... and twenty men! That's FOUR GOLD!_ Spike thought with excitement; he could not believe his luck. "I can get them fer that amount. How much are ye will'in te pay fer my find'in them fer ye?"

"One gold?" G'Taklar asked.

"Emmmmmmm," Spike said, actually speechless.

G'Taklar mistook his moment of stunned silence as an indication that his offer wasn't quite enough.

"All right, two gold, but that's my top offer," G'Taklar stated, trying to sound tough.

Spike nearly fell off his bench and his rat face split into a big rotten-toothed grin as he stated, "Then we have a deal. What's the job and where do you need them te meet?"

At his toothy grin, G'Taklar thought, _There are definitely rats in his parentage and recently; perhaps his father?_ Though he answered, "Have the men you hire meet me in a half-bell at the stable near the east side of town, where the main road enters the city." G'Taklar explained.

"A half-bell! That's not much time," Spike noted in surprise.

"Should I look for someone else to help me?" G'Taklar inquired.

Spike calmed down and answered, "I can manage it, but that's a tight schedule fer gett'in that many men and sett'in up an ambush!"

"It's all the time I have; they will be arriving from out of town soon," G'Taklar replied. Then, so he didn't lose the man, he added, "Here are three silvers to close the deal. The rest will be paid at the job; half before and half after it's done. The Tchulian soldiers have something of mine which I want and it's on the fat sergeant who'll be leading the mercs. When I have the item I desire, the men you hired can take off with the other half of their wages."

"What happens te the wages if some 'o the men are killed?"

"The others can split their pay," G'Taklar promised.

"Do they have te kill the soldiers?"

"No, I just need what the sergeant took from me."

"What happens if some 'o the soldiers are killed?"

"That's no concern of mine," G'Taklar told Spike.

"Good, then we have an understand'in," Spike said and got up to leave from the back entrance.

With his mind deep in thought, G'Taklar started to pick up the mug of ale for a drink. He had just realized that he had paid the rat faced 'Bernie' three silvers with no guarantees that he would show with the hired men. He shouldn't have worried; Spike wasn't letting such an easy mark loose.

Just before the mug reached G'Taklar's lips, his nose caught the foul aroma from the oily drink. Hastily he put the mug back down and then left the run-down tavern.

A half-bell later, G'Taklar was just starting to pace, worried that 'Bernie' wouldn't show, or sergeant Herms would arrive early, or that something else terrible would happen, when a voice hissed.

"Pissst!"

He turned and saw Spike standing between two buildings. It was obvious he was attempting to stay out of sight from anyone on the main street. G'Taklar walked over and asked, "Where are the men?"

"You didn't think I was gonna prance out on Main Street with a band of twenty cutthroats, did ya? This is illegal, you know! The city guards don't take kindly te assault'in and loot'in citizens in the street... in daylight, no less!"

"Oh, right, I should have thought of that. You did get the men, though, right?"

"O' course. Did ye bring the round?"

G'Taklar stayed out where he could still be seen by others in the main street as he answered, "Yes, I have the payment."

Spike snapped his fingers twice and an armed group of ruffians slipped around the corner from behind the building and into the alley with Spike.

"They look like they'll do," G'Taklar admitted. In fact, he was impressed; to G'Taklar's eye, these men looked vicious enough to be bandits, which was actually correct. The young man spoke to Spike, "Here's the plan, you keep the men hidden and I'll lead the quarry off the street and into your ambush. When Herms, he's the fat one, goes down, I'll get what I came for and we'll all take off back up this alley. At that point, I'll lead you and the men to where I've left the other half of their pay. Agreed?" G'Taklar asked.

"Sounds workable te me. Where's the first half o' the pay?"

"Right here," G'Taklar replied, taking out a small leather bag he had prepared. Then he explained, "There are twenty-seven silver in the bag, one each for the men and seven more for you to go with the three I already paid."

Spike checked the contents of the bag and grinned. "Nice do'in business with ye."

Spike went to the bandits and handed out their pay; they didn't know anything about the other half, which Spike planned to keep.

It was only a quarter-bell later when G'Taklar spotted Herms riding into town. The fat sergeant had brought all ten men with him. However, they had removed their uniform shirts and now wore green and brown tunics.

G'Taklar stepped out into the street while watching the Tchulians from the corner of his eye. They were riding their horses slowly down the street, searching the crowd with their eyes. G'Taklar saw Herms suddenly point in his direction.

Immediately, G'Taklar turned, though he moved slowly, not like he'd been spotted. He looked into a store window for a moment and then acted like he had forgotten something, patting his pockets and searching around his clothing. Then he hurried off toward the gap between two of the street front buildings. Behind him, he heard the creak of saddles and thump of feet landing on the hard-packed dirt as the soldiers dismounted; they had taken the bait.

G'Taklar's back prickled from the thought of imagined dagger points, but he made it between the buildings, unscathed. He broke into a run at this point but slowed back down to a walk before the pursuing soldiers came into the alley. Behind him, he heard the sound of stealthily running feet. He went around the next corner causally. It took an extreme effort of will to not check on the positions of his hired men. As soon as he was out of sight, he turned and drew his sword. That's when he saw fourteen of the bandits plastered against the sides of the building he had just rounded. Six more were across the street, behind the other building. They were in position to cut off the Tchulian's retreat.

Herms and his ten soldiers came running around the corner, right into the ambush.

The bandits leaped in with cudgels swinging and knives flashing.

The well trained Tchulian soldiers instantly realized that they were in trouble. They were surrounded, surprised, and facing two against one. However, these were trained mercenaries with superior weapons. It turned out to be a much closer fight than G'Taklar had anticipated. Three Tchulians went down before they recovered from the surprise and got their swords out. Now it was closer to three to one. Yet nine bandits were killed or incapacitated while the mercs only lost another three men.

There was also a severe misunderstanding of G'Taklar's orders. The bandits let Herms go through, unmolested, thinking G'Taklar wanted to take on the fat leader.

With a bellow of released rage, the large sergeant charged the waiting G'Taklar with his sword held high. G'Taklar had no choice other than to meet Herms in battle.

_Jatar, where are you now when I need you!_ he thought. G'Taklar could see the ancient dagger still tucked through the Tchulian's belt.

Trying to remember all the things Jatar had taught him, G'Taklar prepared for battle. He tried to stay calm and think clearly as Jatar would have counseled and his cousin's words flowed through his memory, _"Let your opponent make the mistakes_."

G'Taklar parried the first three slashing attacks by Herms and took one step back with each block. He knew he could hold the better swordsman off as long as he was able to retreat. While he fought, he slowly backed down the side street. G'Taklar tried to remember the things Jatar had taught him about fencing. He could still remember Jatar's exact words from one particular episode during a practice session against this very sergeant, Jatar had said, ' _This guy's getting you with the same trick every time; repetition is a weakness in fencing and you can use it against your opponent.'_

Jatar had gone on to explain how to counter Herm's favorite move.

G'Taklar pictured the move in his mind again while hoping he could count on Herms to repeat his favorite attack in this real battle. G'Taklar kept retreating and hoping that Herms would initiate the attack before G'Taklar tripped over something and fell.

On his fourth step backward, G'Taklar felt something behind his heel. Herms smiled; he could see that he finally had the young man pinned. From the on-guard position, the sergeant swung the tip of his sword slightly out of line, wide left.

Immediately, G'Taklar started the move Jatar had taught him, back when he'd been practicing against Sergeant Herms. Just as it had during the practice session, Jatar's counter sequence worked perfectly. In the practice session, G'Taklar had held back on the speed and strength of the final thrust, but now he extended into his lunge, using all the strength he had in his young shoulders and arms.

His point pierced the unlucky Herms in the groin, passing painfully into his body.

G'Taklar leaping back, ready for a riposte, but Herms dropped his sword as he clutched his crotch and crumpled to the dirt. The sergeant's incredulous eyes looked up from the ground at his vanquisher, the young man he had so contemptuously written off as nothing.

At this point, Spike ran up from the side and stated, "We must be away! The guards have been alerted and will soon arrive!"

G'Taklar stood staring down at the beast he had slain. Herms had definitely deserved what he got, but G'Taklar still felt poorly. Then he remembered that this man had ordered the attack which killed the three brave knights in the tomb and G'Taklar had seen Herms beat one of the conscripted men to death for not being physically able to do as commanded. It helped, though G'Taklar still found that killing a man took a heavy toll. He knew he would live with this act for the rest of his days. What was necessary wasn't always palatable to the conscience.

"Come on!" Spike hissed, looking fearfully around for the approaching guards. He was afraid, but his greed kept him there, trying to get G'Taklar moving.

G'Taklar shook himself from his frozen state. Then he knelt and grabbed the ancient dagger by the hilt. From around the corner, the approach of booted feet could be heard echoing between the buildings.

Spike grabbed G'Taklar's arm and hustled him off in the opposite direction. The young man was surprised to see that only three bandits had survived the encounter, leaving seventeen dead or wounded back with the eleven fallen mercs.

Not wanting to let the thieves see him take the ring out of the dagger's hilt, G'Taklar tucked the precious dagger into his belt. This time, he kept a protective grip on the hilt with one hand.

Spike led him through the streets quickly, putting distance between them and the scene of the ambush. At some point, the other three men split off and went their own way.

Spike finally stopped in a dim alley.

G'Taklar then asked, "Are we safe?"

"Safe enough," Spike answered with a grin. Then he demanded, "All right, we did our part so where's the rest o' the round?"

"Right here," G'Taklar replied, reaching into this leather tunic and pulling out another small purse which he tossed it to the thief.

"Fine. And now that our deal is complete, let's have the rest o' yer round!"

"What do you mean? That's what we agreed on and it's all there, check."

"Oh, I believe ye didn't cheat us, but I think the job was tougher than ye explained! We lost seventeen men to those mercs! I want the rest o' yer round as compensation, now!"

"Do you think I'd be stupid enough to carry any other round on me?" G'Taklar answered boldly, backing away from the thief while placing a hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Just hand it over, then ye can walk out 'o here alive."

G'Taklar yanked out his sword as he backed away from the Spike. "You're a thief!" the inexperience young man belted out.

"Grow up," Spike growled, "Now, hand over yer other purse before I get angry."

"I told you; I don't have any more round on me. I'll do you harm if you come any closer," G'Taklar promised the slowly approaching thief. Then he added, "I'm going to leave now, so just stay back; I don't want to have to hurt you."

Spike kept coming forward slowly which made the unsuspecting G'Taklar retreat toward one of the surviving cutthroats who was waiting behind a stack of crates. When the young man got into range he stepped out and smacked him on the back of his head with a cudgel. G'Taklar dropped like a felled ox.

Spike leaped forward and ransacked G'Taklar's clothes; he was surprised to find that the inexperienced young man had been telling the truth, he did not have any other round. G'Taklar had wisely left it with Rachel, back at the hotel.

Frustrated at this, Spike saw the ancient dagger tucked in G'Taklar's belt. He pulled it out curiously, noting that it was old and extremely ornate. Closer inspection told the thief that it was worth a considerable amount to a collector. He slipped it into his own belt and headed out of the alley with the other bandit close on his heels.

It was sometime later that G'Taklar woke up in the gutter. He reached back to where he felt a dull ache in his head; his hand came away with blood. He sat up and the world went out of focus momentarily before returning to normal. For a moment, he did not know where he was and then it all came back. His hand streaked to his belt, but the dagger was gone.

Hoping for a miracle, he searched around him in the mucky ally, but the dagger had been taken.

Angry, filthy, tired, and bloody, he made his way back to the hotel.

He staggered into the room and then collapsed onto the bed where he stared up at the ceiling as he thought, _I definitely violated a Jursian sacred burial ground sometime in the recent past_.

Sensing movement in the room, he looked up and saw a beautiful woman approaching. The young man jolted up into a sitting position and his somewhat abused mind thought, _I'm in the wrong room!"_ Then his addled thoughts caught up and he recognized Rachael's features from beneath the curled bangs hanging on her forehead. Her hair was done up and she wore a simple, yet beautiful dress trimmed in blue ribbon. She was gorgeous.

"Rachael, you're, you're, beautiful! he exclaimed. Then the memory of the lost dagger came back and he collapsed backward onto the bed again with a moan.

Pleased at his stunned expression and candid compliment, the young girl moved over and sat daintily on the edge of the bed. "What's the matter, 'Tak?"

"I had it; I had the dagger in my hand! Then that wicked thief, Bernie, double crossed me and had one of his bandit friends hit me over the back of the head. They knocked me out and robbed me! They took the dagger before I could remove... bring it back here," he said, changing his sentence mid-speech.

"Ooh, let me see," Rachael said, turning his dirty head to the side to look at the dried blood. She touched the hair gently and moved it to get a better look at the wound. "We'll have to take care of that cut. Come on, let's get you cleaned up. I drew you a bath so the water should still be warm." She helped him sit up and had him lift his arms over his head so she could pull his leather tunic off. She was careful not to touch his sore head.

"What am I going to do about the dagger?" he asked woefully.

"We'll just have to track down the thief and get it back. He'll probably fence it in a few days anyway. Perhaps we can just buy it back."

"Yes, of course! That's what we'll do!"

"Don't move; I don't want to soil my new dress, so just wait a moment."

G'Taklar waited where he sat on the bed. He looked up when he heard the rustle of clothing as Rachael removed her new dress.

When she stepped back in front of him, she was only wearing her chemise. She began unbuckling his trousers.

"I'll do that," he said in embarrassment.

"Don't be silly, you're hurt. Now just relax and I'll get you cleaned up!"

She dropped his pants and then had him step out so now he only wore his underwear.

The scantily clad Rachael left those in place and took him by the hand and led him into the bathroom. There was a tin tub in there, full of water. "Take off the rest of your clothes and get in; I'm going to fetch the pitcher of hot water," she explained and left the room to go to the fireplace.

He waited until the girl was gone before taking off his underwear and hopping into the lukewarm water.

Presently, Rachael returned with a large pitcher of water from the fire pot. She poured it in and the hot water heated up the bath slightly.

She took a rough bar of soap and started scrubbing G'Taklar's shoulders. After a moment of discomfort at having a girl in the room while he was naked in the bath, G'Taklar found that the kneading fingers of Rachael's hands were quite pleasurable. He settled his head back on the lip of the tub and gave himself over to her ministrations.

After his shoulders, she moved onto his hair. Taking cups full of water, she gently cleansed the blood from the scalp. Under the dried blood, she found that the wound wasn't as severe as she had first thought; it had just bled a lot.

After he was clean, she held a towel spread before her and waited for him to stand.

He considered asking her to leave, but finally stood up and allowed her to wrap the towel around his body. She scrubbed vigorously on his tired muscles, drying him well and warming him up. She did it quickly and ministerially instead of enticingly, which, with his youthful dignity, he found easier to handle.

With the towel wrapped around his waist, she led him to the bed and pulled the cover aside, only then removing the wrap.

Snuffing out the candles, so only the fireplace lit the room, Rachael climbed into the bed with him and spoke in a soft and serious voice, "I love you, G'Taklar." Then she snuggled up to the crook of his arm, which was her new favorite place to sleep.

Finally, it was clear to him how he felt. He had held back from this girl because she was a commoner. Though that made no difference to his feelings, he had been trained from birth to the fact that he must marry in the nobility. Now, at last, he knew that he must discard the traditions and make way for love. He could finally tell her how he felt. Her caring treatment of him in the tub had said more than any words she had ever spoken and meant more to him than any tradition. "I love you too, Rachael."

"Don't ever leave me, 'Tak," she whispered warmly in his ear.

"I won't," he promised and that night they sealed their love for the first time.

The next day, G'Taklar started gathering information on the local fences by talking to some of the city guards. They told him where the ones they watched were located.

After checking to see if they already had the dagger, he explained that he would pay a fair amount for any antique dagger. They all denied any connection with the local thieves, but agreed to take his name in case such a weapon came their way.

After leaving the last fence, G'Taklar decided it was time to try and hunt for 'Bernie'.

He went into the Leaping Swhuft early that morning, when the regular press of customers would not have yet be there. In fact, the few patrons were left over drunks from the night before. A new barkeep had just arrived and was cleaning up from the previous night's business.

G'Taklar stepped up the bar and asked, "Excuse me, barkeep; could you answer a question for me?"

"Can you buy a drink?" he asked in return.

G'Taklar placed a copper on the rough top of the bar.

Greb, the barkeep, scooped up the coin with a practiced snatch and then plunked a mug of his homemade ale in front of G'Taklar.

"Ask away," Greb told the young man.

"I don't know if you remember me, but I was here yesterday. I was sitting over there with a man named, Bernie. Do you know him?"

"I wasn't work'in yesterday and I've never heard the name before."

"The barkeep called him something else, 'Speek' or something."

"Spike?"

"Yes, that's it," G'Taklar answered with excitement.

"Never heard o' him," the barkeep stated and then started to clean the filthy bar top with an oily rag; a futile and hopeless task.

"But you called him by name."

"I don't recall it."

Then it came to G'Taklar. _He wants a bribe!_ He fished a silver piece out of his pocket and pushed it across the counter. "You sure you don't remember him?"

Greb glowered with his bushy eyebrows pulling down and growled, "I don't take bribes te rat on customers!" Then he pushed the coin back at G'Taklar.

G'Taklar was confused.

Then the barkeep muttered under his breath. "Drop it in yer mug, secretly."

G'Taklar's mind took a moment to realize what he wanted and then the young man palmed the coin and dropped it into his glass.

"Aren't you gonna drink up?" Greb asked while nodding his head to encourage the boy he was sure was dim-witted.

G'Taklar sighed heavily, took a deep breath and brought the noxious liquid to his lips. Taking large gulps to get it passed his taste buds, he downed as much of the thick black liquid as he could. His throat constricted and he nearly choked, but managed to maintain his stomach by an act of will. He had only drunk one-third of the ale.

"Have another?" Greb asked, already reaching for the mug.

"...!" G'Taklar said, not able to get his throat working enough to articulate negatively.

"Sure, you do! Look, you didn't finish it all!" and so saying, the barkeep upended the mug, gulping down the rest of the ale. He smiled at G'Taklar and the silver piece shown briefly between his teeth, so only G'Taklar could see.

The barkeep leaned down below the level of the bar to fetch another mug. He filled it with more ale and pushed the nasty drink in front of G'Taklar.

"Quarter copper," he demanded with a grin.

G'Taklar paid, resignedly.

Speaking in a low voice, Greb told G'Taklar about Spike. "He's a local thief, strictly small time. Rolls strangers, picks pockets, hits on drunks, you know, a mugger."

"Where can I find him?" G'Taklar asked, matching the low voice.

"Here and there; sometimes he hangs out at my bar."

"I need something he stole from me and I'm willing to pay him handsomely for it. Tell him that the next time he visits and I'll pay you another silver if he contacts me. He can leave a message at the butcher on Chimmer Street." The butcher was only two streets from G'Taklar's hotel; he did not think it was a good idea to tell the thief where he was staying.

"No problem."

"Well, thanks. I hope to hear from him tonight."

Even before night fell, G'Taklar was headed for his room when he saw the shadowed shape of Spike standing at the end of the hallway. Quickly, the young man headed toward the thief.

"All right, Spike, or whatever your name is, I want my dagger."

"Well, ye ain't got it do ye? And ye can stop right there or I'll be leav'in and ye won't find me again."

G'Taklar stopped his advance and demanded, "Where is it? I'll pay you for it, even though it rightfully belongs to me."

"How much?" the thief asked.

"Two gold."

"Yulkcrap, I already sold it!" Spike exclaimed in anger for his stupidity.

"You fool! Who did you sell my dagger to?"

"I'll tell ye for a gold round."

"You'll tell me for nothing, you lousy thief, or I'll hunt you down and feed your liver to the frooth packs!" G'Taklar thundered, his anger at the thief making him bold.

"A gold."

"Vorg take you!" G'Taklar exclaimed, but dropped a gold piece into his palm. After a moment of thought, he tossed it between them on the ground. "Tell me, before you pick it up."

"Yer lern'in. I sold it te a merchant headed for Tinnerflat this morn'in."

"Has he left yet?"

"O' course, otherwise I would've got it back and sold it te ye!"

"Anything else?"

"That's it."

"Then get out of here!"

The thief started to edge toward the gold piece but G'Taklar drew his sword and stated, "Without my round! Let's see how you like being cheated! Now get out of my sight before I carve you into beef strips!" G'Taklar snarled.

The thief hesitated, but he scurried away when G'Taklar took a step forward and raised his sword in a threatening manner.

Dejected, G'Taklar returned to his room, where Rachael was waiting.

#### CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: SCorcH

In Myrnvale, the same day, Hetark and Poison were just finishing their breakfast at a restaurant. Hetark stood to go and spoke to Poison, "Thank you for the breakfast company. I need to swing by a blacksmith before checking to see if any of the other knights have come into town."

"Would you like some company during your walk?" Poison asked.

"Yes, that would be nice," he replied, thinking that Poison's company no longer seemed as bad as a poke in the eye. They had gotten along quite well in the last two days.

"Good, I'll meet you at the Carriage Hotel in a quarter bell, 'til then," she finished nodding politely. _There,_ she thought, _that was perfect and I didn't make an ass out of myself once during breakfast. I must be getting this lady stuff down._ She gained more confidence with Hetark each hour they spent together. She had also found that he wasn't as stuffy as she had first thought when she met him in Roper; overall, he wasn't such a bad sort.

She sipped her tea and watched out of the corner of her eye to see if anyone was watching, she wasn't sure she was using the proper etiquette.

A few moments after Hetark had left, the waiter came to her table and spoke, "Excuse me miss, but does your name happen to be Marinda?"

"Yes, it is." She started to add, 'What of it?' But she resisted her natural instincts and, instead, asked, "How may I help you?"

"I have a message from a lady. She didn't want to disturb you until your breakfast was over, so she left this message with directions to deliver it after you were finished eating," the waiter explained, extending the message in his hand.

Poison took the folded piece of paper and wondered who knew her real name. Apprehensively, she opened and read the message. It confused her even further when she read:

Dear Elizabeth,

You don't know me personally, but that doesn't matter, I will

soon introduce myself in person. I have come upon some

information that is vitally important to you. A creature, named

SCorcH, is headed your way this very moment. He is a necromancer

bent on destroying you. I know you are a powerful sorceress and

_with_ prior warning, _you can defeat the attack of this enemy. He_

will be waiting in ambush, so beware. Until I see you in person,

take care,

A friend.

Poison read the message a second time. How had this woman known that her real name was Marinda? It was a fact known to very few, yet even more puzzling, once knowing her real name why would she mistake her for Elizabeth? It made no sense. She decided to worry about that later, for now, her main concern was the necromancer on his way to kill her, assuming he also mistook her for Elizabeth. She knew she had to get to Hetark; they needed to warn Elizabeth of this threat.

She got up quickly and left the restaurant. As she stepped into the street, she scanned the area with her sharp eyes looking for a trap. She saw a little street urchin headed purposely in her direction and knew that this could be the beginning of a setup, so she looked around carefully for the other players, yet spotted nothing amiss.

Poison stepped back onto the landing of the restaurant ready to flee into the crowded room. Then she waited for things to unfold.

The small girl looked fearfully around as she crossed the open street and Poison realized that something had this little girl terrified. On getting close, the little waif asked, "Is yer name Elizabeth?"

Poison was not sure what to answer, she needed information and something told her that this little street urchin was not her enemy. "Yes, how can I help you today?"

"An evil woman is here te kill ya!" Then she almost sobbed as she stated, "She killed them all, the whole street league. She'll kill me if she sees me warning you. She has evil powers... purple light," the little urchin blurted out in one breath.

"Slow down, what's this about killing a street league?" Poison asked. She knew of the urchin gangs; she had grown up in a 'league' when she was still a small child.

Taking a deep breath, the girl told her story.

When she finished, Poison asked, "So, you came to warn me; that was very brave. Come on, we need to find my friend, he's a knight and maybe he can make sense of this." Poison then took one of the little girl's tiny hands in her left hand. She found that it was shaking, so she kneeled down before the tiny girl and said, "Don't worry; I will take care of you."

"Promise?" the little urchin asked.

"I promise and I take my promises very seriously. Come on, let's get out of here," she said and they went to meet Hetark.

SCorcH watched from down the street as Poison met the little girl on the steps of the restaurant. Since Poison matched the description that RIveK had given him, he assumed she was his quarry. He waited in the shadows, watching the direction in which they headed and then quickly left on a course to intercept.

A few streets away, the burnt faced necromancer lay in wait standing in the shadows of an alley which led into a square courtyard. The street that Poison had chosen to follow passed through from SCorcH's left to right.

A moment after he had taken his position, Poison hurried through, still holding onto the little girl's hand. She felt fairly safe now; Hetark was meeting her around the next corner in a hotel lobby.

As she passed about ten feet away from an open alley, she noticed movement. Fearing the worst, she pulled the urchin girl in close on her left, shielding the girl with her body from any attack.

When she turned to look, she saw a darkly cloaked man with a black leather domino over his lower face. He had his right hand pointed palm outward toward her, like a warding.

Just as the image registered, a spreading purple light emerged from his facing palm and arced across to her body at the speed of lightning. Poison was fast, but the speed of the purple energy was beyond human reflexes. The strike of the necromancer's attack burned through her clothes in a foot-wide circle, sizzling into her unprotected skin.

The power of the impact drove her a full body length's distance to the side, where she landed in a heap with the little girl.

The urchin jumped to her feet and, seeing the evilly masked apparition swiftly approaching, she ran out of the courtyard.

SCorcH let her go. He considered the young girl nothing of importance. He kept his protective shield up expecting a possible counter attack from the Kirnath sorceress. However, he was not too worried. The sorceress would have a hard time concentrating after taking the full power of his energy blast. He had seen her spot him in the alley, yet surprisingly, she had not gotten her protections up in time to stop his first attack. It had been simple.

Poison lay in near shock. She could hear the footsteps of her attacker approaching. Through her pain and shock, she managed to pull out the dagger she had hidden under her dress. When the footsteps were close, she rolled over and, though the pain nearly caused her to black out, she managed to throw her knife.

The last thing SCorcH had expected the Kirnath Adept to attempt was a mundane attack with a dagger. His energy protections were up, but he had not bothered to waste power on shielding against any physical attacks.

The dagger struck him in the chest, sinking in deeply.

He felt the pain, but did not bother to do anything about it; he would handle the wound later. Death by mundane weapons would take far more than a simple dagger in his lung; a necromancer was well conversant with death and pain.

"You can't stop the inevitable with a mere dagger, Kirnath," he said, raising his palm to finish the already mortally wounded Poison, still thinking her to be Elizabeth.

Poison suddenly knew in a way beyond words, beyond mere conviction, why Elizabeth fought these evil creatures. They were the darkness, the evil, all that was wrong in life pulled together into one place. They had to be stopped, yet she knew she was finished.

She could tell him she was not Elizabeth and he might not kill her, but then she would be forced to tell him where to find the real Elizabeth. She could not do it. The cynical side of her laughed, telling her she was just like the other altruistic fools. Then she thought of the little urchin girl, she reminded Poison of herself as a child. These animals had murdered children and they had to be stopped. In that moment of choice between life and death she decided to buy Elizabeth some time with her silence. She decided that her last act would be to join Elizabeth's fight against these creatures.

RIveK was watched from an alley. She was there to make sure everything went according to her plan, but it was all going wrong. SCorcH should have been dead by now, killed by the forewarned Elizabeth.

The scene was not to her liking. SCorcH had Elizabeth down and was about to finish the sorceress. RIveK made a quick decision; she could not let her carefully constructed plans go down so easily. Gathering her power, she waited for the right moment.

SCorcH concentrated his powers while watching the Kirnath for any signs of resistance, but with the throw of her dagger, she seemed to have used her last strength. He realized that she would now die without any further assistance. Being thorough, he decided to incinerate her completely. He gathered every bit of power available to him to blast her to ashes.

RIveK had been waiting for that moment, she saw him draw power from his shields to destroy the motionless sorceress at his feet. In that unprotected instant, RIveK struck him with her prepared blast straight into his back. Her bolt drove a hole through his body, removing half his abdomen and most of his chest. The legs and upper torso of SCorcH dropped to the ground in two pieces.

But SCorcH wasn't dead. The necromancer's head turned to look at his attacker. Even with only the upper half of his body, his right arm came around to attempt a defense.

RIveK stepped forward and struck again, enveloping him in a painful binding to keep him from counterattacking.

Any normal human would have been long dead, he did not even have any organs left since all, including his heart, had been cremated.

Still he glared hate from his dark eyes.

RIveK stepped up and pulled a knife from her clothes; she leaned down and sawed his head loose from his remaining upper body. Holding it by the ear, she concentrated on what was left of his ruined body, burning it to complete ashes with a gesture of her right hand. When she made a sweeping motion, causing wind to blow away his ashes so that there was no sign of his corpse, except the burn marks deep into the cobblestone street.

The glaring head she held began to cuss at her silently, the teeth clicking and grinding together were the only sounds; there were no lungs to power the voice.

RIveK stepped up to Poison's burned body and noted that the woman was still clinging to life, though she was past the point where she could resist anything.

"So, my dear, we meet at last... as I promised. Too bad you weren't as good as we thought, or you might have spent your last day more constructively. You were supposed to take care of this moron for me," she explained, holding the slavering head of SCorcH in front of Poison's eyes.

"Now I had to take a personal hand, which complicates things. You aren't supposed to die until I kill you, avenging my colleague here," she continued, shaking SCorcH's head viciously. "I'd kill you now, but I'm not supposed to be here yet!"

She gave Poison a kick in her wounded side.

"Now I'll have to make sure you survive for a short time," she continued, calmer now that she had a plan. She set SCorcH's decapitated head on the ground, gathered her taxed powers and formed a blanketing cocoon of dark power around Poison's wounded body. It was a minor holding that would slow down Poison's body processes and keep her from dying immediately.

"There, since you can't help yourself, that should keep you around until I can officially arrive, tomorrow," RIveK gloated. She picked up her trophy again and looked at the glaring head. "As for you, my sad friend, I think I'll keep you at my castle for future pleasures."

The little urchin girl had not run far from the small courtyard. She was terrified, but the nice woman had protected her from the evil man in the alley, so the urchin had decided to try and get help. Running around the corner, the girl saw a hotel lobby with people moving around inside. She ran in and called for help, claiming her mother was being attacked outside by a bad man.

A group of men followed her outside and she pointed them into the courtyard.

RIveK heard the group coming, so she quickly left the courtyard out an alley, carrying SCorcH's head by the hair.

Hetark was just approaching the hotel when he saw the group of men run into the nearby courtyard. Curious, he trotted over to see the disturbance. He caught sight of Poison's huddled body and quickly shoved his way through the press of men.

Her side was a ruin and, in one glance, Hetark knew that Poison would not survive the wound. Pulling his cape from his shoulder he carefully wrapped it around her wounded body. Her eyes flickered open at his touch and he had to lean down to hear her whisper.

"They thought I was Elizabeth; I didn't tell them..." she said softly into his ear.

"Who?" he asked in a voice of contained thunder.

"Necromancers, two of them, a man and a woman," she whispered again, then had to stop when she started choking.

"Rest, I'll get you to a healer, you'll be all right," Hetark told Poison.

"We both know better than that, Hetark, it's not knightly to lie," she chided him in a whisper. "I wish I'd been a great lady, like Elizabeth, a lady that could attract a true knight who would love me and care for me, as you do for Elizabeth. I wish I could've had the chance to be with a man like you. Thank you for making the effort to treat me like a real lady, it was nice," she said softly and even managed a small smile.

A tear rolled down Hetark's cheek. "There was no effort. I was only responding to the woman who was emerging, a woman I found myself... liking," Hetark replied honestly. "Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?" he asked.

"Just hold me, I always wanted someone to hold me," she replied dreamily, as the pain dulled her senses. A moment later, she spoke in a whisper he could barely hear. "Warn Elizabeth and tell her she was right; these people have to be stopped. Someone has got to take a stand against them. I will be with her in spirit. Tell her for me, Hetark."

"I'll tell her," Hetark promised. He held her closer to his chest and, in that moment, he remembered another time when he had known he was dying and Elizabeth had brought him back from certain death. If only she were here now. Anger at his helplessness struck the knight like a thunderbolt, he wanted to save this brave girl from the inevitable death that approached, but he was powerless to help. He was powerless, but... and an impossible chance came to his thoughts.

He looked into Poison's eyes; they were dull from shock.

"Poison, listen to me, I want your promise, you must fight to live for another day and I'll promise to get you healed."

Poison didn't believe him, but she didn't want to disappoint the knight. "And take me to dinner again?"

"If that's what you want," he replied.

She nodded giving her promise and said, "All right, I'll give it my best shot."

Standing with Poison in his strong arms he yelled for the crowd to move aside. He carried her into the lobby of the hotel and called for help.

The thin bodied manager arrived and took a look at Hetark's bloody burden. He started to tell Hetark that he could not bring her into his hotel.

Hetark grabbed him by his clean shirt front and pulled the man's face closer. "You will make this woman comfortable in your best room and hire ten men to stand guard until I return. If she dies or complains in any way, I will have you neutered. This will cover your trouble," he released the man and then slammed enough gold coins onto the counter to rent the entire hotel a month.

"Yes, sir, everything will be done as you asked. Have no worries, she will be treated as a Shaardess!" He snapped his fingers and started giving orders to his underlings.

Hetark was shown into the best room and he gently laid Poison on the white bed, carefully pulling the covers over her. "Hold on, Marinda," he whispered into her ear.

A moment later, he left the hotel heading swiftly for the seedy part of town.

Elizabeth stood on top the single wagon of the Tax Marshal and kicked open the coffer of round metal with her boot.

The rest of the bandit squad cheered as she scooped a handful of gold and silver round and trickled them back into the coffer.

"This will be our first message to your master; the pillage of Autrany will be stopped. Then we will come for him to take retribution for his crimes against this land!" Elizabeth proclaimed to the Marshal who stood nearby, tied to a tree.

The bandits cheered again.

"Come, it's time we returned to the camp, I have some questions for Wernok to answer," she stated with steel in her voice.

Hetark stepped into the nearly empty common room of the `Bottoms up' tavern.

His gaze crossed the room quickly, taking in the sleeping drunk sitting in the back corner, hand still clasped around his mug handle and his right cheek mashed against the rough wood.

The only other person in the room was a cleaning drudge, busy scrubbing the bar counter. She looked up at Hetark with the apathetic eyes of those trapped in her dreary station.

Hetark went swiftly to her side and asked, "Where can I find the owner?"

"He don't get up 'til noon," she replied, continuing to scrub.

"This is an emergency," Hetark stated.

"It's yer funeral; first door on the left," she replied, nodding in the direction of a hallway and then added, "Don't tell him I sent you."

"Have no fears, I will take the blame," Hetark explained, already heading for the hall.

Without pausing to knock Hetark broke open the door with his shoulder.

The owner cracked his bloodshot eyes open and shouted, "Wot in Darkness is go'in on?" Then he pulled a dagger out from under his pillow.

Hetark had continued his momentum as he entered the room. He reached the awakening owner just as he sat up with the knife. The knight's hand flashed out tearing the dagger from the man's fingers and then he grabbed the man by the dirty nightshirt and sat him up against the wall behind his bed. Hetark placed the point of the dagger under the man's chin.

"I'm in a hurry, because a girl's life depends on me. I'll ask you once, which room holds the members of the Riond bandit camp?"

"Who?" the bartender said in an obvious attempt to lie.

Hetark pushed the dagger upwards slightly, causing a drop of blood to appear where he punctured the skin.

"I already know they're here, someone else talked, now I'm out of patience," Hetark said in a deadly whisper.

"Number three, upstairs," the man said, swallowing with a dry throat. "They'll kill you if you go up there."

"That's my problem, yours is simple; if you give the alarm, I'll kill you. No matter how long it takes, I'll hunt you down. Or, you could just go back to sleep and this will all become a bad dream," he said, letting loose of the bunched-up nightshirt.

Hetark walked to the door and then spun and threw the man's dagger underhanded. It 'thunked' in the wood next to the terrified man's left ear. Hetark said, "Don't forget what I said."

The man's head didn't move, but his eyes strained to the left, gawking at the dagger hilt a single finger's width from his face.

Hetark stepped into the hall and hurried up the stairs. He didn't trust the barkeeper not to give the alarm, he might be more afraid of the bandits than of Hetark.

The knight reached the door marked, '3'. He took one step back and kicked the door near the lock, breaking it in with the sound of splintering wood.

Hetark dove head first into the room, rolling over his left shoulder. Two thrown daggers sailed over his low form. He came back to his feet in front of a man who was scrambling to draw his sword. Hetark grabbed him by the jerkin and launched him through the second story window. There was a brief howl of fright and a thump from outside.

Spinning, he clouted the next man with his fist, knocking his head back against the wall with a dull thud. He released the limp bandit who sunk back to the bed, out cold.

The third and final bandit leaped to his feet and drove forward with his sword.

Hetark sidestepped the thrust and grabbed the man's extended sword arm; accelerating him in the same direction he was headed.

As the man staggered past, Hetark placed his foot against the man's back and shoved him hard against the wall, near the unconscious bandit on the bed. The man struck the wall hard enough to daze him and he dropped his sword.

Hetark stepped up and grabbed the man by the arm and used it to hoist him off the bed onto the floor where the knight knelt on his back while he tied the man's hands together.

When he had him well trussed up, Hetark picked him up and stood the bandit on his feet. The knight spoke for the first time since entering the room in an almost cheery voice, "Good morning."

The man took a breath, ready to cuss out Hetark and his parentage, which is when the knight stuffed a piece of cloth he had just wadded up in his hand into the open mouth of the bandit.

"You may talk to me later," he added and then threw the man over his shoulder and marched out of the tavern.

He took him to the stable where he kept his horse. He trussed the bandit up even further and tossed him in the loft. The knight then went to the hotel where he had left Poison.

Thankfully, she had passed out from the pain. Hetark carried the unconscious girl to the stable and laid her on the straw. He fished the bound man from the loft and put him on a saddled horse, tying his feet to the stirrups.

Hetark picked Poison up and mounted his horse, setting her across the saddle in front of him, while supporting her with one arm. He placed his loaded crossbow across the back of his saddle and then reached across and cut the rope binding the bandit's hands.

The man immediately pulled the gag from his mouth and snarled, "Yer a walk'in dead man."

"Are your bandit friends going to kill me?" Hetark inquired.

"Yer damn right, deader'n a week-old corpse," he answered with conviction.

"Fine, let's get to it. Take me to your friends and I'll turn myself over to them," Hetark promised.

"I'm not tak'in ya to our camp!" the bandit exclaimed.

"Why not? You think one man and a wounded woman are going to escape once we get there?" Hetark asked.

"Someth'in's not right here," the bandit stated, puzzled by the knight's irrefutable logic.

"Be that as it may, you are going to take me to the bandits or I'll kill you. That means, you have nothing to lose and everything to gain by agreeing to my wishes," Hetark explained. "Another thing, I'm a really good shot with this crossbow, so don't try and make a run for it. I won't kill you, but think about riding with a bolt through your knee," Hetark explained, painting a gruesome picture for the bandit.

"It's yer funeral," the bandit finally growled.

"People keep telling me that," Hetark noted, gesturing for the bandit to lead the way.

Once they were outside the city, the bandit headed them along the contours of the Riond Mountains, following the edge of the Erclesian desert. They traveled through the rest of the day, seldom speaking.

Hetark learned that the bandit went by the name of Whistler, which he did often as they traveled.

He whistled as if he lacked a care in the world, yet Hetark caught him watching slyly from the corner of his eye, just waiting for Hetark to slip in his vigil, so he could make his escape.

Hetark made sure he didn't give the bandit an opportunity.

Occasionally, Poison would stir or mutter some unintelligible words in her fevered dreams. At one point her eyes opened, but they were glassy and she muttered something in an urgent tone. Hetark leaned down and listened carefully, still watching Whistler. Poison's voice repeated, "One day, my last day. She will come... in one day."

Hetark thought she was delirious, yet something about the way she kept repeating 'one day' made him worry. He spoke up to the bandit, "How long until we reach your camp?"

"Two days' travel," the bandit replied, stopping his whistling to answer.

"We will make it in one," Hetark informed the bandit.

"Impossible, we'd have to ride all night, that would be dangerous in the mountains," the bandit explained.

"Despite the danger, we will make it in one day or you will die trying," Hetark answered, giving Whistler a good reason to hurry.

Toward evening, Whistler spotted dust from riders ahead, but he kept it to himself. On this trail, it was possible that the approaching riders were fellow members of the bandits. He grinned in anticipation of what he would do to this pompous man.

A quarter bell later, Whistler saw his chance to turn the tables. Poison was stirring again and Hetark's attention was on making her as comfortable as possible. They were entering a large grouping of rocks when Whistler suddenly spurred his mount forward, heading for the oncoming men.

Hetark's head snapped up at the sound and his hand grabbed the crossbow off his saddle. He could have got a shot in before the bandit made it around a large rock, but he might have killed his only guide.

Cursing, Hetark kicked his horse into a hopeless chase; he could not catch the single rider ahead of him unless the bandit made a mistake.

Whistler broke out of the rocks and galloped toward the riders ahead, ready to identify himself to the bandits or lie if they were someone else. He rode to the three men and was disappointed to find he didn't know any of them.

"Hail rider, who is in chase?" the first man called as he approached. About a hundred lengths back they could see a man in pursuit, riding double.

"A madman, he tied me up and stole my woman, I've just escaped. Help me, please!" Whistler pleaded. Then he rode away as if in abject fear of the pursuing man.

One man drew his sword and rode forward a few lengths, the other two stayed behind.

A moment later, Hetark and Lasar were close enough to recognize each other.

"Stop that man!" Hetark commanded, pointing toward the fleeing bandit.

"It's Hetark," Lasar called to his fellow knights, "Come on, Rasal!"

The two twins left Becaris with Hetark and took off after the fleeing bandit.

Whistler was watching behind to see what happened and cursed when the strangers didn't even wait to get an explanation from his captor. When he saw them start after him, he spurred his horse to try and run.

For a time, he widened the gap since his horse was far fresher. He took the cutoff trail up toward the valley that led to the bandit's camp. Looking back over his shoulder to check on his pursuers was his undoing; he didn't see the low limb sticking out into the path. When he turned forward again, it was too late to miss the branch. The impact rocked him in his saddle, though his feet were still tied to the stirrups so they kept him from falling. His weight shift caused his horse to stumbled and the mare cantered sideways into some bushes. Before Whislter could regain his senses and extract the animal, the two men chasing him arrived. One grabbed his horse bridle and the other held him at weapon's point.

Soon Hetark and Becaris arrived, following more slowly up their back trail.

Hetark quickly explained his plan to save Poison and now Becaris as well. Becaris' face was pale, but he smiled wanly at Hetark; at least this gave him a chance.

They continued up the valley with Lasar holding a rope attached to Whistler's neck. They were fighting a race against time, so they picked up the pace along the trail leading up the long valley. They were climbing out of the desert and into the mountains.

#### CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: RIveK

Coming in from the upper mountain trail that led down into the bandit camp, Elizabeth and her squad brought the captured Tax Marshal to Wernok's cabin.

Members of the camp began to gather to hear the story of their raid.

The bandit leader stepped out of his door and the jubilant expressions on Elizabeth's squad faded as he glowered at the new arrivals.

"Where's Razor?" he asked Bushwhacker, but it was Lady Ardellen who replied.

"Dead, I had to kill him when he tried to murder me," Elizabeth stated boldly.

Wernok was shocked; the very idea of this girl taking that killer was almost ludicrous. Wernok turning his gaze and question to the whole squad and his eyes narrowed to mere slits as he demanded, "Did he give any reasons for his attack?"

"He said she disobeyed an order," a bandit answered.

"Did you?" he asked, turning back to Elizabeth.

"I exceeded my orders," she replied.

"Then he was correct, under our rules, when a warrior is taking part in a raid, they are to obey all orders on threat of death for disobedience. As leader of these bandits, I now order that you be executed for disobedience while in combat. Officers, strip her of her weapons," he commanded.

"Yer afraid te let me speak!" she exclaimed, enhancing her voice by projecting them into the minds of the gathering crowd. To everyone around her, it just sounded like they could hear her well.

"What you have to say is inconsequential. You disobeyed and then killed your commander; by our laws you will now pay the price," he exclaimed, trying to put a stop to her speaking. He had noticed the bound Tax Marshal and there were questions he did not want aired.

Four of Wernok's officers started closing in with drawn weapons, but Elizabeth saw them and pulled open the lid of the chest behind her in the wagon. She had the chest lying sideways, so the gold and silver poured out onto the ground like a metal waterfall of bright money. The sight and sound of all that treasure falling brought a gasp from the crowd and even stopped the progress of the officers for a moment.

Elizabeth exploited their momentary pause and called out loudly, "What was the Usurper's Tax Marshal doing crossing our territory with the entire past two months' worth of taxes? This round was tortured from your countryman, taxed by the Usurper's minions. Why did he travel without enough protection to stop even one of our smallest squads?" she called out for all to hear.

"Take her!" Wernok yelled at his frozen officers.

Elizabeth leaped to the top of the wagon, turning to face the large gathering mob. "Razor refused to attack the Marshal even after I found this him with this treasure while scouting our target. You should ask the Marshal why," she called, pointing to the Usurper's man where he was bound to the side of the wagon.

While Elizabeth was speaking, Wernok stepped into his cabin and reappeared with a crossbow. Elizabeth spotted him raising the weapon, so she dropped behind the wagon before he was ready to fire. He shifted his target from her to the Tax Marshal. "Wernok, no!" the Marshal screamed, but Wernok fired. The bolt from his crossbow pinned the man's head to the wagon through his open mouth.

"Now, enough of this charade," Wernok thundered, "I want her hanging from Traitor's Tree immediately!" He tossed the crossbow to the ground.

Elizabeth leaped back on top the wagon. "Razor didn't want to attack the Marshal because he was following Wernok's orders!"

"Lies, he was just following his orders to attack the merchant, I knew nothing of the Tax Marshal!" Wernok exclaimed.

"You silenced him, attempting to keep the Marshal from incriminating you. However, he managed to call out your name! He knew you!" she exclaimed. Then she turned to the crowd and asked, "How did the Tax Marshall know the name of the Riond Mountain bandit leader?"

The crowd began to mutter at her latest argument.

"I don't know, but I am the leader here! This... woman, this... stranger is trying to cloud the issue and turn you against me. I've led you well, with plenty of food and round for all," he pointed out, realizing that she had gained some support. He knew he had to turn it back around swiftly. He continued, "If I were the traitor she professes, I could have betrayed you a hundred times over!"

"Unless you were preparing to unite as many bandit groups as possible before leading them into a giant trap," Elizabeth accused.

"That's absurd!" he answered.

"Is it?" she countered.

"Hang her!" he commanded his officers.

They began to close again so Elizabeth spoke to his officers directly, "I can prove my claim. Wernok recently explained his biggest strike plan yet, correct? There's no way I could know of that plan, but the Tax Marshal knew, I questioned him," Elizabeth glossed over the fact that she had gotten the answers out of his mind, not his mouth. "He knew that the Usurper was secretly transporting large units of his army to Derner's Crest, getting ready to close the jaws of their trap, a trap that would destroy their entire opposition in one fell swoop. The Usurper is so sure you will be there that he has stripped the garrisons of Versaim and Trozendale to the point where they're not even defended. Whose secret plan was it to commit every able-bodied bandit to attack at Derner's Crest? Wernok's! He takes his pay from the Usurper and he's trying to betray you all!"

"This is insane and her accusations are ridiculous. Yes, I planned an attack at Derner's Crest, but the Usurper's troops have not been moved, our scouts would have discovered that many of his army moving. Her claims are totally unsubstantiated, they're just the ravings of a traitor trying to save herself from the Tree; hang her!" he yelled for the third time, he was beginning to lose his temper.

"Unsubstantiated? Hardly, our prisoner from the raid on the Tax Marshal will prove my claims when you question him, he wants his life so he will bare his worthless soul, as he did for me. Let him be the proof!" Elizabeth called out.

"You see? She is insane, the Marshal is right there, dead!" Wernok yelled, spittle flying from his lips, he had lost his temper completely.

"So he is, murdered by your hand to silence the truth. However, I thought something like this might happen to my star witness, so I kept his aide alive, and he knows the whole plot! He is just outside of camp," Elizabeth explained, smiling in triumph.

Wernok could not stand to lose and it pushed his insane mind over the edge. He couldn't let her live or he would be unmasked. His face went dark red from the blood rushing up under pressure, he shook in fury. "I'll kill you. Kill, kill, kill!" he screamed and ran for Elizabeth, holding a knife over his head.

"Stop him," Elizabeth ordered calmly.

Bushwhacker and one of Wernok's Lieutenants grabbed the insane man as he tried to rush by; they wrestled him to the ground and disarmed the howling man.

Elizabeth now enhanced Wernok's voice so that everyone could hear him ranting.

"Kill you all, kill you all. "She will save me, she'll kill you all, eat your souls," he began to laugh hysterically.

"Who is 'she', Wernok?" Elizabeth asked.

"RIveK, the necromancer, she will eat your souls and I will be 'her' favorite. I'll command her armies and I'll hang all of you!" he continued to rant, totally lost in his insanity.

"What is he ranting about? I thought you said he worked for the Usurper?" Bushwhacker asked Elizabeth.

The sorceress smiled grimly and replied, "Yes, but your question should be 'who is the Usurper's master'? I now believe it is the one he calls, RIveK, a necromancer. She is the real destroyer of your country. Like many dark plots, a necromancer is the spinner at the center of this web. RIveK is your real enemy," Elizabeth told them, knowing she had found the piece of the puzzle that had eluded her, until now. This necromancer was the one who had planted the mind shields in Razor and Wernok.

The entire bandit community now knew that Wernok had betrayed them and their country to the Usurper and a necromancer. Within moments of their realization, they had torn his clothes from his body and beat him nearly senseless. Next, they strung him up by the neck from Traitor's Tree where he swung slowly, a sign for all traitors to beware.

Bushwhacker stood next to Elizabeth as the two of them watched the angry mob hang their recent leader. "What was that about another witness we saved?" He pointed at the dead Tax Marshal, still pinned to the wagon through his mouth. "That is the only witness we brought."

Elizabeth smiled, answering, "A friend once taught me a trick using tarslin sap, it doesn't exist. Sometimes a threat that doesn't exist is as good as a real one." Then she gave him a wink.

As they rounded the last turn toward the bandit camp, Whistler could not understand why they had not been accosted by sentries at the valley rim. They should have been all over his captors once they came around this corner. He looked down into the valley and saw the reason for the missing guards, there was some type of action going on. Everyone was gathered in the center glade by Wernok's cabin. Even the sentries had gone down to see what was happening.

Lasar stepped off his horse and untied Whistler's cinch from his horse. He and his saddle fell off, landing hard on the ground.

"Thanks, you're free to go," the knight stated, remounting. He gave Whistler's now unfettered mount a smack on the hind quarters, sending it galloping away. Then he headed after the galloping horses of the other knights. Whistler was still tied to the saddle on the ground, where he was cursing as he tried to untie his feet from the stirrups.

Hetark rode as fast as he could down the mountain trail. Poison had slipped further into unconsciousness and, to Hetark, it looked as though she might pass away at any time. He didn't know the exact hour, but it was over a day since she had been wounded.

Following Hetark down the path, Rasal rode alongside of Becaris and kept a hand on his shoulder to steady him in his saddle.

They came out of the trees onto the flat ground and kicked their horses into a gallop toward the bandit crowd.

At the sound of the galloping horses, many people looked up to see four strangers bearing down on them. A few of the bandits started drawing weapons, thinking these were the advance warriors of an attack by the Usurper's men.

"Wait, hold your weapons, these are friends!" Elizabeth called out.

At the sound of Elizabeth's voice, Hetark muttered a prayer of thanks and changed the direction of his path. He slowed his horse and brought his leg over the neck of his mount sliding to the ground with Poison now draped across his arms.

The crowd split for the tired looking knight who carried a wounded girl clothed in a fine dress and wrapped in a cape.

Elizabeth met him in the middle so Hetark stopped and he gently lay Poison down. As he did so, he pleaded, "Milady, a necromancer struck her down thinking she was you! Please save her, if it is within your powers."

"I will try, Hetark," she said, squeezing his wrist.

The Kirnath sorceress looked at Poison's aura and found that it was nearly gone. Overlaying her normal aura colors was the remnant of a black shroud that was now dissipating. Elizabeth realized it was a holding of some sort, but it had the foul taste of necromantic power. With a gesture and application of her aura Elizabeth removed the black holding and Poison's condition worsened. Elizabeth concentrated and quickly repaired the ruined side of Poison's body. She found a small portion of the wounded girl's aura which was undamaged and spread the healthy colors, supplying aura power directly from her own. She changed the discolored aura back and the tissues began to re-knit and heal.

While she worked, Hetark told her what Poison had done, how she had protected Elizabeth's identity, even facing her death. He told her of Poison's willingness to join the fight against the necromancers.

When Poison was out of danger, Elizabeth stopped short of fully healing the girl, she left Poison unconscious, but out of pain.

She spoke softly for Hetark's ears alone, "She is out of danger, Hetark. Please bide a moment before I complete her healing."

Elizabeth now saw to Becaris, who the twins were supporting by putting his arms over their shoulders to bring him to Elizabeth.

"Milady," Becaris began shakily, his face a gray pallor.

"Shhhhh," she answered with an encouraging smile. Then she placed her hands over the sword puncture and reached into his aura and healed the wound.

Becaris stood up, completely on his own, now healthy and arrayed with his fellow knights.

"Follow me," she said softly to the knights, "I have another step that must be taken and you can help. Hetark, bring Poison."

They moved over to the wagon and Elizabeth climbed on top, so all could see. She gestured for Hetark to lay Poison on the wagon at her feet.

Then she spoke loudly to the crowd, "Justice has been done, the traitor is dead!" She pointed toward Traitor's Tree to gain the crowd's attention and then added, "But what of the Riond Mountain bandits? Who shall lead you now?"

A lieutenant named Steel called out, "I am the rightful leader, I planned on taking Wernok in the challenge circle."

Immediately another surviving lieutenant countered with, "No, I will command!" He went by the name of Kanth.

"I challenge you to combat for leadership!" Steel replied in return.

"Stop!" Elizabeth called out, still enhancing her voice in everyone's minds.

All attention shifted from the squared off lieutenants to the black clad warrior on top the wagon.

"Who are the best fighters in the entire camp?" she asked.

"Steel and Kanth, now that Razor and Wernok are dead," Quarrel answered.

The two named men were still facing each other with white knuckled hands on dagger hilts, though they had not yet drawn the weapons.

"They are your best. Would you decide which of your hands is best by cutting off the other?" she posed to the crowd, watching the glow of their auras with her sorceress power and gauging their mood. "The Usurper has many men; shall we help him by killing half our best? We need Steel and Kanth to help us against our enemies."

"But this is how we choose our leader," a voice in the middle of the crowd called out.

There were a few calls of agreement.

Elizabeth answered, "And who was the first leader to ascend by killing his predecessor?" She already knew the answer and spoke, "Wernok, the traitor. Do you wish to continue following an insane policy, designed by a traitorous puppet of the Usurper?"

"No!" came a few angry calls.

"Of course not! Instead, we need a leader who is chosen by all of you for their ability to help the people of this valley. What we don't need is to kill one of our most needed men just to appease a few people's blood lust," she thundered. The crowd's auras showed Elizabeth that she had most of their support.

People from the refugee camp had come over and were standing at the back of the crowd, a woman's voice called out, "You lead us, Poison, with Steel and Kanth as your lieutenants."

An unidentified male voice yelled out, "She's a woman, we need to be led by a man!"

"So, what if she's a woman? She has proven herself worthy!" another male shouted.

"We've only known her two days, how can we trust her?" Lieutenant Steel stated loudly.

"She's brought us more round than any other bandit and she's exposed a traitor who would've destroyed us all! She has earned our trust!" Kanth yelled, countering Steel's argument.

Elizabeth's voice overpowered everyone, "Stop this argument! Poison cannot lead this group of common bandits!" she thundered with her enhanced voice.

That shocked the debating people; everyone who looked up at the proud form of Elizabeth standing above the crowd had already began thinking of her as the leader, even if they were arguing against it. There was complete silence at her denial.

Elizabeth continued, "Either Steel or Kanth would be far more suited as a bandit leader. You see, I did not come here to lead a group of bandits; I plan to lead an army of retribution against the atrocities of the Usurper and his masters the necromancers! Anyone can be a bandit; all it takes is the desire to take that which is not yours. I need soldiers; men and women ready to fight for their children and their land. A bandit would take these gold and silver crowns for themselves, this round metal which was taken from the mouths of Autrany's children. It was paid for with the blood of honest people and marked by the scars of their battles against the tyranny of the puppet Usurper and the evil necromancers. If all you ever wish to be are bandits, grubbing for round, join the Usurper, he pays in the same blood.

"However, if you want to strike back at the necromancers who ravaged your country, you'll need to take Autrany back from their evil grasp. The soldiers who I lead will chase them back to their foul lairs and crush them, so they can never hurt our people again! If you want to join me in this quest, then you'll have to become more than you were, more than a little thorn in their side just waiting to be removed. You'll have to become a storm, a gathering that begins with a light breeze and builds to a gale force which sweeps across this land."

Elizabeth's voice now rose in volume until it thundered in their heads, "Those are the people who I will lead to victory!"

After a moment of shocked silence, a voice called out of the crowd. "We can't fight the Usurper's armies; they are too strong! And now we know they are backed by the support of evil magic powers wielded by necromancers."

Elizabeth raised her arm and pointed slowly across the entire assembly as she replied, "A bandit force, larger than this, who stood up to the Usurper would be crushed. However, you won't be bandits any longer, you won't be just a group of fighters; those who follow me will have far more power. I will forge you into an ideal, a symbol of resistance, a flag to help the hopeless find hope.

"Your power is not measured in the number of arrows Quarrel can shoot, or the power in Bushwhacker's arm; your power is the light of the candle you hold up amidst the darkness. That point of light will show the people of your countryside and of your towns and cities that someone still believes. Show a single light and they will come. Just as I believe in the strength of the good people of this land, so will they believe in you.

"They will join us, one candle at a time, until the light burns so bright that all the evil darkness lying over this land has been exposed and driven back to the Dark Plane from whence it issued. And not only from this land, but from the surrounding countries who are also cloaked by the evil night. Let the spark begin right here to light the rest of the world on fire!"

A woman answered from the crowd, "But the necromancers have powers and creatures of evil. They will send them to kill us."

"Who is afraid of the necromancers?" Elizabeth posed, "You think their armies, their evil creatures, and their dark powers can defeat you? If Santhra stands defiantly before them and, protecting a child, dies in her effort, was she defeated? If Gertha stands alone against the Usurper's army, taking three soldiers with her before she falls, was she defeated?

"This woman," Elizabeth said gesturing down at Poison's unconscious body below, "who you don't even know, stood against the attack of a necromancer, without any protection from their dark magic. In the face of death, she protected my identity. Was she defeated? Let me tell you this, as long as one person stands for what is right, ready to step in the way of evil's path, the necromancers cannot win; this I believe with all my heart. Others will believe if just one person still stands for what they know is right, no matter how futile it looks. I will proudly stand, seconding this woman's courage," she said, pointing down at Poison, "I will stand with her against the necromancers, alone if need be, but I will defy them. Who will stand with me?" Elizabeth called out, raising a dagger into the air.

"I will, they killed my family and forced me into this life without a home or country. I'll not hesitate to do my duty," Gertha called out, drawing her sword.

"Good! You and I will stand together against the necromancers, Gertha. We'll thrust them back into the darkness that bore them," Elizabeth replied, smiling at the short woman.

"We're with you," Hetark called out, speaking for the Knight Protectors and they pulled their swords.

"Now we are nine!" Elizabeth called out in a clear voice, saluting her knights.

"I will stand beside you!" Santhra called out from the back.

And other voices of the women Elizabeth had helped called out their support.

"I like yer style, you can count me in," Bushwhacker added with a swaggering grin.

The other men of her squad pledged their support.

Soon, many voices were calling out and everyone with a weapon held them up in salute like a growing garden of steel.

"Now I ask you, who leads this army?" Elizabeth called out.

"Poison!"

She shook her head, replying, "Poison will make a formidable commander; one the common soldiers will follow and trust. Poison can lead an attack, but she cannot be the symbol we need. Without the support of the aristocracy, you cannot win. We need the support of all our people; from the common folk to the nobility. There is a way you can get the support of all classes and join the downtrodden people of two countries against the necromancers. The people will fear the evil powers of the necromancers, so we must have a symbol who they believe in, one who can stand up to those dark powers and win! We need a leader everyone will accept; we need a leader of royal blood!" Elizabeth called, emphasizing the last three words.

"But they've murdered the entire royal family!" someone answered.

Elizabeth countered with, "No, there is at least one left alive."

"Who?" several voices called out.

"Lady Elizabeth Ember Ardellen, Kirnath sorceress, cousin to your late ruler, and the Lady of Lindankar. They are your long-time allies and she has the Hevarnan blood in her veins!" Elizabeth thundered out.

"One of the royal blood lives!" she heard a surprised voice say.

Another called out, "But rumor has it she was killed by assassins!"

"She lives!" Elizabeth answered with simple conviction.

"But we don't know her!" Gertha called out, "You should lead us, not some pampered court woman."

"You will not find Lady Ardellen soft or pampered. She has passed through the fire, hardening the steel," Elizabeth answered.

"Is that who lies before you?" Bushwhacker asked.

"No, this is a courageous woman, who many of you know in a strange way." Laying her hand between the rise of Poison's bosom, Elizabeth concentrated and finished healing her friend.

"Arise, Poison and thank you for the loan of your identity. I knew you would find your way and choose to join us against the evil that possesses this land. Welcome!" Elizabeth said, hugging her and in her ear, she whispered, "And thank you for standing in my place against the necromancers."

Turning to the crowd, Elizabeth raised her voice, so all could hear again. "My friends, I have hidden something from you so that I could meet you on your terms. I wanted you to choose me on merit, not by royal decree. I borrowed this woman's identity, with her blessing, so that I could earn your support. However, my name is Elizabeth Ember Ardellen, ruler of Lindankar, and of the royal Hevarnan blood line of Autrany! And of this moment, I swear to rid my country of the evil presence of the necromancers. Will you join me?" She said, holding up the very aurora stone that she had once lain on Michael's chest. It burst into light at the call of her powerful aura.

Cheers rocked the valley.

After a moment, Elizabeth replaced the stone in its pouch.

Then she said, "My friends, we have much to do."

G'Taklar sat in their room in the hotel in Roper, his head in his hands. He could not believe he had lost the Ardellen cathexis ring. Jatar had trusted him and now he had failed that trust.

He decided he had to get it back before he could face Elizabeth. Three knights had given their lives to ensure his escape with the ring, he had to find it or die trying.

"I swear by my family's honor, I will not return until I bear the ring," he swore, giving an oath that could not be broken.

Then he spoke to Rachael, "I'm going to follow that merchant to Myrnvale and retrieve the dagger. Hopefully, we can get there before he sells it. If they merchant has already departed or sold the dagger, I will follow wherever it goes until I find that dagger. You may wait for me in Myrnvale until I return."

"There's nothing for me in Myrnvale; I have no other family and you are my only friend. I want to come with you," she stated softly.

G'Taklar didn't actually want to search alone and he had decided to accept her help, though only if she really wanted to join him on his quest.

"If someone buys it and leaves Myrnvale, chasing that dagger down could become a dangerous undertaking," he answered solemnly.

"I have no home. I will stay with you, G'Taklar, if you would have me. I know I'm only a common girl... and you told me that you are from a noble family," she finished quietly.

He smiled, "I love you, Rachel. I don't care if you were common born. Didn't I promise to never leave you?"

She smiled shyly and nodded, tears of happiness forming in the corners of her eyes.

RIveK entered a hotel in Myrnvale, furious at her inability to locate Lady Ardellen. She needed to confirm the death of the sorceress before taking credit for her demise with the other necromancers. She took a room upstairs and sealed it with her powers so that no one would disturb her body while she traveled by projection.

Before she continued her search for the body of the sorceress, or tried to locate the Ardellen heir, RIveK needed to check in with Wernok to give him his final instructions on how to deploy his bandits during the upcoming ambush. She had her troops positioned perfectly to destroy the bandits and now it was time for Wernok to deliver the sacrificial animal.

Stepping her spirit out of her sleeping form, the necromancer slipped into the Dark Plane and headed for the bandit camp. She found her point of exit and stepped into the valley just behind Traitor's Tree. Two things greeted her sight, the first was Wernok's dead body, strung up by the neck and hanging right before her eyes. The second was a large gathering of people around a wagon holding two women, one of which RIveK thought to be dead. Against all odds, she had found Lady Ardellen here, with the bandits, and she seemed to be quite alive.

Elizabeth was concentrating on addressing the crowd, so she didn't pick up the weak smell of RIveK's projection standing behind Traitor's Tree. "Before tomorrow we must pack up and move our camp, this one served you well, but the location is now compromised. No doubt, Wernok gave this location directly to our enemies, the necromancers. When they discover their agent us dead, they'll know we are on to them! They'll waste no time in sending the Usurper and his army to destroy us. Remember, the necromancers don't like to come into the light, they like to stay hidden, like a spinner in its web."

RIveK stepped out from behind Traitor's Tree and began walking toward Elizabeth. The crowd parted before the beautifully gowned woman.

Poison spotted the necromancer and spoke quietly to Elizabeth, "This is the female necromancer who destroyed the other necromancer who attacked me. She planned on killing you later."

RIveK's glance of hatred was aimed at Poison, who RIveK still thought was Elizabeth. She spoke as she drew near, "So, Kirnath, you have some power, at least enough to heal yourself. However, your powers are much exaggerated! Now I see your only real talent is disrupting my carefully constructed plans. I'm rather upset with you for killing my servant, Wernok. He still had some use left. For that, I'll finish you off, painfully."

Elizabeth stepped forward, raising her chin and narrowing her eyes before she stated, "Your evil here is through! I lead now this army and we no longer dance to your strings, necromancer. Go back to your dark hole!"

RIveK smiled and raised her hand casually as she replied, "Whoever you are, you're playing in a game where you don't even know the rules! Ah, the price of ignorance," she lamented sarcastically, then launched a bolt of intense purple energy from the Dark Plane.

The purple bolt crackled through the mountain air and struck Elizabeth's shielded body. The energy split into a network of crackling lines, surrounding and outlining her body in a sphere.

Elizabeth smiled and extended her hand. The necromancer's dark energy began to collect in the palm, where her aura flared white. Soon all the purple energy was compacted into a small ball the size of a marble.

The Kirnath sorceress dropped the ball to the ground and stepped on it, crushing it to powder.

"I think I know the game," she answered calmly.

"Who are you?" RIveK demanded, totally puzzled.

"I am the real Elizabeth Ember Ardellen, care to try me?" the sorceress asked, then spread her hands from where they were clasped before her, palms inward. When the hands began to separate, aura energy expanded between them. Each hand had a vertical sheet of energy attached. When her hands reached their maximum spread, the sheets began elongating toward RIveK, angling back toward a meeting at her precise position. They started slow, but gained speed as they approached.

RIveK's eyes widened in sudden fear and she hastily cast up a purple energy shield between her and the approaching sheets of light. The aura power cut right through her shield like it was paper.

With a clap of thunder the accelerating aura extensions met where RIveK and then the aura power retracted to Elizabeth's body. There was no sign of RIveK left in the glade.

RIveK's eyes opened in the Dark Plane and she screamed in fear before realizing she had escaped unscathed. She vowed that never again would she face that Kirnath bitch only as a projection; she would need her full powers to defeat the sorceress. How had she made such a mistake? She didn't know, but now she had to get back to her body and then go back and admit her defeat and SCorcH's destruction. The council would not be happy and RIveK wondered if she would ever have the chance to take revenge on the Kirnath sorceress. First, she had to survive her meeting with the necromantic council.

The Riond Mountain bandits stood hushed by Elizabeth's display of magic. "She destroyed the necromancer!" a voice called out.

Elizabeth answered the outburst, "Unfortunately, that necromancer was not destroyed. However, I promise you this, if a necromancer comes to this valley, I will face them and they cannot hide from me. The evil one who came today was only a projection, her real body was hidden somewhere else. In the future, I will not allow such shades to haunt us. If they come in the flesh, I will face them, you have the word of Lady Elizabeth Ember Ardellen, Kirnath Adept," she promised her people.

As Elizabeth finished her promise, her thoughts went to a far place; to the son she missed so terribly. "Grow strong, Michael, and learn well. I am preparing your army for the day of reckoning. We will make them pay for what they have done to our friends, our country, and our family. The war against our enemies begins... now."

* * * * *

In Cathexis Volume II, Conspirator's Coin, the adventure of the Ardellen family continues with the forging of a young sorcerer, Michael Ardellen.

